#with a man who could be homophobic she would never do that to will when like. wasn't murray's whole thing in s3 that joyce didn't

[maddy-ferguson]

i don't like j0pper either but when people say joyce should've stayed with bob they always lose me because i have a hard time believing she even liked the man

[imaginedanvrs]

atonement

masterlist

camp counselor!wanda x reader

word count: 6k

warnings: homophobia and homophobic slurs, conversion therapy, manipulation, gaslighting, references to drug use, unhealthy power dynamics (so rape), noncon to dubcon, cunnilingus, degrading, fingering, nipple play, size kink, general mean Wanda

a/n: me? posting blasphemous content on Easter Sunday? I would never

It looked harmless enough. You weren’t sure what you had been anticipating, mostly because you had been trying to keep your mind off of the unavoidable destination, but it certainly wasn’t the depressing place you had expected. No, they were smart enough to keep that reality away from the parents that dropped their ‘troubled’ children off. If anything, it looked like the kind of summer camp that a lot of your friends would be enjoying about that time. 

  There wasn’t a church for one thing. In its place was what appeared to be a ranch style house that had kept its traditional family features such as the pair of rocking chairs on the porch and the maintained flowerbed around the borders. On either side of the building, closing in the driveway, were several other intimate buildings that created the impression of a community style living. They were all decorated with various posters about god’s love and acceptance that you guessed you were going to be hearing a lot about during your stay. 

  Your mother got out of the car first as a man who looked like he was still being dressed by his own mum jogged over from the main house to greet you both. You clenched your grip on your bag strap before deciding to face the music and follow her lead, still examining the area sceptically as your mother and the man introduced themselves. Your mother failed to deliver the same excitement the blonde did, but she attempted to force it nonetheless while your hosts laughed easily at something she had said.

  You weren’t listening to either of them as you retrieved your other bag from the boot of the car, not expecting the man to walk around the other side to greet you. “Y/n!” He said like you were an old friend. “I’m Reverend Vision but you can call me Rev Vis.” You most certainly weren’t going to be doing that. “We’re so happy to have you here, let me give you the grand tour of our home,” he beckoned. You trailed behind them.

  “Do you live on site?” Your mother asked.

  “Oh yes, me and the Mrs. We love our work,” he drowned on and began guiding you through the various rooms of the two buildings either side of his house. The more you learnt about the place, the more you began to dread your stay. There were ‘entertainment’ rooms that were filled with musical instruments and religious books and music. A canteen area fueled by the kitchen in which all of the students were to prepare every meal. A prayer room that was deserted at that time. Finally, the dorms. 

  Vision wasted no time in searching through your bags for anything that could “interfere with your journey” and came up empty handed, much to his well hidden disappointment. Your mother didn’t seem to notice it, too focused on the contents that came out of your bag, but you saw the flicker of his brow when he declared you were all good and began explaining the long lists of rules that you had no intention of memorising. 

  “And we do not allow any kind of sexual acts, with yourself or others,” he said lightly. Your mother shifted uncomfortably and you nodded. You had no intention of being caught by him with your hands down your pants when he did his checks during the night. You didn’t anticipate being there long because you were fully prepared to fake your conversion to heterosexuality. How hard could it be? Besides, you dreaded to think how much your parents were paying the capm under the illusion that they could somehow change you. You had to find it humorous, otherwise it would really fucking hurt. 

  It still did when you watched your family car disappear past the camp gates and into the dense tree line. You sighed, resting your head gently against the cool glass of your window and took in the camp in its entirety. It was a waste of beautiful land, you concluded as you examined where the large field met the changing trees. There were a couple guys in the camp uniform playing football on the grass while a cluster of girls sat to the side cheering them on. Apparently you had caught the end of the game, because Vision appeared on the edge of the grass and called them back inside, most likely to prepare for dinner. 

  “Y/n,” a voice behind you called. You spun around at the unexpected caller just as she opened her arms and enveloped you in a tight hug that took you wholly by surprise. 

 “Hi?” You greeted as a question, making the older woman chuckle as she held you before pulling away and keeping her soft hands on your arms as she took you in and allowed you to do the same. Holy fuck she was beautiful. Her striking emerald eyes bore straight through your own and somehow had the ability to make you feel entirely exposed, as though it would be futile to ever conceal anything from her, including your undeniable attraction to her. In contrast, her smile was soft and polite as she gazed at you in a friendly fondness you would with someone you haven't seen in a long time. There was something noticeably comforting in it and the way she carried an entirely put together personar that you wanted a peek beneath. Metaphorically of course… but also literally. 

  “I’m Wanda, Vision’s wife.” Rev Vis was punching way above his weight. This woman’s voice was even hot. Maybe pretending to be straight would be harder than you thought. 

  “Nice to meet you,” you smiled and glanced away awkwardly, finding her impossible to maintain eye contact with. She didn’t seem to care as she hooked her finger under your chin and turned your head to keep your attention on her. 

  “I have every faith you’re going to do so well here, sweetheart,” she told you fondly then dropped her hand and took a respectful step back. Right, gotta leave room for jesus. “Your roommate will be back soon then you too should head down for supper,” she instructed as she headed for the door.

  “Okay,” you nodded and pretended to unpack your bags. 

  “See you later, honey,” she said before disappearing. You exhaled a breath you didn’t realise you had been holding and collapsed onto your bed. 

*

Your first day dragged by painstakingly slowly. Between meals, you attended bible study taught by Vision who gave you his extra attention as it was your first time there. He asked you to compare your own relationship with god to that which he was teaching, expecting an answer in front of all the other students who had been through the same ordeal and spotted your lies as well as Vision did. Apparently everyone did the same when they started at the camp. 

  You had kitchen duty in the morning and garden duty in the afternoon (which was probably the least crap one) before you had to sit down for what felt like hours to listen to Vision sing about god on a guitar he didn’t know how to tune properly. During every interaction you had with him, all you could think about was how he had ended up with a woman like Wanda. Had they been high school sweethearts? Had their parents pushed them together? Did he have some kind of twisted blackmail over her? They were the only three explanations that made any sense to you but you weren’t about to ask any of the other students for their input. 

  As it turned out, your daily routine was also going to include a one on one session with the older woman which should have been something to act as a silver lining in your stay, but it was the most challenging aspect of all. 

  “When did your desire for women begin?” She asked after some small talk.

  “I’m not sure,” you lied in an effort to buy yourself some time to think of a good response. She smiled at you softly.

  “You can lie to me, but you can’t lie to god,” she informed lightly. 

  “A couple years ago,” you replied honestly. This seemed to please her. 

  “And how did it manifest?” She sounded genuinely curious to know, lulling you into being unexpectedly open with her. It wasn’t as though you had anyone else to talk about that stuff with. 

  “There was a girl in my class that I thought was pretty,” you told her as you recalled your first real crush. “I felt more when she smiled at me than I did when I kissed a boy.” Wanda smiled as though she could see the purity of your memory as well as you could. Except to her, it wasn’t so innocent. 

  “The devil likes to work his way into places we could never expect,” she told you and your smile dropped. “Especially when we’re naive,” she added. It sounded as though she didn’t hold anything against you and she wholly believed you had been seduced by the devil himself and that it was impossible for there to be any other explanation. 

  “I was seventeen,” you reasoned. “I wasn’t naive.” Wanda liked the challenge you gave her. That whisper of a promised defiance gave her a thrill she knew to keep a cap unless she was required to use it. She would do anything for her beloved students to guide them back on the right path, especially one that wore the face of morality so well. 

  “And what do you mean by that?” Wanda enquired. 

  “I knew- I know what desire and attraction feel like,” you told her without looking her in those expectant eyes that unknowingly glimmered at your revelation. 

  “Lust,” Wanda said simply. “One of the hardest sins to resist when it affects one so physically.” 

  “Surely it can’t be bad if it’s natural,” you pointed out. That was not the response the brunette wanted to hear.

  “It is not natural,” Wanda said so quickly that she had to take a moment to recollect herself as you looked at her with shock as you took in that momentary crack in her exterior. It was interesting to watch and you wondered why it had hit a nerve. Surely you weren’t the only one to come into her office and state the fact. 

  “Y/n,” she called slowly. “If lust comes to you while you are here, you must come and tell me,” she told you seriously. Yeah, you definitely wouldn’t be doing that. You agreed obediently anyway. 

  “Good,” she smiled again. “Now, is there anyone you currently feel ungodly towards?” 

  “The same girl,” you admitted sheepishly. Yes, you had had a variety of other minor crushes in the past couple years, but she always managed to fill you with that teasing anxiety that never fully manifested when she said hi to you. 

  Wanda raised her brows indiscreetly. “I hope you will soon be able to give that same loyalty to god,” she said. You didn’t give her a response, unsure of what to say when you had no intention of doing such a thing. “In time,” she added when she saw your hesitation. 

  “Maybe,” you muttered, meeting her half way. “Won’t he love me regardless?” You painted the question with an air of innocence that anyone else would have fallen for. But Wanda saw beyond that and knew you used the faux front purely to challenge her again. She was impressed. 

  “Of course,” she told you gently. “Always.”

*

You thought you were being subtle with the way you kept glancing over at the couple. It was breakfast time so there was a general murmur of conversation that you didn’t feel particularly pressed to join in with. All it did was teach you to avoid sitting with the group you had found yourself with again because they seemed to be the only students there who were actively participating in the conversion with the belief it would ‘fix them’. You pitied them in a way, but not enough to interfere with their ramblings about their opposite sex celebrity crushes. 

  Wanda caught your eye on one of the many times you had peered over. Vision was talking to her but apparently she was as distracted from her company as you were, more fixed on returning your gaze. The corner of her lip twitched when you realised you’d been caught and you swiftly looked away to stare down at your cereal, actively keeping your wandering gaze on the other side of the room for the rest of the meal. 

*

“So what did you do to end up here?” A curly haired boy asked as he strolled into the kitchen you occupied alone. He was swinging a tea towel in his hands as he joined you and started on drying the washing up you had started. 

  “Got caught making out with the pastor’s daughter,” you said stoically.

  “You’re fucking with me,” he grinned and your composure cracked. 

  “Yeah, but it’s much cooler than the truth,” you told him honestly as he jumped up onto the counter. 

  “I’m sure it’s not that bad. My grandma walked in on me with my dick down my best friend’s ass,” he told you and you couldn’t stop the laugh that rose promptly. You grinned at the boy next to you in disbelief, thankful that your own luck wasn’t that bad. “Your turn,” he prompted. 

  “I told my best friend that I like girls. She told my parents,” you said humorously, as though it didn’t hurt like a bitch just to remember. 

  “I think I have better mates than you,” he concluded. You didn’t argue with that. “I’m James.”

  “Y/n,” you replied. “How long have you been here?”

  “Four months.”

  “What?” You splashed some water over the floor when your hand slipped in shock and James yelped when some drops hit him then started chuckling at the look you were giving him. 

  “What? Did you think it was only going to last a couple weeks?”

  “Kinda, yeah,” you muttered as you returned your attention to your chore. “Do you think you’ll be out soon?”

  “Nah, they know I’m bullshitting them. We all are, of course, but some of them can trick themselves into believing it, which is good enough for Vision.” 

  “Yeah, I know Wanda sees right through me,” you told him. “Which by the way, that makes no sense right?”

  “I reckon he’s holding her family captive,” James stated simply. You laughed with him easily, glad you had found someone like minded to you. “Hey, do you wanna get high?”

*

The nimble threads at the bottom of your uniformed cardigan were multiplying as your stay at the camp went by. Your fingers frequently found their way to them when you were uncomfortable, which was more often than not, and pulled at the finer threads until you unintentionally collected a small bundle in the palm of your hands that you had to hide. Vision never commented on it, but Wanda did, telling you that it represented your impulse to repress your femininity or some bullshit like that. 

  You left the threads alone and laced your hands together in your lap when she gave you a pointed look from her office chair and you muttered an apology. 

  “I’ve noticed you and James have become quite close,” she commented. “I must admit I was hoping you would find better company in some of the other students here. James doesn’t provide the best example to follow,” she told you. 

  “We’re just friends,” you shrugged, slightly irked that the older woman had a problem with the one refuge you had been able to find in the camp. 

  “Are you friends with anyone else here?” She questioned, not yet providing you the warm smile she offered every time you stepped into her office or saw her in general. She didn’t look happy that day. She looked troubled but you didn’t believe that was solely down to your decision to spend time with James. 

  “Not yet,” you told her even though you weren’t planning on expanding your social circle. Though if it was only two people it must be more of a line. Still, adding that unfulfilled optimism was meant to appease Wanda. You should have expected her to see it for what it really was. 

  “What do you and James talk about?” She wasn’t going to let it go.

  “Our lives, I guess,” you shrugged. 

  “Your experiences,” Wanda said for you. You knew there was no point in denying that when your glance towards her told her all she needed to know. 

  “Sometimes.” 

  “You should only discuss those topics with myself or Vision, otherwise you may end up having those experiences affirmed and encouraged,” she explained pointedly. You nodded uncomfortably as your fingers found their ways to your threads again only to snap back in place when you felt Wanda’s eyes momentarily burn into you. Something was very different with her. “So tell me what you discussed,” she pushed. 

  “I told him how much I dislike kissing boys,” you told her matter of factly as you tried to suppress your rising irritation. Maybe it was her job, but you hated her need to know everything you and James did. 

  “And you want to kiss girls instead?”

  “I want to do a lot of things with them,” you laid on the innocence thick, playing your role as the good christian who was simply admitting to how she had been led astray and just wanted to atone for her sins. As always, Wanda saw through your facade though that time it made her tick. You knew exactly what you were doing, you just had no idea the effect it was having on the older woman. You had no idea that your insistence on pretending to be good while knowing you were bad stirred something in her that she wasn’t supposed to feel. You were pushing those sinful desires that had infiltrated your mind right into her own and she wouldn’t allow it. 

  “That’s all for today,” she declared without giving a response to your statement. It hadn’t even been your full session time, maybe more like half of it. 

  “Okay,” you said slowly as you stood up. 

  “I suggest you spend the rest of your evening with your roommate today,” she told you as you lingered in the doorway. 

  “Right, bye,” you bid awkwardly, frowning to yourself as you walked away.

  The moment the door closed Wanda sighed heavily and leant back in her chair, catching sight of the framed photo of herself and Vision when they went on a hiking holiday in Colorado. The both beamed at the camera as they held each other close, though Wanda’s love for her husband had been as dim as it was in the present. But it was what god wanted. What god certainly didn’t want was for Wanda to allow her mind to wander to you in the way it had during that session when you had been taunting her with that faux naivety that everyone else seemed to fall for. 

  She had such hope for you when she first met you. But the images you had put in her head of her hand disappearing beneath your skirt as her lips clashed with yours, pinning you down to that very couch you perched on, that was something that could not be allowed to flourish, no matter how it made her throb between her legs. Wanda forced herself to stare at her husband’s image and remember when he used to make her feel that way, but those memories of his breathless features beneath her were replaced with your own and suddenly she couldn’t help but ponder what your sweet moans would sound like next to her ear as her fingers dipped inside-

  “Lord help me,” Wanda called, but he never came. 

*

You and Wanda both faced your own new challenges as the weeks went by. For you, your only refuge was gone. James had been sent back home randomly one night after an incident that no one would discuss with you. You had written your numbers on pieces of paper before that night, but it had disappeared as mysteriously as James had and gave you an equally chilling feeling. You had no idea what was going to happen to him when he arrived home without the results he had been sent away to achieve. Would they send him somewhere else? Somewhere worse? The only thing you could do was try not to end up like him. 

  Unfortunately, Wanda knew that nothing had changed within you. You continued to try and fool her with your illusion of innocence, reciting what Vision had taught you, socialising with the committed students and answering her questions in the way she wanted to hear rather than the truth. Little did you know that your efforts to quicken your release from the camp were futile, because Wanda simply didn’t want you gone yet. You were fighting a losing battle, just as she was. 

  As much as she despised to acknowledge it, the brunette fought her own desires as much as you did. It made her hate how much she was drawn to you. It made her ashamed of the acts she envisaged herself performing with you and how she just knew in her heart that you would so willingly part your legs for her. She wasn’t blind to your attraction to her, she had encountered it enough in her career to see it a mile away, no matter how discreet you thought you were being. 

  “I think I’m getting better,” you lied as you peered at Wanda cautiously. 

  “And what makes you say that?” The older woman inquired, humouring your plain fib. 

  “I don’t think about girls,” you said as you willed yourself not to look at Wanda’s long legs that were crossed eloquently. 

  “What do you think about?” You hadn’t been prepared for that. 

  “God?” Wrong. Obviously wrong. Wanda hummed and you knew that meant she didn’t buy it. 

  “Y/n, I want you to start being more honest with me.” You froze and didn’t dare look her in the eye. “I’m aware that you’re not progressing, so I think we should try something new. Just you and me.” You frowned and risked looking up to the confident woman, not having a clue of the excitement that manifested so secretly. “Are you familiar with penance?” You were, yet you had no idea where Wanda was going with it. 

  “There are many different forms. Some fast, some pray, some confess, but as we practise most of that here anyway, I want to try something else,” Wanda explained as she stood up from her chair and sauntered over to the desk in the corner of her office. You heard her rummaging around in the draws as a feeling of unease began to emerge in your chest. Rightfully so, because when Wanda turned back around, she held a riding crop firmly in her grasp. 

  “Stand up,” she instructed and you quickly did so as you eyed the tool in her hands. “Usually you would do this yourself, but I don’t believe you’re capable,” she explained lightly. “Hold out your hand.”

  “Wanda,” you said as you kept your hand glued to your side. “I don’t want to.” Her features were deceivingly gentle as she listened to you. 

  “I don’t want to do this to you either, sweetheart. It’s just the only solution. So hold out your hand,” she repeated, gripping the crop so tight you could hear the leather stretch in her grasp. It unsettled you greatly. 

  “But it will hurt,” you objected, eyes wide. Wanda could have laughed at how oblivious you were to her intentions.

  “It’s meant to,” she said simply and grabbed your wrist with a force that completely paralleled the softness of her tone. 

  “Wanda-” you tried to yank your hand back but you weren’t as strong as the brunette who only had to hold you with one hand while the other brought the crop down hard. 

  You cried out but Wanda used her grip on you to pull you flush against her chest, her features having turned ice cold. Her lips formed a straight line and her eyes pierced through your own with a sharpness that was usually dulled. The next words she uttered were void of that nurturing faith she used with everyone else and were replaced with something much darker. “If you keep struggling I’ll bend you over that desk and whip your ass instead.” You trembled against her, trying to decipher what your best bet was. When you took too long to decide, Wanda reached around and groped your ass, digging the crop in as she did so as though to make sure you knew she was serious. Your breath hitched as you found yourself completely trapped against the woman that squeezed you through your skirt. You whimpered, riling her up more until you nodded. 

  “Good,” Wanda exhaled, calming the heat she was struck with at the sight of your fearful eyes. “With every strike, you’re going to confess something you’ve lied about to me.” There were so many lies to choose from that when the first strike came, you struggled to pick one out. “Confess,” Wanda demanded, all of her patience suddenly absent. 

  “I don’t like boys, I like girls,” you admitted in a rush, refusing to look at Wanda or your burning hand that she struck again. “I’m not doing the work,” you continued. Wanda remained dissatisfied, striking your raw palm again and again as you admitted to your lies, none of which being what Wanda wanted to hear. 

  “I touch myself!” That was what she was looking for. 

  “Look at me,” Wanda instructed, examining the tear streaks down your cheeks as you whimpered. It was clear you were trying to appear strong and indifferent, but it was quickly becoming too much. The older woman cooed at you as dropped the crop to the couch behind you and took a hold of your inflamed hand, rubbing the abused hand with a tenderness that only made it burn more. 

  “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Her smile had grown sinister and you realised you were nowhere near done. “What thoughts do you touch yourself to?” Wanda questioned further, rubbing the most tender areas of your palm. 

  “Lying with a woman,” you hiccuped, hoping the harmless phrasing could somehow ease your next punishment. 

  “Who?” She pushed, gripping your chin roughly and forcing you to look straight ahead at her as you confessed what she already knew. 

  “You,” you whispered. Arousal rushed to the forefront of Wanda’s mind, and with it came anger. You weren't allowed to make her feel the way you did. She had a husband and she was a faithful Christian wife until you showed up and infected her mind with your own illness. You had to be put in your place. 

  In a blur, you were laying flat on the sofa you had lied continuously to Wanda on. You were barely given the chance to react before Wanda hiked her leg over your chest and straddled you with a purely feral look upon her face. You felt a strike of fear hit you, however you also weren’t blind to how attractive Wanda looked in her state of desperation. It may have been a desperation to reclaim control and to punish you for her own feelings, but it was hot nonetheless. 

  “You’ve been tempting me ever since you got here,” she hissed, feeling under her conservative skirt for a moment before she lifted it up around her waist. “This is your fault,” Wanda told you as you soaked in the view of her exposed pussy just inches from your face. You could smell her arousal and when she moved to lower herself onto your awaiting mouth, you eagerly grabbed at the back of her thighs until she slapped you away. “You don’t get to touch me with those filthy fingers, just let me use you.” Although you knew it was terribly wrong, you felt your own cunt heat up at her instructions. You knew that it was fucked up that the married woman wanted to get off on riding your mouth, but you wanted it so bad. 

  “Just like that,” Wanda sighed as you ran your tongue through her wet folds and sucked on them lightly, aiming to savour every drop and inch of her. “Put your tongue out,” she continued to demand. As soon as you did, Wanda began to vigorously grind her clit against your muscle, allowing your tastebuds to become ablaze with her as she cursed above you. You had never heard her swear before and knew she would scold anyone who muttered anything close, so knowing you could elicit such a reaction from her made your insides twist with pride. 

  She didn’t argue when you switched to sucking on her pulsing clit and felt it throb in your mouth. You moaned against her as her movements continued and her thighs locked around her head. It felt as though she really was using you for her own pleasure, not caring about your own or any comfort. You were the shameful bliss she was forbidden to engage with, but it felt incredible to ignore her god and use you as she wished. But she was really disobeying him, she was just teaching you a lesson. It wasn’t really sinning. 

  “Fuck, don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop, you slut!” Wanda cried out as she became engulfed with the sensations you gave her. You had no intention of stopping as you shifted to pushing your tongue inside her. You were met by the tight squeeze of her walls and felt your own clench at the discovery she hadn’t had sex in a while. That explained why she was so sensitive too. Besides yourself, you smirked into the older woman and doubled your efforts. 

  It didn’t take long for Wanda to get close to the bliss she had become stranger to and you weren’t about to let her lose that. She knew her body, even after some time of depriving herself, and told you exactly what to do to get her there. “That’s it, that’s it,” she panted, head swimming as she erratically thrust herself onto her mouth and came with a sharp cry. You moaned against her, adamant on tasting your reward as Wanda trembled on top of you and eventually forced herself off when you didn’t stop. She wasn’t about to let greed overcome her. 

  You looked up at her with a hesitant smile that was apparently the last thing Wanda wanted to see. She glared at you and immediately lifted you up and spun you around so that you were leaning over the armrest on the sofa, not allowing you a second to object. “What-” you tried but she didn’t want to hear it. 

  “We’re not done,” she said without care as she lifted your own skirt over your back and yanked down your soaked underwear. She bit her lip at the sight of the wetness that stained them and threw them over to her desk for safe keeping, definitely not to sniff and use to get off later. 

  “Desperate whore,” she muttered to herself as she ran two fingers through your drenched lips. “You want to get fucked so bad? I’ll show you what it’s like to get fucked.” She let the threat loom over you as dipped her digits into you lightly, barely enough to stimulate you but enough for her to decipher how tight you were. Wanda groaned when she felt you clench in anticipation, desperate for any touch you would give her. At that, she let the remains of her self control slip away and thrust her fingers in at once. “So tight,” she commented as you clung onto the sofa, moaning at the feeling of her filling you up in the way you had dreamed ever since you first met the older woman. 

  “Wanda,” you whined when she spread her fingers out within you to push your walls. 

  “Shut up,” she hissed, refusing to listen to your pathetic pleas on the tip of your tongue. “Take it.” And you did. You bit into the couch to mute yourself as Wanda curled and thrust her fingers inside your wet cunt, mapping out every inch of you and pushing your body’s limits. She added a third finger without any consideration to your stifled whines. 

  Wanda, as she told herself, was only doing it to hurt you and punish you. You deserved it for sinning so openly in her home and for attempting to corrupt her. It wouldn’t work, she convinced herself, she wouldn’t succumb to your lust but she had to show you the right path. She had to make you ache. With that in mind, she added a fourth finger and pumped her fingers in wildly. 

  You cried out into the material you sunk your teeth into, feeling your pussy sting at the stretch Wanda was causing. Still, you continued to soak down to her palm. It just hurt so good. Too good for Wanda to allow, so she snuck her hand under your shirt and bra to take your nipples between her fingers and twist them cruelly. You whimpered at the unnecessary act, making Wanda grin triumphantly. 

  Despite the pain, it did little to distract you from the heat between your legs that was quickly growing out of control. Having stretched you out as much as she pleased, Wanda was able to thrust her fingers inside you without mercy, attacking every sensitive nerve until you became a mess on the sofa she was meant to therapise you on. “You going to cum for me, whore?” Wanda asked when she felt you twitch around her. You mumbled a yes you were lucky she heard. “You’re so pathetic like this, so weak to temptation,” she scolded you with a wicked smile you couldn’t see. “Cum for me.” That was all it took for your muscles to clench tightly around her and let go. You moaned like the whore she saw you as as you came, gripping onto the sofa for dear life as Wanda continued to ruthlessly pump her digits into your cunt. 

  “Too much,” you whined when she failed to stop. She didn’t listen. You came down from one orgasm and soon went tumbling into another when Wadna kept up her actions, making sure to drive her point home. You squirmed under her as your body became overstimulated but there was no room or strength for you to move away. “Please!” You begged as you bucked into her palm, unable to stop the contradicting action that served to amuse Wanda. 

  “So sensitive,” Wanda mused, coaxing you through another orgasm until she deemed that the message had gone through enough. You collapsed in a defeated heap as she stood up from the sofa and corrected her uniform as though you weren’t even there. You missed her taking her tainted digits into her mouth to appease her curiosity. Lord, she thought as she tasted your sweetness. She swiftly pushed away the impulse to keep you down and taste your sweetness directly from the source. She had to keep things professional after all. 

  “See me first thing in the morning,” she instructed, features still flushed with lingering lust. She had given into temptation and whether she liked it or not, she would indulge in you again. You weren’t going home anytime soon.

[lostryu]

i need gay rights because literally not a single self-proclaimed cis/het 'ally' understands the alienating experience that comes with being the only gay person in the workplace.

i am a gnc butch lesbian. i use he/him pronouns. when i came out to my manager regarding my pronouns (i had been an open lesbian since the moment of my hire), she told me that she supported me, but she could not enforce or ask our clients to use the correct pronouns for me. she told me it was something i would have to learn to deal with. she never uses the correct pronouns for me unless a person from a different department (who also happens to be LGBT+) is present. she is our HR in addition to manager.

none of my coworkers in my department ever remember to use my pronouns. if i remind them, they go over the top with the "im sorry's" and the "im still learning" and "you know i try my hardest's!" and "i swear im not homophobic!", it has been over 6 months since i came out. if i say nothing, they continue to use she/her (unless that other lgbt+ person from the other department is present, then they miraculously get it right).

sometimes they call me 'girl'. they always flounder and correct to "man-boy-uh youknowwhatimeanright". they laugh it off. they never bother to ask what terms i am comfortable with, or if i even cared in the first place. they don't care about my gender, they never bother to ask. somehow the subject gets changed every time i try to tell them, or set a boundary.

once in a while in a slow shift, the conversation will hop to our dating lives. somehow, it always jumps to how men suck and how dating a woman must be so much easier. they wish they could be gay and not straight. every time, they'll stare at me expectantly, like i am an animal at the zoo. no matter what i say, positive or negative, i must be lying. i cannot be that happy in my relationship, or if i have any issues, they must be minor. if i say 'why don't you try dating a girl then' to their remarks, they'll laugh, say something like "there is no way i possibly could" with that special tone of disguised disgust.

i am a prop, at work. they tell me about how much they love their kids. how they could bring anyone home and they wouldn't care. "they could be black, brown, or purple," they'll say "it could be a woman or a man! I support gay rights!" Then they will talk about how hungry they are, and how they will be going to Chick Fil a for the 4th time this week. 'as a treat'. it is thursday. they talk about going to Hobby Lobby again for christmas decorations, or another sale. sometimes i think i can taste blood.

its june. they talk about the pride parade and how excited they are to see the queens and their 'funny costumes'. they talk about how fun it is to go and watch, how they like the free things the corporations hand out. they don't want to bring their younger kids though. they're not old enough. they do not know that the first pride was a riot. they do not know what happened during the AIDS crisis, how many died. they don't really care when i try to tell them, they'd rather focus on the fun parts of the parade. the spectacle.

i wear a pronoun pin, to make it easier. still somehow no one can get my pronouns right. a client notices it. commends me for "being brave" and "coming out." she never uses my correct pronouns. i stopped wearing the pin after the 11th person asked me if my name on my name tag was my real one, and after the 45th person went out of their way to use incorrect pronouns every sentence. my manager, the HR, did not care.

i need gay rights, but somehow everything got resolved when they allowed us to marry in 2015. to our allies, the work is done. somehow i am left more alone than when we started.

[sweetenerobert]

𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐕𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

DAY TWO OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

tattoo artist!tommy miller × male reader

genre: sisters boyfriend tommy, childhood friends to lovers, explicit, no outbreak au, minors DNI

prompt: taboo au + “do you like when i touch you like this? i can keep going if you want me to."

summary: your sister’s boyfriend catches you reading smut in the kitchen and sees if you want to make your own smutty chapter

warnings: strong language, homophobic sister, cheating, mention of an age gap, face fucking, unprotected P in A, choking, spanking, dirty talk, pet names, creampies, fingering, spitting

word count: 7.4k

a/n: thanks to @morallyinept for listening to me rant about this, love you 🤍

It was your twenty-second birthday, and to say you were excited was an understatement. You’ve been looking forward to this day for a few days, why? You were getting your first tattoo ever. Your two best friends, Kevin and Eli, made you an appointment — already paid for.

You’d also discovered that your sister was planning for everyone to meet her boyfriend on the night of your birthday party. Your sister, Sasha, tends to steal your thunder — a handful of times. Once, when you were five, and she was seven, you made a Lego spaceship, and she had made an even bigger spaceship — with popsicle sticks.

That one time when you were thirteen, and you had gotten a cross-country award, and she was fifteen and had gotten a giant volleyball trophy. But this day didn't bring you down as much as you wouldn't let it.

After pulling up to the tattoo parlor, your excitement almost exploded through the roof. You’d gone through Pinterest last night like a rich person going through a Gucci store — overzealous. Making so many decisions, you were conflicted between three options.

The smell of a mint air freshener hits your nostrils first rather than anything else. The lights weren't so bright that they hurt your eyes, more or less made you have to cover for a second. Next, you saw the big flashbooks sitting on the small coffee table. But something else caught your eye — more importantly, someone.

His hair was slicked back — stopped by his neck. His neck was covered with tattoos, and his arms were covered with tattoos. He had a septum piercing, and his ears were stretched — having a small gauge in its place. His shirt was tight. You could see his pecs bulging underneath. The man was glancing down at his phone as the bell from the door didn't get his attention. As Kevin let go of the door, the bell rang, the man brought his head up, and a smile was on his face.

“Hey, sorry. Didn't notice you guys were standin’ there.”

His Texan accent was thick. It sent shivers down your spine hearing it.

“It’s fine,” You dismiss. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine, a lil tired, but good,” Tommy smiles. Tommy gets up from his seat, walks around the counter, and walks before you, Eli, and Kevin.

“So, who's the lucky sumobitch to get a tattoo?”

You smile and raise your hand as Eli wraps his arm around your shoulder. “This boy, he’s twenty-two.”

“He’s not a little boy no more,” Tommy smirks.

“He is not, he’s been wanting a tattoo since forever,” Kevin smirks.

“How come you’ve never gotten one before?” Tommy crosses his arms.

You shrug. “Never really had the time, and when I did. I would always forget about it.

"Well. This is your first step into becoming a man," Tommy smirks.

"Isn't that what your father says during puberty?"

"Yes, but this is also an important milestone in a young man's life, and I'm more than happy to start that."

You rub your hands in impatience, more than feeling anxious. You were ready and excited for this day to continue and drag slowly. You didn't want it to end anytime soon.

"Let's get this show on the road," You exclaim.

"That's the spirit. Since this has already been taken care of, you can come with me,” Tommy states, walking.

You eagerly follow Tommy, standing behind him; you can't help but admire his back muscles in his tight shirt; the way it hugs his back does something to you. His pants hug his ass to be firm and cup his buns perfectly. You shouldn't feel this way ─ especially on your birthday. You appreciated Tommy's distraction, but you wanted to keep your head focused on this day. So you snap your head back to look up at Tommy's neck.

You look up at Tommy, making the distraction harder to contain. Your thoughts travel from clean to smutty when you think about how your hands would look tangled in his hair, your nails clawing his back as he thrusts his cock deep in you.

You had to shake your head to eliminate those dirty thoughts you were thinking about. You and Tommy arrived in a small room with a hydraulics chair in the middle of it, a TV mounted on the wall, and a desk arranged with a bunch of equipment you didn't know except the tattoo gun resting.

You looked nervous as Tommy turned around to look at you; you were rubbing your hands slowly, glancing around the room, and biting your lip. "You fine?" Tommy questions.

You snap out of your thoughts and look at Tommy. "Oh, yeah. I was just thinking about something, and it distracted me," You dismissed.

Tommy crossed his arms with a smirk on his face. "What were you thinkin' about?"

"You fucking the shit out of me and calling me a good boy," You thought.

"A birthday present I've wanted for a while," You spoke. It wasn't a total lie. You've been wanting a book for quite a while but never had the time to try and find it.

"What's the book titled?" Tommy nodded. You couldn't tell if he was trying to catch you in a lie or if he was genuinely interested in the book.

"Sweet Dandelion by Micalea Smeltzer," You smirked. "Why are you interested in a book anyway?"

Tommy chuckles, "What? I don't seem the type to read?"

You shrug your shoulders. "No?" You question.

"You'd be right; my girlfriend said I should buy a gift for her brother, and the suggestion she gave me: books. Importantly, romance books," Tommy explained.

"Of course, he has a girlfriend that puts my horny mind at ease," You thought.

"It is a romance book, more on the forbidden side."

"He might like it. I have impeccable taste in books," You comment.

“Is this a special occasion or something?”

“It's his birthday today, and I wanted to give him somethin’ out of the kindness of my heart,” Tommy shrugged.

“Aw, that's sweet. Even if you don’t know that person.”

“I just want everyone to like me, y’know. I don't want to make a fool of myself,” Tommy admits.

“You won't, just be yourself. I met you five minutes ago, and you seem cool.”

Tommy smiles. "Yeah, I bet. Anyways, you have a design in mind?"

"Oh," You exclaim. "Yeah, gimme a second." You pull your phone out of your pocket. Scrolling through the choices in your camera roll, you pick the option you decided on last night and show it to Tommy.

He strokes his beard and nods his head. "Got it, sit down. Do you need anything to drink?" Tommy asks.

"Water's fine," You state.

You sit in the hydraulics chair, watching Tommy leave the room. You have a smile plastered on your face in excitement. Your hands kept patting your thigh into a rhythmic beat, waiting for Tommy.

As you slowly glance your head around the room, Tommy walks in the room holding a water bottle in his veiny hands.

"Here ya' go, songbird.”

"Songbird? That's a new one," You smirk.

"Your friends made the mistake of telling me one of your favorite hobbies," Tommy smiles.

"Remind me to slap them later," You breathe.

Tommy's laugh made you smile and caused heat to rise to your cheeks. Grabbing black latex gloves and slipping them on his hands with a snap. "You ready to get this show on the road, butterfly?"

"Yeah," You smiled. "I'm ready.

It had been a few hours since you got your tattoo, and you couldn’t stop staring at it. Likewise with your family, but more looks of questioning and disgust from your sister. Kevin and Eli were excited about how your tattoo looked.

You were sitting in the dining room — at the dinner table, your mom had made your favorite dishes for your birthday, and your mouth was watering as you waited for Sasha's boyfriend. You were eager to stuff your face with all the food in front of you. You were bouncing your leg to think about anything else to distract you from the air scents whiffing to your nose.

"Does it itch?"

You turn your head to look at your mom to hear her question. "Yeah, I mean the ointment the guy gave me is working, but the urge to itch it is high now," You admitted.

"I still can't believe you still got a tattoo," Sasha stated.

"I'm twenty-two now, and I barely drink. So, a tattoo was a better option to play it safe on my birthday."

"What if you get an infection?" Sasha questioned.

You shrug. "I'll deal with that when that road comes into view."

"You're insane."

"We've established that already, sweetheart," You smirk.

"Now, now, Sasha," Your dad started. "He's an adult, and even adults need help on occasion. Son, if anything happens, let us know. And we'll help."

Your dad grabs your shoulder in a comforting way ─ knowing how intense his daughter can be.

"He's right, honey. If anything happens, let us know," Your mom smiled.

You smiled at your mom and dad's comforting tones. You and Sasha tended to be at each other's throats at times, her usually breaking your spirits. Your parents dreaded it whenever you two argued. At times, you both could say and resent each other and not speak to each other for days ─ your longest time? A week.

Your dad glanced at the watch on his wrist. "Sasha, where is this boy at? Your brother and I are starving, and this food is going to waste."

"Daddy," Sasha starts, grabbing her phone from her jeans pocket. "He said that he ─ oh he's here," Sasha smiled, getting up from her seat.

You, Eli and Kevin turn your head as the three of you hear a loud engine roaring outside. "How much you want to bet, he's got a tiny dick?" Eli questioned. You and Kevin both snickered. Glancing at the door, Sasha's standing outside cheerfully like a child seeing the ice cream truck.

Your mind had drifted back to the tattoo artist. You wondered if you were ever going to see him again. You missed his smile; his tattoos were intriguing, and you wished you had studied them more as you were in his chair. You also yearned to know what his name was. Eli and Kevin forgot who his name was when you asked them when you left. Tapping your finger on the table, waiting for Sasha to return, you hear the door open, and Sasha starts talking. “Everyone! I want everyone to meet my boyfriend,” Sasha starts. A person begins to walk in as Sasha talks; You, Kevin, and Eli are wide-eyed to see who's coming in.

It was the same guy who did your tattoo hours ago. He walked in, a beaming smile on his face, wearing a leather jacket and a wrapped gift in his hand. Wearing the same jeans you admired him in prior, you bit your lip to calm yourself down.

“His name is Tommy, and he’s a tattoo artist,” Sasha smirked.

You were too stunned even to acknowledge your sister's statement. You knew who Tommy was hours prior. The same man you fantasized about, who did your tattoo hours ago, is dating your sister.

“It's nice to meet everyone,” Tommy smirks.

“His name is Tommy?” Kevin asks.

“I forgot about that,” Eli admits.

“Of all guys, Sasha could’ve dated. It had to be him,” You whined.

“Hey, dummy. Come and get your present,” Sasha’s voice snapped you out of a weird, one-sided conversation with your friends.

You reluctantly get up from your seat and walk towards Tommy. A look of shock and confusion appeared on his face. You anxiously rub the back of your neck.

“Songbird? Sasha’s your sister?” Tommy questions.

“Songbird?” Sasha questions.

“Oh, that reminds me,” You turn to look at Eli and Kevin. “I’m going to hit you both.”

“C’mon, we were looking at ideas for your birthday, and karaoke came up,” Eli starts.

“We both know how much you love to sing, and maybe we found one, and we could go to it after dinner?”

“I’ll revoke the slap for now,” You nod, turning back to look at Tommy with a smirk, indicating he was nervous. “I hope you like it,” Tommy states, handing you the gift.

You take the gift from his hand and glance down at it in your palms. You don't remember when someone wrapped a birthday gift for you. You appreciated Kevin and Eli’s gifts, the tattoo mainly, but in the past, you’ve never gotten a hand-wrapped present before.

You appreciated that Tommy took the time out of his day to hand-wrap you a gift.

You glance at everyone staring at you in anticipation.

“You guys want me to open this now?” You question.

“Yes,” Everyone except Tommy spoke, making you jump out of your skin. You reluctantly open the gift-wrapping paper and rip away at the material as you feel the object's hardness underneath. Take the paper entirely off and see what’s in your hand.

A book you have been looking for a long time. Sweet Dandelion in your hand. The same feeling of being overzealous you had a day ago was rising back up again.

“Holy God, where did you find this?” You ask.

“I went to three different stores to find this book, and I had to gift-wrap it as soon as I got home. That's why I’m late, by the way. Sorry about that.”

“This is amazing. I forgot that I even talked about this with you.”

“You really shouldn't have gone through all this trouble,” You suggested,

Tommy waved his hand. “Like I told you, I wanted my girlfriend's family to like me, and I think I got bonus points for her younger brother.”

You were smiling from ear to ear as you wrapped your arms around Tommy’s neck in an embrace. He was tall, so it felt like hugging a tall stuffed animal. Tommy wrapped his arms around your back and patted your back. As your face sat in the crook of his neck, you felt Deja vu — like you’ve done this before — with Tommy.

You back up from Tommy’s hug, the leather of his jacket making a weird sound as you back up. You look at Tommy with a confused look as he gives you an awkward smile. “Thanks,” You manage to breathe out.

“No problem, it was no trouble at all,” Tommy dismissed.

“Sorry to interrupt, whatever that was. May you three sit down so we can enjoy this delicious food,” Your dad exclaims.

“Please? I’ve been hungry since,” Tommy smiles.

“Well, come on, then. Sit down, everyone,” Your mom waves at the trio standing up.

You, Sasha, and Tommy take your seats, where Tommy sits next to Sasha — near your father. A grin arose on your face as you could tell that Tommy was metaphorically shitting his pants.

━━━

Minutes ago, after dinner had ended, you were standing on your porch, arms crossed, watching Kevin and Eli admire Tommy’s car — a 2016 Dodge Challenger SRT Hellcat, and watching your father and Tommy talking about the car. You couldn’t help but think about Tommy halfway through dinner. That feeling felt so surreal, and yet you yearned for it again.

“Mom and Dad seem to like Tommy,” Sasha states.

You nearly jump out of your skin hearing your sister.

“Oh! You jump. “What?”

“I said, Mom and Dad seem to like Tommy. How do you feel about him?”

“Oh,” You breathe. “Tommy’s cool and funny. I see why you like him.”

Sasha nodded. “Are you guys leaving soon?”

“Yeah. Would you like to join us?” You question.

“God, no! I don't know how you do that karaoke shit.”

“It's fun — especially when in a group. Do you think Tommy would want to join?”

Sasha turned her head to look at you with disgust written on her face. You could feel her gaze on you, and you turned your head. Whenever you see this look on her face, it usually sends chills down your spine and back — the type of chills that you want to hide from your older sister.

“Do you have a crush on Tommy or something?” Sasha interrogated.

“What? No! I can’t,” You spat.

“Good. It would be best if you stayed away from Tommy. I can tell you make him uncomfortable.”

“How do I make him uncomfortable?” You question.

“With that little hug, you have him inside earlier. You didn't stop staring at him at the table.”

“Our dad often interrogated him. I was interested in the questions and how Tommy would answer,” You spoke.

“So that must mean you’re interested in him,” Sasha retorted

“What? No what is your—”

Sasha turned her whole to stare at her younger brother with such anger that made your stomach churn with how intense her stare marked your soul.

“Stay away from my boyfriend, and we won't have any issues,” Sasha growled and retreated inside the house.

Sasha always tended to assume that you liked her new boyfriends when, in reality, you wanted nothing to do with them. But Tommy could be a different story. You weren't sure how you felt about him. You knew the Southern was attractive, but he’s dating your high-maintenance sister, and you would try your best to stay away from him. No matter how much his “bad boy image” would distract you.

Glancing back at your two best friends, they’re conversing with Tommy while you notice your dad walking up the stairs to the porch. “Have fun, son. Stay safe,” Your dad nodded. You smiled and nodded as your dad’s hands make contact with your shoulder — comforting you.

Your dad walks into the house. You see Eli and Kevin walk to Eli’s car — the conversation with Tommy seems to have ended. You reflectively walk to the back of Eli’s car — hand on the handle, but you yearn for that feeling with Tommy again that you did the unthinkable despite your sister's protests earlier.

“Hey, Tommy!” You exclaimed. Jogging towards the Southern, Tommy turns around to face you. As you are in front of him, jogging to him makes you receive that same feeling you received hours ago — that deja vu crawling from your stomach to your throat. Now, you were sure you must have known Tommy before.

“What’s up, Songbird?” Tommy asks.

His voice sent a chill down your soft cock. You wished how it would sound from behind hearing his voice.

“It was nice getting to know you, and thank you for the book. I hope to see you more around,” You smiled.

Tommy's smile could light up a room; hell, he could bring the sun back up from its dusk state.

“I would like that,” Tommy nodded.

As Tommy started to walk away, you had another question arise from your throat. “Hey!” Tommy turned to look at you. “One more question, and then I’ll let you go home.”

Tommy chuckles. “You can bother me anytime.”

“Before you permanently drew on my skin, do you think we have met before?”

His pupils glanced up at the dusk scenic sky, drew his lips in a frown, and shook his hand. “Can’t seem to think of any time, any reason?”

“Nah, it's nothing important,” You waved. “See you, Tommy.”

“See ya’, Songbird.”

You smile as you walk away from Tommy. That nickname would keep making you feel specific ways you shouldn't be feeling.

The days Tommy had come over the house felt countless. You’ve seen him more times than Eli and Kevin. After work, you only want to lounge in your bed and forget about being an adult. But then you see Tommy’s car in the driveway, and you are scared to enter cause the idea of hearing your sister's moans makes your skin crawl, and you feel physically ill.

But the times when you heard them, you wanted to crawl into a hole and be buried alive. Tommy usually would have to sneak in the house, but you would rarely listen to what happens when the two were together, and you were grateful for that. However, sometimes, you couldn't sleep, and you hated the sounds your sister would make.

But the grunts, praising, and degrading that Tommy would spit out made you feel a certain way you would hate to tell anyone. Sometimes your cock would twitch hearing Tommy’s voice, having to bite your lips to stifle your moans.

This was one of the rare nights where you couldn't sleep, and you didn't feel like wasting time lying in your bed. You would hate to admit it, but the book Tommy gave you was your favorite thing to read. You were reading in the kitchen, sitting in the high chair — feet dangling near the floor, book in hand.

It was a quiet night. Mom, Dad, and Sasha were sleeping, but you knew Tommy was over the house. You heard his car coming up the driveway. However, you didn't hear anything from Sasha’s room — which you were grateful for. You couldn't tell if you blanked out the sounds or if nothing was happening.

Too involved in the book you were reading, you didn't hear Tommy behind you — your back towards the opening he walked through. You were too concentrated on the book even to notice Tommy. It was only until Tommy's tall stature towered over you — his head over your shoulder.

“Whatcha’ reading?” Tommy asks.

“Jesus!” You exclaim, clutching your chest.

Tommy retracts his head from colliding with yours.

“Sorry. I scared ya’. Can I open your fridge?”

You turn half of your body to look at Tommy in confusion. “It’s insane that you are one of the only people who’s asked me that?”

“Really?” Tommy interrogated.

You nodded. “It's the southern charm of Tommy Miller that all the ladies love,” Tommy smiled.

You chuckle. “Help yourself — also, don't let my sister hear you say that other girls love that southern charm — she can be a bit possessive/intense.”

“Is she?” Tommy asks, grabbing the milk carton.

You scoff. “I’ve lived with her my whole life. I understand her intensity.”

Tommy chuckles, shaking the carton. “Hey, another question —”

“You can drink the milk from the carton if it's empty.”

Tommy looks overzealous with joy as he opens the cardboard container and brings it to his lips.

Your eyes slowly traveled to his neck as you watched him gulp down the milk. Eyes slowly trail down his bare chest as your mouth goes dry. You swear Tommy is drinking the milk slower than a baby does; Tommy’s chest and abdomen were covered in abstract, colorful tattoos, and you saw them as you yearned to trail your fingertips all over his tattoos.

Your eyes glance at his V-line, and you would hate to admit how much it turns you on that Tommy’s so defined in his muscles. Eyes glanced down even lower to Tommy’s hardened cock —

You snapped your body forward toward your book to avoid any eye contact with hard, throbbing appendages.

You hear a satisfied sigh escape Tommy’s lips and a light thud as the carton made contact with the counter.

Tommy’s interest peaked as he saw you back in the same position he saw you in a minute ago—the heat from his broad chest inches away from your back. You could feel how close Tommy was without having to look back. His head was hovering over your shoulder once again silently reading, but you weren't paying attention to him. You were trying to drown him out.

“Cock?” Tommy asks.

You nearly jump out of your skin again, but you contain yourself, and you slam the hardcover book shut. Tommy backs up and turns your entire body to see him — crossing your arms.

“What are you reading, songbird?”

“Nothing!” You shrugged. “Just the book you gave me.”

“Are you sure it's nothing?” Tommy questions, mimicking your pose.

“Yeah, why would it be something?”

Tommy brings his hand up from him, crossing his arms, and points at you, but you can't tell what he’s pointing to, so you glance down at yourself and then you see it.

Your dick was hard in your underwear. You wanted to die right then and there. You couldn't believe your sister's boyfriend just saw your hard dick. You quickly leave your crossing-arms position and cover your hardened cock.

“Oh, shush! Yours is hard, too,” You spat.

You wished you kept that you had seen his hard dick. Tommy glances down and shakes his head to the side.

“Wouldcha’ look at that, your right. But I didn't get this from reading dirty words in a book.”

“It's called smut,” You clarify. You wanted to die. You didn't have to mention what it is to Tommy.

“Anywho, I got it because your sister —”

“Barfing now.”

“She left me hangin’. Now I gotta deal with this,” Tommy complained.

“It does look painful.” You muttered. “Shit, sorry, my mouth moves faster than my mind thinks.”

“It's all good.” Tommy waved. “What’s smut?”

The heat rose to your cheeks as you heard Tommy’s question. “You don't know what smut is?”

Tommy’s lips made a thin line as he shook his head.

You took a deep breath before answering his questions.

“It's two book characters essentially fucking, and you're just reading.”

“S’ you're a voyeur?” Tommy asks, taking a step closer to you.

You chuckle. “No! You're getting it from a character perspective, so you're living in their head — in a weird way.”

“Does that turn you on?”

“What do you mean?”

Tommy’s closer now; your knees were touching his naval, his cock throbbing under your upper calf — under your knees.

“I mean, that you could easily be the character in any book, getting fucked out of your brains, screamin’ someone’s name — markin’ your territory with those nails, clawin’ their back. Beggin’ for more of their cock deep inside you.” Tommy whispered.

Your throat goes dry as well as your breaths start to get slower. Your sister's boyfriend was inches — centimeters away from you, and it was driving you crazy. You wanted to feel his lips on yours; would they be soft, rough, dry, or damp? You wanted to know.

"I- I, uh, a little. I try to imagine that's actually me," You swallowed.

Tommy grabs your wrists and moves your hands away from covering your cock. You and Tommy both look at your throbbing member. A wet spot of pre cum leaked through the cotton material and watched your cock throb under Tommy's grip.

Tommy lets go of your wrists and slides his hands up your upper thighs and each side of your waistband. "May I?' Tommy asks. You reluctantly nod. Tommy hooks his fingers and slides your underwear slowly down. "Lift your hips for me, songbird." You listen to Tommy's soft command and lift your hips as he slides your underwear to your ankles.

Your cock aching to be touched, begging to cum; you watch it throb in anticipation as you wait for Tommy's next move. "Do you like it when I touch you like this? I can keep goin' if you want me to," Tommy growls. You nod as Tommy's hands slowly drift from your calves to your thighs. His forehead resting on yours, your noses intertwine with each other. "We don't have to play pretend, songbird. Do what you want ever since I permanently inked your pretty skin."

You slowly place your lips on top of Tommy's as you both enter a passionate and hungry kiss. You wrap your arms around Tommy's neck as he spreads your legs with his hands. You could feel his throbbing cock — through his boxers on yours. His veiny hands make their way to your inner thighs while you can feel Tommy's tongue lick your bottom lip for access into your mouth. You part your lips so Tommy can slip his tongue in your mouth, exploring any way he can get closer to you.

Your hand slips down Tommy's shoulder and chest — feeling his hard nipple and slipping your hand down under his underwear. Stroking his cock toward you you suddenly have this rush of adrenaline. You needed Tommy — more than you would like to admit.

You shoved Tommy away from you, his back colliding with the refrigerator, a look of shock spread across his face. You stand up, walking towards him, your cock still hard as a rock. "I'm now getting a vivid idea of me on my knees in front of you, and you fucking my face — I don't remember that in any I've read, but we could always make our own," You smirk.

Tommy returns your smirk with one of his own. "Whatever you want me to do, songbird."

You kneel on your knees as you watch Tommy slide his boxers down. His cock springs out and hits you in the nose; you chuckle in retaliation. You wrap your lips around the tip of Tommy's cock, and you slowly go towards the base of his cock. Tommy throws his head back as you start to suck his cock. He grabbed your face and started thrusting his hips towards you.

You could feel the tip of his cock punch you in the throat wih each thrust, this feeling was intoxicating and you loved every second.

"Damn, songbird. So fuckin' better than your sister," Tommy growled.

Your pupiles look up at Tommy bearing his teeth and his hands grip your hair and his thrusts become faster, more beastlike. Tommy was enjoying himself more than he should admit. His girlfriend's little brother taking his cock so well, Tommy's knowing he's older and his songbird being twenty-two, he loved the age gap between you two.

Hearing each slurp, gag, and noise come from you, Tommy could have his warm cum shoot down your throat right now. Retracting his cock from your mouth, Tommy grabs your chin and looks you in the eyes. Seeing your saliva drool from your mouth to your chin, your tears down your cheeks — it was a sight for Tommy he found amazing.

"Open your mouth," Tommy commanded.

You complied with his commands and you parted your lips away from each other. Tommy had positioned his face away from yours and spit in your mouth. Before you could think, Tommy's lips smashed onto yours — gripping your throat lightly. “Get up, songbird.”

You get up, and Tommy turns you around, — forcing you to lean on the table where the book’s spine is in your field of view. You could feel Tommy’s cock bounce off your ass. Your sister would murder you if you knew how badly you wanted her boyfriend’s cock inside you.

You could feel his cock press up against your ass, but you felt it back up from you. You hear Tommy spit again, and you don't think anything from it until you feel the tip of Tommy’s cock slowly slide in. You suck in a deep breath.

“S’ fuckin’ tight, baby,” Tommy growled.

You could feel Tommy’s cock stretch you out, slowly, painfully enjoying every inch inside you. Tommy’s hips had a mind of their own as his thrust started slow, but his thighs clapped against your ass.

Tommy’s slow thrusts became more and more intense, but you loved every second of it. With each clap, your moans kept escaping your lips, and Tommy’s cock slipped out of you as you moved forward.

“Ah! Easy,” You breathed.

“Shut up, songbird,” Tommy grunts, smacking your ass — you moan in retaliation. Tommy slides his cock in between your ass cheeks — teasing you. “You want this dick... right, songbird?”

“You want to feel your sister’s boyfriend to shove his cock deep inside you?”

“Yes, Fuck yes, Tommy,” You whine.

Tommy adjusts himself — sliding his cock inside you, but he doesn't go slow. His thrusts were fast, and you were trying to contain your moans from everyone hearing them. Tommy had gripped his hands on your waist tightly, and he was enjoying the sounds escaping your lips. You were clenching your teeth together tightly to keep your moans from escaping your lips, but your whimpers were another thing you tried to contain — but they slipped through your teeth like smoke.

“Baby, those sounds, make my cock twitch like crazy,” Tommy grunted.

“Fuck— shit, Tommy. You’re gonna break me,” You whined.

“That’s the plan, songbird. I want your family to hear how well I treat you. My cock —thrust— buried deep —thrust— inside your tight ass.” Tommy leans closer to you, his lips inches away from your ear.

“I would love to see the look on your sister's face when she sees me fuckin’ your brains out,” Tommy grunted.

The tone of his voice made your spine have knife-like chills crawling up and down all over your back.

With a firm hand-made contact with your bare ass, you moan as a reflex. Another smack came across your ass, another, and another, and another. You became a moaning bullhorn — bearing your teeth, you lay your forehead on your forearm as you feel each thrust rock the kitchen table.

Tommy wrapped his hand in the front of your throat and pulled you to the side of his head.

“Let’s have some real fun, songbird,” Tommy growled. “Get on the fuckin’ floor.”

Tommy slipped his cock out of you, and you went on your knees and then on your back, laid on the floor. The cold sensation of the floor made contact with your cotton-covered back. Tommy crawls on top of you, lifts your legs, and gazes down at your hole. “Look at that, baby. I bet you're still so fuckin’ tight.”

Tommy’s adjust’s his cock — holding your leg and sliding his cock inside you, you fight the urge to scream right there. “Damn, songbird. No music to my ears?”

“That’s soon, Tommy,” You whined.

Tommy’s lips coincide with yours to make a passionate kiss. Tommy’s thrust becomes so addicting and unique that you don't want him to stop — even if anyone saw the two of you making sweet heaven.

“I remember you,” Tommy confesses.

“What?”

“You asked me If we’ve met before — I lied. I knew you a long time ago,” Tommy groaned, placing his hands on both sides of your head

“Really?” You ask.

“Remember Clark?”

Even with Tommy’s dick pumping fast and hard inside, you forced yourself to think about your old friend who moved away when you were in first grade and he was in fifth grade. You two were close and did everything together after school was over. The both of you could take over the world someday, but like all great things, they end because Clark moved away with out telling you.

He stopped coming to the park after school, no phone calls or anything, just pure silence.

“Are you Clark?” You question.

“Yeah,” Tommy nodded.

“You lied about your name? Didn't you? Why?”

“Because my name sounded like — damn baby, your tight— like a baby. I hated my name. I didn't know any better,” Tommy states.

“But, I wouldn't have — Oh god, yes, Tommy — made fun of you,”

“I know that, oh songbird. I wanted to tell you right before I left, but it was too late; you have no idea how much I missed you.”

“When I saw you enter my tattoo shop, I wanted to hug you. When I saw you in this house, Everything connected.”

You snap your eyes shut and bear your teeth.

“I have my songbird in my arms again,” Tommy breathed.

You were on the brink of crying; all these emotions of sadness you were feeling were intensified by Tommy’s cock pumping inside you.

“Songbird?”

“Yeah,” You squeaked.

“I love you so much. I needed to say that — I’ve wanted to say that ever since your birthday,” Tommy breathed. Tears started to roll down the side of your face as a smile broke out on your face. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset up—”

“No, it's fine, I’m happy. Too happy, I start crying,” You smile.

“Really?” Tommy breathed.

“Do you love me too?”

“How about this? You keep fucking my brains out. I’ll let you know how I feel. I can feel your cock twitch inside me. I can feel you about to cum.”

“Baby, I’m so fuckin’ close. I’m gonna get you pregnant.”

Tommy’s thrusts become more animalistic, hot, and intense. It felt like a scene from one of your many books. You loved this, your old childhood friend making you feel this way and enjoying the moment with him. Another memory you both will share.

You wrap your hands around Tommy’s broad back, scratching your nails on his back, you feel the warmth of Tommy's body as you are about to cum. “Damn, Tommy. I’m about to cum.”

“Cum f’me baby,” it sounded like a command more than a statement. Your cock throbs, and you exclaim a moan as stings of cum hit your shirt.

“Fuck, baby. I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum in my childhood best friend!” Tommy exclaimed, bearing his teeth. As Tommy’s hips keep going back and forth into you, looking into your eyes, his cum shoots inside you; Tommy steadies himself inches away from your face. You could feel Tommy slip his cock out of you, your hole dripping with his cum.

“How was the ending of this chapter?” Tommy pants.

“Pretty good,” You smiled. Tommy smiles back at you and kisses your lips softly and gently; as he backs up, you look into his eyes. “I love you too.” Tommy’s smile brightened up the whole room. You loved your childhood best friend, and you couldn't ask for anyone better.

“Don’t expect me to call you Clark now,” You insisted.

“I don't; I expect you to call me daddy, now.”

You pushed his face away from yours as your cock twitched, and he landed next to you — leaning on his arm. You're an ass,” You laughed. Tommy’s smile made butterflies flutter in your stomach as he trailed his finger near your nipple.

“Would you be okay with goin’ somewhere with me? Where we could finish our book series.”

You snicker. “Where? ‘Cause I don't want anyone to hear me moan my sister’s boyfriend's name.” Tommy sits up and stands up, outstretching his arm. You take his gesture and lift yourself from the now-warm floor.

“Let’s get cleaned up, and I’ll tell you later.”

“Okay,” You chuckle. “Are we taking sepreate showers?”

Tommy scoffs. “Oh hell, no. But I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

You scoff. “Yeah, I find that hard to believe.”

[antiyourwokehomophobia2]

Man, this pisses me off so bad. If you're a woman who relates more to males than other women, it's because you've decided to focus more on how you're different from other women rather than how you're like them. You will literally never have more in common with males, and males do not feel the same way about you. These cute little posts that you write about how you love males more than your fellow women? They do not write the same thing about you. They hate and mock you constantly. Anyone remember "Cis women need to shut up"

"As a cis woman, I agree"

"You need to shut up, specifically"

?

Yea, that's how they feel about you and your solidarity.

The difference between lesbians and trans women in female spaces is the fact that lesbians do not have high rates of violence. There is no group of women that outclass men in terms of violent tendencies. Trans women retain the rates of male violence that regular men do. I'm not saying you have to treat trans women like they're all violent beasts, but if you can't see why female people would be uncomfortable with male people in their spaces, you're either naive or genuinely unsympathetic towards the very real fear that women have of being subjected to male violence. You can't say trans women and lesbians are similar because, unlike males, there is no statistical evidence that lesbians are highly likely to take advantage of a woman. If it turned out that 98% of rapes were committed by lesbians, I would 1000% understand why straight women don't fucking want to be around me. Have some fucking empathy, holy fucking shit. Even if you are completely on board with trans women being in female spaces, at LEAST acknowledge that it makes sense for women to be concerned about who is allowed in their spaces. It's crazy how I could tell someone I have a fear of dogs because one bit me when I was a kid, and they'd put their sweet pooch up, but God forbid a woman be cautious around a demographic who commit 90% of all violent crime. Oh no. That woman is suddenly a terf bitch.

I have nothing in common with trans women. I don't care how much pain they have experienced. We are not the same. When I was twelve, I cried and I cried as I put my palms together to pray to a God I hoped would be able to take away my homosexuality. I didn't even grow up in a particularly homophobic family. Both of my parents were accepting of me, but I still sat in the dark of my room, tears streaming down my face, as I prayed to have my sexuality changed.

Two years later, one of my friends made a joke about me dressing to impress my crush. She said my crushes name---a feminine name. A girl sitting in earshot heard her, turned to me, and asked me with disgust if I was gay. I said no without even thinking about it. It absolutely did not help that we were in a locker room with other girls. I was aware of my sexuality by that point, but I was 14 and unable to hold my own against a girl looking at me like THAT. For a few weeks after that, that girl made comments about how she was "watching me".

I know pain, I know discomfort, I know what it's like to feel predatory. Seeing feminine women, especially if they're white, makes me feel like an alien. I look at them and think "how are we so different? I see none of myself in you."

Sometimes I'm right. Sometimes we're not similar at all. But guess what? That doesn't mean I'm similar to a straight male. Fucking hell, sometimes I'm not similar to other lesbians. That's completely normal. I think OP needs to read better work by cishet women. If you think that there is not a single piece of cishet female writing that can move you more than something written by a male, you're not looking in the right places at all. I don't understand why some LB women seem to think that the very act of someone being a straight woman makes them incapable of relatability. Of course it makes sense for you to be cautious. Lesbians deal with a lot of alienation and predatory feelings, but if the very ACT of a woman being cis and straight makes you feel like she has absolutely nothing in common with you...? The issue lies with you. YOU are the one othering THEM. Not the other way around. You're the one who has decided that a few cis straight women othering you means that they ALL will so you'd better beat them to the punch. You're the one who has decided that your relationship to womanhood is so astronomically different from straight women that nothing they say speaks to you. That's INSANE. Do you realize how much you have to alienate yourself from womanhood to feel more relatability with a male person than a female one? Idk how to tell you this, but it is highly probable that the most cis, most het woman you have ever met has had a period. It's highly likely she's been harassed by a man. It's highly likely she's been made to feel inferior by way of being born female. No, they can't relate to the experience of being a lesbian who is made to feel predatory for no reason, but to say that nothing a cis het woman says/experiences can move you at all? Nothing they say can make you feel like your experience with womanhood and hers are similar? Do you realize how you sound? "Trans women have been harassed by men and made to feel inferior, too!!" Okay! So you should be able to relate to cis women in the way you do trans women, right?

I told my discord server that I was nervous about my future roommates. I showed them photos and someone said "all this tells me is that they're feminine and white" and I literally think about that all of the time. I was projecting. I was so scared that these white, feminine, probably straight women were going to judge me for being a black lesbian that I didn't even realize that I was the one violently judging them based off of nothing but their skin color and their femininity. I knew nothing about them. I STILL know nothing about them. I've barely spoken to them. But already I had labeled them as unrelatable judgemental women because of how they looked. Hold on. Wasn't I the one afraid of them judging ME? How could I be so afraid of them judging me for being a black lesbian when I was the one judging them already? What sense does that make?

You guys are so busy writing off cis straight women as unrelatable bigots that you've failed to see that you're the one who is extremely prejudiced against them. And I absolutely fucking know someone is gonna read this and say "well, you can't say that all trans women have male violence patterns and dahdahdahdah" and it's like. But YOU can say that cis straight women are so unbelievably different from lesbian women that you'd rather say you're more similar to a straight up fucking male???

I'm not saying it's not a little jarring to see women who are so different from me. I'm not saying I haven't been burned before and there's no reason for me (or other lesbians) to be cautious. But I will literally ALWAYS have more in common with cishet women than I ever will a man pretending to be a woman.

One time I had a professor. She was on the older side (I'd say 40's) and white. Not the type of person I'd think I'd click well with. She was straight and married with children. One day we talked after class, and the only thing that ended our conversation was the fact she had an event she had to go to. We would've talked longer if not for that. She emailed me a little while later to tell me that she enjoyed our chat. After that, she actually hugged me on two occasions. You wouldn't think we'd have common ground. An older, straight, married white mother and a young black lesbian. Both of us are "cis" but I can tell you I relate to her much better than I ever could someone born male.

I once had a personal trainer who was a feminine woman. She had acrylic nails and everything. One time she said that she couldn't hug her male friends anymore because she had a boyfriend (he wasn't the one enforcing that rule. That was something she personally felt). Also not someone I thought I'd click well with. But we did. One time we had a really productive discussion that was actually derived from the conversation with my professor. I felt very close to her in that moment. Our conversation came to a close because she had another client, but I still think about that convo.

There have been so many fucking times where I thought "this woman is not like me. Look at her." But what I realized was that I was the judgmental one. I was the one deciding we were different, not her. I was the one writing her off. I was the one convinced we had nothing in common.

I am BEGGING you not to alienate your fellow women. There are no inherent traits that make you unable to relate to other women. No amount of whiteness or cisness or straightness can make a woman completely unreachable. I am NOT talking about political parties or views so don't fucking try me with that shit. Obviously that puts a wedge between people, but someone simply being born cis and het does not make them alien from you. For God's sake, look at the fucking MeToo movement. Women from all fucking backgrounds who share an experience that an unfortunate amount of women go through. Women from all different races, sexualities, etc. who came together to talk about how they've been subjected to sexual violence. Ellen degeneres was one of them. How does that fit into your "lesbians and cishet women cannot relate to each other" spiel?

OP's post has 130k notes and it makes me fucking sick. Holy crap y'all, we need more solidarity than this. Other women are not your enemy. I'm begging you to reconsider your approach to women who are different than you. You are missing out on people who can love and support you in a way that literally no male can. You are depriving yourself. Just because a few cishet women in the past alienated you, does not mean that you have to continue their legacy. Let it go. Everyone on earth can see you embracing your hatred of women, and you wonder why your fellow women never hug you? They fucking can't! Put your hatred down and make space for the love that comes with realizing that you absolutely are like other girls!

[stillarandom-radfem]

This post is going to cause controversy here on radblr. I already know that, and I'm ready for it. But there is something that I've just got to get off my chest, here. It's been bugging me for a long time now, but for the longest time, I couldn't quite find the words to describe my feelings.

Here's the thing. It's not that female separatists are wrong, necessarily, with regard to their arguments about male violence. OSA women like myself are at a greater risk of interpersonal violence from men, intimate partner violence does make up the majority of domestic violence statistics, men are the most likely people to rape or murder us, and yes, living without men therefore probably would improve straight and bisexual women's lifespan/overall quality of life in most cases. BUT. The way many female separatists (who are most often lesbians) go about presenting their arguments is not only unnecessarily rude to women who have done nothing to deliberately harm them (and, when it includes such colorful monikers as "dick worshipper" and "cock rider" in it, reasonably comes off as an attack), but it includes many of the same tactics that homophobes use against LGB people to make their point. I'm sure that homophobes doing that stuff to you is hurtful, but I'm also at least 99% sure that heterosexual women who are radfems (or rad-adjacent, if you prefer) aren't the ones leveling those attacks, and don't therefore deserve to be responded to with such ferocity. Two wrongs do not, in this case, make a right. And it needs to stop.

For example, you ask?

Acting like heterosexual relationships must be purely sexual, with no actual love involved whatsoever.

I see LGB people complaining about homophobes doing this to them all the time. "You think our relationships inherently obscene or kinky because you can't picture us actually being in love; all you can think of is the sexual part! You think a sizable chunk of the population is incapable of love or human connection, and that is dehumanizing!" Yes, I have no doubt in my mind that it is. But then look at what you do when you try to call out heterosexual/bisexual women for being with men, and you are doing exactly the same thing to us. You talk about OSA relationships, and the first and, often, only thing you ever bring up is the sexual aspect of them. The word "love" almost never comes up. It's like it doesn't even occur to you that OSA women might actually fall in love with or have very deep romantic feelings for their male partners, not unlike you, as a lesbian, may have or have had towards any girlfriends you have ever dated, any women you have ever crushed on, or, if you're lucky, your wife. Now, do OSA women have sex with our boyfriends or husbands, if we have them? Of course we do! Have you ever had sex with your wife or girlfriend? Or, if you're single, would you, if you had one? Of course you would, and you know it! Does that negate your feelings for her, somehow? No? Your relationships are not purely sexual just because there is sex involved? Then why would you assume that sex being involved would make heterosexual relationships suddenly be only sexual? Also, news flash: vibrators exist. So do dildos. Or women (including het women) could just use their fingers or a pillow. There are many ways for a woman of any orientation to get off without a man if getting off is all that she's after. If she is choosing to be in an actual serious relationship with a man, it's most likely because she's in love with him. You are trying to convince her that there is something more important for her to consider, in spite of her feelings. So, perhaps instead of insinuating that she is some kind of sex-obsessed slut who is screwing over her entire sex deliberately for the sake of a few orgasms, you can start start there, instead.

Acting like other people's sexual orientations can be changed (not yours, of course, just, you know, everyone else's).

I see homophobes acting this way towards LGB people all the time, claiming that the sex(es) you are attracted to is a choice somehow, shaming you for preferring the "wrong" one (or the "wrong" one at the moment, if you're bi). Which, personally, has always struck me as kinda weird, because they never seem to apply the same logic to themselves. They never stop to suggest whether their own orientation is a choice or not. I guess it's pretty obvious why they won't, because then it comes down to two possibilities: if they are with strictly the opposite sex by choice, then it's very probable that they are actually bisexual, and behave as they do towards gay people due to internalized homophobia, whereas, if their strict opposite sex attraction is not a choice, then they have just admitted that their own orientation is innate, so why would they assume everyone else's not to be? It makes no sense. And incels will take it a step further, yelling slurs at lesbians for only wanting to have sex with other women instead of them. It's all pretty fucked up and illogical, and just for the record, I think you all deserve much better. Of course your sexuality isn't a choice. And yet... I mean, I can't even begin to count how many lesbian separatist blog posts I have read full of women acting as if heterosexuality is a choice. "Ew, moids are ugly, dicks are gross, what's wrong with you, why would you choose that?!" Newsflash, gyns: we didn't. That's just our sexual orientation, and we didn't choose it any more than you chose yours. We may still choose to be celibate in spite of our orientation, or, if we're bi, we might still decide to only date other women. But we will still always have the capacity to be physically attracted to/fall in love with men, and for those of us who are straight, we can only experience that with men exclusively. That's just the way it is. We can't control that; it's innate. Some of you, upon grappling with this fact, immediately jump straight to the incel way of doing things and begin slinging the aforementioned colorful monikers (ahem, sexualized anti-woman slurs aforementioned in this blog post) for only being attracted to men instead of you. It actually smacks of sexual harassment, and then you wonder why so many straight women stop following/won't follow you. Or, leap right into calling us lesbophobes because we don't want to take sexual harassment like that from anybody, man or woman alike. Call me crazy, but the last time I checked, a "lesbophobic woman" was a woman who hates lesbians for only being attracted to other woman, not a woman who simply refuses to date/sleep with you. What, you have a right to bodily autonomy, but straight/bisexual women don't?! And yeah, I know, I know. "Stop comparing us to incels! Lesbians aren't predatory!" Well, true, most of you are not. The vast, overwhelming majority of you are completely fine and normal. But I always give the side eye to any notion of an entire group of people (any people) being all perfect, pristine angels carte blanche (a scant few people in every large enough group are going to be creeps), and if a scant few of you don't want to be compared to incels... Well, then maybe you should stop behaving like them. Because, when you explicitly resort to their same tactics, even I get the ick off of a few of you, and I'm probably the least homophobic straight person I know. 🤨🤨🤨

They call you "c*rpet m*ncher", "qu**r", "f*g", "d*ke", etc., over your orientation. You then call women (who probably didn't even call you that!) "dick worshipper", "cock rider", etc., over ours.

Enough said. Do I even need to point out (again) that these are almost all just a bunch of sexualized, anti-woman slurs? Do you really think that this is going to bring women over to your side, as opposed to just driving them away? And do you actually think that your female separatist movement is going to have any kind of major societal effect if you would rather drive women away from it, rather than bringing them in? It won't have any impact that way; it will only die out. And, look, I don't think that homophobes should be treating you like that, either. They most definitely should not. I have no doubt that them slinging those slurs at you constantly over your sexual orientation (which you can't control) is extremely hurtful and probably even scary for you. You deserve so much better than that. But, again, last time I checked "lesbophobe" means someone who hates you for only being attracted to other women, not a woman who refuses to date/sleep with you, and, from what I can tell, radfems appear to be, by and large, very pro-gay. Even when we, ourselves, are not. So, it seems very unlikely to me that we're the ones calling you names like that (unless you can show me receipts or something, in which case, go ahead). Until that happens, it occurs to me that people of all sexual orientations are pointing fingers, accusing each other of being sex-obsessed perverts, and calling each other names because, idk, maybe the drama is more interesting to some people than minding their own business? Or they literally can't wrap their minds around being attracted to that sex, so they attack anyone who is? Idk, it all seems very juvenile, and I should think there would be better ways to tell someone that some aspect of their lifestyle is unhelpful to the movement and/or mentally unhealthy to them than merely resorting to often sexualized mudslinging attacks. Honestly, no matter what your views on female separatism or sexual orientation are, can we all just agree to a ceasefire on the relentless mudslinging on all sides?? Please??? This is middle school shit, and it's really getting annoying. Everyone. On both sides. You're like a pack of schoolyard bullies. Stop it.

Again, I'm not saying that female separatists' arguments against dating/sleeping with/marrying and/or having kids with men are entirely wrong. Male violence is a problem for a lot of women, and refusing to be in relationships with them probably would reduce it greatly. But acknowledging heterosexual and bisexual women as being capable of romantic love towards whichever sex(es) we are capable of experiencing attraction to, acknowledging all sexual orientations as something innate that can not be changed and not a choice, and refusing to resort to juvenile mudslinging attacks will not take away from those facts in any way. So, I guess I just don't see what the reasoning is for so many female separatists to refuse to even consider them?

[saminsecret]

How the slashers would react to a male s/o

just a little something to jumpstart this page ❤️

tw for some mentions of homophobia/outdated views

Michael Myers ('78):

He wouldn't care. He's got a lot more on his plate than worrying about whether his partner has a dick or a vagina. The fact that he hasn't killed you yet should be enough for you.

He wouldn't understand your insecurities. Why does it matter so much to you? He thinks you focus on the wrong things, but he won't say that to you. Not because he cares if he hurts your feelings, he just doesn't want to deal with your emotional turmoil at the moment. Although, if someone were to criticize your relationship, he might get irritated enough to kill them. Depends on your reaction and his current mood at the moment. Michael isn't the best at emotional support, sorry.

He'd defend you after a while. Lets not beat around the bush, its the 70s/80s, your gonna experience a lot of homophobia if your openly gay/bi. Michael knows what it's like being tormented by others, he was in a mental institution his entire life. If you end up getting discriminated against, verbally or physically, he'd kill the bully, plain and simple. He doesn't see this as an act of affection though; just something he needed to do. Still, your heart swoons a bit when he protects you. Enjoy it Y/N!

Daniel Robitaille

He'd be...confused. Daniel grew up in the late 1800s, and while being gay wasn't unheard of, it was definitely seen as a sin. He never thought he himself could ever be in love with another man.

He'd need time. He wouldn't know what to do with himself as this was entirely new territory for him. Homophobia was most definitely a value he grew up around, although he himself might not be homophobic. He was the son of a slave, a black man in the 1800s, an artist only loved for what he could make. He understands discrimination more than anyone else, so he defiantly wouldn't use your identity against you. Still, its a change so he'd be cautious to start anything with you.

He loves you no matter what. Ultimately, it only takes him a little while to come to terms with the fact that he doesn't care what you are, he loves you all the same. "We are one of the same, Y/N. Without you, I am nothing. Our pain will be told for generations. Be my victim, Y/N."

Jason Vorhees

Is this okay, mother? Pamela was a christian woman, so its pretty likely she had some outdated views on gay people. Not necessarily homophobic in nature, but she said some questionable things out of ignorance. Jason was raised with her values, so he'd have the same outdated views. He'd have to unlearn a few things for this relationship to really work. That being said...

Jason understands you. This is what really brings you two into an eventual relationship. He was born disfigured, and the world never let him forget it. And you? Well, it was the 80s, so... both of you were treated harshly for things you have no control over. Pamela would be more sympathetic towards you as well, and would eventually approve of this relationship, as you've proven you can give Jason everything he deserves. "Oh Jason, I knew Y/N was a good boy, just like you!'

He'd adore you all the same. Oh, to have someone (other than Pamela) who loves him! He would ultimately not care about your gender, and would make sure to let you know it. He loves you Y/N, don't ever doubt it!

Brahms Heelshire

Realistically... You wouldn't have been considered for the babysitting job as Brahm's parents probably only considered female candidates. That being said, you'd be hired after a slew of failed female nannies; Brahms wanted to try something new!

He'd love watching you. Oh Y/N, you may be a boy, but you're the prettiest boy he's ever seen! Seriously though, he loves to watch you taking care of doll, cooking food, moving around the estate, existing...you're just so different, Y/N! And he'd feel more connected to you because you understand certain problems...especially morning problems if you catch my drift.

He'd fall into stereotypes. Listen listen, Brahms was raised with old values, like 18th century old values, so even though you're both guys, he still expects you to fall into the "woman" role (cooking, cleaning, taking care of him, ect..). Brahms is a man, Y/N! Treat him like a king! Wait, what do you mean you're a man too? I-Its different, okay?! (You're gonna have to sit him down and talk out all those old value views if you want to be able to tolerate him).

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for laughing at my conservative uncle?

This is an incident that made half of my family go no/low contact with each other, and some still think I was an asshole for it (I think I wasn't), but I wanna get tumblr's perspective. I was 24(F) when this happened, my uncle was 58.

Thanksgiving 2021 my family wanted a big weekend long get together after not being able to do Thanksgiving in 2020 due to lockdowns. Family members took time off work and drove in from out of state so we could all hang out from Thursday to Sunday.

We all have that one uncle who spends every family event saying the most out there racist/sexist/homophobic/transphobic/whatever shit, and mine I feel is worse than most. He has some truly shitty takes like "It should be legal to hunt the homeless for sport", and "If a woman doesn't wanna get raped she should get married at like 16 and never go anywhere without her husband," and "If I ever saw a man pretending to be a woman I would kill him with my bare hands, and most of this nation would agree with me". Truly a piece of shit. Meanwhile my family knows I am extremely progressive, so they do their best to keep me and my uncle separate during family events or else it could (and has in the past) lead to shouting matches.

But here's the thing: I would happily avoid him and not talk to him during get togethers, but he loves arguing. He seeks me out. He'll follow me to the bathroom and bring up transphobic things happening in the news. He'll get up from the dinner table to walk over to me and shove an news article about Trump in my face. If he sees me enter the room he'll start talking LOUDLY about his political opinions. He WANTS to argue with me, and the family considers it my duty to ignore him and calls me an asshole when I engage, because that's just giving him what he wants. But he somehow never gets called out for hounding me, because "that's just how he is".

So it's Thanksgiving 2021. And maybe it's because of the therapy, or maybe it's just because I'm getting tired of avoiding him, or maybe it's the lockdowns that eroded my social graces, but I see him spot me from across the room and get that "ohhh I'm gonna make her sooooo mad" little glint in his eye and start to make his way over, and I don't find it infuriating anymore. I find it deeply funny that this divorced, no job, no bitches, deadbeat dad, that everyone secretly hates, has decided the only way he can get a drop of serotonin in his sad miserable life that HE ruined all by himself, is to turn to reactionary politics in a desperate attempt to get a rise out of his niece.

He starts in on the regular vile transphobic shit (I don't need to repeat it we've heard it all before, imagine the worst anti-trans rhetoric you've ever heard and yup. That's what he was saying) and I don't try to counter his points like I usually do. I just laugh. He keeps going, looking more and more puzzled, and I keep laughing.

He thinks I didn't hear him right. No no, I heard it all, and it was funny. He decides I must be too triggered to speak. No I promise, I'm having the time of my life. He guesses I'm not as smart as I think I am then, if I can't come up with a good counterpoint. Oh I'm plenty smart, and you're plenty hilarious.

Long story short he gets madder and madder that I won't engage until he's red faced and yelling. Family members are trying to calm him down and telling me to stop. I don't. I'm not mad that they're again blaming me for the interaction when I was just standing there and HE came up to ME, it's just really funny at that point. Really funny that the entire family walks on eggshells to protect his precious feelings when they could just laugh in his face like I am. My uncle punches a hole in my grandmother's wall and storms off cussing. The mood of the entire Thanksgiving weekend is ruined, and even my most left leaning family members think I'm an asshole because I KNOW how he is and I should have just walked away.

Should I have just walked away to save everyone's Thanksgiving weekend?

What are these acronyms?

[strangelittlestories]

[cw: briefly appearance of a homophobic characer who uses a slur]

He looked like sunlight.

I'd never seen hair that colour before, that bright mix of platinum and and sunflower. I'd had a few beers by that point, and when I saw him across the dance floor I thought he was on fire.

The bar wasn't anything special. It was grimy, like I liked it, the dance floor had less room to move than some prison cells I'd been in (and considerably more sticky). I figured I'd have a drink, have a dance, have a fight, then have *another* drink from one of these drab buggers.

But there he was, lighting up the night. And I swear I'd never known the meaning of the word effulgent until I saw him.

“Mate, your hair, it’s…” I was slurring,

“It’s great, isn’t it? It’s called Platinum Blonde. Like the movie?”

“The Jean Harlow film?” I’d actually seen that flick back in the ‘30s. It made me have hitherto unexplored feelings about blondes. “She was biteable…”

“I know, right?” He nods at me and smiles and I want him doing that forever.

“Bloody right.”

“You’ve got a cute accent…”

When we left the bar, we didn’t just go to some convenient alley where I would drain him dry and move on. No, tonight was special. And maybe it was the cheap whiskey or maybe pollution or maybe it was him, but the night air shimmered as we passed. The streetlamps flickered wherever we walked, as they knew they could never be as bright as *him*.

We ended up at a late night drug store. He guided me through the brightly coloured packages like he was an alchemist and I was his precious student. I’d never had much time for that mystical shite like some of my type, but this was the kind of neon magic I could get behind.

“This one.” He said, fingers caressing a cardboard package on which a woman with a dazzling smile modelled even more dazzling locks.

“What the bloody hell is Clairol? Is that this bird’s name?”

“Nah, it’s the name of the brand, man. Bringing platinum to the masses.” He had one hand in my hair, tousling the mousy strands and I was incredibly aware of his pulse roaring through his veins. “Spinning straw into gold…”

He was still playing with my hair when we got to the checkout. The clerk gave us a look like he wanted to say something. I was feeling peckish by then, so I just licked my lips at him and pressed myself a bit closer against the living star next to me.

“Fucking fags.” I didn’t really give a bugger, but I saw my star’s face fall. Not much, just enough to make him burn a little less brightly.

Then my hand was around the clerk’s throat and he was choking.

The star didn’t say anything, he just put one firm hand on my arm. Gently. I don’t know why, but I lessened my grip.

“Apologise.” I said it slowly and carefully, drawing out every syllable, letting myself feel the word taut in the air.

He mumbled something that was close enough to sorry to make no odds.

We went back to his place.

I’d never had someone wash my hair before. It was a bit like what being bitten felt like. It felt vulnerable. Transformative.

And after we’d washed the chemicals out, I stood there and I looked in the mirror and … of course, there was no-one looking back at me. But the way *he* looked at me, I bloody well felt like a new man.

His hands were in my hair again. I smiled at him. We fell onto the bed with our hands tangled in each other.

I waited until the sun came up before I did it.

But as the first rays began to creep round the curtains and sting my eyes, I bit hard and drank deep.

And he tasted like sunlight.

[madaboutmunson]

Are You Experienced?

Rating: Mature Words: 26K Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Warnings & Tags:

AO3 Link Team 117 for @steddiebang 2023 Author: @madaboutmunson Artist: @danadaria Beta: @house-of-chant Cheerleader : @atmilliways (unofficial but I am super grateful for your help so didn't want to miss you out!) Summary:

Everyone knows Steve Harrington, a local rich kid jock, the previous king of Hawkins High School. He's got it all, money, a respectable family, and chicks love him. He's even spending the summer learning what it's like to be a real working man before taking on a role in his Dad's firm because its builds character and empathy. Or is he something else entirely?

Is Steve a down-on-his-luck guy, stuck in a job he dislikes because his dad is teaching him a lesson, repeatedly striking out with the ladies, that his co-worker is fond of reminding him about?

Under all the many layers and masks, he uses to survive the day-to-day, Steve has secrets. The main one is how passionately he loves music. How it moves him in ways nothing else does, and he's sure no one else could possibly feel the same, until his Mom gives him $50 to spend at the new record store. Notes: I sincerely hope you enjoy this story and the artwork for this fic. I really loved writing it, and I really loved the Steddie community I became part of because of this event. It has changed me forever. You're all so awesome. Huge thanks to my artist who not only claimed my fic but also really understood our Steve's perspective in this. I can't believe how lucky I am to have @danadaria as part of my team! Also huge thanks to @house-of-chant for beta-ing my fic you rule! Thank you so much And also big shout out to @atmilliways who when I was getting nervous about my fic (it had been so long since I edited it (I completed my before claims lol)) gave it another read for me and restored my confidence in it! Thank you **********************************************************************

********************************************************************** It's the beat that got him first, or so his mom is fond of reminding him as she teased him a little over the foam on her cappuccino. A fond nostalgic expression washes over her usual business-like aura that mostly filled these private but public meet-ups.

Away from his Dad, essentially. Away from his judgemental outlook, away from his snide comments and homophobic jabs. Here, his mother was more his mom; they'd been doing this since Steve had been forced to find a job, and honestly, it's been the best thing to come out of this shitty situation so far. 

When he was a kid, they used to spend her days off together without him until he fucked that up for Steve too. The cheating. His wandering eyes, hands and dick meant his mom would leave and take him for everything he had, including Steve, but somehow he slimed his way back, citing addictions. He could change if his wife stood by him through his "sickness". The irony of reminding his mom of her wedding vows to make her stay after she'd found out about only the first of a long list of women he'd been banging was not lost on Steve. So now she had to follow his Dad everywhere, like his goddamn nanny. It was beneath her, she didn't have to do this, but she did. She'd be damned if she looked like she didn't try. 

Steve often wonders if that is because even though he hurt her irreparably, repeatedly, that some small tiny part of her still loved that pathetic excuse for a husband. They both would be happier if they'd just left him, though they never say it out loud, only in silent shared glances over dinner or when he pisses one of them off, and they just have to take it. Because now he's built himself a better legal team, and she knows they're stuck. But Saturday was golf day, and that was no place for a wife, apparently. Steve loathed him.

His Mom always offers to buy him lunch. Steve always declines. Says he's already eaten. He hasn't. He just wants to prove he can do this. He can work. He can survive. Then maybe his Dad would lighten up, stop busting his balls about college, give him a shitty job at his place, and then Steve would be set for life. Come to heel, fitting the mold, nine to five grind and staying on the right side of his trust fund and future inheritance.

Despite his eagerness for an easy life, Steve is the kind of guy that loves a challenge. He loves to prove people wrong about him, but carefully, quietly, because if he fails as he has numerous times, at least the only person who knows he was trying so hard is himself. But he'd be lying out of his ass, if he didn't admit at least to himself that it would be much nicer to live the privileged, pampered life rather than getting his confidence shattered multiple times a day, dressed as a fucking sailor pin-up.

"You were so funny, Stevie. Crawling the wrong way. Not being able to work out how to turn yourself around. Constantly bumping into things. Until, of course, you found your muse," She chuckles, and it warms Steve's heart because this is also something that only happens at these meetings. She genuinely laughs, and her smile reaches her eyes, making them twinkle like a starry, starry night. Not like the laugh at home, not the carefully curated laugh, the one that's calculated to not be too loud or too long, lest it irritates his Dad somehow. Steve had one, too for him. "Such a little dancer," his mom adds, nostalgia swimming in her eyes of happier times.

That was true. His Mom, Dad and Nanny all said the same about him. His Mom and Nanny with joy, his Dad with disgust. It was also true that Steve had lost his footing literally and figuratively many times over his life so far, and some of those times, the only person able to pick him up and dust him off was himself. But he had a secret weapon. He had music.

Lots of people like music. Some love it.Steve believed there was part of him that was almost a direct connection to it. Like he had music in him. Like the right song at the right time could plug into him and change him forever. Like part of him was controlled by it. He wasn't just moved by it physically, but emotionally too. He could put on his headphones alone at night, press play, and be transported elsewhere. Places, feelings, past, present, future and in the skin of someone else. Until he is swept up in it like an inescapable hurricane. Until Steve Harrington didn't exist for those few minutes.

"Glad to know I amused you at one point," he jokes and gives her a charming smile. It's almost natural, but she takes it. Looks around quickly before stretching across the table and squeezing his hand, and he feels the familiar paper push inside as she takes her hand away back to her coffee cup.

"Have you been to the record store here yet?" She takes a sip of her drink and glances up at it, "Looks a lot more modern than the one in town."

Steve pulls his hands into his lap and unfurls his fingers to reveal a fifty-dollar bill. He rolls his eyes, "Come on, Mom. I don't need this," he whispers, "I'm fine. I'm still at home. I'm making my own money. It feels kinda good, you know?"

Her happy expression falls, "You look tired, my little star." Her eyes meet his over the rim of her coffee cup. He knows how tired he looks, he sees it in the mirror every morning, and it's not from work. He is struggling post-high school. Things aren't as easy anymore. "Why don't you try the new place out? It's not far from work, right?" He glances over at Sam Goody's from where they are seated and is tempted, but there are reasons he's been avoiding it. "You know you are never happier than when you get to add to your collection. Tell him you got a big tip or something if he bothers to ask you. Once I'm home, I'll put my rollers in before he gets back, and he'll think I had my hair done. So don't worry." Steve half smiles and guiltily casts his eyes to the table between them. This will be their last lunch for a while.

"Thanks. If everything goes ok, I'll check it out after my shift." And he will. Steve tries to stick to his word as best he can, at least endeavours to be better than his Dad at it anyway, which, honestly, takes little effort. He pushes the money into his jacket pocket as she gets up, and they part ways with a small fond wave.  A hug would be too much out in the open, as if being dressed as a sailor wasn't eye-catching enough.

Steve returns to Scoops Ahoy Ice Cream Parlor and tags in so the girl he always seems to be on shift with can take her break. Her name's Robin. She's a little younger than him: Nancy's age. She's bossy, annoying, a complete nerd; she talks too much, she's in band, she takes drama; and she thinks she's some kind of revolutionary because she found a feminist zine one time. He gets the same feeling around her as when he's with the little group of dickheads that he always ends up babysitting. Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Will, Max, El. He'd never let on, but it's kinda nice. They can rib one another all day, laugh, and mutually complain about work. It's like a weird comradery. 

But what Steve really likes about her isn't the things she gives away with her words. It's what he spots in her Walkman or what she hums when she's working in the back. Sure, Robin will tell you her favourites, Madonna, Bowie, Culture Club, and Cindy Lauper, but that, as with most people, is just the tip of the iceberg. She also likes Patti Smith, The Runaways and Marvin Gaye. Steve managed to sneak a peek at the names through the window of her Walkman. Sometimes, annoyingly, it will be an unlabelled mixtape, preventing Steve from unravelling the mystery of Robin further. 

Steve's Robin assessment: 

Non-traditional values

Likes people who go against the grain 

Hopeless Romantic

"You're back early. You've got another fifteen minutes?" She frowns at him and wrinkles her nose, making her freckles misshapen.

"Oh yeah," Steve plays dumb, follows up with a shrug, and heads into the back to hang up his jacket, wash his hands and pick up his scooper. When he re-emerges, she's still leaning on the counter, frowning at him like he was the weirdest thing she'd ever seen. He gives her a charming smile back, "You can go early if you want?" Her frown turns into disgust as she pushes past him into the back.

"What is with you?!" She mutters as she passes.

"Ah, what is with me, Robin, is that I love the thrill of consumerism! Gonna beat my personal best today. You'll see!" He calls after her with a smile.

"I know you only need one phone number to do that, Steve, but I still think that's one too many out of your reach." She says in a sing-song tone with a laugh, and Steve rolls his eyes in annoyance.

"I'm talking about ice cream sales, birdbrain." He sasses back.

"Ohh, sticking to what we're good at, finally. I'm proud of you, Steve." She says, teasing him, as she walks back out, headphones on, giving him a salute goodbye.

There is a small influx of customers over the next hour, but nothing Steve can't handle, and by the time Robin returns, there isn't much to do except start shutting down.

"Well?" Robin inquires with a smirk.

"Almost," Steve replies with a smile, "but also…" he pulls a slip of paper from his hat with a number on. Robin grabs at it, and Steve pulls it out of her reach. "Ah-ah! Change the tally. I have a number." Steve points at the little whiteboard.

"Ok, fine!" She says with an adorable huff, picking up the marker pen, but as soon as Steve has relaxed, she snatches the slip of paper and reads over it, clasping her hand over her mouth, with a laugh, "Oh, Steve. Were they wearing a uniform or - or maybe carrying a net?"

"A what? No!" He says, frowning in annoyance, "This cute blonde chick with a perm. Linzie! That's it!" Steve says, clicking his fingers and pointing at the whiteboard impatiently.

Robin walks over to the board and puts a mark under the You Suck column. 

"Hey!" Steve protests.

"This is the number for animal control," Robin says smugly, holding the paper between her fingers and handing it back to Steve, who snatches it and races for the phone, punching in the number whilst keeping a locked defiant stare with Robin.

The phone rings a few times. It feels like forever.

"Hawkins Animal Control. No bug too small, no bear too big." Steve rolls his eyes and slams down the handset, tossing the paper in the trash and leans glumly on the counter. He really does feel like he sucks right now.

"Come on, champ. Your frosty mistress still loves you! In scoopfuls," she says, laughing as she pats him on the shoulder and thrusts an ice cream tub at him. As he looks up from his self-pity, quicksand. Her eyes are bright, sparkling with harmless mischief. Even though her teasing could be a little cutting, there was no malice. He can tell by the way she warmly smiles at him. A wordless check-in to see if she'd gone too far.

"For now. Until some grizzly pirate steals her away, no doubt." Steve rolls his eyes as he starts piling up more tubs to take out back to wash.

"Or you." She says with a laugh. Steve shakes his head and contorts his face like she just told him the moon was made of sponge cake and returns out front to collect a few more.

"No chance, not with these reflexes!" He says, spinning his scooper in his hand. She rolls her eyes, but her smile widens as she launches a sauce bottle at him that he effortlessly catches before impact, pumps his eyebrows at her and repeats, "Not with these reflexes." The forced sneer of disgust appears on her face again, making him hide a laugh behind a tower of tubs he's picked up.

He really liked Robin. She was easy to be around.

Closing time comes around, and they nod their goodbyes, at the storefront, after locking up. Like clockwork, her headphones are back on as she walks towards the bike racks. He already knows she's listening to Raspberry Beret.

Steve shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and feels the crinkle of the fifty from his mom against his fingertips, and his eyes move to the record store. They were probably gonna be open for an hour or so longer. He turns to the store's glass front, has a final check over his appearance and ensures his uniform is buried deep in the depths of his backpack before taking a deep breath and walking over there.

It's not like he hated this place or anything. It just felt like a betrayal to the town store that was slowly but surely crumbling into non-existence. The other factor was that all the people who worked here were school kids, apart from the manager. Cheap labour, he guesses, but it means he can never fully relax here. Can never fully let the music ring through his ears so it can guide him to his next pocket-sized plastic box of hidden treasure. Most of them were younger than him, though, so intimidating them was easy enough, though with the weather warming up, they were slowly catching on to how far King Steve had fallen, working just across the way. He tells them it's character-building, an experiment. He only told Robin that it was, in fact, a punishment.

He stands outside for a moment. This place is so bright and garish. Neon lights ran all over it like some fake plastic poison spreading between what he loved most. He can already hear something blaring out of there and voices chattering loudly, contending with it. He puts on his headphones, carefully placing the band so it doesn't crease up his hair, and pushes play on his Walkman. His ears fill with Nina Simone, and he takes a much easier deep breath as he walks inside.

I wish I knew how it would feel to be free.

As the voice smoothly fills his ears like it had just broken through the dam of the day and swirls its way around his brain into what feels like every crease, he finally feels that special feeling. The tingle from under his cheekbone to his temples, and he can finally settle into himself a little more. Swaps tension for ease as his fingers dance over the music sections, flipping cassette cases or the large vinyl album artwork as he moves around the store.

That is until he starts to hear the repetition of something unfortunate, and it pulls him out of his oasis of calm back into his old, reliable, tensed body and mask. His name.

"Harrington!" The voice rings out, and as if to make a show of how annoying this all is, he slowly takes off his headphones and forcibly pushes stop on his walkman.

"Yes?" He says through almost gritted teeth as he turns to the origin of the sound and finds himself met with a set of hopeful brown eyes, a mass of waves and curls, and an awkward smile. Eddie "The Freak" Munson.

Steve's Eddie assessment: 

Loud

Grating

Obnoxious

Non-conformist to the mainstream

Conformist to the Heavy Metal scene

"Good to see ya, man. How're things?" Eddie forces his smile wider, but it is strained.

Steve rolls his eyes with a sigh, "Let's get this over with, Munson. How can I help you?" His hands land on his hips, pushing back his jacket a little to emphasise the inconvenience, but Eddie seems unperturbed, curiously; his smile grows toothy and genuine.

"Well, that's quite an offer, but I was actually thinking about the other way around." Steve's eyes follow Eddie's ringed hand that comes into view and taps the name tag on his chest, "How can I help you, Harrington?" He drops his head to the side a little.

Steve forces out an unimpressed laugh of condescension, "I don't need any help. I'm good!" Eddie's customer service persona falters a little to worry.

"Come on, man.  All these other twerps here are terrified of me or the younger ones, who aren't, get led away by their folks." As he gestures around the store, sets of eyes that Steve didn't realise were on them dart away. Eddie's eyebrows push together, "You know I wouldn't ask if I wasn’t desperate, dude. We're in the same boat here, you know? Please?" 

Weirdly the endearing look on his face wins him over, but Steve will not advertise himself as an easy sell. He pushes back once more for good measure. "We are not in the same boat, not by a long shot!"

Eddie steps in closer, keeping his voice down, and mumbles out, "I know you're working over at Scoops, one of my band told me."

"Yeah, well, that's just an experiment. If I'm gonna manage people and run a company, I need to know what the average worker feels like. So like I said, it's very different," he scoffs with a laugh.

Then something unexpected happens. Eddie shifts his body and his stance. Straightens his wiry frame to his full height, no longer slouching for the promise of Steve's pity, but eye to eye for a second before he's slightly above him, maybe an inch or so. He squints a little, carefully searches each of Steve's eyes, looks him over, and puffs out his chest. All too familiar with this display of sizing up an opponent, Steve mirrors him. Show no sign of weakness. 

"You know, Harrington. One of my first little tasks here was to take out the trash. I crushed up boxes and collected empty soda cans that my colleagues and customers enjoy leaving around the place, though the signs explicitly say not to. I even shredded the unsuccessful applications for the position I just filled." Eddie's lips are tighter. It's almost a threat. He's obviously seen Steve's resume in the pile. Probably laughed at it too. An ember of anger glows within Steve, but his outside remains cool. He'll wait and see what Eddie wants to do with his leverage. His stare bores intimidatingly down into Steve's eyes, "So, as far as I'm concerned, and anyone that brings it up to me is concerned, we can stay in very different boats, Steeeeve." He lengthens and forces his name through clenched teeth. "That is, as long as you help me out here."

They hold the shared stare for a few seconds. The surprise revelation must have made it to Steve's face because Eddie looks like he knows he's won. He shifts back into sales assistant mode, like shrugging a jacket back on, and his hands animate his words once more. "So, I can help you out in the store. I could even make sure that all my friends with the munchies know where to get the best ice cream in town if you need some help over there too? Some of them are a lot cuter than you'd expect. Whaddya say, buddy? Consider it a symbiotic relationship." His grin, reptilian.

Steve breathes like he knows he's going to regret this. Eddie Munson invading his precious music. "What do you feel you can help me with today?" His exasperation is palpable. Eddie claps his hands together with glee, and his accessories clink about as he, alternating leg, hops on the spot before his sly grin turns radiant, friendly almost. The rapid change is almost a little jarring but intriguing because with a switch that quick, one of these attitudes was pure showmanship, and to his credit, both were believable performances.

"Well, let's start with the basics. Are you looking for anything in particular today?" Eddie asks pleasantly. "Because whatever you're looking for, Goody got it" he laughs out the rehearsed store slogan. It seems like he is actually trying here, and Steve decides this doesn't need to be a totally painful experience. For himself, at least. He taps his chin thoughtfully.

"Hmmm, I guess I'm just looking for something new." Steve ponders, looking around, and he sees a glimmer in Eddie's eyes as they dart from Steve to a section further back in the store. 

"Oh, well, if you want the freshest sounds around, you've come to not only the right store but also the right man. Metal is taking off in a big way right now, splintering off into little tasty genre morsels even someone as…well… straight-laced as yourself might enjoy." He looks him over, his eyes zig-zagging for clues. "Maybe nothing too heavy. A smorgasbord of speeds and sentiment for you to sample. Maybe er…Mötley Crüe? You heard of 'em?" Eddie has linked his arm and is currently parading Steve towards the back of the store. "Now try to overlook the title of the album. It's much less scary than it sounds. I think you're probably a Queen fan, right? Maybe some Bowie, Cheap Trick, or other seventies glam stuff? Well, you'll hear in many Crue melodies and riff structures that they are as much influenced by that as they were by punk rock. So I think you might like it. Besides, they are known for their hair, just like you." Eddie lays his charm on thick, well, what he thinks is charming anyway. Strictly speaking, it is a little hit and miss in Steve's book; although he lets Eddie finish his spiel, which is honestly more impressive than he would like to admit, Steve already had the album Shout At The Devil stashed away at home, and he did like some of it, but it didn't move him. But something about Eddie reeling off some of his favourites like that feels strange. Maybe that's why Eddie got the job here. Perhaps he’s a quick study when it comes to musical taste.

He attempts to assess Eddie for himself. Everything about his outside screams of high-speed punk and metal. But things like Dio, Iron Maiden and Sabbath definitely lean towards fantasy, history and myth. Imaginative, maybe, but that felt too soft. So he labels him creative, at least. The way he could talk at length about topics, and he's good with words. Maybe that's why he likes songs where the lyrics are a real story, tales of dragons and kings. There are the obvious things too. The way he dresses, his haircut, and his rings, but also something else. Being around him feels like when a guitar gets plugged into an amplifier. Eddie is big energy, wild maybe, something animalistic in how he doesn't hold back his expressions. Definitely something predatory in how he loomed over him, but that could have just been for show.

For Steve, there are levels to this. There is music you can’t bear to hear, the music you are indifferent to, the music you enjoy, music that evokes emotion, and then the stuff that sends lightning through your nervous system. It moves you, even if you don't want to be. If he was going to help Eddie out, the least he could get for himself was a tidbit of insider information about the guy at the same time.

So Steve stops them dead in their tracks before they reach the Metal section of the store and lies, "You know, I don't think my girlfriends are gonna enjoy that too much, Eddie. Maybe, yeah, maybe something a little softer. You know what girls like, right?" He sees Eddie jolt to a stop, his head shrinking back into his shoulders with a wince, and he releases his arm.

He turns to Steve, tossing his hair over his shoulder in a vain act of cockiness, that this time Steve sees right through. He waits to see what transpires. "Of course I do! I just thought you were shopping for you. You didn't say otherwise, duh!" Eddie states defensively, struts back into the middle of the store, and stops directly in front of the top 100 chart singles, blinking a few times, pretending to be in thought, but Steve sees the swallow of nerves. "So, uh, what's she into? So I can, you know, make a related recommendation." 

Oh! This was an unexpected turn of events, and Steve can't resist tugging at the strand of Eddie's unravelling. "Oh, you know, typical girl stuff." Eddie nods at the hundreds of cassettes in front of him, his mouth a tight line, avoiding Steve's eyes. He had made an assumption about Eddie long ago, and as it turned out, he might actually be wrong. He’s a nerd, yes. Loud, sure, but he’s also a lead guitarist. They get girls, women even, throwing themselves at them, right? But Eddie seems very nervous about figuring out what girls like. He looks stumped. Steve doesn't know if that is due to inexperience with girls or chart music.

"Huh," Eddie coughs out, hand on his hip as he rounds on Steve, "Never thought you were a misogynist, Harrington."

"What?" Steve blinks in surprise.

"You think girls like a certain type of music. That's pretty sexist." The confident smile returns to his face as he feels he's found a way out of the awkward place Steve had happily placed him in. "Your genitalia or identity can't make you favour one beat over another, Harrington. Music is an even playing field. The industry itself, that's a different story." He sighs like he's some wise old sage and tuts at Steve.

This guy is slippery, but Steve could play this game, "Oh, of course. What I meant was music for romancing? Maybe a slow dance over a candle-lit dinner or a moonlight drive down to get acquainted near Lover’s Lake or Skull Rock. You know all about that, don't you, Eddie? You're a man of the world, right?" Steve leans into Eddie's space and grins happily at him. That's when Steve gets another win. Eddie blushes, not just a little either, a lot. Soft coral-pink patches hit just on and under his cheekbones. So much so that before Steve can comment on it, Eddie is kneeling on the floor, pretending to search through tapes, his hair draped down, hiding his face. If he was a betting man, he'd guess the inexperience was with girls. Now there was a new question. Was that a choice or not?

He stands up eventually and looks Steve directly in the eyes, and smirks, "Alright, then." He says quietly, "Wait here" Steve frowns a little in confusion but observes Eddie darting around the store until he returns with three cassettes. "Contemporary," he hands over a copy of Sade's Diamond Life, "smooth," he places a second cassette on top of Al Green's Let's Stay Together, and the last cassette on the pile, The Jimi Hendrix Experience's Are You Experienced? He shifts his weight to his other leg, looks down at the tapes and then back into Steve's eyes, speaking hushed and deliberately as if he were telling him a secret, "and some of the sexiest fucking guitar the sixties had to offer."

And in that one sentence, Steve is jolted, like someone just caught him off guard with a hand buzzer. The first two descriptions were statements, observations, but that last one…there was power to it. Not just his words but the delivery. Eddie meant that. An enthusiasm he immediately recognised matching his own when he thought about music or talked about it after a few beers, and he had to remember not to let his mask slip too far, but Eddie wasn't masking how this particular musical gem had impacted him. Steve quickly breaks eye contact and looks down at the tapes in his hand.

"You listened to all these?" Steve asks because Eddie had inadvertently prodded Steve's curiosity gremlin, which is clawing its way out of him. He needed to learn more now. Unknowingly Eddie had baited the water for Steve, he wanted to circle him until he got another tasty chunk, but he couldn't, not here and now.

Eddie brushes the question off, "I know my way around. Just trust me. And in the unlikely event I'm wrong, you can return them at my expense." Eddie waves his hand in front of them both toward the register. "Shall we?"

Steve nods, turning the tapes over in his hands. Maybe he could keep the conversation going differently. "What happened to your other business venture?" It's reasonably well known Eddie is the go-to guy for recreational substances for high schoolers, and Steve would guess that is relatively lucrative, so why on earth was he working here. Was he turning over a new leaf?

"Well, not that it's any of your business, Harrington, but I'm under advisement to press pause on that whilst some things get ironed out." He taps the registry keys with a smirk that indicates to Steve that perhaps it's the golf club and not the clothing crease-removing iron he's talking about. "If I'm not splashing around, other things can bob up to the surface, you know? Things that shouldn't be in Hawkins waters, at any rate." Eddie looks up at Steve and stretches his hand out toward him so he can give him the tapes.

He has occasionally wondered if the cops knew about Eddie, but as long as he kept things quiet and didn't venture into harder substance sales, they let it slide. An unspoken agreement of sorts.

"Found out about this place, and well, here we are," Eddie takes the money, bags the cassettes, and drops in the receipt and a flier. He smiles hugely at Steve. "I sincerely hope you have a great evening, and remember," he hands over his change and raises a finger in the air, "whatever you're looking for," and leans across the counter into Steve's space, "Goody got it!" He says with a bit of extra pout, and something about this outward confidence mixes with his potential inexperience and makes for a tantalizingly tempting cocktail of Steve's thoughts.

Steve pushes him back lightly, but Eddie laughs as he presses against Steve's hand before retreating. Shit. That probably looked weird. Nodding his thanks and goodbye, he leaves, and as he does, Eddie hops up onto the counter, calling after him loudly by cupping his hands around his mouth, "And if I'm right, which I know I am! Don't forget to tell your friends about the fantastic customer service you've received today!" Steve keeps his head down and walks out, awkwardly smiling at anyone who meets his eye. 

Safely on the outside of the store in a dwindling-to-empty mall, Steve stops holding his breath. His insides, especially his brain, feel like they aren't sitting correctly. Like they are just out of place. He unclenches his fists to cool down his palms, which were busily overheating, particularly the one he'd pushed Eddie back with. He tries to shake whatever this is off himself and decides to try out one of the tapes. He looks at the three. He contemplates trying them in the order Eddie supplied them, but he knows in his core what he really wants. He wants to know why that last one made Eddie's eyes sparkle like that, why he chose those words, and why recalling the music on that tape for a few seconds completely changed Eddie's demeanor. He outright used the word sexy, but it wasn't that. Instead, Eddie made Jimi Hendrix, one of the most famous artists to ever have existed, sound like something secret or forbidden.

He rounds to the glass storefront and forces himself to calmly unwrap and change the tape in his Walkman when all he really wants to do is greedily rip open the packaging, tossing the old tape into the never, and be plunged straight into whatever sorcery this album contained. He puts his headphones back on and pushes play. A few seconds of silence as he paces towards the parking lot. He doesn't know why, but he glances back into the shop. The doorway frames a kid, probably around Dustin's age, engaging Eddie in conversation, holding up two tapes like he's trying to decide, and Eddie is talking animatedly, pointing at each in turn. The kid listens attentively. Steve smiles to himself.

Steve's Eddie assessment: 

Loud

Grating

Obnoxious

Non-conformist to the mainstream

Conformist to the Heavy Metal scene

Likes talking about music

Might not be the awful person the town says he is.

Then, like he can sense someone observing him, Eddie looks up and smiles at Steve. Pointing to himself excitedly and then at the kid making her way to the registers and sends him a thumbs up. Steve sends a weak one back and continues his walk to the car. The guitar and beat of Purple Haze time his steps.

Steve adds to his Eddie assessment. 

Nice smile.

****************************

"Wow! Your eyes look more sunken than my shipwrecked spirit when I walked through this door," Robin exclaims, her lip curled in disgust, but he notes, with a hint of concern, when she turns up to start her shift. Steve leaning back against the counter under the hatch, starts to reply but is interrupted by a waiting yawn beating his words to the punch, "Say no more Nosferatu!" She adds, heading into the back to hang up her jacket, helmet and backpack.

Steve lets his eyes lose focus and dissociates a little from the blue and white surrounding him. It's been quiet all morning. He didn't even know why they opened in the morning, it seemed like a waste of utilities, but it usually meant that there was nothing to do except prep and clean for the first few hours on a weekday. Which was nice because it meant Steve had the place to himself and could drown out the sea shanties and chipper hornpipe melodies with whatever music he was immersing himself into at that moment in time. Today that had been the same thing he'd been listening to all night like it was his required sustenance.

He thinks a little about last night, on the car ride home, and whilst he cooked dinner for one, he sampled the Sadé album, this was dripping in that eighties sophistication of romance, and her voice might have been one of the most beautiful things Steve has ever heard. Then whilst taking care of some chores, he listened to the Al Green album, again an excellent recommendation by Eddie, it moved through the phases of love effortlessly, and the voice again was sensational. Not because the music is better, it wasn't even a genre Steve preferred, but simply because of how Eddie changed when he spoke about it. Steve saves Are you experienced? for the end of the night, when there is nothing more to do than sleep.

Taking advantage of having the place all to himself was different these days. Years ago, he'd maybe throw a party and have people stay over, but recently he hadn't had it in him. Instead, he prepares the area as usual. Turns out all the lights, makes sure everywhere is locked up, rushes to his room, gets a box of randomly assorted candles, sets a few out, and lights them. Last of all, he dons the huge over-ear headphones he's plugged into his parent's hi-fi system as he lays back on the plush rug beside it and pushes play. The beat like his heart gently pounds as Steve Harrington unwittingly falls into Eddie Munson for the first time that evening.

Steve startles at the abruptness of the hatch opening behind him, "Look, I can't not ask. My conscience is wearing me down, even though, just so this is abundantly clear, I do not care to know about your private life, generally speaking," Robin says rapidly, like she's chucking her words at him, before sighing, "Is everything ok with you?" Her voice is more gentle, verging on caring.

"Yeah, everything's fine. Just couldn't sleep, that's all. Probably the change in weather," he answers.

"Oh well, I've cracked the case. That totally seems like the truth," she sarcastically says, shutting the hatch again, finally stepping out front, and standing directly in front of Steve, "I'm not gonna drag it out of you, but equally, I do not wanna work with the shadow of a person all day. So at the very least, if you don't wanna say what's eating you, go get a coffee and come back half-human before I get dragged down into the doldrums with you. It's contagious, you know, just like yawning!" She says and promptly has to cover her mouth to hold back a yawn, which also makes Steve yawn, "Ok, enough! Get out!" She says and points towards the store entrance. Steve obliges, pushing himself off the counter, slowly sloping off to the back to grab his jacket and leaving Robin with their obligatory salute as he heads over to the nearest caffeine purveyor.

As he walks, one side of his jacket weighs heavier than the other. The pocket that usually holds his on-demand solace, but today it contains a key that unlocked the door to impulse. When choosing his music for the day this morning, he reached for a mixtape that he'd made of some of his favorite chart hits, but as he opened the Walkman and saw the tape he'd been listening to all night, The one that he couldn't stop listening to, The one that snapped something free inside him, moments after he thought that maybe he and Eddie might have some common ground, He couldn't bring himself to switch them. He feels the temptation as his fingertips glance over the thin, metal band of the headphones to feel one of those moments all over again. He bites his lip, thinking about recalling one of those less-than-pure thoughts in the full view of all these people. They would have no idea. He looks around quickly like he is about to indulge in class-A contraband while waiting in line. 

No one else knew about last night. How his brain had been scrambled irreversibly. How the goosebumps had sprung up in a sprint up his arms, face and thighs. His imagination had not just run away with him but kidnapped him and held him hostage for hours. An entire psychedelic montage of his own creation. Traveling through kaleidoscopes of color, space, time, scenarios until something unexpected showed up, and as hard as Steve tried to bat it away, it continually returned, splicing his mental music video with clips of someone who had no business being in his brain when he felt open and raw that way. But alone in the darkness, safely in the arms of music, Steve let the thoughts develop, curious to know what would happen if he let go, let it happen, where exactly would they take him. But now, in the harsh light of day, that shame is still branded on his very bones. The heat rises to his cheeks, and though impossible, he's sure that if he doesn't do something about it, people around him will be able to tell. Be able to tell he'd been thinking about someone that way, all alone in the dark.

Steve quickly shoves his hand in his other jacket pocket away from temptation, and his fingertips play with something safe, boring and familiar. Money. Cold hard cash. The easiest mask Steve has in his toolkit. The furthest thing from music he could reach for. Icy, unfeeling, devoid of soul.

He reaches the counter, and the barista smiles broadly at him. "Good morning, Steve. What can I get ya today?" He's taken aback, sure he's never formally introduced himself to this girl before, but he's glad of the smile. A little harmless, friendly flirting couldn't hurt. It might even take his mind off other things.

"Whatever you've got to keep my eyes open." He tilts his head softly, glancing down at the counter and back up to the girl. "Something sweet though, I could do with a little sugar too." 

Her eyebrows flash, and she shifts her weight to lean a little on the counter towards him. "I think I know just the thing," she says with a subtle lick of her bottom lip, "I'll be right back, don't go anywhere sailor." Steve happily shakes his head in a no, and wishes Robin was here to see his success.

"Gina, huh? Thought your type was a lot more chaste, Steve," a gravelly voice to his left sends a slight shiver down his spine, and he wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole right now, but instead, he turns to return a polite greeting.

"Good morning to you too, Eddie." He smiles and nods as standard, but his eyes, the traitorous things, linger a little too long, scanning the eyes of the man that had been the cause of him having to buy this coffee in the first place. Eddie looks him up and down in concern, but his expression changes to something mischievous, and he grins at the floor.

"My recommendations worked out for you and your girl, did they?" He nods in Gina's direction while finally looking at Steve again. 

"Something like that." He replies, leaning heavily on the tattered edges of the truth, but quickly adds in a whisper, "It wasn't Gina, though." 

Eddie's eyes widen, and he chokes a laugh out, and to Steve's pleasant surprise, it's almost a little dorky. That’s endearing. Damn it, he's smiling at him more now. Eddie bites his lip, still grinning, before pressing himself up against Steve's side with an elbow to the ribs, whispering in his ear, "Steve Harrington, you absolute hound!" Eddie laughs again, his usual deep chuckle. Gina snaps a glare at him from the coffee machine. Steve dies a little inside. "Double espresso for me, Genie baby," Eddie charmingly beams back at her whilst Steve does everything he can to keep himself together and not explode into a confetti cannon of embarrassment.

"Eddie! Get in line, like everyone else. How many times do I have to tell you?" She snips.

"Gina! My angel of energy! My friend here was just holding my place in line. Isn't that right, Steve?" Eddie turns to him and smiles, relaxed, his eyelids hooding his deep brown irises that Steve elects to quickly look away from.

"Yeah, that's right." He swallows, and keeps his eyes on Gina now.

"See!" Eddie says, raising his ringed hand to Steve's eyeline to gesture at him. Gina looks between the two of them, but her eyes eventually land on Steve, and her smile returns.

"Well, I have no idea why he's friends with the likes of you, Munson." She puts the two double espressos to go down on the counter, slamming the one nearest Eddie down much harder than the other, which she gently slides over to Steve leaning towards him, "but whatever Steve says…goes," she says, her eyes trailing over him slowly.

"Jesus Christ, Gina! You never heard of the thrill of the chase?" Eddie barks out a laugh, putting his money down on the counter.

"Who says I wanna do any running away?" She smirks, not taking her eyes off Steve.

"That's true. I mean, even walking a few steps ahead of your pursuer would break the habit of a lifetime, and we wouldn't want that now, would we?" Eddie teases as she glances down at the money on the counter.

"You're short, Eddie," she finally turns and bites back, making Eddie shrink a little. "Ten cents." The fun wipes from Eddie’s face as he frantically searches his pockets. Tiny coral-pink triangles start to bloom in the hollows of his cheeks.

"I got it, don't worry about it," Steve interjects quickly to try and get back to the safety of Scoops as soon as possible. He takes Gina's hand gently and puts the money in her upturned palm, grasping her attention again. She puts the money in the register and scribbles on her pad, ripping off a piece of paper.

"A gentleman too?" She says with an approving nod and fans herself, making Eddie roll his eyes. Then, she pushes the piece of paper into Steve's hand. "Pick me up at eight. Wear something nice," she says with a wink before waving around the customer behind them.

Steve gives them both a smile and a wave goodbye as he heads back to the ice cream parlor quickly, sipping his coffee as he goes, though honestly, he doesn't need it anymore. He is wide awake after all of that. Even though he's come out of it relatively unscathed. Eddie is none the wiser, and he's got a date.

Back in the safety of Scoops Ahoy, Steve spies Robin slouching over the counter, waiting on a queue of zero people. He does his best Travolta strut over.

"Wow, you sure that's just coffee in there?" Robin laughs. "It's like you've returned a new man." 

Steve forcefully leans over the counter at her with gusto with a massive smile on his face. "I not only have a number but a date tonight at eight!!" He looks very smug. 

Robin stretches her hand out towards him, and he hands her the slip of paper. Her eyes scan over it.

"Gina?" Robin says in surprise.

"How did you-" Steve starts to ask before he gets cut off again.

"So she did get fired from the department store! Now she has to serve sad sacks like you and Eddie Munson coffee, I see." Robin nods behind Steve. As he turns, Eddie, holding the small cup to his mouth, initially looking startled, is perfectly framed in one of the windows and gives a little wave back.

"I'll pay you back, dude! Promise!" Eddie shouts before breaking into a speed walk to the record store.

"You bought him a coffee?! Why would you do that?" Robin rolls her eyes like Steve has done the stupidest thing in the world.

"He was a couple of cents short. I don't even want it back, honestly." Steve protests as he takes back the paper from Robin, putting it in his jacket pocket.

"You clearly don't understand what you've done," Robin shouts after him as he goes into the back to reclaim the stupid hat and hang up his stuff.

"Then enlighten me! Please, I'm waiting with bated breath here," he sasses back, secretly smiling to himself, only for it to be wiped from his face quickly as the hatch opens abruptly.

"Ok, first of all, you don't understand the paying back thing because you've never been poor, Steve. So it's ten cents to you. It's shame on us, ok? Secondly, you've fed the neighborhood's stray cat by randomly buying Eddie that coffee! He'll keep coming round here now," Robin whines.

"Ok, first of all," he mimics her, "I didn't buy him anything. He put his own money down. I just gave the extra few cents. Why is it so bad if he comes around here, anyway? He doesn't seem so bad to me, Rob." Steve adjusts his hat in the mirror and shoots a finger gun at himself in acknowledgement that he hadn't been wearing the hat when he got Gina's number, so it must be the thing throwing off his game. He also realizes it's the first time he's shortened her name. He likes it.

"You want a satanic cult leader. In our ice cream shop, normally full of vulnerable kids?" Robin protests, and suddenly something dawns on Steve.

"And, since when do you care about our customers?" Steve asks, joining her out front, one hand on his hip and the other on the tiny coffee cup. He narrows his eyes at her, looking for tells. He finds none but calls her bluff. He feigns surprise and laughs, "Oh my god, is he your ex or something?! Is that why you don't want him hanging around here?"

Robin recoils violently. "Oh my god! No! He's not my type."

"Really?" Steve asks with genuine surprise. Eddie was a non-conformist. He was far from ugly. Both musicians, both took drama and liked accessories. But, maybe he was a bit too rough around the edges and loud for Robin, despite how feisty she could be herself.

"Yes! Really!" She protests again, but there is something else here. Robin doesn't make it a habit to judge anyone that isn't a real piece of work type asshole, and though Eddie could be overwhelming, in their short interaction yesterday, he'd seemed quite nice, and due to their mutual school activities, they must have crossed paths often, so she must have seen that side of him too. Unless, like Steve, Eddie had his own mask to survive high school, which made him generally unpleasant to most people, and only let a select few see his genuine parts.

Steve isn't sure that Robin is precisely lying, but she is definitely hiding something.

****************

Steve pulls up outside Gina's apartment complex at 19:50. He's early, but he absolutely does not want to be late. So he waits exactly where Gina had asked him, and parks up, then sits patiently on his freshly washed car hood. 

As he had no idea where they were going yet, he'd opted for something smart casual. The relaxed fit navy blue blazer and slacks combo, and an oh-so-soft pastel blue sweater underneath, perfect for cuddling into if that opportunity arose. Robin and Eddie obviously had made their opinions known on Gina, but he was way too much of a gentleman to make any such assumptions, and people can change.

At 20:08, Gina totters down the steps from the complex in the shortest, lowest cut, tightest, dark purple leather look dress Steve thinks he's seen outside of a music video. She looks incredible. Her body is banging, her makeup is flawless, her permed hair is tossed over in a voluminous side parting, and Steve cannot believe his goddamn luck. Holy shit. She’s a knockout.

He springs into date mode, jogs over to the other side of the street and offers her the crook of his elbow to escort her to the car, "Hey Gina, You look incredible!" Steve greets her beaming proudly.

She pops a chewing gum between her cherry-red lips and says, "You don't look so bad yourself, handsome." At that morsel of praise, Steve's heart soars. He's got it right tonight.

As she takes his arm, and they walk over to the car, he opens the door for her and takes her hand to help her into her seat before he gets in himself, "So, where to?" He asks with a huge smile.

"Ah, well, I thought we'd go to Patty's house party. It's not too far from here. Unless you wanna go somewhere else?" She asks.

"Are you kidding me?" Steve says with a gentle laugh and juts a thumb to himself. "I got the wheels. We can go wherever you want tonight." He turns and smiles reassuringly at her. "Anywhere at all."

She giggles, and Steve has to do everything he can not to rev the engine at his success so far. 

As Gina directs, they hit a reasonably long stretch of road, and it falls quiet in the car, "So… What kind of music do you like?" Steve tries, it was a comfort area, and it let him get a little insight at the same time.

"Oh, all the hits, as long as I can dance to it, you know?" Steve's eyes almost tear from the road to look at her fondly. She's a dancer just like him. He tries to not let his excitement get the better of him and pepper her with a million follow-up questions.

It falls quiet again.

"Is it, um, Patty's birthday or something?" He asks as she reapplies her lipstick again in the pull-down mirror.

"Nah, nothing like that. She's got the biggest free house. Plus, it's right around the corner from the liquor store. It's just here. Look. Take a right." She replies.

They make their way into the party. Steve grabs the bottle of wine from the back seat and quickly moves around to her door to open it and assist her before locking up and offering his arm again. It earns him another melodic giggle, "Such manners, Steve. Is this how you treat all your dates?" She asks playfully, and he knows she means no harm, but unfortunately, it's the first dent in Steve's confidence tonight. She already knew he’s on a losing streak regarding keeping a girlfriend. He tries to see the positive. At least she seemed to like him, and she didn't know he'd recently had trouble getting any dates. He supposes that could give him some kind of playboy status.

It has been a while since Steve had been to a house party like this. It’s rammed with people, primarily seniors but as with Gina, himself and Patty, a few recent graduates too. The girls squeal with delight, throwing their hands into the air as they greet one another, and Gina pulls him forward to be introduced, "Patty, this is Steve. Steve, this is Patty." Steve gives her a big smile and a nod.

"Looks like it's gonna be a killer party. Here, hope you don't mind," he says, passing Patty the wine bottle. She pulls an impressed face and looks over at Gina, raising her eyebrows. Patty's boyfriend gives him a nod.

The party is much more fun than Steve anticipates. Gina likes to dance. A lot. With a little more physical enthusiasm than Steve was used to, but my god, he is the envy of the room. She likes to show Steve off to her friends and kisses him so many times he loses count. She looked incredible at the start of the evening, but she might be the most beautiful creature to walk the planet with how adored she was makes Steve feel. Steve makes a mental note to introduce her to his Mom when she's back in town.

After a small succession of kisses on the swings in Patty's back garden, Gina excuses herself to use the bathroom, "I'll be right back, handsome. Wait here for me? Don't go running off with any other pretty girls, now." She sends him a dazzling smile and a wink, and the love-whipped puppy, previously known as Steve Harrington, nods obediently as she walks inside. Then flicks his eyes to the night sky with a happy sigh.

"Don't fancy the slide, instead, Harrington?" A voice grins from the darkness.

"Eddie? What are you doing here, man?" Steve says in happy surprise. He's still floating around on cloud nine. Eddie sits on the tree stump opposite Steve and lights up a cigarette. The awkward feelings around Eddie were almost all gone. Or at least buried. It was a one-off, just a mixture of unique circumstances. The shame was still in there somewhere, but Gina had eclipsed it all for tonight.

"Oh, you know, I was at the bar, and heard someone mention that one of my old friends was gonna show here, so I tagged along."  He offers the pack over to Steve, who declines and pops a chewing gum in his mouth. Eddie gives him a knowing smile, and Steve grins back and pushes himself on the swing a little, trying to channel some of that excitable energy somewhere."Going that well, huh?" He asks, raising his eyebrow as he pockets the carton.

Steve is desperately trying to remain cool, calm and collected about everything, but he's elated his losing streak is over, and what a woman to end it with. "Honestly, it's going a lot better than I thought it was going to."

"Yeah?" Eddie asks leadingly.

"Yeah," Steve says simply with a sigh, and that's when Eddie's expression changes, his mouth parts a little, but before he can say anything, someone calls out for him.

Patty rushes over, swaying a little, throws her arms around Eddie's neck, and hugs him. Eddie's face is a picture of panic, and Steve hides his laugh behind his hand.

"What you got on you then?" Patty slurs, looking up at Eddie and batting her eyelashes, and suddenly Eddie looks relieved and pulls out a few small bags of weed from inside his leather jacket. Steve observes him with confusion. Eddie said he was on pause dealing-wise.

"Thirty bucks for this little trio," Eddie offers with a toothy smile.

"Thirty!! Come on, Eddie, seriously. I can get twice as much for less," she complains and tugs at his denim vest.

He leans in and says quietly, "Yes, that is true, but I'm right here, and they're not right?" Then he pulls the same face he did at Steve in the record store. He knows he's won.

"Well," she steps closer to him again, and Steve sees Eddie visibly tense as Patty runs her hand up his chest, "Maybe we can come to a different arrangement, Eddie?"

Eddie clears his throat, and his eyes dart to Steve. "Oh hey, Steve, fancy meeting you here." His words are a desperate plea for help, and mischief swirls in Steve. Of course, he could just excuse himself and leave them to it, but something keeps him there, and as Patty turns, he sends her a little wave.

"Yeah, just out for some fresh air," Steve offers, and Eddie relaxes immediately as Patty creates some distance between them. She looks at Steve wide-eyed.

"Oh, hi again, Steve. Having a good night?" She asks nervously.

"It's a really great party, Patty. I'm having the best time," He answers genuinely.

She relaxes and smiles hugely at him. "It was really nice of you to come. Thanks for the wine and for helping Gina out tonight."

Steve smiles back, but he's a little confused. How was he helping Gina out? But before Steve can frame a question, Patty jumps ahead a few steps and answers.

"You're putting on a real show out there. It looks amazing. Though, if I may suggest, you are actually way too nice for her, so you might want to ease off on that a little." Patty enthusiastically reviews their date as Steve's eyebrows raise, and he blinks slowly.

"Hey Patty, how about twenty, huh?" Eddie puts a hand on her shoulder and tries to turn her towards himself, offering her the baggies again. She shrugs him off but fishes the money out of her pocket, her eyes still on Steve.

"Ohhh no," Patty says, overtly pouting her lips to indicate sadness, "widdle Stevie, didn't know." Steve stands up. His heart is pounding.

"Hey, that's enough!" Eddie says sharply to Patty.

"Oh, shut up, Eddie. Everyone knows she turns up to these things with someone and always leaves with Frankie. They're like Kismet or Kermit or whatever." She waves her hands drunkenly in the air. 

"Everyone?" Steve asks in a whisper, and his eyes move from Patty to Eddie, who is frowning deeply. Steve folds his arms, "No, you're wrong. You'll see," he says and takes off back into the party. He can hear Eddie faintly calling after him until he hits the wall of music and chatter of the house.

He looks around for Gina, moving swiftly between rooms, as the flurry of panic starts to set in deep in his chest. They can't be right. Then finally, he catches the sight of her perfectly coiffed hair and pins himself to the other side of the wall, so he can hear her talking without being spotted.

"Are you kidding me? He's not a patch on you, honey. Not nearly as manly as I like, you know? Just a good little boy. Not my big strong bad boy Frankie." He can hear the purr in her voice, and it's followed by a deep chuckle from someone else.

An invisible force punches Steve straight in the guts, forcing all the air from his lungs. The dents in the carapace of his confidence get a few new deep siblings as he dusts himself off and sets off to leave. He knows he should be mad. He should be angry. He should march in there and give them a piece of his mind, but he feels completely numb. What he does do, however, is stop by the kitchen, take back his wine and a random bottle of mad dog 20/20, and slump off to his car.

As he gets closer, he sees a silhouette of someone sitting on the hood of his car. The jingle of them getting off it abruptly and moving quickly towards him lets him know it's Eddie.

"Steve, man, I'm sorry. That fucking sucks. Are you ok?" Eddie tries to reach out and hold his shoulders, but Steve steps back out of reach. Sure, he's deflated, but he doesn't have the reason or the energy to be mad at Eddie.

"You've got nothing to apologize for. No one does. It's not anyone else's fault that I'm too dumb to know what, apparently, everyone else knows," he says a little glumly but finishes it with a half smile and shrug as he moves around him to get in his car, but Eddie, being the scrawny beanpole he is, slips in between Steve and the door.

"Hey, I get it. She got me too. Except, you know I wasn't as good about it as you are." Eddie is talking to him, but Steve is simply trying to unlock his door and ignores him."And you know I would have warned you explicitly if it wasn't you, you know?" That gets Steve's attention.

"What do you mean if it wasn't me?" He asks, turning to face Eddie, whose face is much closer to his than he'd realized, and it causes a mini jump in his pulse. Had Eddie wanted to see Steve made a fool of?

One corner of Eddie's mouth ticks up. "You're Steve Harrington. King of Hawkins. If Gina was gonna change her spots for anyone, I would have put money on it being you." Eddie says it sincerely, but it makes Steve feel worse.

"Ex-King of Hawkins," Steve says, shaking his head, trying to move around Eddie without pushing him away. He wants to leave, but he isn't mad at Eddie.

"And-and the way she was with you at the coffee place. I mean, I thought she was into you. Anyone would have thought that, man. Besides, she was probably totally into you, I mean, look at you, but this guy, this Frankie, they're, like, weirdly obsessed with one another, and then the next minute not speaking to one another," Eddie desperately explains, and Steve can tell he's trying hard to make him feel better about all this.

That's when Steve makes a new category of mistake. He looks up at Eddie's face. His sad eyes meet Eddie's big compassionate ones, glinting with yellow specks of the street light.

"It's weird, honestly," Eddie finishes gently, and Steve gives him an understanding smile back.

"Thanks, man. I get it. I'll be fine. It's just a big misunderstanding. I'll go home, get wasted, and pass out. Then, wake up, and start over. I've bounced back from worse," Steve assures and gives Eddie a playful thump on the shoulder. "You're alright, you know that?" Steve actually manages a small genuine smile as he allows himself to compliment Eddie.

"Do you want some company? I got treats!" Eddie says, holding up three little bags of weed at Steve.

"How many of those do you have on you?" Steve huffs out a little laugh, and Eddie's smile widens.

"Just these three," Eddie smirks, pocketing them again.

"No, you sold three to Patty," Steve corrects him. Eddie leans back against Steve's car door and makes a show of looking thoughtful for a moment before he clicks his fingers like he remembers something.

"Oh darn it. I must have accidentally given her my bags of oregano. Good job you're so astute, Harrington. Otherwise, dinner times next week would have been very interesting." Eddie smiles mischievously, and Steve erupts with a laugh.

"You didn't!" He says, scandalized.

"I wasn't going to until she poked fun at you. Totally uncalled for. Also might have relieved myself in an empty and dropped it in their vat of punch." Eddie shrugs like it's nothing and then blinks up at Steve. "Is that enough to gain entry to a much better afterparty?"

That thing that snapped free in Steve when he was lying on the rug, immersed in the music and thoughts inspired by Eddie, vibrates within him. 

He shouldn't.

He really shouldn't invite anyone back to his house when he feels like this, especially when his intention is to drink himself into forgetting all about Gina.

He absolutely shouldn't let down his guard to someone he's really only got to know the last few days.

He definitely shouldn't specifically welcome the man that resurrected the most secret, sinful parts of Steve into his home, where they would be alone together.

Steve can't decide, so he lets fate decide. "You got any more recommendations on you?"

"Shit, yeah! A fucking van full!" Eddie says enthusiastically.

And with that, Steve ignores every warning sign his brain throws up at him.

"Alright then. Follow me."

************

Eddie's van tails Steve's BMW along the inky black roads of Hawkins, intermittently interrupted by street lights when venturing through a more built-up area.

He turns up the radio a little to try to quieten the confused knot of feelings in his stomach. There was no question he was still feeling shockwaves from recently being absolutely crushed this evening, but now the excitement of something else tickles at the inside of his stomach. Him, Eddie and Music. Some of his private salacious thoughts rush through his mind again. 

Steve would be more alarmed by them if it weren't for a few things. 

Firstly this is not the first time Steve has had impure thoughts about a man. It just wasn't something he was gonna advertise in small-town Hawkins. Especially as he is one hundred per cent not just into guys. He'd sneakily read about it in the library and vowed as soon as he had the means it was definitely the big city for him, a place where other people like him could live much freer lives.

Secondly, he had heard things about Eddie, and he is sure it was because they labeled him a devil worshiper or monster that the town also whispered about him being into the more, what some of the stuck-up people of Hawkins might consider the debauched side of life. He'd heard that when people threw homophobic slurs at him, he played up to them. Flirted with his persecutors to scare people more, but honestly, he had just added that to the massive pile of slanderous gossip about Eddie. Prior to yesterday, he had always assumed that by being in a band, Eddie got his fair share of women. But now he wasn't so sure. Maybe tonight, he'd find out.

Thirdly the only person Steve knew of that had ever assumed him to be anything but straight was his father. So if that rumor started, Steve is confident he could squash it reasonably quickly.

Fourth, and this was probably the cruelest of his thoughts. If he did accidentally say too much or give something away to Eddie tonight, who on earth would believe known degenerate Eddie over golden boy Steve?

Steve had fooled around with just one guy before, Tommy, and always, always, always when they were wasted or high. Tommy said it didn't count, and honestly, Steve didn't mind. He liked Tommy, well, when he wasn't being a complete asshole, but it was more an avenue of mutual exploration than a relationship.

Tommy was handsome, but he was two-dimensional. All their shared interests were superficial. Maybe it was because they had been friends for so long that there wasn't anything to peel back and get his teeth into. He was enough to quicken his pulse, but that had been more to do with the thrill of doing something so forbidden than the man himself. Tommy didn't move Steve. 

But Eddie. 

Eddie might.

With no other cars on the driveway, he waves Eddie forward up to the house once Steve parks up.

He grabs the bottles from his car and sees Eddie emerge with his little lunch box and his arms laden with tapes. Steve unlocks the front door into the dark house and heads inside, Eddie close behind.

"Your folks in bed?" Eddie whispers.

"No, they're out of town. Work, you know?" Steve puts the wine back in the kitchen wine rack and holds up the glass liquor bottle contained within, "Wanna get straight to it, or would you prefer some beers first?" Steve asks with a happy host smile. Eddie is still marveling at the house, his round eyes searching the darkness. Steve wonders what for. 

"Just a beer, thank you," Eddie says slowly, entirely distracted by everything.

"The hi-fi is just through there in the den, or if you wanna smoke, we can sit by the pool?" Steve offers, seeing Eddie's arms still full of tapes.

"What time are your folks back?" Eddie calls back from further away now, as Steve hears the clatter of plastic cassette boxes and the jingle of Eddie's wallet chain as he returns. There must be something special in that, having your own noise, so people know it's you.

"I dunno, not until next week, though, I imagine," Steve says, offering Eddie one of the two beer cans.

Eddie's eyebrows knit. "Next week? Are you for real?"

"Yeah, once I got my license, they stopped getting a nanny in." Steve laughs.

"Was that a joke?" Eddie says, laughing too.

"I mean, I tried. Unfortunately, I'm no Steve Martin." Steve shrugs and smiles happily at Eddie as he stabs and shotguns his beer.

"Who are you, and what happened to sad Steve?" Eddie's eyes narrowly playfully. He wraps his arm around himself as he observes him and takes a sip of his own can.

"You want me to go get him? I'm sure he's around here somewhere…." Steve looks behind one of the drapes.

Eddie's head tilts with pure amusement, and that nice smile spreads across his face again as he observes Steve, "My god, funny too, huh?" There is something in the way his voice softly wraps around the words that sets a slight panic in Steve, almost reaching for the light switch to plunge them into the safety of bright light. Instead, his brain gives him a subject change.

"Shit, what about your friend at the party? Did you get a chance to speak to them?" Steve runs his hand through his hair, realizing he's probably ruined Eddie's night too.

He simply shrugs in reply, then changes the subject himself. "What's with all the candles in there? Did your power go out?" Eddie gestures back to the den. Steve closes his eyes, remembering he hadn't cleaned up in there yet, and then a real fear creeps over him, hoping that he hadn't left anything else incriminating in there. 

Steve half-lies quickly. "Oh, ambience!"

Eddie points back at him. "Yeah, of course, your girl from last night. Setting the scene for seduction," Eddie says, pretending to swoon.

"Well, more for relaxing than romance in particular, but sometimes one can lead to another," Steve says, and he does let that hang in the air for a while to see if there is any reaction from Eddie. Sadly nothing to help him assess him further. Maybe it was too subtle. "Do you maybe wanna head out for a smoke?" Steve asks, turning to get himself another beer.

"Now that is much more my brand of relaxing," Eddie laughs, grabbing his lunchbox.

Steve catches up to him and puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "Wait, how about you pick out a tape? I'll grab the boom box."

Eddie's eyes move to Steve's hand on his shoulder first, then to his face, with a blink, "Yeah." Steve shakes Eddie's shoulder and gives it a good old sports pat before removing it entirely. He watches Eddie's face for any signs, and he's pretty sure the smile he gives him before he walks towards the treasure trove of tapes is one of disappointed realization. Or maybe Steve had all his hopes resting on that being the case. Hope is such poisoned manna. Maybe physicality wasn't the way to get Eddie to reveal a little more. Maybe Steve could try something else to find the answers to his questions. Something Eddie loves to do. Talk about himself.

Steve sets up the player between two loungers and turns on the pool lights. Ambience, he thinks, though honestly, the waning moon is setting the scene enough for him. He doesn’t wanna make it too obvious. He kicks up his feet on the lounger, sips at his beer, and waits. After a few minutes, he starts to get a little concerned, but as soon as he sits up, Eddie arrives with an entire box of tapes and an excitable smile.

"I, uh, couldn't decide what you might like, so I just brought them all out and found a box in the kitchen; hope you don't mind. Just easier to move 'em around," Eddie excuses and thunks down onto the lounger next to Steve’s. "So take your pick," he says, gesturing at the box and pulling a pre-rolled joint out of his pocket, which he lights up quickly.

This isn't really what Steve wants. He wants Eddie to show him around what Eddie likes. He wants to hear him gush over riffs and lyrics. Tell him how it feels when he plays them, and show him how his dexterous fingers leave no part of the fretboard untouched. But Steve recognises Eddie's apprehension and decides to play the game at least. He reaches into the box with one hand, sorting through the tapes, and with the other, without taking his eyes from the music collection, makes a come hither motion at the joint, which, pleasingly, Eddie acknowledges without protest, and Steve soon finds it slotted between his fingers as he pretends to peruse the album artwork and track listings.

He can feel Eddie's eyes on him, and out of the corner of his eye, he observes Eddie's hands on his thigh and knee and sometimes, when Steve picks up or hovers over a particular tape, his fingers tense, possibly with excitement Steve guesses. He takes a long drag on the shared substance.

To Steve's surprise, the selection of tapes is more varied than he thought. Sure, there is a lot of what he guesses from the names, titles, or artwork are metal, rock, and punk, but there is a chart hits compilation, some new wave electronic stuff, country and classical. Steve hands back the joint and takes a sharp intake of breath as he sits up.

"You know, Eddie. I'm a little overwhelmed by all the choices here." 

"Ah, too many? Sorry. I just didn't know what you'd wanna listen to." Eddie nods apologetically, and something in the way he says it makes Steve wonder if too many or too much is his habit. Maybe he'd been hurt before by people telling him he was too much.

"Well, how about this? How about instead of this being about what I like," Steve looks up to him with a friendly smile, "you show me what you like. Maybe it'll be the same." He gives a little shrug and wonders if Eddie might pick up on any subtext.

"Doubt it," Eddie laughs with a quick glance up at Steve from the tapes.

"Oh, ye of little faith. I really liked the Hendrix one, best out of the three." Steve offers him a guiding thread to assist. He would continue about how he will probably play it to death, but as he looks over, Eddie's face reads excited already.

"Really?" He says, and the innocence of the question makes Steve feel like he's in middle school again. Making friends over sports or movies, but then suspicion rears its ugly little head, and Eddie folds his arms and leans forward. "Oh yeah? Tell me what you liked about it."

Steve doesn't want to give away too much of himself. "Foxey Lady is a fun track, and Fire." Eddie rolls his eyes a little and nods.

"You like Purple Haze too, I bet?" Eddie says a little condescendingly, and he's unsure if it's the beer and weed starting to mix on no food because he didn't know if he was going to dinner with Gina, but Steve feels a little insulted.

"Well, who the fuck doesn't like Purple Haze?" Steve fires back. "It's a great piece of music."

"Whoa-ho-ho, Harrington. Don't get your little panties in a twist. I was just guessing." Eddie chuckles, putting his hands up defensively, offering the olive branch of the joint back to Steve, who takes a pretty deep inhale from it and sends it right back, picking up his beer.

"No, you weren't. I mentioned some popular songs, and you immediately judged me, thinking that's all I listened to when that is not the case at all! Also, that's why they are popular, by the way, because they're great songs. So you could maybe get off your high horse about it." Steve complains and puts Eddie in his place. Or so he thinks.

Eddie's grin widens, and that sparkle in his eye returns, and now Steve can't work out if he's walked right into something or if Eddie is simply amused. His hand extends to him again, and Steve, though a little confused, accepts the smoke and takes another hit.

"I also really liked 'Manic Depression'," Steve adds much more gently, opening the door to his true feelings, a crack, "How it details in the words and melody his relationship with music, the emotion behind in 'The Wind Cries Mary', and that bluesy feel to 'Red House'. Those songs also easily transport you someplace else." Steve says, taking a glug from his can and, realizing it's empty, standing up to get another.

"Wait-wait-wait," Eddie says hurriedly, looking up at him. "Here, I picked this up on the way past too." He holds up the glass bottle that Steve selected from Patty's party. Steve takes it from him and sits back down, knocking back a swig and wincing at the taste and heat, but Eddie ignores it. He has other things to address. "What do you mean someplace else?" He leans forward over the tape box towards Steve, eyeing him like a scientist looks at their specimen.

"In your imagination, you know, the music takes you somewhere else." Steve shrugs, taking another swig as Eddie sips his beer.

"Where'd it take you?" Eddie asks, tilting his head, and though Steve's heart rate quickens at the thought of the truth, he sees an opportunity.

"You sure do ask a lot of questions. What if we trade? I'll answer yours, you answer mine? That seems fairer to me." Steve doesn't have to wait long for a reply, but he’s stalling to craft an answer that doesn't involve revealing more than he wants to.

"Yeah, sure," Eddie says, brushing it off. "So where did they take you, these songs?"

"Ah-ah-ah, Eddie. You gotta answer one first," Steve teases, and Eddie, denied an answer to his question, folds his arms. Steve adds to his assessment.

Adorable sulking face.

"Fine," Eddie pouts.

"So, the three tapes you gave me were great, exactly what I needed, and I thought, how does a guy get so knowledgeable about this kinda stuff, and then I remembered you were in a band, you play, er, bass, right? So I naturally assumed-" Steve lies. He wants to avoid coming across as knowing too much about Eddie.

"Lead guitar, actually. Sing a little too," Eddie interrupts proudly and waves Steve on to continue with his question.

"So I assumed that you must have girls throwing themselves at you? Right?" Steve asks with as innocent curiosity as he can muster. 

"More girls throw themselves at me for drugs than music, but that could change. The stuff I play is becoming more popular," Eddie replies, and Steve tries to see what he can get out of a few quickfire questions.

"Oh, so you're inundated with women then?" Steve asks with a raise of his eyebrow.

"No," Eddie answers.

"Right, you must have a girlfriend…"

"No. Listen, are we here to discuss music or my love life?" Eddie defends, and Steve feels like he must have touched a nerve, so he tries some humor.

He mimics Eddie’s hand gestures and voice from earlier. "Whoa-ho-ho, Munson! Don't get your panties in a knot about it!" And that is enough to make Eddie laugh. "Jesus, I was just getting to know you. After all, you've had a front-row seat to my car crash love life tonight." Steve self-deprecates and laughs, but Eddie doesn't.

"I'm sorry, man. I wish I'd just said something in the coffee line, but I swear what I said earlier was absolutely true. If it had been anyone other than you, I wouldn't have thought they stood a chance and warned them," Eddie says with genuine regret.

Steve takes a swig out of the bottle and reassures him, "Not the first time I got my confidence destroyed at a house party. Maybe it won't be the last, but like I said, I bounce back well enough. Last time was a whole lot worse. Met her parents, told her I loved her and meant it, and thought she did too. Turns out she didn't." Steve glances up at Eddie, who looks sad for him. "Anyway, back to why we're here. Pick a damn tape, Eddie, would ya?" Steve laughs, trying to lift the mood, and holds out the liquor bottle to him, but Eddie declines.

"Can't get too wasted. Otherwise, getting home is gonna be more of a challenge." He smiles down into the tapes.

"You can stay over if you want. There's plenty of room." Steve offers, maybe too quickly. He takes another drink to style it out.

Eddie looks up and acts all shy. "Wow, Harrington! Take a guy to dinner first," he chuckles and grins at Steve, who nearly spits out his drink.

Composing himself a little, he replies, "If I order pizza, does that count as dinner?" Steve smirks.

Eddie flips his hair over his shoulder with a flick of his hand after pushing play on the tape deck, "It's a little less than I was expecting to be wined and dined by Steve Harrington, but, uh, it'll do." He says as he grabs the bottle from Steve and takes a sip, "Holy shit, urgh." He grimaces as the night air fills with chugging guitar riffs, and a voice fills the air that Steve has definitely never heard before.

Eddie happily gestures to the boom box with both hands. "This is the self-titled album by W.A.S.P.”

Steve chuckles, “I know how to spell Wasp!”

Eddie shakes his head, “No you say Wasp but they are actually W.A.S.P.” He beams at Steve and taps the metal pin on his vest, then takes a deep breath, ”anyway It contains such mind-shredding tracks as The Flame, Tormentor, The Torture Never Stops and Show no Mercy, which has one of the finest dick-twitching solos I've ever played." Steve sees Eddie literally shudder, and he's drawn in immediately. This is what he wanted, but before he can push for more information, Eddie is out of his seat pacing around the loungers. "Also the more famous, 'I Wanna Be Somebody', 'Hellion', even a spine chilling cover of 'Paint it Black' by The Stones. For the more romantic souls out there, 'L.O.V.E Machine', 'Sleeping in the fire' and 'Animal' which is more commonly known as," and he leans right down to Steve's ear, "‘I fuck like a beast’. Which is what you're listening to right now." With a laugh, he takes another swing from the bottle, shoving it back into Steve's chest, and walks back around to his lounger, props one foot on it, and starts air guitaring and headbanging along to the song. Steve grips the lounger beneath him for dear life. He swears right there he's gonna get them tickets to every fucking W.A.S.P show he can, and he'll definitely need to buy this album now. Tomorrow, first thing.

"You can play all these?" Steve says, trying not to sound too in awe. Eddie doesn't look up from his fingers on the imaginary fretboard, and honestly, Steve doesn't blame him.

"Pretty much. Better at my favorites or the ones we play in the band." Steve needs to see that, or maybe that would undo him completely. Maybe best not to. Steve imagines how he looks on stage, sweating under the lights, straining as he yells into the microphone. "So where did it take you?"

"What?" Steve asks, wholly lost in his thoughts.

"Maybe you should slow down there, champ. Are you alright? You look a little flushed." Eddie stops what he's doing and goes over to his little lunch box, retrieves a small candy bar, and sits next to Steve on the lounger, placing it in Steve's lap. "Lemme see." Eddie grasps Steve's jaw in one hand and examines him, his eyes comically wide as he analyzes him, making Steve giggle. Eddie rolls his eyes with a smile, and taps his face, snatches up the candy bar and tosses it back in his lunch pail. "You're good." He shrugs off his jackets and leans against the backrest of Steve’s lounger, a long leg on either side of the part where Steve is sitting, making their legs graze one another occasionally as he sparks up a cigarette, which he balances in the corner of his lips. "Hendrix, where did it take you?"

The sudden display of open confidence, the way he just splays his long limbs out like that. Like he owns the place, makes something squirm inside of Steve, and maybe he feels a little shy now, saying, "I dunno, maybe it's lame." Eddie frowns as he plucks the cigarette from his mouth.

"I'll let you know if it's lame." He says, blowing smoke rings in the air.

"Er. It's difficult to explain, but sorta like things I know from that era and sound, psychedelic colors, and then like imagining watching it live," Steve's mind takes him right back to last night, "and 'Hey Joe' was like being pulled into a landscape painting, 'Are you experienced?' and 'Stone Free' was like moving through outer space, you know? Maybe I'm talking shit, but that's where I went anyway," Steve finishes, avoiding Eddie's eyes a little, as when he says it aloud for the first time, it loses all its magic.

"You listen to all music like that? I mean, go places?" Eddie mutters the question softly, and Steve chances to look over, and Eddie's expression almost looks hopeful.

"No, it just kinda happens sometimes. Like a daydream almost, and then I get these like tingles-" Steve starts, but Eddie finishes.

"Along your neck and arms?" And now Steve can hear the excitement in his voice, so he turns to him and indicates along his cheekbones, arms and legs.

"Yeah, kinda," Steve replies, and it doesn't feel bad at all having Eddie's eyes move over him like that.

"Do you play an instrument?" Eddie asks, sitting forward towards Steve now, his eyes eager for answers. Steve doesn't want to get his hopes up too high, but Eddie has not ridiculed him. Hasn't made an awkward face or an excuse to leave. If anything, he wants more, and with that power shift again, Steve tries something else. He leans back on his elbows across the lounger, his arm resting a little on Eddie's leg, and stretches out his torso comfortably.

"Eddie," he smiles, "I gotta get some questions in, too, you know?"

"Oh yeah, shoot, dude," Eddie says matter-of-factly.

"Are you gonna bite my head off again if I ask about your love life?" Steve asks with a laugh.

"Fine, as long as you tell me why you're so interested because I'd much rather be talking about music, honestly." And with a reply like that, it's almost as if Steve already has his answer.

"Look, in the record store, you were selling me that Mötley Crüe album, happy as anything, and I knew you were in a band, so my brain just assumed you were like a chick magnet, just maybe not the ones from school, you know? But then you got all nervous when I asked you about music girls liked, and whilst there isn't anything wrong with that, it wasn't what I expected. So does that explain better?"

Eddie looks a little sheepish but then smiles and shrugs. "Sorry to burst your Eddie Munson bubble there, Harrington."

Steve gestures at himself. "It's overrated. Living proof right before your eyes. Music doesn't let you down like that, though, huh?" And that earns him a sweet smile, "So tell me to fuck off at any point, but I sort of can't believe it, honestly. So is it that you don't have a girlfriend right now, or like never have?"

"Define girlfriend," Eddie says, playing with his rings.

"A girl you've taken on a date," Steve says.

"Yeah, I've had a girlfriend or two then," Eddie says, but Steve doesn't detect any fun glimmers of nostalgia, but that squashed one Hawkins rumor about Eddie, he obviously liked girls.

"But…" Steve leads him a bit further.

"But that was literally it. We just went to the movies or the diner for milkshakes," Eddie says, a little disappointed.

"You ever taken Robin, the girl I work with, on a date?" Steve pries a little further.

"Not a date as such. We just used to hang around one another a lot for a while, and then, erm," Eddie looks thoughtfully into the sky, "then I guess I asked her something, probably too personal, and I'm definitely not telling you what it is, so don't ask, and she's kind of avoided me since." Eddie looks regretful, and Steve decides to give him a break.

"I don't play an instrument. I tried a bunch of different ones but could never get one to stick. Even tried singing, which I'm ok at, but you know, not opera or anything like that."  Steve sighs and looks up to the night sky. "No matter how much I love music, I just don't have the talent to make or mimic it, apparently."

"Maybe you just had a shit, stuck-up teacher," Eddie says quickly, and that does bite of a lived experience. "When I was a kid before I moved here. I had this teacher; all he wanted to teach me was like campfire songs to do with god or nursery rhymes. I learned enough to find my way around the acoustic, but then, well, I couldn't go anymore, but honestly, by that point, I didn't want to. He sucked." Eddie raises his eyes to Steve, "But then I got here. Just my clothes and my guitar slung across my back and moved in with my Uncle. Now that guy taught me how to play. We figured out that I could actually, when not being bullied into some kumbaya shit, play by ear, and when I'd get stuck, Wayne would help me. He showed me all his anti-war favorites and even started off my savings for the guitar I have now. He got me a second-hand electric pretty quickly and amps. He's good like that. Finding the best bits of people and nurturing them. Probably regrets it a little now, though." Eddie laughs with so much fondness in his voice.

"I bet he doesn't. I bet he loves seeing how much you enjoy playing." Steve nods at the sky.

"If you wanted, I could help you learn guitar. Well, what I know anyway," Eddie says kindly, which makes Steve ignore the entire cosmos and focus on him.

"What, like what we're listening to now? Play like you?" Steve blurts out excitedly.

Eddie tries to hide his smile, "Well, anything you like, really, and I can't guarantee you'd be as good as me, but we'd try," he says as the repressed smile breaks out across his face, and Steve gives him a little playful shove, and this time Eddie returns it.

"Alright, you're on. I'll take a look at guitars tomorrow." Steve grins back.

"You can borrow one of mine if you like? It's no problem" Eddie shrugs like it's nothing, and Steve nervously swallows. God, he wants this. Wants Eddie. Wants someone who knows what he means when he explains how a song makes him feel. Who doesn't laugh at him or make a face and knows so much. Eddie feels like a drug that would be the multi gateway to everything he could possibly need. They sit silently for a minute or so, "The girlfriend thing. I, uh, well, I stopped trying because I'd get so nervous. The date would be fine, you know, I can talk the ears off of the corn harvest, but, uh, I'd just bottle it at the goodbye. I just built it up in my head too much, I think. I just wanted to get it right, and when presented with the opportunity, I thought I was gonna fuck it up, so I'd just hug them goodbye. Then they'd think I didn't like them, but I'm too much of a coward to admit I was scared, so I just stopped trying." 

"Well, you're not a coward. Navigating girls can be terrifying, Eddie, and maybe," Steve turns on his side towards Eddie on the lounger, propping his head up on his hand, "maybe you just had a bunch of shit, stuck-up teachers."

"Yeah, well, if kissing lessons were something I could buy, Harrington, believe me, I would have already invested heavily a long time ago." Eddie laughs, playing with his rings again, and Steve's so happy that Eddie isn't looking at him right now because he is literally chewing on his bottom lip, desperately trying to find a way to gently prod the opportunity the universe just chucked into his lap. Come on, Steve. 

"Well, if I'd known there was a market for that sort of thing, maybe I wouldn't have to be working slinging ice cream to attitude-filled kids loaded up on sugar." Steve laughs, looking down at and playing with the material threads of the lounger, and then glances up at Eddie subtly. 

Steve's heart skips when he finds Eddie looking up at him from under his hair, frozen, mid-picking at his nails.

"How many first kisses do you think you've been?" Eddie asks, and Steve can hear the curious caution in every word.

Fighting his every urge, Steve breaks eye contact to look up, like he's pretending to remember them all. He doesn't actually know. "Oh tons, and you know it is exactly what you said. It's all just nerves. Most of them get much better once the first one's over. Probably the same as the first time you played on stage. I'm guessing here, but you probably still get a little nervous now, but not enough to stop you, right?" Eddie makes a thoughtful noise in response, and Steve hopes he's done enough leading, but all he really wants is a red or green light to let him know what to do next, but they're sort of stuck in a kind of limbo, and he can feel the tension in him, stretching, and any minute now it's just going to snap. "I think you'll find it easy once you get past the nerves, sure there are some dos and don'ts, but, it's mostly playing it by ear, reading the other person, and from what you've said, those things come easily to you, right?"

"Right." Eddie agrees, "How did you learn, or did it just happen organically, like when it's supposed to?" Steve almost feels a little sorry for him, and he could tell the truth here, that it had just naturally occurred sitting on the porch with his middle school girlfriend watching the sunset, or he could bend the truth a little, maybe making Eddie feel better and nudge at this situation simultaneously.

Steve readjusts his position. He sits up and straddles the lounger, mirroring Eddie, facing one another. "If I tell you, you are absolutely sworn to secrecy. Ok? Like to the grave!" Steve says as seriously as he can, and Eddie perks up. His eyes revert to an excited look as they scan Steve, hungry for secrets, with a couple of enthusiastic nods. "No, you gotta swear. I mean it! I'd never live it down." Steve lays it on thick as he looks Eddie right in the eyes.

He frowns slightly to show his earnestness, "I swear, man. I would never tell. Also, even if I wanted to, that would involve exposing myself too. Why was I talking about first kisses with Steve Harrington in the first place, right?"

"Yeah," Steve makes a show of relaxing a little, and Eddie shuffles forward a little, leaning into the secret. "So believe it or not, before my first kiss, I was much like yourself, nervous about it, and I was talking to my best friend about it, and they felt the same, so we kinda, uh, practiced with one another?"

Eddie deflates a little. "Oh, I see. Well, that's not so bad. Handy to have a willing girlfriend around to help out." Eddie forces an awkward laugh.

"It wasn't my girlfriend, Eddie. It was my best friend," Steve says, hammering down each word like the heaviest hints of all time.

"You know what I mean, a friend who's a girl," Eddie says, and Steve really doesn't want to have to spell it out, but it looks like he might have to. He adds to his Eddie assessment.

Intelligent but can't read between the lines.

"I've not had a girl best friend since kindergarten, Eddie." Steve tries again.

Eddie looks horrified. "You were kissing in kindergarten? Jesus! Way to make me feel even worse about all of…" and then he stalls, like his brain engine full on cuts out. His eyes move around the lounger in between them like he's solving the meaning of life, and suddenly his head lifts, and his eyes lock with Steve's, "Your first kiss wasn't with a girl? I-I mean…your friend…it was a boy. The one you practiced kissing with was a boy. A boy?" Steve can't hold back his laughter and just nods, putting a hand on either side of his own face like he's mortified.

"Please don't tell anyone, Eddie. I just wanted you to know, as much as it would appear, I'm pretty confident in that department now. I was just as nervous as you once." Steve smiles, and his heart is pounding hard. It was a risk. A big one, but if it meant either squashing this crush or the impossibility that maybe this could happen, he needed to take it. 

"Right, ok," Eddie says, and it makes Steve a little concerned because he sounds a little panicked. Steve's heart sinks.

"Want another beer? I'm gonna go get one," Steve says, using his chipper customer service mask. He makes sure to smile big at Eddie like he isn't getting his heart crushed for the second time this evening, though this time is entirely his fault.

"Yeah, I could go for another beer," Eddie says without looking at Steve. Well, at least he didn't want to leave immediately. That was one good thing, Steve thinks as he walks as casually as possible to the fridge, ducks his head inside it, and curses.

"Shit!" He whispers and takes a deep breath before grabbing two cans. Then he hears a faint jingle.

"Is it much different?" Eddie's voice comes from the dark of the kitchen, and the rate at which Steve's head lifts makes him bang it on the refrigerator.

Steve rubs his head. "Jesus Christ, dude. Don't sneak up on me like that." He hands the can to Eddie and heads out to the pool again, but Eddie stops him, a gentle hand on his arm.

"Is there much difference between the two?" At first, Steve is confused, maybe from the jump scare or the bump to his head, but then he catches on.

"Erm…I dunno. It wasn't really a side-by-side comparison, and we were a lot younger then, but no, I don't remember anything being too different. Other than the person, but then you can kiss two girls, and they can be different too. Not everyone likes the same things, but like I say, you'll read that easy enough, or they'll let you know if they like or don't like something." It's dark in here, but he can still read the confusion on Eddie's face. "It would be kinda like you teaching guitar students to play the same song. They might all have different guitars. Some might have favored acoustic over electric, and some might embellish on parts, but it's still recognisable as the same song. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, that does make sense." Eddie's voice is much more at ease, "And even though you kissed a guy, you still like girls, right?"

"I feel like I don't need to answer that, Eddie." Steve rolls his eyes and puts a hand on his hip, making Eddie laugh.

"Yeah, yeah, of course. Sorry. I forgot about earlier." Eddie chuckles.

"That's ok. If it wasn't for you, my night could have ended a lot worse, that's for sure." Steve says thankfully. "Your friend being in town was pretty lucky."

"Hmmm, yeah, that was lucky, wasn't it." Eddie's rings tap the side of his beer can as he sways from side to side a little, and soon, some things are coming together for Steve.

"There was no friend at the party, was there?" Steve says in realization, and Eddie smiles and shakes his head in a no. "You knew what was gonna happen because you found out that guy was gonna be there."

"I suspected. I didn't know. What I said earlier was true about Gina liking you. I also remember how shitty I felt when it happened to me, but when I got there, you looked like you were having a great time, so I went to leave but heard him in one of the other rooms, and I just suspected the worst." Eddie explains, and doesn't Steve's whole heart swell at such a level of sweetness and care. He barely knew him, but he still looked out for him.

"Thanks, man," Steve smiles fondly at him. Maybe other things were impossible dreams, but he feels sure he at least has a new friend, "You know what? I'm gonna take you up on your offer. How much do you charge for a lesson?" 

"Well, I thought maybe," Eddie scratches the back of his head, "Maybe we could…I dunno…er…trade expertise?" He suggests. It's a good job Steve had spent most of his life learning to hide his emotions when he needed to, specifically for moments like this. His heart is thundering in his chest, his brain is scrambled with a million different types of static, and his hand wants to crush the can in his grip with sheer excitement. Two days ago, this wasn't even on his radar. Two days ago, this delectable taboo wasn't even on his menu. It was on a hidden secret menu only he knew about, and yet here it was, being presented on a silver platter, and it's taking every ounce of resolve he has not to grab hold of it and greedily consume it quickly before the invitation is revoked. Oh, and he knows he's been bad tonight, a little trick here and a little lie there, and maybe he does feel like a bit of a creep about it, but it's not enough to say no. He was jonesing for something he'd never even tasted, but every neuron and hormone in his body told him he wanted it. No. He needed it. He'd let future Steve live with the regret and consequences.

"Sure. That sounds good," he says pleasantly. "When shall I book you in?" He says with a friendly laugh.

"Uh, now?" Eddie says.

"Now?" Steve says, a little surprised.

"Yeah, once I get the first one done. I'm good, right? Just beginner's stage fright. Then I can grab the guitars out of the van, and I can return the favor," Eddie says like he's working through the facts in his head, and suddenly Steve's excitement is a little dampened. Eddie wanted it over with, and Steve guesses he expected it, but hearing it out loud from Eddie kinda stung a little, but that was fine, right? Or would a taste of honey be worse than none at all?

"Yeah. Cool. Um, where do you think you'd feel most comfortable? It's your nerves that are the issue, so what do you do to relax?" Steve asks, and Eddie laughs.

"Well, we've kind of already been doing that, but, uh, maybe not outside somewhere a bit more private. But, uh, this is my first time here, so I don't know where would be best." He looks around for a second. "What about where you set up last night?" Steve gives a one-shoulder shrug like his insides were not currently leapfrogging over one another to see who could get a chug of that sweet adrenaline first.

"Sure. I'll tidy up my crap, and why don't you bring your stuff in, so we can pick a song you can teach me afterwards?" 

"Gotcha! See you in a sec, smoochy-poo," Eddie cackles, and Steve laughs too, out of excitement more than anything, but he's glad Eddie is making light of the situation. It's sneaky and underhanded, but it eases the guilt hearing him joke about it, even if this was going to mean something to Steve but nothing to Eddie.

Steve quickly tidies away his tapes and almost dies when he notices he'd left the bottle of lotion down here and quickly kicks it under a chair to worry about tomorrow. He turns off the light and decides it's too dark, but with the light on, it is too bright. He decides to light one candle, so a bit of light is cast around the room, but the main lights are all off. Then he tries to find the most casual standing pose he can, trying a few, realizes he's being stupid and then fluffs some cushions, just to put the energy somewhere.

The door opens soon enough, and Eddie barrels in, tape deck in one hand, box of tapes in the other, which also now contained his lunchbox, some fresh beers, and the partially emptied bottle of liquor. His silhouette stops dead in the doorway.

"Why's it so dark in here?" Eddie asks a little nervously.

"Well, I thought, if you couldn’t see me, you could maybe pretend I was someone you wanted to kiss, you know. Maybe that would help?" Steve says kindly. "I can put the lights on if you want. It doesn't bother me." 

Eddie dumps the things in his arms, W.A.S.P still pouring out of the portable tape deck's speakers. "No, no. You're right. This is good. I trust you to be the expert here." As he turns and walks towards Steve, the light hits his face, and Steve can at least see and hear he's smiling a tiny bit.

"Ok, so, here is what I think, and if any of it feels like it's gonna make you or is making you feel uncomfortable, just say, ok? You're under no pressure here," Steve reassures him, and despite how much he wants this, he does mean that. "I thought we could do it standing, and I'll keep my hands by my sides, just in case you are worried about anything I told you earlier, and you can just go for it. No judgment, and I'll help you if you want me to, ok? Eddie's rules," Steve says kindly.

"Eddie's rules," he repeats and steps forward toward Steve, who is busy trying to be as still and least intimidating as he can, but he can see as Eddie approaches he's shaking, almost vibrating.

"Are you cold?" Steve asks, concerned.

"No, just nervous," Eddie says, his voice trembling.

Steve lifts his arms slowly from his sides to either side of Eddie's shoulders. "May I?" He says, and Eddie nods. Steve places his hands on Eddie's upper arms.

"Look at me, Eddie." And those big brown doe eyes sweep up to meet Steve's gaze. "You've nothing to worry about. You wanna not do it. That's fine. We can try another time or never speak of it again. If it's awful, you've lost nothing. I'm not someone you need to impress with this, and I'm not gonna tell a soul for obvious reasons. You're safe here." He rubs Eddie's arms gently. "And if you wanna crank the music up, move me somewhere else, change the lights, or anything at all, you can. Eddie's rules, remember?" And Steve knows this image of those sweet candle-lit eyes looking at him for reassurance might be etched into his brain forever. He removes his hands and puts them down by his sides. "Consider me like, I dunno, like a mannequin or something."

"Alright," Eddie says quietly. He's still shaking a little but not as much, and it is adorable, even if it is a million miles from the wild rock star Steve had pictured in his imagination. It is stunning, nonetheless. The candlelight was a mistake. He looks beautiful in it. 

Eddie does turn the music up, and on his way back to Steve appears to be psyching himself up, pacing around and rolling his shoulders, like he'd seen plenty of times in locker rooms before a game, and he desperately wants to laugh, but doesn't want to shake Eddie's confidence. So he waits with the same patient, friendly smile on his face.

Eddie finally takes a few steps towards him. "Ok, I got this. It's just like mwah and done. Easy." Eddie speaks his inner monologue aloud whilst staring intensely at Steve's mouth before his eyes flick up to Steve's, who returns a kind nod. Eddie rubs his hands together. "Right, here goes nothing."

Eddie closes the gap, and just like that, Eddie Munson is kissing Steve Harrington. It is one of the most fantastic and agonizing things Steve has ever experienced. Eddie's mouth is so soft and pillowy. This close, Steve can absorb the full bouquet of his aromas. Alcohol, weed, tobacco, leather, pine, patchouli, musk, engine oil, a hint of gasoline, and it's so heady Steve wants to roll his eyes back into his skull and live here forever. He smells like high-speed rock ‘n’ roll, and Steve wants it bottled. And yet, at the same time, he's restricted. He can't reach out to pull Eddie closer. He can't deepen this kiss. He can't plunge his hands into his wild hair or explore under his shirt. He has to stay perfectly still for Eddie.

Steve unexpectedly adds 'Good Kisser' to his Eddie assessment.

This memory would always have to be Steve's secret album track. One hidden after minutes worth of silence right at the end of side B that wasn't even labeled on the album itself. Hidden away from prying eyes, only there for him when he felt like delving deeply enough, but he knows this is always going to be in his top ten. A mental polaroid, their mouths perfectly fitted together just like this.

Eddie tilts into it a little more, and Steve's every fiber is crying out to match his energy, but he promised he'd stay still, but he could be pliant. There is an extra wave of alcohol between them as Steve feels pressure from Eddie's tongue, teasing his mouth to part slightly. He obliges willingly but knows not to give too much. Eddie's doing the driving here. He tries to relax by forcing his focus on the music.

Magic runs through my fingers-

One touch you'll see

Steve feels Eddie's hand gently touch the side of his face as if instructed by the singer, but then he pulls it away quickly. Steve breaks the rules, puts Eddie's hand back on his face, and pats it. Trying to let him know it's ok, but Eddie pulls away entirely. However, he keeps the distance minimal. The smile on his face is enormous, and Steve mirrors it. 

Steve wants to let out a sigh so full of longing it might launch a million love songs from bridge to chorus. A lonesome howl. Instead, he does what he's supposed to. He keeps the beat and holds that friendly smile like that didn't just happen. Like that kiss wouldn't be embossed onto his lips whenever he hears a singer croon about unrequited love. His hand forever pressed against the window pane of a place he's not on the list for.

"See, easy. You did it, man. First kiss. Check. Done." Steve draws a tick in the air with his hand, but Eddie isn't looking. He might not even be listening. Instead, his eyes are still trained on Steve's mouth.

"Say, could I get a redo on that? I noticed something, and I wanna try something else," Eddie says excitedly, and Steve can hardly believe his luck. Praise whatever powerful being is allowing this to happen right now.

"Sure thing. It's your time. Anything I can help with?" Steve asks, trying not to sound too eager to please.

"Can you, um, how can I put it….can you kiss me back this time, so I know what that feels like?" Eddie asks, the grin on his face unmoving. A Roy Orbison 'Have Mercy' rings through his brain. For Steve, it might as well be Christmas right now, it's not everything he wants, but it's something, and to be honest, the universe has let him get away with a lot this evening. 

L.O…V.E.

Keeping his cool and calm facade up, he replies, "Yeah, sure, I can do that. It's your rules, man. Your hands are fine, too, by the way. Sorry if I scared you. I was trying to let you know it was ok." He smiles more gently, and Eddie nods before turning around quickly to turn the music up even louder.

Steve notices that Eddie isn't shaking anymore, and that sweet innocent look in his eyes appears to have disappeared entirely. It feels ridiculous to even think, but if he was going to label how Eddie looks right now, he'd use the word ravenous. The backdrop of the guitar screaming out of the speakers only makes Steve's pulse race faster. Even Eddie's posture is straighter. He’s standing a little taller. His eyes don't move from Steve's mouth until he's swaggered back to where he was, their noses an inch or so apart; his eyes flick up to Steve's, and he actually winks at him, but before Steve can process what all these changes mean or where they've come from, their mouths connect again, and he is literally manhandled. 

Eddie's hands yank Steve's arms around him, leaning his back against them like he wants Steve to touch him. Meanwhile, Eddie's hands are taking a whistlestop tour of Steve. Pushing and feeling over his torso and arms as they make their way up to his neck and into his hair, Eddie eases Steve's mouth open with his own, tugging gently on his bottom lip.

The message center in Steve's brain is in two distinct factions right now: Team 'What the hell is happening?' and Team 'Hell yeah, let's fucking go!". Only then does he remember he should be doing something other than letting Eddie paw over him and try to engulf him entirely. 

Steve kisses Eddie back, licks into his mouth with all the hunger he'd been restraining, and lets his hand smooth up Eddie's t-shirt. The feeling of his body through the fabric would be unforgettable. Steve's hands are the steady grounding bass groove to Eddie's hurried electrifying lead. He is in the throes of it now, so it's really not his fault that when he feels Eddie tug on his hair slightly, he instinctively roughly pulls Eddie closer, pressing them together. The force of which pushes a grunt from Eddie, making a bolt of lightning shoot straight into the pit of his stomach. 

This is the Eddie he'd been fantasizing about, powerful, rough, brain-frazzling, just like the guitar riffs he'd been listening to that night. Who knew it was lying in wait behind one little kiss? Maybe Steve wasn't such an awful judge of character after all. He isn’t sure what is going to happen after this. Perhaps they'll be so embarrassed they'll never talk to one another again, but the lines have been crossed now. So as far as Steve is concerned, he is going to sprint into this tryst until Eddie close-lines him to the floor by simply telling him 'No' or 'Stop'.

The loud music in his ears, and the sweet melody Eddie is playing with his body, makes Steve flip the bird at the angel complaining on his shoulder as he moves one of his hands to grip Eddie's lithe waist, thumbing into the flesh with the safety barrier of the material between. The other moves all the way north to get lost in that wild mane between his fingers as he grips into it lightly, doesn't pull, just wants to feel around in there, and it is glorious. He feels Eddie's tongue retract from the wrestling match it had been having with his own, his lips smile against him before he tugs hard on Steve's hair, tipping his head backwards with force, making him emit a noise he hadn't ever heard himself produce before, inspired by a place somewhere between pleasure and pain.

Both panting for air, Steve, though in an awkward position, decides to make light of the situation. He doesn't want Eddie to stop and figures humor will let him know everything is still good. "Not bad for a second kiss, Munson."

"Careful, Harrington. You wouldn't want anyone to think you're having a good time here, innocently helping out your new buddy, right?" Eddie's sultry smile descends into a smirk as he licks a fat stripe from the base of Steve's throat all the way up to his chin, along his jawline until he's dragging his teeth over his ear, and now Steve's eyes do roll back into his skull, his eyelids flutter shut, as he feels his blood thunder south. Steve decides that the town is wrong, Eddie doesn't worship the devil. The level of temptation and amount of sinful thoughts surging through Steve right now might mean that he is in the hands of Apollyon himself. Relief sweeps over him as Eddie finally pushes him into a wall, glad for something to help keep him standing.

He worries about the potentially embarrassing firmness rapidly developing below his belt, and a good Steve, a wise Steve, would tell Eddie to ease up, but those Steves are out to lunch. The only Steve remaining is munching on popcorn, yelling more, more, more, and switching every sign to green. "Jesus Christ, Eddie," is all he manages breathlessly.

Eddie's hand is still firmly holding Steve's head back as his other hand caresses his face and starts to move achingly slowly down his neck and chest as Eddie rasps in his ear, "You know, Harrington, you really should learn to ask more open questions." He must see the look of confusion on Steve's face because he laughs deeply, and it vibrates through Steve's body, not helping his current predicament in any way.

Another tug on his hair, and the hand on his chest moves lower still. Eddie's fingers trace gently along the outlines of his muscles through his sweatshirt. It's only then Steve realizes his own hands have turned limp against Eddie. He forces his eyes to look to the side to finally meet Eddie's in the darkness, waiting for answers that aren't emerging. Steve dips the fingers of the hand on Eddie's waist, along the waistband of his jeans, and he runs them around it gently until he finds a belt loop to hook a finger into and pulls Eddie against him again. A gasp and groan swim into Steve's ear. At the same time, he feels Eddie's stiffness against his hip. Steve bites down so hard on his own lip he's sure it might draw blood. "What do you mean?" He manages when the ability to think and speak finally returns.

Eddie deeply chuckles again before slowly, rhythmically thrusting his hips against Steve, causing a harmony of noises from them both. "Mmm, we sound good together, don't we?" Eddie purrs as his eyes trail over his face. The rough denim shifts the fabric of his trousers over his leg. The outside has the firm pressure from Eddie, but it's when the material gently brushes up and down the inside of his thigh that is really causing a cerebral malfunction. Steve should stop him. This is too far, too telling, he's exposed what he is, letting him get away with it, but if he does, this might never happen again, and he wants this so badly. Everything about this guy is musical. His tempo and basal noises are like sinful arias that Steve wants on repeat, his fingertips moving over him, conducting Steve's body to do exactly whatever he wants. Eddie ceases his pelvic onslaught. "I have a confession," he mutters gently as his fingers move to the lines where Steve's abdomen meets his hips, making Steve's usually very comfortable slacks feel like his worst enemy. "You see, I kinda didn't lie, but I didn't tell you the whole truth either." 

On instinct, Steve's fingers have been working away at freeing Eddie from his clothes. This is usually where a girl might bat his hand away, or if he was lucky, they'd help him out by removing it themselves. Eddie doesn't do that. He keeps his eyes on Steve and does nothing to stop or aid him. He simply allows it. With the freedom he's clearly been bestowed, Steve isn't sure why he doesn't immediately relieve Eddie of his clothes. Instead, it makes him untuck Eddie's band tee much more slowly than he actually wants to, like carefully unwrapping a gift. But as Eddie stops talking, he stops untucking. A smile ticks at the corner of Steve's mouth like he's playing a little game. Eddie pushes him lower slightly, so he can look down into his eyes as he tilts his head, raising an eyebrow. It's a spinning coin of who has the power here, and Steve didn't realize until right now how soul-stirring that could be.

"We were talking about girls, right?" Eddie continues, a subtle tremble appearing in his voice, and Steve teases some of the fabric free as he speaks, his finger accidentally ghosting over the skin underneath. Eddie's words cease. Steve stills his fingers and watches him crumble slightly. Eddie whines and bites his lip, nodding, before taking a deep breath. "And everything I said about girls was one hundred percent true. I'd never outright lie to you. It was just a simple twisting to just see if…." Steve continues around his waistband until he realizes Eddie is repeating himself, and he starts tucking the t-shirt back in and moves his hand away. "No-no-no," Eddie says much more quickly, dropping out of his deep sultry tone to something Steve is more used to hearing, and he pouts.

"That's cheating," Steve smiles up at him.

"Sorry, sorry," Eddie apologizes and takes Steve's hand, placing it back where it was. "Please."

"Then confess," he says sternly, making Eddie wet his lips with his tongue.

"I hadn't kissed a girl. I tried. I like girls. I dated a bunch." Eddie's storytelling trait leaves the building, as all he is left with are short sentences, his eyes looking for Steve's hand teasing the material until the shirt is entirely free. He swallows thickly before he speaks again, "And I did give up after I chickened out a few times. That was all true." Steve's hand slithers under the soft cotton fabric of Eddie's T-shirt, and as his fingertips touch Eddie's stomach, his head flies back, and Steve can see his Adam's apple bobbing away, as he unleashes a string of whispered curse words into the air; his chest heaves up and down, and his grip almost pulsing in Steve's hair. He stays perfectly still, waiting for Eddie to return from wherever his brain and Steve's touch just sent him. Lets his hand linger, hoping it weaves a white-hot print into his skin forever. Hopes the place is accidentally brushed over one day, and this moment swamps his brain like the sweetest refrain.

'Cos bad boys they do

After a few seconds, his head lowers again, looking intensely into Steve's eyes, and he can feel the smooth abdomen and rise and fall against his palm. Other than the subtle movements of their bodies, they are caught in a stalemate. Without breaking their shared lustful stare save for an occasional blink, Steve flexes his trembling fingers lightly so the tips of them brush featherlight against Eddie’s softer-than-expected skin, and Eddie’s eyelids flicker for a moment. “So if that was all true, what was the lie?” Steve asks softly as his fingers graze over small patches of his torso, making minute circles that he is unsure about dealing out. Steve had felt a sizable number of bodies before, but this one is hot as a volcano and potentially just as volatile with one incorrect shifting of the fault-riddled ground they’d made together tonight. He has no idea what is too far here. Steve feels he is walking a high wire of intimacy. One wrong move and it could all be over. It all comes flooding into his mind at once how very little he knows about Eddie. How potentially dangerous this could be. What if Steve crosses a line, and it sets him off? Steve’s heart pounds in his chest, unsure of how to proceed.

With his head still tilted back in Eddie's hand, he looks down his nose and gingerly reaches out for Eddie's hand, wraps his fingers cautiously around his wrist, and to his relief, he lets him take it. He places it on his wrist, partially obscured by the T-shirt it hides under. Steve meets his eyes again, and Eddie’s hand chases after Steve’s under his shirt. He looks down at Eddie’s chest, can make out the bumps of his knuckles through the cotton, and spreads his fingers slightly so they disappear, and Eddie’s digits fall into the spaces between his own. A slight glint of a smile twitches at the corner of Eddie’s mouth as he tightens his grip and moves Steve’s hand over his body with a gulp, watching Steve like a hawk, and for a moment, he thinks maybe Eddie is just as scared of him. He moves their hands slowly to his chest, and his eyes close as he licks his lips. His chest is rising and falling much more profoundly and hurriedly now. He smooths their loosely joined hands slowly down him to his side, over the ripple of his ribs under Steve's fingertips. Eddie observes Steve the whole time, and the tension is eating away at him, so he pushes. “You didn’t answer. What was the lie?” Steve asks again.

Eddie's hand leaves him, and his skin misses the red-hot heat of his palm already. It shoots out to the side of Steve's head against the wall, and Eddie slowly bends his elbow to lean his face back into Steve’s space. Steve tries his absolute best to stay calm, but his heart thunders in his chest, and his eyes flicker back down to Eddie’s mouth. He feels a deep ache—one more kiss. One more, and then he’ll stop.

Eddie’s smile grows to a wicked thing above him as he studies Steve’s face. "The lie? No, Steve. Not a lie, just not the whole truth. I’ve never kissed a girl, and I do like them. But I also like guys.” Steve’s eyes must betray him entirely with surprise because Eddie’s grin widens, ”And I kissed a whole bunch of them a whole lotta times," he manages before adding to that total by kissing Steve ferociously, clashing them together almost painfully and pulling away roughly, "and you can't really blame me when the hottest guy in the universe offered me a kiss for nothing. Out of the goodness of his precious, kind heart." Eddie’s eyes drop lower, and soon he’s gone from where Steve can see. The next thing he feels is his soft wet lips mouthing over Steve's throat. The quick switch to gentleness has him finally releasing his hair and cupping the back of his neck. "You forgive me, right, sweetheart?" He speaks it into his skin, and he’s right. He does, but he can’t currently articulate the words to do so. Steve is pleasantly surprised that Eddie duped him. That means that Eddie wanted him, too, right? Maybe not in the same way, but in some way. A smile breaks on Steve's face as he lets the wave of pleasure crash over him as frequently and as heavily as they like. 

Make the grade.

He adds ‘Phenomenal Actor’ to his Eddie assessment list.

Steve laughs, making Eddie stop, but Steve doesn't have time to reassure him. The danger is gone, but it is no less exhilarating. He finally uses his strength to push off the wall and trade places. Eddie looks confused, maybe even a little scared, until he scans over Steve’s face centimeters from his own, smiling broadly, laughing in between pants for breath. As Steve pushes off him and removes his blazer and sweatshirt, Eddie no longer seems so worried.

"What did I do to deserve all this?" His eyes rake over every newly exposed inch of Steve, which feels like the most glorious thing in the world. Eddie wants him. It is looping over in his brain like a scratched record.

They're gonna drive me crazy yet.

"Well, let's see, you told the truth." Steve pushes his hardness into Eddie's thigh, and the relief from that tiny bit of contact is almost enough to make Steve collapse onto Eddie, but now he knows they had both been misleading one another a little, and he wants to play up to it.

"I did, I really did. I was so good for that, wasn't I?" Eddie agrees enthusiastically, his eyebrows pushing together as he looks from Steve's face to the friction between them as Eddie slides against him again, and Steve almost short circuits.

Prior to right now, Steve's general part in this kind of dynamic was mostly being grateful. Grateful for a girl, to let him touch her in any way. Even with Tommy, it was almost like a mutual science experiment, but Steve has found two new things he was into in the few short minutes of whatever this was developing between him and Eddie, so he pokes at one. 

"But you also made me aware that someone as good at acting as you cannot be trusted." Steve rolls his hips away from Eddie, leaving him shaking his head quickly in a sort of panic, and watching Eddie crave him like this was sending undulating shockwaves throughout himself. Sure, he's been the subject of coy glances, big eyes full of affection, maybe something close to love, but to be desired so desperately is not something he is accustomed to. It prickles at his nerve endings until his whole body feels so sensitive, like the merest hint of a breeze against it could send him crashing back into Eddie for more.

"It wasn't all acting, I swear. I was nervous about kissing you, but for different reasons than I said," Eddie babbles. His fingers dig into Steve's forearms as he grasps for them. Make that three. Usually, when he was gripped this way, it was by the soft pads at the ends of dainty fingers, maybe even the light scratches of perfectly manicured fingernails. Eddie's fingers aren’t like that. The tips are covered mostly in calluses from playing the guitar, and the roughness of his palms is probably from working with his hands. Steve suspects it's perhaps his van. Immediately jealous that it might be from all the rough surfaces Eddie has pushed other guys up against. He shuts his eyes momentarily as the textures graze across his arms, and his brain takes him to a sweltering hot day, Eddie leaning into the engine of his van, sweat dripping from him, covered in streaks of engine oil or grease, and it is doing Steve no favors in his attempt to calm down. He listens to the music around them for a reprieve, but it doesn't come. The singer only urges him on. He wonders if Eddie selected this album intentionally. If it was part of his plan all along, to bewitch Steve with a wicked potion of himself and the suggestive lyrics in the air.

That smokin' powder keg you're riding on is hell-bound

Steve rushes him, throwing a forearm over his head and leaning his whole weight against it on the wall so he looms over Eddie, breathing hard but keeping a distance between their bodies, hoping to create a chasm between them that they’d fill with the desire behind their eyes. He carefully leans in and speaks his words into Eddie's slightly parted mouth. "Would you have forgiven me if our roles had been reversed? If I had tricked you tonight?" His eyes rise sleepily from Eddie's lips to his hooded eyes, and a shuddering breath escapes the man under him, and Steve's stomach flips.

"Yeah. Yes. A million times, yes. I'd forgive you." Eddie looks like he's in pain as his words drip with yearning. Steve smiles down at him, and he can see the wave of realization move gradually across Eddie's face, "You tricked me?" He says slowly in an unbelieving whisper. His big eyes look up at Steve so innocently for a moment that it makes him positively growl into Eddie's neck because this is fucking sensational. He knows at any point he could throw up his hands, and Eddie would take the reins, or he could continue to overpower him, dominate him like this. He honestly can’t read what Eddie prefers, but he also had no idea what he liked better, either. It all feels good, maybe a little too good.

At the altar of rock 'n' roll you'll kneel.

"It wasn't a trick, exactly. It was more a bending of the truth and then a little pushing my luck," Steve says quietly as he mouths down his neck, his tongue tasting the sharpness of cheap cologne that Steve wouldn't have replaced by anything more expensive. It is perfection. He latches on when he reaches the base of his throat, hoping to leave Eddie with a memory of this evening, a warning to anyone else that sees it, at least for a few days, making Eddie hiss a breath between his teeth. Increasing the pressure as the guitar desperately wails in the sweet syrupy air around them. At first, he thinks he might have been too rough and hurt him until Eddie's hands guide his head back for more. "You like that?" Steve asks for the first time.

"I'd like it better if the rest of you wasn't so far away," Eddie half-complains.

"Yeah, well, I'm not sure you deserve it after being so deceptive." Steve laughs, taking his throat between his teeth again and sucking down. He dares to glance up at Eddie's expression and regrets it immediately because he looks like absolute sin, his head thrown back against the wall, sweat sticking his hair to his face, his kiss-swollen mouth hanging open like it's desperately waiting for something obscene to fill it. Though he can't see them in the dim light, he bets those coral pink triangles of blush are adorning his face right now.

Hellion! The devil's Hellion child

"You're not really selling the whole telling you the truth thing, you know?" Eddie catches him staring up at him and grins until he's cut off by Steve bursting another bunch of his blood vessels to decorate his pretty neck. Then he's catching his breath, gasping, and sighing into the air above them as his eyes slide closed. 

"Yeah, but imagine how much more you could have right now if you'd been good," Steve says as he releases and towers over him again, and Eddie lets him, despite them being roughly the same height. A mischievous grin spreads across Eddie’s face as his hips rut forward and grind against him again, almost taunting him. It feels so sinfully good. Steve almost whimpers but presses his lips together just in time. He looks at Eddie, who is already watching him, with a slightly arched eyebrow. As their eyes lock, he does it once more. His brow knits, and his mouth drops open a little. Steve recognises it as almost too much. A moan rolls out of him in the silence between songs, and Steve can't resist that open invitation to capture it. But the next song seeps into his ears, slower, gentler, and Steve lets the music puppet him. He reaches out to cup Eddie's jaw, thumbing at his cheek where he can feel those little patches of heat hiding in the darkness. The music slows his touch and breathing. He lets his eyes search Eddie's for the keys to unlock what he's holding back. Eddie releases a sigh.

Click.

Look, look in the candlelight.

Completely lost in the moment, he finally lets his mind take him and Eddie somewhere else entirely. Suspended in a dark nothingness, only one another's highlights revealed by the faintest light until flames burst from the floor to lick at their bodies. He claims Eddie's mouth with his own and tastes him again, consuming his sounds of pleasure like it was the ambrosia of the gods. He mentally adds to his Eddie assessment.

Exceedingly good at reading me.

As Steve draws back again, just to escape how good Eddie feels, before this ends too soon for his liking, Eddie says, "Come on, Steve. If I'd been really good and told no lies, neither of us would have much of anything right now." His hands move over Steve's body as smoothly as his voice fills his ears until they find their way around his waist, splay out against his back and pull him in closer again. "So maybe, don't think about it too much. Maybe call it even and don't think about anything at all." Eddie's hands move lower, grazing the small of his back, gliding into and over the dimples there, until his fingertips are playing with the back of his waistband, and he slightly dips them inside of it. He raises his eyes to Steve's and holds his gaze through his eyelashes, and Steve realizes he's silently asking for permission. 

And cry out the name of which I yearn.

Eddie doesn't know, but this is the furthest he's ever gone with a guy. He and Tommy had a few make-out sessions. There had been some moments where other parts of their bodies had brushed against one another, but primarily accidental, not purposeful like this. Not urgent wanting like this. It was the hands above the belt rule that kept it safe, that kept it in a forgivable friendly experiment zone. Even if they'd ended up visibly aroused by anything, they'd laugh it off, slap one another on the back, and find a bathroom each, as far apart as possible. This is not like that. He desperately wants to cross that line, specifically with Eddie, but the icy fear is steadily creeping its way past Eddie's flaming hot hands and up his spine. If he stepped over that line, there were no excuses then. It's only when Eddie speaks again he realizes he's frozen. "Steve? Hey, you ok?" Eddie's fingertips immediately retreat to the outside of the waistband of Steve's slacks.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine, I'm good," Steve says confidently, even laughing for good measure, but inside, he is terrified. He surges forward to kiss Eddie again, who accepts, but Steve notices it's much more like their first one. Soft, slow, gentle. He feels the firm pressure of Eddie's arms surrounding him, and it's a sorely needed comfort to slow down the insanity that is going on within him right now. Eddie's eyes scan his face. "Is that as far as you got?" He asks, and there is that kindness in his voice again. He's changed back to the guy that cared enough to be there tonight for Steve, with absolutely no idea there was anything in it for him at all. Steve swallows nervously and nods, looking down to the floor, a little embarrassed that his fear had suddenly surpassed his enthusiasm. He doesn't understand why Eddie isn't upset right now, why he isn't pushing him away, calling him a cocktease, or something worse. Sure Steve had never in his life treated anyone like that, no matter where they paused or stopped proceedings, but from what the girls revealed to him as he'd hold them in his arms, reassuring them it didn't matter, it wasn't a big deal, most guys got pissed about it. He was an exception.

"Steve. It's ok." His arms tighten around him, and one hand starts rubbing a soothing circle on his back as he stands to his full height again. 'Look at me. Please"

Steve quickly glances at him and looks away just as rapidly. "Can you try to look at me for a bit longer, please? I know it's difficult on account of how hideous you find me." The smile in his tone is evident, and Steve dares to look again. "There you are," Eddie says with a huge smile, and Steve offers him a weak one back. "Remember earlier, we were talking about Eddie's rules?" He brings a hand to touch the side of Steve's face, carefully moving a few strands of hair away from his eyes. Steve can't bring himself to say anything. He looks down again and feels stupid. Eddie catches his chin on the crook of his index finger and tilts his head back up. "Well, number one on the list of Eddie's Rules is all parties have to be into what's happening at all times. Understand? Because if you're not into it, I'm not into it, ok? That's how it works for me. I'm not being a martyr here," he smiles and looks down where they are still pressed together. "When I know someone's having a good time with me because of me, that's my thing. That's what gets me off." Eddie pretends to be deep in thought as he looks back up. "Well, that and a hundred other things probably, but that's definitely my favorite and most important." He lets out a soft laugh that makes the tension boiling in Steve rest to a simmer.

Steve casts his eyes down to the collar of Eddie's t-shirt, rolls it between his fingers and sighs, "Sorry. I know it must seem like a weird line to have, considering everything else we’ve been doing. You must be disappointed," Steve says regretfully, and Eddie laughs so loudly, making Steve’s eyes snap to him in alarm.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Do you have any idea where I've been for the past I don't fucking know minutes? I'm day-slash-night walking in fantasy, Steve. You have no idea how many times I thought about this. How many different ways. I never. Hand on heart. Never thought it would happen. And believe me when I say I thought I had a fantastic imagination, being a storyteller, a musician, and a dreamer, but nothing I came up with was anywhere close to how amazing this is. Seriously." His hand cups Steve's jaw, and his thumb runs across his cheekbone. "So no, sweetheart, I'm not disappointed. I am a man, light years away from the town of disappointment, ok?"

Steve smiles but rolls his eyes with his patented half-smile. Eddie looks and sounds genuine, but he can't help but feel maybe he'd wanted or expected more.

"I know what you're thinking, Steve. I think I rammed my tongue so far down your throat I tasted your innermost thoughts, so I'll be one hundred percent honest with you. I would be lying if I said I didn't want more. But I always want more. It's who I am. I'm greedy for attention, affection and, right now, you. I am. I'll hold my hands up to that. But I am not disappointed. So you've got nothing to apologize for except being so damn delectable. And maybe don't even be sorry for that because-" Steve cuts him off with a kiss that sets off a box of exhibition-sized fireworks inside of Steve, an orchestral crescendo that runs in ripples over his skin. Fuck, he likes this guy so much more than he thought he did or could.

"You know, I can talk more if that's how you'll keep me quiet the rest of the night?" Eddie smiles as he blinks back into the present. 

"You know I'm in one too?" Steve says quietly, brushing the sweat-dampened hair from Eddie's face.

"Huh? In one? One what?" Eddie looks completely bamboozled.

Steve chuckles, making Eddie's face light up. "I mean, I'm in a fantasy too."

"Fuck off!" Eddie exclaims so loudly in shock it makes Steve lean back. "You are not!" Steve nods, and Eddie's mouth is wide open in excited surprise as he gestures to himself. "Me? Really?" 

"Yeah," Steve says softly, draping his arms around Eddie's neck.

"You have no idea the inner turmoil I'm in right now. Like, I know, I can't tell anyone about this, and I won't, but if I could, shit, the fucking urge to rub this in all their stupid faces is strong. Steve Harrington was fantasizing about lil' ol' me." He flutters his eyelashes. "Feed my ego, Steve. Tell me everything, please."

"Ah, no. That's private," Steve says, frowning a little.

"Ok, ok. At least tell me for how long?" Eddie asks, his arms around Steve, shaking him left to right with excitement, and Steve sighs.

"Since yesterday." And almost immediately, Eddie pouts his downturned lips as his shoulders sink.

"Damn, you don't mess around, do ya?" Eddie replies with a lot less excitement.

"Ok, so you definitely seem disappointed now," Steve remarks.

"Yeah, that's because I am." Eddie pouts again, and Steve is amusedly taken aback by his honesty. At least this reaction confirmed he was telling the truth moments ago.

"Why? Like, why be disappointed about this and not me ruining everything," Steve asks curiously.

"Ok, stop. You ruined nothing. This is different. I just learned you'd been thinking about me, and I guess I imagined it would have been for longer than a day, Steve. What? No pining? No finding out when I'm on shift so you can watch my fine ass walk by? No, Eddie daydreams out of the window. Just one day? How? How is that possible? What did I do yesterday that I didn't do any other of the days we've known one another? I look the same. I act the same. Is it? Is it because you think I'm turning over a new leaf with a legitimate job? Because you should know I'm not." Eddie lets the words leave him like rapid fire as he puzzles through the situation, "Is it name tags? ‘Cus I can get my hands on as many name tags as you want. Oh, wait, is it because I asked for your help? Like a good Samaritan kink or something because, again, my teachers will tell ya I need all the help I can get."

"It's because yesterday I knew, well, I hoped you were like me," Steve answers.

"Oh, the liking guys thing?" Eddie guesses, and Steve shakes his head in a no, and Eddie wrinkles up his nose adorably.

"Music. You talk out loud about music, the way I feel inside about music. In the record store, the way you described the Hendrix album felt different from when you were assessing the others, and earlier tonight, the way you talked about this one," Steve gestures to the air to indicate the music still playing, "and then you knew what I was talking about when I talked about those sensations. And I thought maybe you'd get me. And then I remembered you were in a band, and I thought how amazing that must feel, to play these things and feel like I feel when I only listen to them. Then I couldn't stop thinking about how you might look, getting totally lost in it." Steve takes a breath, realizing how amped up he is talking about this, staring intensely into Eddie's eyes. He's suddenly aware he's talking louder, excitedly, his hands around the back of Eddie's neck, twisting his fingers into Eddie's hair. "Sorry." He says with an awkward laugh and dials it down a few notches back to normal Steve levels.

Eddie says nothing, only gazes back at him, a soft, thoughtful look on his face, blinking a few times before he says, "Don't stop on my account." And right there in a dimly lit room, W.A.S.P still playing loudly in the background, half-dressed, his hair wildly disheveled, Steve Harrington falls for Eddie Munson. 

Shit. This is bad. Fooling around, secret crushes and fantasies were one thing, but this? This is something else entirely. Dangerous even. But Steve knows. He emphatically knows the difference between something purely physical, something lustfully wanton, and this. This spins his head like a record, his stomach turns cartwheels, and his heart isn't pounding quickly like the hooves of galloping wild horses anymore. It's thudding. A resounding, steady thud. A bluesy John Lee Hooker boom, boom, boom, boom.

"Really?" Steve asks carefully.

"Do you know the level of nerd you have in your arms right now? I mean, I'm a pretty, foxy one at least, but yeah, really, Music was the first thing I remember being completely obsessed with." Eddie smiles. "I had no idea until we were by your pool that music wasn't anything but background noise to you or something to dance with girls to. All I knew about you was you liked sports, were rich, a little bit of a bitch, and so goddamn pretty. I would happily talk about and listen to you talk about music for hours." 

Steve wants to ask, but he just stares. He doesn't want to scare Eddie away, but he wants to know if this is just tonight, some fun between friends, or if…if there could be a tomorrow, or next week, or month, or year, or fucking forever.

"Wanna share with the class?" Eddie says, with a sweet encouraging smile.

"Well, two things, one for you and one for me," Steve says. "Which first?"

"Oh, definitely you first, sweetheart," Eddie drawls, and Steve desperately tries to focus on his words and not any hidden meanings that his body is trying to convince him of right now.

"So, I was wondering, and it's absolutely fine if not, but do you maybe wanna hang out again tomorrow or another night this week?" Steve asks, using his confident mask.

"Like we have tonight?" Eddie asks slowly.

"Yeah, or just-" Steve tries to answer.

"Stop right there." Eddie presses a finger to Steve's still-speaking lips. " Yes! Absolutely yes, Steve. Yes. It's a yes. Big fat, yes. Thank you very much," Eddie answers firmly without hesitation, before a colossal grin breaks across his face, and then he suddenly looks puzzled. "Wait, that was for you? What in the world do you have for me?" But Steve has stalled now. He's still processing how eagerly Eddie agreed, and he's very aware of his own breathing and the pulse in his ears until he's snapped out of it by a ringed hand waving in his face.

"Earth to Steve. Helloooo?" Eddie tries, and Steve tries to remember what he was talking about before he started plotting out their future together.

"So, for you, yes, erm, ok, so kinda embarrassing, but I thought you might like to know that whilst I only fantasized about you for one day, it was…." Steve licks his lips and blinks like he can't believe he's going to say this out loud, but he wants Eddie not to be disappointed. He looks into Eddie's expectant eyes in the darkness. "It was, um…intense and um…vigorous." Steve sees his eyes go a new level of wide before he looks impressed with himself.

"Oh-ho-ho, really? Now that does make me feel a little better." Even in the low light, his huge toothy grin is beaming at Steve. "You know I can run out to the van any time you like, grab that guitar and happily give you your own private concert."

"You would?" Steve asks dreamily as he thinks about that image momentarily and slides closer to Eddie until their silhouettes merge into one against the wall.

"Oh yeah, with fucking bells on." Eddie grins, his eyes dropping to Steve's mouth again, then looking him up and down. "Is this you indicating you might wanna rewind and within the lines have a little more fun now?"

"Yeah," Steve breathes against his lips. "That ok?"

"That ok?" Eddie playfully mimics and laughs. "Yes, of course, gorgeous. Absolutely ok! Maybe, as I'm staying over anyway, we can do the same tomorrow too?" Eddie says, walking Steve backwards to the couch, his eyes lazily looking over Steve's face as he guides him to sit and lowers him down, cradling the back of his head gently to lie back. "Ok, like this?" He asks as he shuffles into his lap. Steve nods happily and wraps his arms around Eddie's waist.

"Who knows, maybe tomorrow won't be the same? Maybe a sweet, handsome, nerdy guy can help me get a little further tomorrow? Because with him, I'd really like to eventually. You know, do more," Steve says positively; though he can feel the heat rise up his face, he is smiling up at Eddie as he leans in close and presses a kiss to his lips before sitting back and taking off his t-shirt. Eddie pauses like he's allowing him the time to look over him. Steve makes a mental note of all the places he's going to explore later, all the ink buried in Eddie's skin he's going to get intimately acquainted with every minuscule detail of, maybe even leave his signature next to them, so Steve can be buried under Eddie's skin there right along with them.

"From what I know of that guy, he will be more than eager to assist, but he's also not in any kind of rush. He'll be beside himself that he got so fucking lucky to get his lips on the second hottest music nerd in town." And before Steve can laugh and reach up to playfully push him off, Eddie leans down against his hand to kiss him longingly, his untamed hair draping around them both like the softest black-out curtains against the outside world, their sounds intertwine harmoniously once more as they breathe one another in and out. 

Symbiotic. Just like Eddie said.

Whilst their song sends Steve's imagination into the serenity of outer space, his fingertips of the hand wedged between them moves over Eddie's skin, across to the center of his chest, until they find what Steve's been after for so long. 

A beat that wholeheartedly moves him.

[transsexualprions]

Disabled and stuck in an abusive hell in the backwoods of wv, with no water or heat. About to be thrown out into freezing temperatures.

I’ve put this off, but I can’t anymore. I need your help.

I’m currently stuck in very rural wv on top of a mountain, with snow and ice storms now constant. I’m in a small trailer with my dog and cat on my stepdad’s property, and he is an evil, abusive, homophobic/transphobic drunk. After systematically abusing and dehumanizing me for months, even when I had a broken ankle, he’s now about to lock me out and leave me for dead in the middle of winter when I can barely walk.

For context: I never thought I’d end up back here with the man who made my childhood a living hell of fear and abuse, but unfortunately I lost my apartment and had nowhere else to go. I’m disabled and I was illegally evicted, but that’s another story…

Over the past few months he’s turned off the water, turned the electricity off when I displease him, stopped allowing my mom to bring me food or even see me, made countless threats, and has been drunkenly threatening me and calling me slurs (I am a trans/gay man), as well as making me perform demeaning work for him. It only gets worse as he finds new ways of torturing me, and my mother is the only thing that’s stopped him from kicking me out. But that’s no longer stopping him as he abuses her cruelly every day and she’s being worn down.

I have no wifi. I have no phone of my own. No contact with anyone who can help me (my boyfriend lives several states away and can only do so much). My family has abandoned me. I haven’t bathed in months and food is dwindling. My mom sneaks me her phone (what I’m using currently) so I don’t go insane, but it usually has one—maybe two bars and I can’t usually make calls with it. We’re also 40 miles from the nearest town which is just a Walmart and a shitty strip mall of nothing. On top of that I broke my ankle a little while ago and I still can barely walk. My doctor urged me to get physical therapy but I’m not allowed to go, as my stepdad doesn’t believe I even broke it in the first place.

The last straw was last night. He dragged me outside while I was in nothing but a t shirt and shorts, and forced me to shovel snow and ice around the property well into the night. He screamed at me the entire time in a drunken rage, laughing and calling me a fatass dyke, saying he hoped I’d break a leg too or my neck so he could leave me at the hospital, while forcing me to trudge through icy snow on my damaged ankle. And he will surely do it again as he takes great pleasure in my suffering.

At this point, my only hope is that my older brother will pick me up and take me back to Michigan, but his family is wishy washy as hell and have been making excuses right and left as to why they can’t actually come get me. Right now it’s because they “just don’t see how they can afford it during the holidays”. Either that or I need to somehow move to Minnesota with my bf. This is my only hope, and I am in desperate, desperate need of money to make it happen.

I’m freezing. I’m in pain, and suffering. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me or my pets and it’s terrifying. I just have to get out of here or I’m not going to make it. Please, if you have any money or kind words to spare, or even if you can only reblog this, it would mean literally everything to me.

Please don’t tag this as d*n*tion post. And, if you need further information, feel free to contact me.

P.4ypal can be found here.

[darkmasterofcupcakes]

In hazbin hotel, being Gay has no bearings on going to Hell or Heaven (the "vile and blasphemous" line was because Charlie is Lucifer's daughter) , so I don't think Vaggie would feel too weird about being attracted to women, especially once more openly gay, Trans etc people arrive.

For the first century and some of her life? Sure.

But I think she would be accepting of it in the last 80-90 years of her time in heaven, especially since the Sisterhood of the Exorcists is promoting a very violent mindset and killing sinners in secrets, it leave little room for interactions outside of the group, cue experimentations.

Also, considering how Agatha annoyed Lute for not being "proper" regarding the "out of wedlock baby" and single mom status, I think it would fuel her desire to accept Vaggie's gayness.

I can even see Lute appreciate how it can make Vaggie feel more like a part of the group on the more pragmatic side, or at least use it as an argument for people who are bothering her on it and that she won't just ignore or scare into silence.

I never really thought about that, but you do have a point. I think a lot of people assume Lute is homophobic (and maybe she is) because of her line about Charlie and Vaggie's relationship, and well as one of the comments about Angel in her solo during "You Didn't Know" but you could argue that, like you pointed out, her issue with Charlie and Vaggie dating could be more based on Charlie's status as a demon/Lucifer's daughter than them both being women. And the thing with Angel could just be a commentary on him being so willing to have what is implied to be casual sex in general, regardless of the gender of his partners. Obviously those are still not good views to have, but they are possibly alternatives.

I do think that Vaggie would still struggle a bit for a while, though part of it would be her just kind of making the wrong assumptions regarding why her mother was essentially judged behind her back? At least when she was young. Because she heard occasional whispers (and the one time she asked about her grandmother and why she'd never met her, Lute did explain that Agatha didn't like the fact that Lute wasn't married to Vaggie's father) where people would say pretty insulting things about her mother when Lute herself wasn't there to hear, regarding the fact that she wasn't even in an official relationship with, much less married to, Vaggie's father. And young Vaggie initially made the wrong assumption that the issue was more about the fact that her mother wasn't in relationship with a man, period, rather than the truth, which is that the issue was that Lute was an unwed single mother by choice.

But Vaggie did likely figure it out more as she got older and especially after officially joining the Exorcists....at least in part due to the reasons you pointed out. With how secretive the Exorcists are supposed to be, while it's probably not impossible that some of them have partners outside of the group who just are told cover stories for what they do for work and/or what they're doing when they're gone during Extermination Day, a lot of them likely just have relationships among each other to avoid any of that. And in my AU at least, while Charlie was Vaggie's first serious girlfriend, I will say her first kind of trying out a relationship with anyone was likely with another Exorcists, probably one who joined around the same time she did. She likely did still feel weird about it for a while, and didn't fully realize she was a lesbian until a fair bit later.

Lute likely was more accepting of Vaggie's sexuality than some might expect, partially out of spite regarding how hurt she was at how her own parents, especially her mother, who she had been very close to before Vaggie was born, basically cut her out of their lives for her decision to raise Vaggie on her own. So while she obviously couldn't be as accepting as she wanted to tell herself she would be - she does still find the relationship between Vaggie and Charlie shameful, sadly - she is fully accepting of her daughter being gay. Also helps that I might actually headcanon Lute as not actually being straight, but rather gray-ace or demi - she's pretty much only interested in Adam in regards to sex or romance (though the romance part even she's in denial about).

[catmansquad]

Eldritch!König

Headcanons galore for the troubled soul.

For as long as he remembered, he knew he wasn’t like other children.

His mother would wrap him up warm, a little scarf so that no-one could see the welts all over his lower face.

Their parents would whisper, and pull the children away from him.

His mother was loving and warm, but his father never showed him love. The man was cold and abusive. Calling him a freak with bloodshot eyes and the stench of alcohol on his breath.

Eventually his father revealed himself as violently homophobic. König’s attempt at exploration in his teen years ended in being beaten black and blue. His father called him a freak in more ways than one.

König was inevitably forced to confront the fact that he definitely wasn’t like other people. The man who spat venomous words was only his step-father. His mother conceded defeat when he stepped into the light to show his face. She told him that his father- his sire- was “exceptional” in all ways. A night of transcendental passion that defied all description.

At 35 years old, König stands over 7’ tall, and can lift a grown man single-handedly.

To say he is intimidating would be an awful understatement.

Until he met you, there was only one other man he trusted and loved deep enough to unmask himself. It was the deep and pure acceptance he’d always longed for. For a time, he had found someone he could trust absolutely.

When the townsfolk came with torches and petrol bombs, chanting of death to the “Abomination”, König was determined to fight, then to flee with his beloved. In the end, only he escaped the flames.

It takes him months of letting down his barriers and rejecting your attempts to see his face, before he finally agrees.

“Promise me, mein Schatz… P-promise me that you... Won’t scream…”

You had expected scarring, perhaps disfigurement.

“I promise, King, you’re handsome to me no matter how-“

You barely manage to choke back the shriek of horror, eyes blown wide as the sniper’s hood falls to his side, clutched tight in a fist.

His azure eyes are sad, sparkling with unshed emotions. All six of them. His nostrils are narrow, his frowning mouth barely visible beneath the many long, tentacles that now hang limp and still as he waits for you to reject him. To call him a freak. To run, screaming into the night, howling about a monster.

“That’s… N-not what I was expecting.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, a soft gasp passes his lips. You don’t run, you step closer to him. Had reaching out, fascinated, until you stopped. “Can I touch them?”. He nods, slowly.

He shivers at the feel of your fingers brushing along one of his appendages, it twitches at the foreign contact. He slowly coaxes it into wrapping around your hand in return.

Kissing König is an experience. His huge hands cup your ass to support you against his chest, his tendrils wrap around your neck, across your shoulder and down your back, pulling you close against him. He kisses back with a ferocious desperation, a touch-starved, love-starved man who finally has acceptance once.

He has other secrets, too; of how his gloves conceal his dark, sharp nails and webbed fingers, of the faint, closed slits in his neck that hide gills, and of how the light never seems to sit quite right on his bare skin. It is as if the shadows of the night sky want to swallow him up.

You’d always let you imagination run wild, the first few times you’d slept with the hulking Colonel, the man who refused to show his face, but the moans and groans of your name from beneath the hood had been enough to sate you. Loving him for who he really was did not take much effort.

He loves you just as much. Perhaps, his love burns too hot. After what befell the last man who accepted him, König would do anything to keep you safe. To keep you his. Anything.

“Mein Liebe, mein Schatz… Mine…“

It’s common to wake up to find yourself hugged against his chest, eyes watching you sleep, a single tentacle stroking your cheek. Your dreams are stranger these days; of a ruined city beneath an eclipsed sun, and tattered yellow banners fluttering in dead winds.

You witnessed him deal with the last man who assaulted you; the mask shifted and one tentacle lashed out from beneath, wrapping around his neck and strangled him while König looked on with a ferocious growl in his chest.

At the Halloween party, König greeted you wrapped in golden silks and a white veil. He hugs you close, lavishing little kisses while spinning you on the spot and whispering sweet nothings in you ear. “I know who I am. What I am here for. Be my consort, by my side. Forever. We will rule this world made anew. You are worthy, dear one…”

Only then did you recognize what he meant. He was telling you who he was. His callsign, his robes of golden yellow silk, the yellow tears that stained his sniper hood. He’d always been telling you.

“Der gelbe König”.

The King in Yellow embraces you as the eye of the storm, lost in each other’s eyes, as the madness claims all else.

[camptv-era]

Ace-Aro DJ

I was starting to skim Island for headcanon proof and I didn't even have to go far for it!

"Not So Happy Campers Part 1" has this:

Duncan's remark of "She's all yours, man." Makes DJ give this face.

Yeah, the point of this scene could be 'blah, blah. Eva is undesirable' but we were just shown that Cody was trying to flirt with her too, and Duncan himself was turned off by her attitude/strength.

Then, Justin is announced! Everyone's surprised or delighted to see him. Everyone except...

Even Duncan whom I headcanon as closeted bi is surprised.

DJ is the only one who makes two faces in this scene-- confused and then frowning. (Coincidentially, I'm also an aromantic Justin truther, but he's not who this post is about.)

Now this scene!

In "X-treme Torture", the way Bridgette disproves DJ is the one who wrote that mystery haiku is... him deflecting.

...now that I'm typing this out, it feels like I can't word this well, but I hope you guys feel the same aro vibes I do in that particular interaction.

(We also need more smug DJ and DJ with bite moments tbh!)

No pictures for these next two examples of proof, since they're dialogue-based.

In "Up The Creek" DJ offers romantic advice to Geoff by comparing it to something he knows, that is, luring in a rabbit to feed.

In World Tour's Japan episode, he compares Alejandro's smooth moves being irresistible to his mom's gravy.

I think DJ is romance+sex repulsed, but he clearly has a thorough understanding of it. He was raised by two people in love!

He's emotionally mature and well rounded in physical activities too. His moms raised him well! He just feels uncomfortable when people make romantic remarks/advances toward him.

He has no qualms in affectionate touches or contact. (See also: my DJ+Lindsay Friendship post!)

Except, when there's a romantic or sexual layer added to it:

In this case (Action's "Aftermath II"), Geoff suggested off-screen that Gwen was being cozy with DJ when he just saved her life! He's clearly bothered by it, even though he was just talking pleasantly with Gwen.

In "Newf Kids on the Block" there's also that hot dog scene. (I've hit the picture limit TwT,) When Owen hits on DJ for Noah to try and get him into a alliance with Team Chris, DJ makes this face again.

Yeah, yeah there's the gay joke here, but given DJ's character we know thus far: chill, kind and soft-hearted. He wouldn't be homophobic.

(Again, even if it was accidental or fanon, he has two moms. Plus, he's been shown to accept things more easily than others, like being on good terms with Gwen in Action after the Trent ordeal. I highly doubt someone's sexuality would deter DJ from being nice, if morality or social pressure doesn't.)

Anyway, though. It serves to add to my point. He's made that face (or one similar to it) when it comes to romantically suggestive situations!

He's also one of the only campers (if not the only one, I'm not really thinking hard about the other 99 contestants.) whose storylines have never revolved or included attraction in any way.

In conclusion: aro/ace DJ. 💙

[v3nusxsky]

Reader cheating on her husband for her ex-girlfriend, Emily because reader still loves her. So, for a little context— Emily broke up with reader about 2 years ago, reader gets married to this man in hopes that she would forget all about Emily but she never does. Reader drives like, 5 hours to see Emily even though they haven’t seen each other in years because girly still loves her(and so does Emily). - 🐦

Reconnecting 18+

*Authors note~ gahhh this has been sat in my inbox for such a long time! I'm so sorry. But I must say it's lovely to see you again anon*

Trigger warnings~ cheating homophobic parents? Arranged marriage (mentions of forced sex) broken heart long distance, meeting online daddy em subby r strap on finegring praise kink degrading kink bite kink

Prompt~ see ask^^**

*ding*

That was the sound that started this all. Truly it was just another boring day playing house wife to a husband who you felt nothing but hate for. You never wanted to fall into a loveless arranged marriage, but what else could you do when your true love left you in tears at the airport to follow her dreams? If only you'd had enough courage to come out to your family and move with her. She couldn't hide anymore and that's why you both separated. You often thought of her, when the news showed a crime or when you would seen birth and marriage announcements on your socials. Had she finally found someone worthy? Someone who wasn't afraid to be openly hers? Part of you wished she had, but the more carnal selfish part wished she hadn't. But every day you lived with the fact you lost her.

Coming home from the airport broken hearted, left you vulnerable and your parents saw that. The took you in and nursed your broken heart before their intentions came to light. That's when you were introduced to Robin. There wasn't much about him really, successful, rich, arrogant and well typical alpha male attitude. You remained polite until her pulled out the ring. Immediately, you went to reply with a no, and your mother must have knew that because she quickly mimicked your voice to answer an affirmative. And that's how you really got stuck here.

You'd tried to wriggle out of the situation but your family had a power over you, one you weren't quite ready to admit. The day of your marriage they blabbered on about how proud they were of you, how you were making the right choice for the family. You'd be happy as long as you did everything Robin demanded. Your mother made sure you knew your job was to serve your husband, his every need. No wasn't allowed to be a word in your vocabulary. The moment you whined and tried to protest was the moment her right hand walked your cheek. You soon learned that was only the taster of what was to come, starting with your wedding night.

Blinking away the tears from those awful memories where he forcibly took what he wanted, over and over again until he finally got tired, not caring that he was so rough he'd caused you to bleed. After all you were nothing but a dumb possession of his now. That happened every night for years. Which reminds you, the message. Only one person had you number, Robin, to ensure you never planned to leave. So you naturally assumed it was him. But it wasn't. No it was your beautiful past calling.

It started with a simple Facebook message, something you hid from Robin. Every day at 18:59 you would mute her chat and delete it, preventing him from taking your one bit of happiness in this godforsaken world. She found you through Garcia, after a few months of looking, and just wanted to say she missed you. Until she saw him. The pictures where you looked so uncomfortable stood with his hand around your waist. You'd never been overly comfortable with men, so to see you'd married one was a shock. Naturally, Garcia had found more on you, and that was how she knew, this wasn't your choice. That's why she messaged you that day.

After months of talking back and forth between Emily's cases she knew more of your life now. In fact she'd asked you to phone her discreetly after your husband took whatever he wanted from you. He wouldn't care for you but she would do her best from a distance. If you knew she was on a case, you'd text and two seconds later Garcia would be phoning on her behalf. Those calls always made you crave a life with your first and only love. The stories Penelope shared with you sounded so wholesome. It helped a little to know they were there. Being raped by your husband was never easier but they just seemed to help the tiniest bit. And for that you were so glad Garcia managed to find you for Emily.

You still knew in your heart you loved Emily Prentiss, of course you did, but what you didn't know was how you'd ever be together when Robin was still alive. On some of the darker days you'd ponder on staging his suicide just to make sure he could never put his grubby hands on you ever again. But you wouldn't be with Emily in a prison cell. So you held out. Emily didn't find it easier, knowing the abuse you were still experiencing from family and now some kind of husband, really did he even deserve to have that title? You would be much safer in her arms, in her bed as her wife. So that's why she suggested meeting up.

With some extensive planning and a lot of help from the BAU you managed to sort a plan, you'd be seeing Emily this upcoming week. After all these years, you just hoped she would forgive you for your mistake. As soon as Robin left, you set out to travel the five hour journey while you knew the BAU were working on causing havoc in his business. The closer you got the more anxious you became, what if she hated you? Well that was so unrealistic you actually laughed. How could she hate you when she's made all this happen to see you? But you weren't deluded either, this wouldn't be a run away into the sunset together, you'd have to return tonight to surrender to his needs.

The moment you made it into her arms you felt safe, for the first time in years. She held you like you were a delicate flower. Someone crafted by the gods above us. Hand in hand she took you to her hotel room, she really owed her team for the personal day, and she would be straight back out to help catch the unsub tonight. But for now you were here. You'd changed a lot though, your eyes were more dull and your were slimmer than before, you're smile didn't quite reach your eyes and you held yourself like a scared child. All these things broke her heart, they'd really done a number on you, but here and now she'd promise herself to help you escape. If that was what you wanted.

You knew Emily was being cautious of you, she knew what you'd been through over the years so maybe that's why you took the lead, slamming your lips to hers and stunning the other woman. She immediately reciprocated, it's been fair to long since she's had your lips on hers. Buy reality sets in and she needs to be sure you want this. She'll never hurt you like your husband does. "We don't have to" she murmurs resting her forehead against yours as you both tried to catch a breath. "Emily, I need you to touch me. Make me feel your hands. Make me yours Emily, I've always been yours but please. I just want to feel you on me like we use to. That's all I want. Show me what it's meant to be like" you trailed off at the end scared, truly you weren't expecting to be this okay with the thought of sex, it's been something you hate for years but here and now you need her and that was all you knew.

"Okay" caused you to breathe a sigh of relief and immediately start tugging at her clothes only to be stopped by her firm hand, "we take this slow y/n I love you too much to rush this Angel."  That caused you to do a double take. Angel? Love? Such a foreign concept for you. But when she kissed your lips again it was filled with love and care. Immediately, you submitted to her, her lips kissing every inch of skin in sight. But not taking anything off. "Emily please" you whimpered trying to communicate your want. "Shhh sweetheart, I wanna take me time my love, let's get on the bed okay? Remember we can stop anytime no matter what just say the word."

But saying the word would never come. Not with Emily. But still it felt reassuring to have a choice. But as always the raven haired woman was diligent and carful with you, just how she was before. A stark contrast to what you'd been through for years. She wasn't even using her kinks for the first orgasm. Just wanting you to get use to the feel of gentle touch. You had to practically beg her to degrade you. The praise was always wonderful but you really wanted to hear her spew that perfect mix that only she could do.

"Oh sweetheart, you wanna be daddy's good little slut? A precious whore for me hmm" she purred watching your body for signs she'd gone to far, only to be met with your hips bucking against her hand and a desperate plea for more, "daddy" you whined, "make me yours please I need you." By now you were too drunk on the love to care, with Emily everything feels right and safe, and all that does is fuel your need for more. With a particular curl of her fingers that brushed just right against your G-spot you sunk your teeth into the junction between her neck and shoulder. "Oh fuck sweetheart! Good girl, such a good girl for me" she cooed working back down as your body withered beneath her.

"Em, do yo-uh -I" you panted, the confidence you use to have faltering. "You can ask Sweetheart, do I have?"  You blushed a bright red and mumbled, "your strap?" With a nod Emily when to her bedside table and low and behold, the strap laid there just ready to be used. You were surprised she still kept it, perhaps not the same one but a replica. Inserting the smaller end into her own needy cunt she strapped up watching as you liked your lips. "Do you want to wet it darling?" Panic flashed through your eyes, that would hurt. "Shhh you don't have to, I remember you use to like that, that's why I asked Angel."

Just like that the fear is soothed, Emily won't hurt you. But you stand by your answer and she secured a small bottle of lube to run along the shaft before teasing your slit the the tip of the faux cock. Her hand came to join yours, intertwining your fingers gently. "Ready?" She murmured looking into your beautiful eyes, your pupils blown so wide she could hardly see the colour anymore. "Ready " you mumbled before she pushed into your fluttering hole.

Unlike with Robin, this didn't hurt, no. You felt a serge of pleasure course down your body as you adjusted to her size. "Oh god I've missed you" you whimpered  learning up to tug her closer. The feeling of warm spots on her shoulder concerned Emily, "sweetheart? Do you want to stop?" You couldn't help but whimper a no. You truly didn't but this was just so perfect, you didn't want to leave.

Emily was always so precise in her thrusts, a slow and gentle rhythm that hit all the right spots, you  two made for each other as you tumbled over the edge together. This was everything and more but the best part was when she cleaned everything away and just held you close, threading her nimble fingers through your hair. "You're perfect" you mumble still I'm your haze of sub space, "I should've left with you all those years ago. I'm so sorry Emi" you sobbed as your shoulders shook with the pure weight of the emotion.  "Hey hey hey, I get why you couldn't. And I know what that bastard is doing to you love, with your safe so I have the team waiting for your word to take you away from him. He won't ever have to touch you again. "

That was news to you, clearly stunned you looked at her. "Garcia found out his company has links to our Unsub, that's how he's finding the girls. Robin has multiple clubs trafficking girls as young as sixteen" she explained delicately, making sure not to hold you  as she didn't want you feeling restricted. "He would go away?" Was all you had. "Of course, for a long time sweetheart. You'd be safe."  The two words weren't said but were implied, "with me." You'd always be safe with Emily, so you have the nod. Emily hurrying to make her phone call, "Garcia? Tell  the team we are a go" she rushed into the receiver. Clearly Garcia had said something but Emily was quick to shut her down and end the call. "Don't you have to go and help them Em?" You pondered, you knew what your husband was capable of and so did she. "The only place I need to be is with you. I'm never gonna lose you again." A few hours later Emily got a text saying everything went well and they even saved a few girls. You were safe now and ready to finally be with her.

Word count~2359

[imfinereallyy]

i'll be sure to come back July 2nd and wish you a happy birthday! but as for now, can i please request from your dialogue prompt list, n. 35 “Please leave a message, after the beep.” with Steddie? ♡

this is such a fun idea and i look forward to reading the stuff you'll create! ♡♡

@spicysix I hope this one is up to your expectations, it was a lot of fun to write! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ I had an angsty idea, if anyone is interested in it I might still write it, but today i needed some good old domestic fluff.

“Eddie, are you being serious right now.? Steve huffed, placing his hands on his hips. Steve loved the man beyond anything, but he could be an immature brat sometimes.

Eddie had his hands over his ears, yelling, “La la la, not listening.” In the middle of their apartment. He was refusing to hear Steve out.

“For the love of god, Eddie! Would you just—” Steve moved to grab his boyfriend's arms to yank them away from his ears. Eddie squealed and ran around the couch.

“Eddie isn’t here right now. Please leave a message after the beep. Beeeeep.” Eddie’s hands gripped the arm of the couch, trying to dodge Steve.

“Oh, now you’re just being ridiculous!” Steve crossed his arms in a huff. He thought the party being here would soften the blow, and just maybe Eddie would hear him out. But no, apparently, them being here made Eddie extra stubborn.

Steve really loved the damn fool.

“Is there a reason Eddie is being extra weird on movie night?” Dustin and Will walked out of their kitchen. It was Will, surprisingly, who asked. He had come a long way from the shy kid Steve once knew. He was proud of him.

Especially when he called Eddie out on his bullshit like now.

“I will have you know, little Byers, will of the wise, that I am not being extra weird! This is a perfectly reasonable reaction to an absolute travesty of a suggestion! Also, Steve, you love that I am ridiculous! Don't act like you don't.” Eddie collapsed on the couch dramatically, and heaved out a sound that could only be described as a mix between a sigh and a strangled cry.

Eddie should have gone into acting instead of music. Indeed the man would have made a killing.

“I haven’t seen Eddie this distressed since we told him the bat tattoo didn’t make it after the literal bats tore him apart. Maybe it’s serious.” Dustin bit his lip. It was clear to Steve he was torn between choosing sides between him and Eddie.

It was a tale as old as time really, at this point.

Max strolled into the living room with a bowl of popcorn in her hands. “What’s princess crying about now?” She shoved a handful of popcorn in her mouth.

Eddie gasped, “Princess?! I expect the blatant homophobia from Mike—“

A distinct “hey what the fuck!” comes from the bathroom but they all ignore it.

“—But from you Red? I’m devastated.” Eddie gripped his shirt where his heart is.

“I’m bisexual, you dumbass; how can I be homophobic? Besides, that wasn’t a dig at your sexuality but rather the fact you are being a spoiled brat right now.” Max shoved another handful in her mouth as she casually tore Eddie apart.

Steve knew he should defend his boyfriend, but he was a little proud of his kids right now.

“You don’t even know why I am upset! All of you are taking Steve’s side!” Eddie grumbled.

“Dude, I didn’t take anyone’s side. And you haven’t even told us what’s got you so upset.”

Eddie rushed over to grab Dustin by the shoulders. “Oh, Dusty buns, you’re not even prepared. Our dear boy Stevie, just told me…that he’s thinking about shaving his chest.”

The room was silent before Dustin finally said, “Oh, never mind, I am on Steve’s side. That jungle needs to go.”

Eddie fell dramatically into the floor in outcry. Jesus Christ, Steve thought. Why am I into this?

Max put the bowl down, suddenly getting serious. “No, I agree with Eddie; you can’t do that.” She looked Steve up and down; a blush rose as she remained stoic. “Yea, Steve, it needs to stay.”

“Ew, gross! Max! I’m telling Lucas and El you said that!” Dustin scrunched up his nose while Will giggled.

“And? They’ll agree with me!” Max shouted back.

Steve was starting to feel uncomfortable, but Eddie’s smile was wide. It made Steve smile a tiny bit.

But only a teeny tiny bit.

“I agree it has to stay,” Will spoke up with a blush blooming across his face, breaking up the fight.

“No, no! Not you too Will!”

“What? Maybe I just wish I could grow chest hair too.”

“Oh we both know that’s not what this is about!” Dustin tugged on his hair.

Max stuck her tongue out, “Sucks to suck loser.”

The next few minutes, we’re chaos as they all start to place down arguments on what to do about his chest hair. Okay, now Steve was definitely uncomfortable.

“Alright, alright. Enough.” Steve spoke calmly, “I appreciate your concern for my body hair, but please stop talking about it. All of you are my weird surrogate children—“

Dustin leaned over to Max and whispered, “Look mom finally admitted it.” She tried to smother her giggles as Steve leveled them with a look.

“—so it’s a little weird you guys are arguing about it.”

“Stevie, honey. Ignore the children. Actually, just ignore Dustin. And listen to the rest of us. Don’t shave it.” Eddie came up to Steve and rested his hand gently on his chest. His thumb softly stroked the fabric of his shirt. Steve hummed quietly at the gesture; for a moment, he’s forgotten that they weren’t alone.

Steve gently cupped Eddie’s cheeks, before speaking quietly. “It’s just…baby. Baby, i get so sweaty with it.”

Eddie’s eyes filled with mischief. “I know it’s why I like it.”

Steve barked out a laugh as he heard groans throughout the room. Suddenly a burst of noise from the other side of the apartment startled all of them.

“Why are you saying im homophobic? Im not homophobic!” Mike crossed his arms in a huff.

“Until you unlock that closet door, you’re homophobic, Mike.” Max glared.

“What the hell does that even mean!?” Mike stomped.

Steve interrupted before it got out of hand, “Calm down, Wheeler. They are just fucking with you. We know you’re not a homophobe. They are just arguing whether or not I should shave my chest hair.”

Mike scrunched up his nose in disgust. “Ew, why are you guys even arguing about it? It’s Steve. It’s gross either way.”

Steve glared, “Never mind, you’re homophobic for that one. The chest hair stays.”

Eddie screamed, “Victory!”, and started peppering Steve’s face in kisses.

And when the children, who were not really children anymore, started to scream at each other in the background, Steve didn’t even care. Because right here, with Eddie, who made grabby hands at his chest, and his gremlins filling up the place with noise, is home.

***

fluff fluff fluff. also I agree the chest hair should stay.

find the request game here.