gerrystamour

[gerrystamour]

down on your two knees (to save your soul) [chapter one... kinda]

Teen (for now)★Gareth/OMC★In Progress

So this is technically a prequel to my fic here i have found some peace of mind and it's about Gareth and my OC Tig!! Thank you @strangerthingsocweek for give me the push to actually like... finish this fucking chapter? I guess? This is largely unedited, but like... alas! Tagging the Scromies: @starryeyedjanai @sidekick-hero @steddieas-shegoes @stobinesque @vecnuthy @tboygareth @patchworkgargoyle @sentient-trash @puppy-steve @theheadlessphilosopher @wormdebut And tagging the honorary Scromies: @hellion-child @spectrum-spectre

“This isn’t my decision, Eddie—”

“Oh, come off it, Chris. Even if it was, you know you’d be saying the same fucking thing—”

“Then why are you wasting our time arguing with me?”

Now that was the million-dollar question, right there. Why was Eddie arguing with her? Gareth was pretty sure Eddie just liked the sound of his own whining and Chrissy couldn’t help but rise to it every time.

“Because this is our band—”

“Enough!”

Everyone jumped at Freak’s loud outburst, silence falling over the tiny boardroom they were all piled into as they looked at him. He was massaging his forehead, a grimace clear in his expression.

Glancing at the screen of his phone, Gareth flinched as he realized they had been sitting there for forty-five minutes, and forty of those were dedicated to Eddie and Chrissy arguing in circles. Jeff had had his head on the table before Freak’s shout, and his mouth was still a tense line.

“You’re right, Eddie. This is our band, and that includes Chrissy,” Freak said pointedly, and Eddie actually had the grace to glance away, shame-faced, his mouth snapping shut. Seemingly satisfied, Freak said, “Stop being a dick and let her actually finish what she was saying.”

“Thank you, Freak,” Chrissy sighed, sitting back in her chair at the head of the table. “Now, as I was saying, the label can’t have us canceling shows if we’re headlining.”

“Gee, thanks, Chris,” Eddie bit out, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

“It was different when we were openers,” she continued a bit shakily, shrugging a shoulder, “but we’re about to start what the label’s anticipating being a sold-out arena tour.”

Jeff’s expression went slack, and Gareth knew his own eyebrows had disappeared behind his fringe.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?” Jeff asked, tilting his better ear toward her. “Did you say sold-out?”

“Anticipated, yes,” Chrissy replied, smirking just a bit smugly about it.

Gareth scoffed incredulously. “Fuck ‘sold-out’, did you just say arena tour?” He looked around the table. “How the hell did we score an arena tour?”

“Between your explosion in popularity and the docuseries deal…” Chrissy said, trailing off as she looked at Eddie a bit sadly. “I’m sorry, Eddie. I know how much you wanted to make this the tour you were back for, but canceling two of our appearances and needing a sub on guitar at the end of Ghost’s tour has the label spooked.”

Gareth sneered at the mention of the sub they were saddled with. When he looked over at Eddie, though, his chest squeezed at the way his oldest friend was staring up at the ceiling and blinking rapidly. All the fight had left him, and Gareth could tell he was resigning himself to the decision. Jeff leaned over to wrap a hand over Eddie’s shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly.

Eddie sucked in a sharp breath. “Whoever we bring on better be good,” Eddie bit out eventually, his voice thick as he turned a flat look on Chrissy. “We’re not slowing down for them.”

At that, Chrissy actually broke into a grin and clapped her hands together. “Well, you’re in luck because I’ve already brought someone on and he’s ridiculously talented,” she said in a rush, and they all just blinked at her. There was a sinking feeling in Gareth’s gut about the whole thing.

“He should actually be here soon to talk to you— oh, that might be him,” Chrissy continued, hopping up when there was a quiet knock at the door. When she opened it, she smiled politely and said, “Yeah, just send him back.”

Turning back to them, Jeff gestured for her to elaborate. “Are you going to tell us who it is?”

Chrissy frowned and put her hands on her hips. “Oh, c’mon guys, don’t act like you don’t know who it is,” she deadpanned, rolling her eyes dramatically.

Gareth immediately thought of the smug behemoth that subbed for Eddie’s guitar parts and grimaced, crossing his arms over his chest petulantly. At the same time, however, the rest of the band’s faces lit up excitedly, even Eddie’s. Of fucking course Eddie would be fine with being coddled, babied— nay, treated like a fucking invalid if it meant some hot, overrated giant was going to be around more often.

There was another knock on the door and Chrissy immediately opened it with a grin. “Morgan! Welcome back,” she said brightly, and the name threw Gareth off just enough that his shoulders relaxed and dropped down from around his ears.

He didn’t know a Morgan, he didn’t think, but that was fine! At least it wasn’t—

“Ugh, that’s the name the lawyers use for me,” came an impossibly deep, slightly accented voice as Chrissy stepped back, staring up at the man coming into the boardroom with nothing short of awe.

Sure e-fucking-nough, in walked the very giant Gareth had hoped wouldn’t be returning. The asshole actually ducked his head under the door frame is if it was too fucking low for him to clear it.

“Please, just call me Tig,” the man said before looking around the room with a giant grin, his blue eyes pausing on Gareth just long enough to wink at him.

It had been months since the band saw Tig last, and Gareth hated that he looked good. His hair was a vibrant pink at that moment (very much not the blue it was when he was touring with them) and with complete and utter dismay, Gareth realized he had a new fucking tattoo on his throat. It was almost a blackout tattoo, but on the front of his throat it looked like a honeycomb. The pattern faded into proper blackout where it wrapped around the column of his neck and up to the line of his jaw. It was distracting, and Gareth just wanted to chew that shit off.

Tig had been brought in as quickly as possible at the end of Corroded Coffin’s tour with Ghost when Eddie’s nerve pain flared up to the point that he could barely perform, let alone play his guitar. Despite being unable to play and upset about that, Eddie and Tig immediately hit it off. They had been nearly inseparable, between Tig’s (admittedly genius level) skill on guitar and Eddie’s passion for finding the ugliest, grossest, and scariest bugs imaginable. What was worse was that Tig had the ugliest, grossest, and scariest bugs imaginable tattooed all over his body.

Even Freak had taken a shine to him, actually finding his fucking childish antics hilarious. Jeff barely even hesitated about returning Tig’s over-the-top flirtations, too.

Gareth couldn’t fucking stand him.

Across the table, Freak was looking at him with an eyebrow raised and a little, smug smirk. Gareth flipped him off before crossing his arms and slouching back in his chair.

The first problem he had with Tig was that the man was so goddamn tall. It honestly hurt Gareth’s neck to meet his eyes most of the time, and then the dick went and wore fucking platform boots as if he needed three more inches. Whenever he did that, Gareth was practically eye-level with Tig’s goddamn bellybutton (and the man’s stupid fucking piercing there) which filled him with something that could only be rage with how hot he felt all over. Hot like flames were engulfing him, flames of anger and shit.

The second problem was that Gareth was, apparently, Tig’s fucking fan.

See, Tig used to be part of a masked, anonymous band named Rake as the lead guitarist and unclean vocalist. Their whole get-up, especially in the last era of their career as a band, were full suits and bird-themed masks, leaving only enough skin visible for the guitarists to play and the vocalists to sing. Rake was up there in popularity, even for a metal band, somehow making it big while maintaining their anonymity. That was until, of course, a fateful music festival in Nevada during a record-breaking heatwave.

Gareth was a huge fan of Rake— they were literally his favourite band, so when he found out Corroded Coffin was going to be playing at the same festival as Rake and they were scheduled perfectly so he was going to be able to see Rake perform? He was ecstatic and he weaponized his elbows to get to the barrier.

Their entire aesthetic looked fucking rad but watching them perform in triple-digit weather really put it all into perspective.

Mid-set, it was obvious that the lead guitarist was suffering. Somehow, Tig was still hitting all the correct chords and nailing every single one of his lines, but between songs he was guzzling water, pouring it on himself, turning his back to the crowd to lift his mask up off his face even. He had already shed as many layers of his costume as he could just short of showing off skin. The other members were also having a rough time, but none of them seemed nearly as bad as Tig.

(Since meeting him, Gareth had come to learn that Tig is just annoying and dramatic, especially in any amount of weather hotter than 90 degrees.)

Eventually, Tig swayed unsteadily enough that the other vocalist had to grab his arm to keep him from eating shit. There was a moment where they were clearly arguing, though it was hard to tell with the beaks of the masks being in the way. Eventually, Tig began to roll up his sleeves, exposing very distinctly tattooed forearms that had more than a few audience members shouting in excitement.

The thing was, Gareth recognized the tattoos, but where he recognized them from was escaping him. The tattoo that stood out to him in that moment was the Lichtenberg figure that started on his thumb and crawled up his arm, branching out into a perfect mess of lines and angles. It had been almost thrilling to have that moment of knowing, that split-second where he knew who was under that mask even if he couldn’t actually immediately recall who it was.

But then there were gasps in the crowd, and people began shouting something that Gareth couldn’t quite hear properly, and Tig’s shoulders drooped a bit. Looking around himself, Gareth took in the sea of people around him and noticed that a few of them had their phones out. The girl next to him at the barrier was on Twitter, frantically scrolling through the people she followed.

Upon realizing that his favourite guitarist (after Jeff and Eddie, of course) was apparently Twitter famous, Gareth was pissed. It just felt ridiculous that a metal guitarist would be famous on the fucking bird app without their music as the reason. It felt like they sold out, like some influencer was behind the music.

Then Tig stepped up to the microphone and— in an impossibly deep and slightly accented voice that Gareth absolutely fucking knew in a way that had him blushing in the middle of a crowd of metalheads— he said, “well, I guess the cat’s outta the bag now.”

See, Gareth knew on some level that the members of Rake were probably recognizable in some way other than their looks off the stage because none of them ever spoke. They would go on stage, perform their set, and leave. It wasn’t that weird, given their entire gimmick with the masks, so Gareth really didn’t think too much about it. Now that Gareth heard that voice and recognized it immediately as one that frequently featured in his horniest daydreams, the gimmick made a whole lot more sense.

The thing was that Gareth knew that voice and those tattooed arms— and, yep, the man was unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the massive and distinctive tattoo of a cicada across his chest— and they belonged to the one OnlyFans creator he was fucking subscribed to.

“Let’s get back to the show, then,” Tig growled into the mic, and the music immediately picked back up as if a quarter of the crowd didn’t just get their shit rocked.

Later that night when he was back at his hotel, Gareth pulled up Twitter and sure enough, there was a new post from xX-Tamer Tig-Xx. It was a selfie of Tig standing in front of a mirror, completely naked while he held his iconic plague doctor mask over his cock. Black body paint was still on his hands, throat, and around his mouth, as if he just stripped and took the selfie after the concert. It was posted with a caption that read, “So, big news incoming 😳 IYKYK 😏”

The ensuing chaos the news threw part of the metal scene into was nothing short of fucking batshit insane. Gareth and Eddie were eating it all up as they watched YouTube reactors express their opinions on the matter. They watched the way Rake blew up on TikTok now that it was known that at least one of the band members was already a well-known “accountant” on the app. After about a week, the rest of the band unmasked too, and it turned out all of them were sex workers by trade.

It was shortly after that when Rake announced that they would be permanently disbanding now that they were unmasked, which was devastating for Gareth. He mostly understood, of course, because the anonymity was ultimately important to them, so their sex work and music was wholly separated. Plus, Rake was very vocal as an entity on their socials that they were always intending to complete a trilogy of albums and they achieved that. It just felt wrong, as if their hands were forced to announce it early, or they were robbed of their chance to just quietly disappear forever without revealing anything.

After a couple months, Rake sat down for a full profile piece for an article about them unmasking, their feelings about it and the end of their careers as Rake. All five of them seemed happy with the way the band was ending things, that they could finally be more open about their friendships with each other, even outside of their working relationships. Hell, the drummer and the lead vocalist were fucking married. Like, real-life married, and they had to hide that on stage. In the interview, they said they were most excited to be able to actually interact with their opening bands, and something in that made Gareth realize how much that anonymity probably felt very isolating. Thinking about how much Corroded Coffin got to learn from the bands they were opening with and for, he couldn’t imagine that lack of collaboration.

The article itself had images of all the members unmasked and in various states of undress. Tig’s photo was the most provocative, with him standing in profile and completely naked except for his platform boots, one leg bent just enough to keep his modesty. His arms were held up, hands tangled in his own hair, but he was looking directly at the camera over the muscled curve of his biceps.

Despite being subscribed to his OnlyFans, Gareth still saved that image to his phone and told himself that was completely normal behaviour. He had lots of photos and videos of Tig naked on his phone. It wasn’t weird.

Plus, he foolishly thought, it wasn’t like he was ever going to fucking meet the man, especially since Rake was breaking up and none of them had immediate plans to return to the stage, even as a solo act.

Gareth jumped as someone knocked on the table to get his attention, and he glared at the heavily tattooed hand that was there. Turning his sneer up at Tig’s face, he felt something squirm in his gut as the man just smirked knowingly.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Tig crooned as he sat down, leaning close to Gareth to ask in a conspiratorial stage-whisper, “miss me?”

“Like a fucking toothache, Slenderman,” Gareth spat, and Tig only grinned broadly at him, showing off all of his perfectly white teeth. They weren’t perfectly straight, but they were so fucking white, it was ridiculous. Unfair. Disgusting even.

“I missed you, too, sweetheart,” Tig sighed before turning his attention to Chrissy as she stood back up to start going over the details of him temporarily joining Corroded Coffin.

This was going to be the worst, Gareth thought— nay, he knew.

#strangerthingsocweek #tigareth #stranger things fic #gerry writes #OC.Posting

[gerrystamour]

you are my destroyer [gift fic]

Explicit★OMC Ship★1924 words★Complete

Hey remember that really sad fic I wrote a while back with two OCs? Well those characters are back and you get to see some of their epic lovestory for the birthday of my beeloved Bee @tboygareth!

Happy Birthday Bee!!!!

Sam: mine

Dom: @patchworkgargoyle

CW: Rough sex, idiots in love (they're so frustrating)

Sam sat on the patio of a small cafe, across from a post office where he’d tracked the PO box he’d been sending letters to for two years. He had landed the day before, got himself a hotel room, and had a fitful night of sleep. The plan was to wait until his mark arrived, and then engage. That was it, and yet Sam’s stomach was in complete knots about it.

It was risky, going to Cuba and finding Dom. D’Amore would have his head if he found out, that was for sure. Worse, Dom might side with his father on that. The fact that Dom even went along with this forced exile meant that he agreed on some level that Vincenzo D’Amore had a good enough reason to send him here.

Vincenzo Junior had other opinions on the matter, and Sam always liked following Vinny’s gut feelings more than his own.

He was about to flag down a server to order another coffee when finally, Sam saw his mark.

The man hadn’t changed at all, and yet Sam almost didn’t recognize him. Dom’s dark hair was longer, falling to his shoulders in curls that Sam wanted so desperately to tangle his fingers in. He was still pale, too, despite the sunny locale, and Sam couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled up in his chest as Dom slipped into the post office.

With an excited grin, Sam stood up and tossed a pile of bills on the table and crossed the street, following Dom inside.

By the time Sam crossed the threshold, Dom was already standing at the wall of mailboxes, his lockbox still open while he rifled through the mail he’d received. Sam watched him for a moment, taking a silent, fortifying breath when Dom’s shoulders seemed to slump.

Reaching into the breast pocket of his own coat, Sam pulled a letter out and leaned close to Dom. “Excuse me, sir, I think the mailman dropped this,” he said, tone teasing and yet far more earnest than he would have liked.

Dom’s reaction was quick, and the world spun until Sam was slammed back against the wall of lockboxes. His free hand barely caught Dom’s other hand before the man could sink one of his favourite knives into Sam’s gut.

“Watch where you put that thing, Kitten,” Sam purred, smirking down at Dom as understanding and disbelief dawned on his expression. “Unless I’ve been reading your letters completely wrong, I don’t think you want me bleeding out all over the floor, yeah?”

Dom backed away quickly, almost as if he had been burned, looking Sam over as he tucked his knife away somewhere hidden. “How the fuck are you here?” he asked, and Sam was pretty sure Dom intended the question to sound sharp, cutting, but it missed the mark a bit.

Sam smirked, stepping closer to Dom. “Well, you see, Dom, we have these amazing contraptions called airplanes, right?” he said slowly, his mouth splitting his face with a proper grin as he towered over Dom, who was trying very hard not to smile and failing. “You get on them? And they fly you across oceans and shit? Surely, you’ve heard of them?”

“You asshole. Fuck off,” Dom bit out, the corners of his mouth ticking upward.

“I would rather fuck you, if given the choice,” Sam teased, and Dom’s eyes looked him over again.

This time, his gaze was hungry, especially with the way it lingered on Sam’s shaggy hair and beard. Stepping into Sam’s space, Dom grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down, just enough to growl in his face, “Come with me.”

Without further ado, Dom let go of Sam and spun on his heel, leaving the post office with a huff. Meeting the curious looks of the post office workers behind the counter, Sam winked and hurried after Dom, following him to a house that looked far too large for just one person to live in alone. Something sad and lonely twinged in Sam’s chest, a painful moment of empathy that had him wanting to hold Dom. The man would never allow it, so Sam would do the next best thing.

They barely cleared the threshold before Sam was slamming the door shut and crowding Dom against it. In a moment of blind, desperate desire, Sam dipped his head as if to kiss Dom, and the other man seemed to tip his mouth upward to accept it. But Sam caught himself, stopped short and rested his forehead against Dom’s, letting their breath mingle in the small, nearly nonexistent space between their mouths. Sam glanced down at Dom’s lips before meeting his eyes. Or he tried to meet Dom’s eyes, but the other man was also looking at his lips.

The fragile moment shattered as Dom sucked in a sharp breath and shoved Sam to his knees. “Put that mouth to proper use.”

Smirking, Sam reached up and literally ripped Dom’s pants open, letting them fall in a tattered heap around his ankles. “As you wish, Kitten,” he said, leaning in as Dom kicked one of his feet free to sling a leg over Sam’s shoulder, sealing his mouth around Dom’s perfect little dick.

From there, it was all heat and desperation, Sam wetly sucking Dom’s dick and licking into his cunt while Dom’s fingers twisted painfully in Sam’s hair. Above him, Sam could hear the thump of Dom’s head against the door as he let it fall back—high, shattered moans exploding from his throat.

Sam lost track of how much time he spent on his knees, as was often the case when he got to have Dom at his mercy like that. He couldn’t even be sure just how many times Dom came before he was being pushed away, Dom gasping a broken little, “Samuele, fuck, need your cock.”

“As you wish, Kitten,” Sam replied thickly, surging to his feet and picking Dom up.

They didn’t make it far, with Dom clinging to him and biting at Sam’s throat. As he stumbled past the living room, Sam turned abruptly and bent Dom over the back of the couch, one hand holding him down while he got his own belt and fly open with the other. When his cock was finally free, Sam wasted no time in lining up and shoving his cock into Dom’s cunt, bottoming out with a slick slap.

At Dom’s sharp hiss, Sam waited, trying to let Dom adjust to the intrusion, but it was certainly a test of patience. “Fuck, Kitten, you’re so fucking tight,” he gasped, hips twitching. He didn’t remember the fit being this snug before.

“Haven’t been fucked lately,” Dom admitted shakily, his nails digging into the leather seat of the couch. Sam tried not to think too much into that statement— it’s not like Dom was waiting for Sam, or that Dom was too hung up on Sam’s cock to have flings in Cuba— but there was still a part of him that was thrilled that he had no “competition” for Dom’s pleasure.

“Well,” Sam started, grabbing Dom’s hips tightly and slowly pulling out. “I’m gonna fix that for the next two weeks.”

The pace Sam set was punishing, brutal and relentless, chasing his own release at that point. He was close, desperate to spill his load inside Dom, hungry to watch his spend drip out of his cunt and down his thighs. Beneath him, Dom was noisy with almost shrill, punched out sounds as he just took what Sam gave him.

Leaning over Dom, Sam propped himself up with his hands on the seat of the couch and pressed several biting kisses to the back of Dom’s shoulder. When Dom threw his head back, Sam shifted his weight so he could gently wrap a hand around the base of Dom’s slender throat, making him arch his back dramatically. Grinding his cock into Dom’s cunt, Sam leaned as close to his face as possible and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

At the soft caress, even as Sam ruthlessly ground his cock down into his g-spot, Dom turned his face toward Sam. With each roll of Sam’s hips, their lips would brush against each other. Not a kiss, but so fucking close it had desperate tears springing to Sam’s eyes.

Blinking the tears away and hoping Dom didn’t notice them, Sam moaned, “Dominik.”

“Samuele,” Dom whined back, his eyes half-lidded and hazy as he tried to meet Sam’s thrusts before he tensed up and clenched almost painfully hard around Sam’s cock.

Dom’s orgasm was intense, the wet heat of him becoming impossibly tight while a hot gush of water spilled around Sam’s cock, down both of their legs, and onto the floor. It wasn’t long after that Sam followed him noisily over the edge, pumping his seed deep into Dom’s cunt as he held their hips flush together.

“Christ, almost fucking forgot how fucking good of a lay you are,” Dom said hoarsely as he shuddered through the aftershocks of his release.

Sam just chuckled and pulled out, dropping to his knees behind Dom to pull his cunt open with his thumbs. “I’m not even close to being done with you today, sweetheart,” he said before licking a firm strip up the messy seam of Dom’s cunt, from dick to taint.

The sun had set by the time they found themselves on the bed, sweat cooling on their skin as they caught their breath. Sam was stretched out on his back, eyes closed with one arm tucked up under his head while the other was wrapped around Dom’s lithe body. The other man was pressed up against Sam’s side, his chin resting on his hand on Sam’s chest. Sam didn’t have to open his eyes to know that Dom was staring, and if the grump was staring he was probably overthinking something.

“Can smell those gears in your head overheating with all that thinkin’,” Sam grumbled, laughing and squirming away when Dom harrumphed and bit one of his nipples.

After they settled again, Dom asked, “Seriously, Sam, how are you here?”

Grunting, Sam shrugged before squawking when Dom bit him again. With a sigh, he kept his eyes closed as he said, “Vinny.”

Dom frowned. “Vinny?”

“Your old man went to Italy for a funeral,” Sam elaborated, shrugging. “So Vinny sent me here.”

There were several beats of silence, and Sam could feel Dom’s gaze on him. It went on long enough that Sam was about to open his eyes to finally look at the man in his arms, but then he felt Dom’s lips against his chest. It wasn’t quite a kiss either, but it was close enough to make that part of Sam that was in love with Dom ache.

“I’m glad you came,” Dom mumbled against his skin, and Sam finally opened his eyes to look down at him.

“Yeah?” he asked, smiling lightly.

“Yeah,” Dom hummed before rolling his eyes with a huff. “It was getting boring here.”

At that, Sam laughed. “Happy to be of service, sweetheart,” he said, and Dom smirked.

“Mm, like the sound of that. Service…” he purred, reaching down and wrapping his hand around Sam’s soft cock, squeezing until Sam hissed. “How quick do you think you can get this back up?”

With a sighing groan, his cock twitching already in Dom’s grip, Sam rolled them so that he was on top of Dom, his hips slotting between pale thighs. “As quick as you want it, sweetheart.”

#gerry writes #mafia!au #oc.fic #samdom

[gerrystamour]

the fire is so delightful

For: @mojowitchcraft / weird_witchcraft

Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington & Max "Maxine" Mayfield

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 5,500

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Single Parent Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is Max's dad in this, Steve Harrington is a Christmas Lover, Falling In Love, Love Confessions, Frottage, Dom/sub undertones

Summary: Eddie hates Christmas. Steve, and his daughter, loves it. Eddie decides to grin and bear it.

This fic is a part of the @steddieholidayexchange

[ READ ON AO3 ]

All great things come with a certain amount of sacrifice, Eddie told himself that everyday.

So when the hot school teacher that frequented the bar Eddie worked asked him out, he knew there had to be some sort of catch.

He knew Steve was a single dad well before he asked Eddie out and he’d decided that was just fine by him. Eddie loved kids, was great with them even, plus Steve already told him he had a rule about not introducing new partners to his kid too soon. The kid was absolutely not a sacrifice, in Eddie’s mind.

He also knew that Steve was what one might call a jock, athletically inclined and holy shit, did he look like it. Eddie’s high school self was wailing and screaming about him falling for the enemy, but the first tumble between the sheets proved that the athleticism only did good things for things like stamina, strength, power. So once again, not a sacrifice.

Steve was hilarious, dedicated, hot as hell, and the perfect father. He was accommodating and kind, while also the bitchiest, most savage gossip in the entire world. He was also the best goddamn lay Eddie had ever had, what with the way he took control and helped still Eddie’s racing thoughts, sent his mind straight into the stratosphere where he couldn’t think about anything other than the pleasure he was feeling at Steve’s focused hands.

No, they made it three whole months into their relationship before the moment of truth came.

It was actually two months into the relationship when the first hint came up, if Eddie had been paying any attention at all.

“I’m not much of a Halloween person,” Steve had said when Eddie asked why the decorations on his front lawn were so lame. “Neither is Max, so we don’t really go all out.”

That was insane to Eddie, absolute serial killer vibes. There were several seconds where he was actually contemplating if they would work out.

“Maybe you just haven’t had the right person to show you how awesome Halloween is,” Eddie had teased as he crowded Steve against the kitchen counter.

“Maybe,” Steve had replied with a lazy smirk, glancing at Eddie’s mouth. “Definitely happy to let you try to change my mind.”

And damn, did Steve let him try. That beautiful man went to every goddamn haunt and ghost walk that Eddie dragged him to, and he even smiled through most of it. Steve even found something nice to say about everything they did, even the things that Eddie caught him giving bitchy eyerolls at.

By mid-October, Steve had decided it was time that Eddie met his daughter Max, and their first bonding experience was hitting up the Spirit Halloween and getting her a sick costume and then getting half a dozen pumpkins to carve together. They spent the whole afternoon gutting and carving them while Steve cleaned and roasted the seeds and made other treats and dinner for all three of them.

It had been a perfect day, one that ended with Eddie spending the night at Steve’s house, in his bed, and eating breakfast with both Steve and Max. It was one of those times that Eddie realized he was falling in love and falling fast. That morning, Max had asked Eddie if he would take her and her friends trick-or-treating and Eddie thought his chest might explode it felt so full of affection for the twelve-year old.

The moment of truth came sometime around the beginning of November when Steve came to the bar and bopped his head to the Christmas music that was already playing.

“Annoying, right?” Eddie groused, and Steve raised an eyebrow with one of his patient smiles.

“What is?”

“The music. Halloween just ended and we’re already being subjected to the sickening upbeat nonsense for a capitalist holiday?” Eddie had explained grumpily while he shined a glass. When he’d looked up at Steve, he barely caught the weird expression that was quickly wiped from his face.

“You don’t like Christmas?” Steve had asked, and he was smiling but there was something off about it.

“No,” Eddie said honestly and flatly, and Steve did that little laugh he did only when he was trying to not say something. “Do you?”

“Yeah, but like, a normal amount,” Steve said and then he quickly changed the subject.

After that, Steve seemed reluctant to invite him over until Thanksgiving and Eddie pushed about it. When he finally did, he got all the answers he needed.

Steve’s house was… well, lets just say what it lacked for Halloween decor, it definitely made up for with Christmas stuff. There was a big inflatable Santa and reindeer in the front lawn, and honestly the Christmas lights were so well done they looked professional. Like, straight out of those Christmas commercials.

When Eddie stepped into the house, he quickly realized that Steve was likely a lot more into Christmas than “a normal amount” like he claimed. Every surface had some sort of decor, and there was a stand in the front room for a real tree. Staring at that stand, Eddie kind of hoped he was invited along to go shopping for a tree, which was stupid because he hated Christmas.

“Sorry for all the, y’know,” Steve had said as he scrubbed the back of his neck, gesturing around. “This is our thing, me and Max’s I mean.”

“Stevie, babe, you don’t have to apologize. Like at all. Or pretend to be chill. You literally let me be my craziest about Halloween without complaint,” Eddie had said, insistent and desperate for Steve to understand that had he known, he’d have kept his mouth shut about Christmas entirely.

“Yeah, but I don’t hate Halloween, Eds,” Steve had said with the saddest little smile and Eddie had to stop that immediately.

“Listen, Steve, I don’t have many good memories around Christmas because I grew up poor and most of my extended family hated me, so I just— I never saw the point of it,” Eddie said quickly, grabbing Steve’s hands tightly in his own. “I am more than happy to let you try and change my mind. I want to be part of every single stupid Christmas thing you do if you’ll have me and I’ll even play nice about the dumb stuff, just like you did with me. I promise.”

Steve just smirked at him, an expression Eddie had seen only in the context of either playing one of his sports when he was sure he was going to win and in bed when Eddie challenged him to a seemingly impossible task.

“I look forward to teaching you the magic of Christmas, then,” Steve said simply, and kissed him so sweetly that Eddie’s knees nearly buckled beneath him. Then, when he pulled away, he smirked and pointed upward. “Mistletoe.”

When Steve walked away toward the kitchen and Eddie looked up at the mistletoe hanging above him, he knew he was in trouble if the butterflies in his gut were anything to go by.

The thing was, Eddie loved all the “stupid” Christmas shit Steve dragged him to, and it was a lot less like being “dragged” to them. Sure enough, that Thanksgiving weekend, Steve invited Eddie to go shopping for their tree, and Max had been loud in her demand that he say yes. If he hadn’t already been trying to figure out how to ask to go along, that would have convinced him to give up the Grinch schtick. His heart growing three times its size and that shit. Whatever.

Choosing the tree had taken a whole afternoon at the nursery, Max being exceedingly picky and Eddie just feeding into that to make the whole thing last longer. Eventually Steve reached his limit with the two of them and declared that they had to choose one out of the two contenders they were debating between.

“Eddie should choose!” Max declared, crossing her arms over her chest as she rounded on Eddie. “It’s the rules.”

“What rules, red?” he asked, bewildered and a little touched.

“It’s your first Christmas with us,” she said with a roll of her eyes, like it was the most obvious answer. “New friends choose our tree.”

“Yeah, Max, but that’s only if they’re into Christmas,” Steve said, shooting Eddie an apologetic smile.

“What kind of asshole doesn’t like Christmas?” Max asked and Steve’s mouth dropped open as Eddie winced a bit.

“Maxine!” Steve said sternly, putting his hands on his hips and sending Eddie an almost frantic look.

“Steve, it’s fine. More than fine. I would be honoured to choose your tree,” Eddie said, grinning as he stepped close to kiss Steve’s cheek.

“Our tree,” Max said firmly, and Eddie nodded.

“Of course, I meant ‘your tree’ as in the Harrington tree, not just your dad’s tree, little red,” Eddie had reassured her quickly and she just rolled her eyes.

“No, stupid, I mean our tree. It’s your tree, too,” she explained, frowning when Eddie’s mouth dropped open. Then she huffed and glanced away. “Hurry up and choose. I’m getting cold and Lucas wanted to play some dumb video game today.”

So, Eddie chose the Harrington tree and he even was part of bringing it back to their house, setting it up in the stand and decorating it. They spent hours on the whole affair, and that evening after Max had been in bed for an hour, he found himself laying on the floor of the front room staring up at Steve. He was illuminated by the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree, his eyes shining so brightly in the dim room. They had been making out on the floor lazily, their mulled wine cooling in the mugs sitting on a table nearby.

“Thank you for humouring her,” Steve murmured, tucking some of Eddie’s curls behind his ear. “At the nursery. You could’ve said no and I would’ve made her understand.”

“Wasn’t humouring her, Stevie. I mean it,” Eddie insisted, reaching up and cupping Steve’s jaw. “I’m… I’m all in with you, okay? I want to— I helped with the tree because I wanted to, not because she made me.”

Steve’s grin had been blinding and they barely made it to the bedroom before clothes began to be tugged off of each other.

Thus began the trips to winter markets every single weekend, sometimes multiple markets, where Steve and Max would purchase even more kitschy Christmas decor and mulling spice mixes and various fancy pastries and such. It was a lot of Christmas music (which was still disgustingly overplayed) but it was also a lot of seeing Steve and Max smiling so big their faces had to hurt from it.

So, yeah, the sacrifice in this great thing with Steve was that Eddie had to pretend to like Christmas.

The only thing was, he wasn’t pretending, not with Steve. Not with the way Steve and Max did Christmas, the way they involved all of their loved ones and made sure everyone got something out of the holiday from them. It was a shocking revelation when Eddie realized he wanted to spend Christmas with the Harringtons for the rest of his life, that Christmas had the opportunity to usurp Halloween’s place in his heart if Steve kept this up.

When the Hawkins Winter Carnival rolled around, Eddie was ready for the inevitable invite that would come from Steve. It was the thing to do that time of year, and if Eddie was being honest, he had never gone. Well, he went when he was really young, but it didn’t count because he couldn’t remember it.

But the invite just wasn’t coming, and the carnival weekend was quickly approaching. It would be easy enough to secure the day off of work, but it was always better to have as much notice as possible.

“So, were you gonna be going to the Hawkins Winter Carnival?” Eddie asked one day as he sat at the island in Steve’s kitchen, and Steve’s ears went dark red.

“Uhm, yes, I was going,” he admitted sheepishly, and when he looked up, he balked at whatever expression was on Eddie’s face. “I’m just— I’ve been saddled with chaperoning all of Max’s friends and I didn’t want you to have an extra miserable time.”

Eddie blinked at Steve, confused at his logic there. “Why would I be miserable spending the day with two of my favourite people in the whole world?” he asked, grinning at the affectionate eyeroll and blush that got out of Steve.

“Okay, but it’s not just going to be the three of us. It would be us plus a whole gaggle of other twelve-year olds and I wouldn’t wish that fate on my worst enemy,” Steve replied, stirring the sauce he had simmering on the stove.

“Uh-huh, but that’s still not you asking me what I wanna do,” Eddie pointed out, raising an eyebrow when Steve opened his mouth to argue. When Steve snapped it shut again, Eddie puffed his chest up smugly. “That’s what I thought.”

“Fine. Eddie, would you like to join me and a gaggle of sixth-graders to the carnival?” Steve asked with another roll of his eyes, but he was grinning when he looked up at Eddie through his lashes.

“I would love to!” Eddie replied brightly, already texting his boss at the bar to get the day off.

The day of the carnival was bright and sunny, the snow on the ground blinding. The sun beaming through the windows of Eddie’s apartment was warm, so he just put on his jeans, an insulated pair of boots, and one of his heavier coats. He didn’t want to get too hot walking around, he decided, and the thought of keeping track of gloves and a hat was daunting on its own.

When Steve arrived to pick him up, he only had Max in the back seat, and she was practically vibrating with excitement. Not that she would voice it out loud, of course, but Eddie knew she was happy he was tagging along.

“You look good,” Steve sighed, leaning across the center console to press a soft, chaste kiss to Eddie’s lips, filling his stomach with a swarm of butterflies.

“You, too,” Eddie replied, chasing Steve’s lips for another quick kiss before sitting properly and buckling up. They could usually get away with two chaste smooches before Max started gagging noisily in the back seat.

“So, where are the gaggle of children I was warned about?” Eddie asked after Steve started driving, turning in his seat so he could see Max, too.

“We’re meeting them there,” Max replied, staring out her window.

“So their parents can get them all there, but can’t stick around?” Eddie asked and Steve laughed.

“Yep,” he said, and Max huffed.

“You offer to take us every single year, Dad,” she said flatly, for which Steve apparently had no argument.

Once they arrived at the carnival, it only took a few minutes before an entire gaggle of tweens surrounded them, all of them speaking at volumes that had to be against some kind of international law or convention or something. Eddie just stood off to the side, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets as he watched Steve take charge (kind of) and coral the little demons.

“Who’re you?”

Eddie jumped, startled by a voice right in front of him. Looking down, he realized that all of the kids were now staring at him, and he had no idea which one just spoke.

“Uh… Hi, I’m Eddie,” he replied, taking a hand out of his pocket to wave at the kids with just his fingers. Immediately, he put his hand back into his pocket as he realized the air was a bit colder than he had been prepared for.

“You’re Steve’s boyfriend?” the tallest kid asked with complete and utter disbelief in his voice.

“Gee, Wheeler, thanks?” Steve snorted, rolling his eyes skyward.

“He just seems way out of your league—” Mike started to reply before he was cut-off by a sharp elbow to the sternum from Max. “Hey!”

“Alright, children, let’s keep it civil please. We’ve got three hours to kill here, we don’t need to start it off with a fight,” Steve interjected, bodily stepping between Mike and Max. “Where do we want to head first?”

It was at that point that all the kids started talking at once, stumbling over each other. From what Eddie could gather, the kids wanted to split from the adults and do their own thing. There was a lot of back-and-forth, but eventually, they reached an agreement with Steve.

Firstly, they were to stay within the grounds of the carnival. Secondly, he would be calling one of their cell phones every thirty minutes to check on them and if they didn’t answer they immediately lost their adult-free privileges. Thirdly, they were expected to meet Steve and Eddie at the gates of the carnival at five without Steve having to round them up himself.

“You don’t want a chaperon, you have to act like you don’t need one,” Steve had said when they protested.

And that was how Eddie ended up walking around the winter carnival with Steve, just the two of them.

The carnival was a decent size, with several booths of local artisans and artists selling their holiday themed wares, a midway with food trucks galore, a Ferris wheel and merry-go-round, and carnival games. There was plenty to keep them busy for three hours.

However, Eddie quickly discovered that just because the sun felt warm through the window at home, that did not mean it was going to keep him from getting cold after more than thirty minutes outside. Within an hour and a bit, Eddie’s nose, ears, and fingers were chilly, even with his hair down and his hands kept deep in his coat pockets.

But in the end, Eddie found it easy to ignore his discomfort because Steve was smiling so huge and so bright. Eddie would suffer literally anything, even torture, just to see Steve’s grin, whether it was directed at him or not.

Somehow, though, that happy expression was for Eddie, so he would be brave and not complain about the chill. They only had a little more than an hour to go, and at some point, Eddie could buy a hot drink to wrap his cold fingers around. He was fine, perfect even.

As it came up on four, and Eddie was clutching the biggest polar bear stuffie he’d ever seen (Steve won it for him at the game with the basketball hoops), Steve sighed and wrapped an arm around Eddie’s waist. Cuddling into Steve’s warmth, Eddie tilted his head onto Steve’s shoulder as they walked.

“How about we grab some mulled wine?” Steve suggested, turning his head to kiss the top of Eddie’s head and filling his tummy with a furious swarm of butterflies.

“Sounds perfect, big boy,” he replied with a grin, letting Steve lead him to the truck serving the mulled wine. There was a bit of a line, so Steve nodded toward one of the nearby fire pits.

“Grab us a seat?” Steve suggested, and Eddie nodded quickly, more than happy to sit in front of a fire after freezing his dick off for the better part of two hours. When Eddie went to pull away, Steve stopped him. “Goodbye kiss?”

“You’re a sap,” Eddie teased, even as he leaned in and kissed Steve’s smiling lips chastely. “I’m just going, like, ten feet away.”

“You love it,” Steve said as Eddie pulled away, and he was correct. “Your nose is cold,” he added with a grin, and Eddie laughed.

“Yours isn’t much better,” he teased before pulling away and hurrying over to the fire pit, immediately laying his polar bear across the bench to save their seats and holding his hands in the warmth of the fire. It almost hurt, but it also felt really good.

It was only a few minutes before Steve stepped up beside Eddie, leaning close as he offered him one of the little disposable cups. Without hesitation, Eddie stooped to kiss his boyfriend sweetly, grinning when Steve sighed.

“Missed you,” Steve said as he pulled away and beamed at Eddie.

“You were just over there for, like, fifteen minutes,” Eddie replied, his cheeks hot with his blush as butterflies swarmed inside his stomach.

Steve just gave Eddie his most handsome and crooked little grin. “Tell me about it,” he hummed, leaning back in for a quick smooch before holding up Eddie’s mulled wine. “Here’s yours.”

When Eddie finally went to take his cup, their fingers brushed briefly and Eddie made a soft noise at how hot Steve’s fingers felt against his. The other man must have taken his own gloves off while purchasing their drinks.

“What the hell?” Steve asked as his hand flinched away, his expression a bit horrified when his gaze met Eddie’s. “Eds, why are your fingers so cold? How long have they been like this?”

Eddie could feel his cheeks heat with the intensity of his blush, and he shrugged. “Kinda… since we got here?” he said a bit sheepishly and Steve made a small sound of disbelief.

“Are you kidding me? You’ve been giving yourself frostbite and not—I’m rounding up the kids, we’re leaving—” Steve started, and Eddie quickly shook his head.

“No! Don’t! I don’t wanna ruin their fun,” Eddie insisted, and Steve scoffed.

“And you losing your fingers isn’t going to do that?” he asked bitchily, putting a hand on his waist and raising an eyebrow.

“It’s not cold enough for that and you know it,” Eddie replied flatly. “Seriously, Steve, I’m going to be fine. I have a hot drink, a hot fire, and a hot boyfriend. I’ll warm up real quick right here.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed as he considered Eddie’s words and when he opened his mouth to speak, his phone began to ring.

“It’s Max,” he said, frowning a bit as he answered. “Hey! What’s— why’s everyone yelling…? So, no one’s hurt but…? Okay, let me get this straight,” Steve started, smirking a little bit and rolling his eyes at Eddie. “You and Jane are done hanging out with ‘smelly, stupid boys’ but you want me to call in five minutes and end everything early…? What’s in it for me, huh?”

Eddie snorts and sips at his mulled wine, shuffling backward to the bench and scooping his polar bear up into his lap while Steve hummed noncommittally as Max spoke.

“Hmm, I’ll consider your offer closely. Eddie’s been giving himself frostbite this whole time anyway, so I was about to call it anyway,” Steve finally said, ignoring Eddie’s indignant squawk. “Yeah, the butthead didn’t wear any gloves. Do I still have to wait five minutes…? Perfect, we’re at the fire pit near the mulled wine stand… Yeah, the one close to the gates. See you soon.”

Eddie pouted at Steve as he hung-up and sat down next to him. “You didn’t have to do that,” he grumbled, relaxing as Steve wrapped an arm around his shoulders and tugged him closer.

“Hey, Max wanted to be rescued from the boys anyway. If anything, I’m doing her more of a favour than you,” he said flippantly, and Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Sure, whatever,” Eddie said, and within seconds they could hear the noisy approach of the gaggle of preteens.

The ride back to Steve’s was a whirlwind, with Steve insisting on dropping Mike, Lucas, and Dustin off at their homes first, even though they had to circle back on their route to drop Max off at Jane and Will’s house. The moment they dropped Dustin off and it was just the three kids in the back, Eddie immediately understood the inefficient route. Near-silence immediately fell in the car, the only disturbance being the Christmas music quietly playing on the radio as they drove.

“Holy shit, I think my ears are actually ringing,” Eddie commented, and Steve snorted.

“You get used to the shrill din of Mike Wheeler and Dustin Henderson arguing at the top of their lungs,” he replied, and Max scoffed at that.

“No one gets used to that, Dad,” she argued, and Eddie could see her smirk when Jane and Will giggled at that.

Finally, once they were child-free and back at Steve’s house, Eddie felt ready to crash on the couch and maybe pass out for a little nap. But of course, Steve had other ideas.

“Nuh-uh, you froze at the festival I dragged you to, so I’m gonna make sure you get all warmed up,” Steve insisted, dragging Eddie into a kiss that he refused to let Eddie deepen.

Despite Eddie’s best efforts, Steve was apparently on a mission to actually warm him up. It wasn’t just a euphemism for getting Eddie upstairs to his bed or anything like that.

Instead, Steve drew Eddie a bath in the huge soaker tub in the master bathroom, complete with a fancy bath bomb and even fucking candles. To drive home that this wasn’t about sex, Steve kissed him sweetly, chastely and said, “Enjoy your bath. I’ll let you know when dinner’s ready.”

Eddie wasn’t sure how long he was in the tub, luxuriating in the warm, lavender-scented water, before Steve poked his head inside to let him know that dinner was served. But the bath did the trick, warming him to his core and leaving him feeling loose and relaxed. Sleepy almost, but not completely exhausted like he had felt when they got home after the festival.

‘Wait, not home. To Steve’s house,’ Eddie corrected himself internally, getting out of the tub and slipping on the fluffy bathrobe Steve had said he could use while he was over a couple weeks ago. There was also a pair of slippers that Eddie had left by accident when he spent the night months ago that Steve had placed with the robe.

Downstairs, there was a fire going in the fireplace and Steve was setting out two plates of the meal he prepared on the coffee table. Steve had also gotten changed into his own bathrobe at some point, and that had Eddie struggling with the urge to confess his love right then and there.

“What?” Steve asked and Eddie blinked, startled out of his thoughts. He hadn’t realized he was staring, or standing there for so long.

“Nothing, just admiring my amazing boyfriend, that’s all,” Eddie replied with a giant grin, crossing the room and wrapping his arms around Steve’s shoulders to pull him into a kiss. Once again, all of his attempts to deepen the kiss were thwarted until Steve pulled away.

“Eddie,” he warned, his tone light but the scold in it was obvious to Eddie’s ears. “Dinner first.”

“Haven’t you heard the saying, though?” Eddie challenged lightly, grinning against Steve’s lips as he placed another kiss on them. “Life’s short, so eat dessert first?”

“What did I say, Eds?” Steve asked instead, his tone full of that firmness that Eddie found himself craving more and more often.

With a sigh, Eddie replied, “Dinner first.”

“That’s right,” Steve said with a pleased hum as he stepped out of Eddie’s embrace and motioned for him to sit on the couch.

They ate their food in comfortable quiet, nothing but logs crackling in the fireplace breaking the silence of Steve’s living room. Usually, such quiet would be excruciating for Eddie, but with Steve it felt natural, perfect even. Like it was safe. Quiet moments with Steve never made Eddie feel like he had to fill them with chatter or noise like he would with most other people.

By the time they were done eating, Eddie felt so relaxed he was close to dozing off right there on the couch with his plate in his lap.

“Let’s get you upstairs and tucked into bed,” Steve hummed, standing up and holding his hands out to help Eddie to his feet.

“The dishes…” Eddie pointed out, but Steve just kept tugging him along behind him.

“They can stay right there for one night, Eds,” he replied as they climbed the stairs.

It wasn’t long before they were cuddled up under the covers on Steve’s bed, robes and slippers discarded on the floor next to the bed, and holding each other as they kissed softly, sweetly.

“How’re you feeling?” Steve asked quietly without pulling away. “Warmed up?”

“Definitely,” Eddie replied, eyes fluttering as his body lit up under Steve. “Feeling so warm.”

“Mm, I bet,” Steve chuckled, finally deepening their kiss as one of his hands wandered over Eddie’s chest, down his abdomen, and toward his hip. Before Eddie could dream of whining about being teased, Steve shifted his weight and his thigh pressed between Eddie’s legs. At Eddie’s choked off moan, Steve sighed and said, “Yeah, definitely feeling warm now.”

“Stevie, please,” Eddie whispered against Steve’s mouth as he fought the urge to rut against his thigh.

“You’re not too tired, sweetheart?” Steve asked, and Eddie could hear the genuine concern in his voice.

“Never too tired for you, babe,” he replied easily, and he absolutely meant it. Then he sheepishly added, “it might have to be just this, though, if that’s okay?”

“Of course, that’s okay, Eds,” Steve replied, pulling back to meet Eddie’s eyes as he shifted until he was settled between his legs. “So perfect when you tell me your limits, baby.”

The praise hit Eddie hard in the gut, heat pooling south so quickly he felt dizzy with it. Spreading his legs wider to wrap around Steve’s waist, Eddie moaned when they slotted against each other like matching puzzle pieces.

They rocked together like that, lazy and relaxed, making out softly until Eddie was squirming underneath Steve.

“What do you need, baby?” Steve asked in a whisper, rolling his hips a bit more determinedly, dragging a flurry of whimpers out of Eddie’s throat.

“Need t’come,” he gasped, arching against Steve and whining when Steve worked a hand between their bodies and wrapped his fingers around both of them. “Please, Stevie, m’so close.”

“Me too, Eds,” Steve groaned before capturing Eddie’s lips again in a sloppy, hungry kiss. Just when the coil in Eddie’s gut pulled so tight it was almost painful, Steve whispered a gentle, “come for me, sweetheart.”

Just like that, Eddie spilled between them, making a mess of both of their stomachs and Steve’s hand. When Steve didn’t stop his rocking and stroking, Eddie whimpered almost pitifully, begging Steve to come so the exquisite, perfect torture of overstimulation would end. After only a few more strokes, Steve came with a cry so sweet, Eddie felt tears spring to his eyes as he threw his arms around his boyfriend, refusing to let him go.

They held each other, panting and kissing each other sloppily for a long time, just long enough for the mess between them to become tacky and unpleasant.

“I’ll go grab a cloth, okay?” Steve said with a laugh, carefully getting off the bed to avoid smearing anything on the linens or comforters.

Eddie watched his beautiful boyfriend disappear into the ensuite, feeling warm and floaty, taken care of, and treasured. When Steve returned, Eddie knew he was looking up at the man with the sappiest, lovesick gaze if the way Steve’s cheeks turned pink was anything to go by.

“What?” he asked with a little smirk as he carefully wiped the warm cloth over Eddie’s lower abdomen and softened cock.

Taking a deep breath, Eddie replied, “I love you.”

Steve froze and his eyes met Eddie’s with a fierce intensity that would’ve terrified Eddie if a grin didn’t split Steve’s face a second later. It was huge, bright, and absolutely goofy with the way it crinkled the corners of his eyes. It was Eddie’s favourite Steve smile.

“Even though I prefer Christmas over Halloween?” Steve asked in a voice that was so happy that Eddie couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled out of his own chest.

“Hey, you might’ve made a convert out of me,” he confessed, winking at Steve’s shocked gasp.

“Are you serious? I made you a Christmas lover, too?” Steve pressed, tossing the cloth in the general direction of the ensuite so he could lay on top of Eddie.

“Yeah, just as long as I get to spend it with you and Max,” Eddie replied, reaching up to tuck some of Steve’s hair behind his ears. “As long as you and Max still want me around.”

“Well, you’re in luck, Eds, because I intend to keep you as long as you’ll let me,” Steve hummed, dipping his chin to capture Eddie’s lips in a slow, searching kiss before whispering against his lips, “I love you, too.”

And, yeah, Eddie was pretty sure Christmas was going to become his favourite holiday and stay that way for a long time. Maybe even forever if his luck kept up.

#steddie holiday exchange #steddie #steddie fic #steve/eddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #gerry writes

[gerrystamour]

🩷 Fic Writing Review 2023 🩷

I was tagged by @scarcrossdlvrs @wynnyfryd @steddieas-shegoes and @eriquin

rules: Feel free to show whatever stats you have. Only want to show Ao3 stats? Rock on. Want to include some quantitative info instead of stats? Please do this. Want to change how yours is presented? Absolutely do that. Would rather eat glass than do this? Please don’t eat glass but don’t feel like you have to do this either.

Words & Fics

183,675 words on AO3 (plus a handful of stuff on tumblr)

30 fics published to ao3

2 multi-chap fics completed

Top 5 Fics by Kudos

i could be honest, i could be human (2,075)

here i have found some peace of mind (1,246)

when heaven falls, i will be your light (783)

grow back your sharpest teeth (you know my desire) (503)

i can't tell where you end and where i start (451)

My Fandom Fic Events in 2023

lex's spicy six fanworks challenge - summer

@steddiemicrofic

@steddieholidayexchange

discord server secret santa fic exchange

Upcoming Projects and Continued WIPs for 2024

pom!verse sequel

pom!verse aside

romcom!au

completing both of my summer fics for lex's summer challenges

icbh sequel (kinda)

a bunch of like... original stuff actually

Reflections

So looking at my stats on AO3, i hadn't really written anything in three years and just... I have to say it's been so fucking excellent getting back into writing? Like I desperately missed doing this and I'm so fucking happy to be back at it. The past couple months have been hell at work and I know I haven't really put much out because of that, but like... I'm still writing and still creating and I can't wait to start posting some stuff again.

i feel like everyone's already been tagged so i'm not going to tag anyone else haha

[gerrystamour]

on and on (nothing left here anymore) [oc fic]

Teen★OMC Ship★792 words★Complete

This is literally some of the saddest shit I've ever written honestly, and it's without any real context. It's also, in my honest opinion, some of my best writing?

This is about OC's in a mafia!AU me and my scromies have gotten brainrotted on.

Sam: mine

Dom: @patchworkgargoyle

Anyway, this is a letter written by Sam that's in "response" to a letter he received from his dead lover, Dom. You can read the letter from Dom here, written by the lovely Sav.

CW: Major character death (the major character is one of the OC's and he's dead dead, like he's not coming back), suicide ideation, grief.

Anyway, uhm, here it is?

Hey Sweetheart, 

This is literally so fucking stupid, it's not like you’ll even read this, and I know your dramatic ass is both laughing at me in the afterlife and pissed I didn't let you have the last word. Isn't that just us, though?

I reread all of our letters over the years you were away and I know your first letter back to me was probably one of your petty, shitty little Fuck You’s because I stopped sending my letters. I say sending because I didn’t stop writing them. Jesus, Sweetheart, I was so fucking in love with you, even back then. I was fucking insane about you and I knew it the fucking moment you got out of my truck at the airport.

Do you know how close I was to chasing you down and telling you? Right then and there? Jesus fucking Christ, you probably would’ve stabbed me and I would’ve deserved it for dumping all that at your feet right before you had to leave for however long your old man told you to. So, I didn’t. 

But I watched you walk into that airport, and I waited to see if you would turn around, even once, just to look at me one more time. I told myself that if you looked back at me, then maybe you were in love with me, too, and I would fucking disregard your stupid, bitchy “don’t call, don’t text, don’t visit” garbage. But you didn’t. 

You just disappeared into the airport and I had to continue on with my life as if I didn’t just fucking let one of the brightest parts walk out of it.

God, Dom, in your stupid beautiful shitty letter you said you wouldn’t change this, and that’s real big of you I guess. I’m a selfish man, though, and if I could, I would fucking rewrite it all so we weren’t doing this. You in a fucking crematorium and me more than half a bottle of whiskey into a letter to my dead fucking soulmate a dead man. We’d have a goddamn happy ending that neither of us probably deserve because I don’t want to do this without you.

And ultimately, I would rewrite all of this so that I actually told you how you made me feel. I would rewrite things so I chased after you at the airport and told you I love you, even if you would’ve stabbed me for it. I would rewrite all of this so I told you I love you all those fucking months ago when we laughed together on the sidewalk outside your apartment and then you kissed me and dragged me back inside. Yeah, I remember that, too. It was an amazing night.

I don’t know how to end this, because if I do it’s over. I’ll finally have the last word and I don’t want it. I want you to fucking be here to scoff at me, to critique my writing, to call it cliche and boring and boorish and shit. I want this to be something I’m going to put in the mail for you to open it and read it and get your fucking smell all over it because you’re fucking alive. I have your fucking cologne but it smells all wrong because it’s missing YOU, and it makes me want to die every time I open that stupid bottle. But I do it anyway because it’s the closest I’ll ever get to kissing you again.

I need to finish this, so I’ll just bite the fucking bullet and do it. I can’t write this forever because we’re having your stupid interment in a couple days before Vinny, Kez, and the baby go away. It’s a small thing, don’t worry, just a handful of us. The big one that’ll piss you off is going to happen after we deal with the shitstain that got you.

I love you, Dom, and I hate myself everyday for not telling you. It is one of my biggest fucking regrets in my life. Every single day I spent kissing you and not telling you what it meant to me will fucking haunt me forever. What could we have been if I wasn’t a fucking coward? Would the ring you gave me mean what I wish it did? And I am a coward, more than you were, okay? I knew I was in love with you for eleven fucking years and I didn’t say shit about it.

Anway, save me a spot in whatever toasty spot of Hell you’ve probably taken over. I’ll see you when I get there, Sweetheart. Forgive me for hoping it’s sooner rather than later. I told you I’m a selfish man.

Your darling,

Sam

[ READ DOM'S LETTER HERE ]

#gerry writes #mafia!au #oc.fic #samdom

[gerrystamour]

@stobinesque / @amusingdisplacement requested "You need to wake up because I can't do this without you." for Vinny/Keziah

So, once again, me and Read have created OCs, we put them in a mafia!au, bon appetit

Vinny, Tig, & Winters: Mine

Keziah & Yoyo: Read's

This takes place before THIS FICLET that I posted the other day.

Tagging the scromies: @scarcrossdlvrs @patchworkgargoyle @sidekick-hero @vecnuthy @steddieas-shegoes @theheadlessphilosopher @wormdebut @sentient-trash @starryeyedjanai

Aaaaand tagging the honourary scromies: @hellion-child @lovemesomeartsstuff (since both of you seem to like all the OC posting too)

Kez stood at the end of the hospital bed, staring down at zir husband with a numbness ze hadn’t felt in years. Since the brothel, before Vincenzo got zir out of there.

It had been hours since Vincenzo got out of surgery, and he was still not awake. The doctors were certain he would pull through, and Kez couldn’t stop zirself before they snarled, “He better.”

Vincenzo had to wake up so ze could yell at him, grab him by the throat and send him to hell zirself for that stupid fucking move he pulled back there. He had to wake up because too much was riding on him succeeding for him to fucking die.

“Ms. D’Amore.”

Kez blinked and released zir hold on the footboard of the bed, shaking out zir hands as ze turned to face the owner of the voice behind zir. Ze was getting distracted, not even hearing someone coming into the room, and that was dangerous. This hospital wasn’t on enemy turf, but it wasn’t on Vincenzo’s either; ze had to be alert.

Luckily, it was only Tig, one of Vincenzo’s boys, his most trusted bodyguard and enforcer.

“You were saying something?” Kez asked after a few long moments, and Tig’s face changed. It was a sympathetic expression, and Kez had the very uncharitable urge to smack him for it.

“There was a situation earlier, down at Yoyo’s club. Carver’s people showed up and had to be dealt with,” Tig repeated, and Kez’s hackles raised. Fucking vultures, already circling. Or maybe the more accurate comparison would be sharks, scenting blood in the water.

“How serious was it?” ze asked, turning zir gaze back to Vincenzo on the bed.

“They were put down. Expeditiously,” Tig replied, and Kez nodded.

“How many civilian witnesses?” ze asked next, dreading this answer most. Civilian witnesses usually meant the cops would come sniffing around and would need to be bribed. Ze hated dealing with cops.

“None,” Tig replied, and when Kez shot a look over zir shoulder, he raised his hands defensively. “It happened in Yoyo’s office. Winters was with her, they just needed help with clean-up.”

Kez took a deep breath through zir nose and let it out slowly, nodding once. “Go to the club. Both of us being seen here will only make them bolder.”

Tig didn’t move. “I shouldn’t leave you here alone,” he eventually said, and anger rose hot and bitter in Kez’s throat.

“You will do as you’re fucking ordered, Faulkner,” Kez bit out, wringing zir hands around the foot board of the bed again.

“Boss wouldn’t like—”

“If Vincenzo wanted me to give a shit about what he would’ve liked, he wouldn’t have gotten himself shot,” Kez all but snarled, whirling on Tig and crowding him against the door. “Now, let’s try this again, shall we? Go. To the club. Now.”

Tig stared down at zir, expression closed off and tense before he nodded once. “On it, Boss.”

With that, he slipped out the door and left Kez in the room alone with zir husband.

Returning to the bed, ze stood at the side of it and stared down at Vincenzo. He looked wrong, almost small against the stark sheets, his hair an uncharacteristic mess and the hospital gown the wrong shade of blue for his complexion. He was alive, but barely, and it was terrifying staring down that possibility.

“You hear that, Vincenzo? They’re already coming for everything you built,” Kez bit out, low and quiet as the veil of numbness briefly parted, just long enough to feel the ache of zir heart shattering, and tears sprung to zir eyes.

“I love you.” “I wish you didn’t.”

It was the last thing they said to each other before Vincenzo lost consciousness, succumbing to the blood-loss. How could that man be choking on his own blood and still manage to tell Kez he loved zir? It was insane, something out of the terrible romantic dramas Vincenzo pretended he didn’t watch. And yet he did it, and Kez didn’t respond in kind, and now he might never wake back up.

“You need to wake up, Vincenzo,” Kez continued, trying to keep zir voice even as ze slipped zir hand into Vincenzo’s. “It’s all going to fall apart.”

That wasn’t true, necessarily. Or more, that wasn’t the real reason behind that grasping, clawing thing inside zir. Kez didn’t give a shit about the Organization, the Family.

Ze cared about Vincenzo. Ze cared about them, and the thought of them becoming just Kez made it feel like ze was being skinned alive.

Before ze could stop zirself, Kez crawled up onto the bed and curled around Vincenzo, pressing a wobbly kiss to his shoulder.

“You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you, Vin,” Kez whispered against his shoulder, finally letting a few tears escape as ze tangled their fingers together in zir lap. “I need you, Vin. Please, wake up.”

#gerry writes #oc.fic #vinkez

[gerrystamour]

@stobinesque / @amusingdisplacement requested "Let me do this. Please." for Vinny/Keziah

So me and Read have created OC's, we put them in a mafia!AU, bon appetit (this is all the context you're getting)

Vinny: Mine

Keziah: Read's

Tagging the scromies: @scarcrossdlvrs @patchworkgargoyle @sidekick-hero @vecnuthy @steddieas-shegoes @theheadlessphilosopher @wormdebut @sentient-trash @starryeyedjanai

Slightly spicy.

Vinny eases back into the bathtub, hissing as the motion stretches his healing torso. Obviously, their previous activities were ill-advised, especially the… enthusiasm, but whatever. Keziah needed that; Vinny needed it, too.

Sweeping back into the room in nothing but a sheer robe, Keziah finishes setting up a towel and grabbing a plush washcloth. Glancing over at him, ze huffs a laugh. Not quite a scoff, so Vinny takes that as a win; as much as he enjoys how it affects the sex, he doesn’t like fighting with Keziah.

Approaching the tub, Keziah sits down on the edge of it and wets the washcloth before gently wiping it over his chest and up his throat.

“I can take care of myself, Keziah,” Vinny offers as zir face pinches strangely at the horrific scar from his surgery, as it always does when ze looks at him now. “You don’t—”

“Let me do this, Vin,” Keziah snaps, and Vinny immediately shuts his mouth with a click. As if realizing zir tone was a bit harsh in the afterglow, ze adds, “Please.”

If it was any other time, Vinny might laugh, tease Keziah for the manners, ask who house-trained zir in his absence, but the moment was too tenuous. Too fragile. He doesn’t want zir to get up and leave, not when they had been fighting, even while they’d been fucking.

So, he just nods and leans back, letting zir clean up his throat and face, watching zir with hooded eyes and what was likely far too much naked affection.

“It’s not more important than us,” Vinny says after a few moments, and Keziah tenses, not even looking at his face as ze waits for him to continue. “The Organization, I mean, and that fucking terrifies me, Keziah.”

“Careful, Vincenzo,” ze warns, as ze always does when Vinny is being too honest, even with zir.

“Fuck ‘careful.’ It— I was raised to put the needs of the Family above all else, that the empire my grandfather started was the priority. It should be my priority, but it’s not,” Vinny insists, and when Keziah goes to pull away, he grabs zir wrist. “Can I say my piece, Keziah? Please?”

The ‘please’ stops Keziah, just as zir’s stopped him and ze meets his gaze finally. With a slow exhalation, Keziah just nods once and motions for him to continue.

“I know the only reason I even have the privilege of being annoyed that you put everything at risk to save me is because you saved me. You did that, Keziah. You saved my life,” Vinny says, lifting a hand to cup Keziah’s cheek gently. “And if I sound ungrateful, it’s because I’m supposed to care about the Organization, this fucking empire I’ve been saddled with, and I don’t because I care about you. I love you so fucking much that even considering a future without you in it is so fucking unbearable, I don’t— I can’t do it.”

“So, I ask you again, you think I’m better off living that hell?” Keziah asks harshly, but ze doesn’t pull away this time, doesn’t reach out with a grip that hurts, keeps zir claws tucked away.

“No, Keziah. I didn’t step in front of that bullet because I thought it was going to kill me, I didn’t even think about what would happen to me. I saw the gun, saw it aimed at you, and I couldn’t let them shoot you,” Vinny says, staring up at Keziah. “I practically shouted to everyone who was there just how fucking under my skin you are, how stupid I get when you’re near me, that I would risk everything for you, even my own fucking life, and I wouldn’t even hesitate.”

Now, Keziah was watching him intensely, zir breathing slowly as ze works to keep zir expression blank. Trying not to show too much, even to Vinny, even now. Especially now.

“I killed everyone else in that room just for that reason,” Keziah says darkly, and a soft part of Vinny that still persisted after all of these years ached at that.

“You mean everything to me, Keziah. None of this,” he says, motioning around them at the opulent bathroom, “means anything without you. The thing I would become without you… that scares me the most.”

“I can’t lose you either, Vincenzo,” Keziah says, and zir voice is uncharacteristically shaky as ze tilts zir cheek into Vinny’s palm. “You keep talking about what you would become, as if I wouldn’t be a fucking husk without you, going through the motions, running your family business when I’m not even a proper heir, I’d be a beneficiary at best. You don’t even have a proper heir— that’s beside the point. Stop assuming I’m stronger than you just because I’m better at hiding my hand.”

“You’re right, as always, just… it wasn’t about dying in your place, sweetheart,” Vinny insists, and Keziah’s eyes close with a shuddering sigh. “All I could think was ‘anyone but Keziah,’ even at the risk of destroying everything.”

There was a long pause, Keziah just sitting with zir eyes closed, breathing slowly and measured. Suddenly, Keziah stands up and shrugs off zir robe so ze can step into the tube, sinking into the water to straddle Vinny’s lap. Tucking zir face into his throat, ze sighs as Vinny wrapped his arms around zir body.

“You scared me, Vin,” Keziah confesses quietly, and that jolts something in Vinny’s heart. Of all the things he was sure Keziah had been feeling up to that point, fear was never on that list. If Vinny was honest, he didn’t even think Keziah could feel fear about anything.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Vinny whispers, kissing zir forehead sweetly. After a few moments, he says, “We could always fix that, what you said about me not having a proper heir.”

Keziah lifts zir head to glare at him. “You did not just ask me to have your children like that,” ze says threateningly, and Vinny’s eyebrows shoot high on his forehead.

“I meant I could write you into my will as my heir explicitly,” Vinny replies, a little breathless at the prospect of actually fathering an heir with Keziah. He could feel himself getting hard again at the mere thought of creating something with his perfect, strong Keziah, something that was theirs, not just maintaining something that was given to them. “How would you like me to ask you to have my babies?”

Keziah blinks at him, searching his face. “You’ll be insufferable when I’m pregnant, won’t you?”

“Am I not already?” He challenges lightly, and Keziah snorts. “Would you have a child with me? If I actually asked?”

Keziah considers the question, and for a moment it looks like ze might close back off. But eventually, ze sighs and leans in for a kiss. “You know I would do anything for you, Vin,” ze confesses softly against his lips.

“Do you want that?” Vinny presses, even as he tries to deepen the kiss, sliding both hands up Keziah’s strong back and feeling the map of zir scars with his calloused fingertips.

“Ask me again tomorrow when I don’t have your cock distracting me,” Keziah replies against his tongue, getting a hand between them to wrap it around Vinny’s cock. “Right now, we have weeks of catching up to do.”

Wrapping his arms around Keziah’s waist, Vinny mouths his way along zir jaw to nibble at zir earlobe. “I’ll hold you to that,” he growls low in zir ear, sighing as Keziah slides zir cunt back onto his cock…

#gerry writes #oc.fic #vinkez

[gerrystamour]

Eric and Charlie, 133: “please never stop smiling.” Eric rambling/infodumping, seeing Charlie smiling at him

I went a liiiiittle off script because of the erlos art you posted in the stuad but I think you'll forgive me!!

This little ficlet includes the following OC's

Charlie/Carlos, who is mine

Eric, who belongs to @sentient-trash

Roger, who belongs to @stobinesque

The three of them are lichrally husbands :)

This little ficlet also includes and was ultimately fully inspired by art drawn by @sentient-trash so AAAAAAAAH

anyway, tagging the scromies: @theheadlessphilosopher @wormdebut @steddieas-shegoes @vampeddie @patchworkgargoyle @scarcrossdlvrs @starryeyedjanai @vecnuthy @sidekick-hero @stobinesque

and @wynnyfryd you liked the cute line from my sickest, sexiest line post and [gestures] here's the ficlet if you wanna read it

Eric jumped as he felt cool, wetness against his chest, his words stumbling as he opened his eyes and peered down at his husband. They were cuddled up in Eric’s bunk on the bus, Charlie laying on his stomach between Eric’s legs and wrapped around him in a koala hug. They’d been talking, snuggling and petting each other tenderly while they did.

Well, Eric had been talking about cars, infodumping really and he knew most of it flew over Charlie’s head. But the man never complained, never asked to change the subject, just let Eric talk and talk and talk until he exhausted himself. It was a little intense, at first, when they started playing with the idea of getting together, having Charlie’s undivided and content attention, the way he would ask relevant questions to keep the conversation going. It was especially intense the first time when Eric finally ran out of things to say and Charlie just sighed happily and said, “You’re so smart, mi amor.”

No one, least of all anyone Eric had dated, had ever said that to him after he talked at them about cars for what was sometimes hours.

Tonight, it was like most performance nights; they performed and since they had to get to the next city before any of the soonest flights, they were driving straight there. He and Charlie had their own bunks, but they almost never actually slept apart. They would curl up in one of the bunks and talk, usually Eric doing most of it, until one or both of them started yawning too much to talk around.

What was different this time was that, somehow, Eric missed when Charlie began to doze off.

Now, Charlie was well and truly asleep, his eyes flickering behind his eyelids and part of Eric’s shirt caught between his lips and teeth while he sucked on it. It was one of Charlie’s sweetest little quirks, in Eric’s opinion, and it was literally the only reason Eric was wearing a shirt at all. Normally, he slept without a top on, but for Charlie he could easily tolerate the discomfort.

Overcome with how much he adored the man wrapped up in his arms— the love of his life, one of the best things that ever happened to him, the father of his future children, his husband— Eric dipped his head to press a gentle, lingering kiss against Charlie’s forehead and held his mouth there, sighing contentedly.

The shutter-click of a polaroid camera broke the quiet of the bus and Eric looked up, a bit startled. Standing at the mouth of the little hall of bunks, a bit sheepishly as he shook the picture as it developed, Roger smiled down at them. Looking around, Eric realized that at some point the bus had stopped. Since when had the bus stopped moving? Was he really so lovestruck over his husband that he failed to notice the bus coming to a stop and turning off?

“I just pulled over to use the bathroom,” Roger explained in a whisper as if reading Eric’s thoughts, crouching at the edge of the bunk to reach in and stroke a hand over Charlie’s hair. “Decided to check on my boys before getting back on the road. Saw the cutest damn thing in the world and had to take a picture.”

Eric grinned at the older man, squeezing Charlie a bit. “Yeah, and what was that?” he asked cheekily.

“S’pose you can see for yourself,” Roger replied, holding up the picture.

It was truly one of the most breathtaking photos of Charlie that Eric had ever had the pleasure of seeing. He looked serene, angelic even as he slept, sucking on Eric’s shirt with the corners of his mouth curled up. Eric knew that was just part of the sucking motion, that it wasn’t actually a smile, but he liked to think that it was. That Charlie was so happy that he was grinning even in his sleep.

“Damn, that is the cutest damn thing in the whole world,” Eric agreed, squeezing Charlie again.

“Y’both are,” Roger said firmly, leaning to kiss Eric chastely on the lips.

There was a little huff between them, and when Roger and Eric looked down, Charlie’s hazel eyes were open, droopy and heavy with exhaustion, but he was smiling.

“Where’s m’kiss?” Charlie mumbled sleepily around his mouthful of Eric’s shirt before dropping it with a frowny little mlem and wiping his lips.

“Holy shit, sometimes I want to squeeze you so tight your head pops off,” Eric confessed around a laugh, tilting Charlie’s face up with a finger under his chin until their lips met, soft and sweet and perfect.

When they pulled apart, Roger used his hand in Charlie’s hair to guide him into a kiss that was a bit deeper, more searching than the one Eric had received from the older man. When they separated, Charlie looked a bit dazed, and possibly for more reasons than just exhaustion.  If only they weren’t on the bus, Eric would’ve happily ran with that inkling of arousal.

“I’d better get back up front. Goodnight, Carlos,” Roger sighed, kissing Charlie again, chaste and sweet. Then he pressed another kiss to the corner of Eric’s mouth as well and murmured, “’Night to you as well, Eric.”

“’Night, Roger,” Eric replied, grinning as Charlie mumbled a little, “Goodnight, Rog.”

When Roger stood back up with a little groan, he closed the little curtain over the mouth opening of the bunk, plunging Charlie and Eric into more proper darkness.

With a sigh, Eric reached up to hit the switch on the fairy lights he put up, filling the enclosed space with soft, orange lighting that made it look like Charlie’s big, hazel eyes were full of stars. He loved him so much, Eric wanted to cry and dance and sing about it, but instead he just stooped to kiss the tip of Charlie’s nose, shaking a delighted little giggle out of him.

“Please, never stop smiling,” Eric breathed as he pulled back to meet Charlie’s eyes in the dim lighting.

Charlie’s grin twitched with his confusion, but it didn’t falter. “Okay, I’ll try,” he promised, shifting upward along Eric’s body to tuck his head under his chin, lips pressed against his throat. “Same goes for you, though.”

Eric laughed and squeezed his arms around Charlie tightly. “Keep this up, and that should be easy to do,” he said, kissing the top of Charlie’s head and relishing in his contented sigh.

[gerrystamour]

Eric and Charlie, 133: “please never stop smiling.” Eric rambling/infodumping, seeing Charlie smiling at him

I went a liiiiittle off script because of the erlos art you posted in the stuad but I think you'll forgive me!!

This little ficlet includes the following OC's

Charlie/Carlos, who is mine

Eric, who belongs to @sentient-trash

Roger, who belongs to @stobinesque

The three of them are lichrally husbands :)

This little ficlet also includes and was ultimately fully inspired by art drawn by @sentient-trash so AAAAAAAAH

anyway, tagging the scromies: @theheadlessphilosopher @wormdebut @steddieas-shegoes @vampeddie @patchworkgargoyle @scarcrossdlvrs @starryeyedjanai @vecnuthy @sidekick-hero @stobinesque

and @wynnyfryd you liked the cute line from my sickest, sexiest line post and [gestures] here's the ficlet if you wanna read it

Eric jumped as he felt cool, wetness against his chest, his words stumbling as he opened his eyes and peered down at his husband. They were cuddled up in Eric’s bunk on the bus, Charlie laying on his stomach between Eric’s legs and wrapped around him in a koala hug. They’d been talking, snuggling and petting each other tenderly while they did.

Well, Eric had been talking about cars, infodumping really and he knew most of it flew over Charlie’s head. But the man never complained, never asked to change the subject, just let Eric talk and talk and talk until he exhausted himself. It was a little intense, at first, when they started playing with the idea of getting together, having Charlie’s undivided and content attention, the way he would ask relevant questions to keep the conversation going. It was especially intense the first time when Eric finally ran out of things to say and Charlie just sighed happily and said, “You’re so smart, mi amor.”

No one, least of all anyone Eric had dated, had ever said that to him after he talked at them about cars for what was sometimes hours.

Tonight, it was like most performance nights; they performed and since they had to get to the next city before any of the soonest flights, they were driving straight there. He and Charlie had their own bunks, but they almost never actually slept apart. They would curl up in one of the bunks and talk, usually Eric doing most of it, until one or both of them started yawning too much to talk around.

What was different this time was that, somehow, Eric missed when Charlie began to doze off.

Now, Charlie was well and truly asleep, his eyes flickering behind his eyelids and part of Eric’s shirt caught between his lips and teeth while he sucked on it. It was one of Charlie’s sweetest little quirks, in Eric’s opinion, and it was literally the only reason Eric was wearing a shirt at all. Normally, he slept without a top on, but for Charlie he could easily tolerate the discomfort.

Overcome with how much he adored the man wrapped up in his arms— the love of his life, one of the best things that ever happened to him, the father of his future children, his husband— Eric dipped his head to press a gentle, lingering kiss against Charlie’s forehead and held his mouth there, sighing contentedly.

The shutter-click of a polaroid camera broke the quiet of the bus and Eric looked up, a bit startled. Standing at the mouth of the little hall of bunks, a bit sheepishly as he shook the picture as it developed, Roger smiled down at them. Looking around, Eric realized that at some point the bus had stopped. Since when had the bus stopped moving? Was he really so lovestruck over his husband that he failed to notice the bus coming to a stop and turning off?

“I just pulled over to use the bathroom,” Roger explained in a whisper as if reading Eric’s thoughts, crouching at the edge of the bunk to reach in and stroke a hand over Charlie’s hair. “Decided to check on my boys before getting back on the road. Saw the cutest damn thing in the world and had to take a picture.”

Eric grinned at the older man, squeezing Charlie a bit. “Yeah, and what was that?” he asked cheekily.

“S’pose you can see for yourself,” Roger replied, holding up the picture.

It was truly one of the most breathtaking photos of Charlie that Eric had ever had the pleasure of seeing. He looked serene, angelic even as he slept, sucking on Eric’s shirt with the corners of his mouth curled up. Eric knew that was just part of the sucking motion, that it wasn’t actually a smile, but he liked to think that it was. That Charlie was so happy that he was grinning even in his sleep.

“Damn, that is the cutest damn thing in the whole world,” Eric agreed, squeezing Charlie again.

“Y’both are,” Roger said firmly, leaning to kiss Eric chastely on the lips.

There was a little huff between them, and when Roger and Eric looked down, Charlie’s hazel eyes were open, droopy and heavy with exhaustion, but he was smiling.

“Where’s m’kiss?” Charlie mumbled sleepily around his mouthful of Eric’s shirt before dropping it with a frowny little mlem and wiping his lips.

“Holy shit, sometimes I want to squeeze you so tight your head pops off,” Eric confessed around a laugh, tilting Charlie’s face up with a finger under his chin until their lips met, soft and sweet and perfect.

When they pulled apart, Roger used his hand in Charlie’s hair to guide him into a kiss that was a bit deeper, more searching than the one Eric had received from the older man. When they separated, Charlie looked a bit dazed, and possibly for more reasons than just exhaustion.  If only they weren’t on the bus, Eric would’ve happily ran with that inkling of arousal.

“I’d better get back up front. Goodnight, Carlos,” Roger sighed, kissing Charlie again, chaste and sweet. Then he pressed another kiss to the corner of Eric’s mouth as well and murmured, “’Night to you as well, Eric.”

“’Night, Roger,” Eric replied, grinning as Charlie mumbled a little, “Goodnight, Rog.”

When Roger stood back up with a little groan, he closed the little curtain over the mouth opening of the bunk, plunging Charlie and Eric into more proper darkness.

With a sigh, Eric reached up to hit the switch on the fairy lights he put up, filling the enclosed space with soft, orange lighting that made it look like Charlie’s big, hazel eyes were full of stars. He loved him so much, Eric wanted to cry and dance and sing about it, but instead he just stooped to kiss the tip of Charlie’s nose, shaking a delighted little giggle out of him.

“Please, never stop smiling,” Eric breathed as he pulled back to meet Charlie’s eyes in the dim lighting.

Charlie’s grin twitched with his confusion, but it didn’t falter. “Okay, I’ll try,” he promised, shifting upward along Eric’s body to tuck his head under his chin, lips pressed against his throat. “Same goes for you, though.”

Eric laughed and squeezed his arms around Charlie tightly. “Keep this up, and that should be easy to do,” he said, kissing the top of Charlie’s head and relishing in his contented sigh.

#gerry writes #erlos

[gerrystamour]

77 for Charlie and Roger (it CAN be explicit but I would take straight fluff for this too)

Anyway as we discussed I am so fucking obsessed with these two, it's unreal, so thank you so much for sending this request. I was fucking possessed to write this literally at midnight all in one sitting after our convo last night. So. Yeah. ANYWAY

Tagging the Scromies: @scarcrossdlvrs @sentient-trash @patchworkgargoyle @vecnuthy @wormdebut @theheadlessphilosopher @steddieas-shegoes @sidekick-hero @starryeyedjanai @vampeddie @hellion-child

Anywho!

Charlie woke up the moment he heard the key slide into the deadbolt, ears already straining to hear just which one of his partners was about to come in. The front door was opened with a deliberate quiet, and then shut again almost silently, and that alone told him that it was Roger sneaking in.

Bless Eric, but that man couldn’t manage even half of that restraint coming in.

Sighing happily, Charlie settled back in amongst his pillows and blankets, listening to the soft sounds of Roger kicking his boots off, the way he groaned softly as he sat down on the bench by the door to untie the laces. With a hum, Charlie quickly flipped the pillow he had soaked with his spit already— that stupid habit of his to bite and suck on anything his mouth could latch onto in his sleep persisting, apparently— and waited patiently for Roger to sneak into his bedroom.

At some point, he dozed just a bit, just long enough that when he blinked his eyes open again, Roger was sliding into the bed behind him, spooning up against his back. With a happy, sleepy sound, Charlie wiggled back against Roger, practically purring as the other man wrapped an arm tightly around his waist.

“Hi,” Charlie murmured, turning his head to accept a sweet, slow kiss. When they pulled away from each other, Charlie rolled onto his back to look at Roger properly, even if he had to squint through the darkness to see him at all. Even then, it was mostly just the impression of his silver beard and hair. “This is a nice surprise. Thought you were going to ‘enjoy a quiet night in’ or something.”

Charlie, of course, was completely understanding of Roger’s more solitary nature, and he didn’t hold it against him at all. Even Charlie and Eric didn’t share a bedroom and they lived together. Part of Charlie wanted Roger to move in, but that was a selfish thought that he’d happily let die in his own head before ever speaking it aloud. He was legitimately fine with their arrangement because of moments like this, with Roger using the key he had been given to sneak into Charlie’s bedroom in the middle of the night.

It made Charlie almost giddy. That Roger’s love and desire for him outweighed his love of his own privacy, even for just a few hours.

“Yeah, well…” Roger started but trailed off, his gruff voice quiet in the dark room around them, softened even more by the mountains of pillows and blankets around them. It made their little pocket of space in Charlie’s bed feel like the only real place on the planet, like they were the only two people in the universe.

“Well?” he prompted with a little smirk, kissing Roger’s fingers when the man lifted his hand to play with Charlie’s moustache a bit.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Roger confessed, his voice impossibly, painfully fond and Charlie’s chest constricted. “I missed you.”

“Should’ve come over earlier when I invited you,” Charlie teased, tilting his mouth up into another sweet, chaste kiss.

“You’re right, I should’ve,” Roger agreed when he pulled away and flopped onto the pillow next to Charlie. “Now, sleep, Carlos. We can talk in the morning.”

Charlie grinned and rolled so he was half-sprawled on top of Roger, his cheek resting on his chest and listening contentedly to his breathing and heartbeat.

“Te amo, Rog,” Charlie sighed happily, and Roger’s responding kiss against the top of his head settled him into a restful night’s sleep.

[gerrystamour]

147 for Charlie and Roger

teehee I love writing these two so much thank you so much for letting me play with your amazing oc Read!!!

Tagging the other Charger fans: @sidekick-hero @sentient-trash @scarcrossdlvrs @patchworkgargoyle @starryeyedjanai @vampeddie

This is a companion piece to the ficlet I posted last week!

[ PREVIOUS ]

“God, I love you…”

Charlie felt like he could fly, even as he was pressed down into the couch, pinned beneath Roger as their mouths moved against each other. With a low whine, Charlie slid one of his hands upward to cup Roger’s bearded jaw while the other shifted to hold onto his hip. Shuffling a bit on his knees, Roger’s weight settled on top of Charlie so deliciously, neither of them could hold back their soft sounds of need.

They should really move to the bed where they had lube and condoms, where it would be comfier for Roger to take him apart in the way Charlie knew he liked. They should at least move out of the main living space and off of the communal furniture. Instead, Charlie clung to the back of Roger with both hands, rocking up against him with a pleading little sound in the back of his throat.

It was divine, being held down like that, having the breath stolen from his lungs with every swipe of Roger’s talented tongue, feeling the strength of his lover’s body as he rolled against Charlie. It was one of his favourite things, feeling the press of Roger’s thick belly against his own toned abs. Charlie could feel the man’s muscles bunching beneath the healthy layer of softness over them, could feel the way they tensed just before he moved so perfectly.

“Should move this to the bed,” Roger groaned, pulling away from the kiss to rest his mouth against Charlie’s cheek, panting hotly as they fucking humped each other. They were both completely grown men and there they were, gasping and making out on the couch, rubbing one out in their pants against each other like the desperate, horny teenagers.

That only broadened the grin on Charlie’s face.

“After you, big guy,” he teased, tipping his head with a whine when Roger began mouthing gently at the skin of his throat, just below the sharp line of his jaw.

Roger let out a sound that was something between a chuckle and a growl as he kissed and lightly bit at Charlie’s throat, pulling all manner of sounds from him. It was absolute toe-curling, gut-clenching perfection. Then Roger shifted, getting his knees underneath himself enough that their clothed cocks were no longer pressed together, and Charlie whined pitifully.

“Hush, babydoll, just need to touch you,” Roger reassured, his voice rough with arousal and heat flooded Charlie’s gut and chest.

That word— need, not want— had a thick haze of need washing over Charlie. That Roger wasn’t just sliding his big hairy hand into his sweatpants just to get Charlie off but because his own pleasure and enjoyment was dependent on touching him. Dependent on feeling Charlie where he was hard and leaking.

When Roger’s hand— his huge and rough and perfect fucking hand— wrapped around Charlie’s dick, he jolted with a choked off cry, bucking against Roger’s palm. His little cock fit perfectly in Roger’s hand, and for a moment the older man groped him roughly, squeezing his shaft and balls in one grip just long and hard enough to pull a soft whine from his throat. Backing off just a bit, Roger smeared some of Charlie’s precum down the length before circling his dick with his thumb and forefinger and started to stroke, slow and steady.

Charlie arched, gasping as his stomach pressed flush against Roger again.

“Kiss me,” he breathed, and the way Roger immediately tipped his mouth to capture his in a searing kiss had Charlie hitching his hips against the loose grip on his cock.

It was overwhelming, being pinned to the couch and slowly, torturously dragged toward the edge while his mouth was devoured. Charlie’s senses were flooded with Roger, Roger, Roger. The taste of him against his tongue, the way he touched him while holding him down, and his scent— of leather and the beard oil he favoured— filling his head with so much heat. And then there were the low, rumbling groans as Roger kissed him, the sounds that punctuated every swipe of his tongue between Charlie’s lips.

When Roger pulled away, Charlie let out a soft, desperate whimper, trying to chase his lips. “Hold your horses, babydoll, I’m right here,” Roger chastised with a soft huff of laughter, squeezing Charlie’s cock a bit tighter and pulling a soft cry from his throat. “You can come whenever you want. I want you to come, you got that?”

“Si,” Charlie sighed, eyelids fluttering as his hips jerked up into Roger’s gentle grip.

“You’ll come when you have to, babydoll?” Roger confirmed and Charlie nodded frantically, feeling his release building hot and fast low in his gut.

“Yes! I’ll come,” he insisted desperately, forcing himself to meet Roger’s heavy gaze above him. It was that moment that Charlie realized his hands were in Roger’s hair, holding on for dear life and trying to drag him back down for a kiss.

But what stole his breath was the expression on Roger’s face, so full of awe and that same softness he wore when he said, “I love you.”

“Promise me you’ll come, babydoll,” Roger continued knowingly, moving his hand on Charlie’s dick just a little faster. “I don’t want you holding off waiting for me to tell you.”

“I promise, Rog,” Charlie whimpered, canting his hips up to meet the tight ring pumping his cock, his mouth falling open and slack as the coil pulled tight low in his gut. He had to actively fight through the urge to hold back, to wait for Roger to tell him to come, to wait for the order like he usually did. Being good for his partners was intoxicating; being good for Roger was addictive.

Above him, Roger was watching him, eyes soft and wet and one of his gentlest half-smiles, his elusive dimple settled deep in his cheek. Charlie could still hear the way Roger’s voice sounded as he said he loved him, the way the words didn’t waver, the way his voice held strong and full of the same conviction that had him crossing the room.

All Charlie could think about was hearing Roger saying it again.

“Rog, please,” he begged softly, desperately holding back his own release for just a few moments.

“What do you need, babydoll?” Roger asked, his gruff voice washing over Charlie.

“Tell me again,” he pleaded, even if a small part of him worried he was going too far again, asking too much, expecting too much of Roger too quickly. “Please, mi amor, i-if you can.”

Roger groaned and kissed Charlie before pulling away to meet his eyes. “I love you, Carlos,” he said and at that, Charlie was coming with a shattered cry, spilling over Roger's hand and painting his boxers with his cum.

When Charlie came back to himself, Roger was pressing gentle kisses against his jaw, whispering sweet praises between each brush of his lips. It was perfect, except for one detail.

“Wanna return the favour,” Charlie managed to breathe, tilting his head to steal a proper kiss.

“I’ve a better idea, babygirl,” Roger hummed against his lips and Charlie smiled softly.

“What’s that, big guy?” he asked.

“Was thinking about carrying you to our bed and making love to you until you can’t feel your legs,” Roger suggested in a rough growl that had Charlie’s cock trying to harden once again.

“That’s definitely a very good idea, inspired even. Please proceed,” Charlie giggled, stretching a bit under Roger and fluttering his lashes up at him.

“One thing first, Carlos,” Roger said, kissing his cheek. “Wanna hear you say it, too.”

Butterflies took wing in Charlie’s gut as his grin got even wider. “Te amo, Roger,” he sighed happily, and he laughed as Roger got his arms around him and lifted him off the couch as if he weighed nothing at all.

[gerrystamour]

[ AO3 LINK ]

33

Thank you so much for all of your requests, CJ!! Here's one for you!!

"You're such a nerd."

Tagging my other lovelies @scarcrossdlvrs @patchworkgargoyle @sidekick-hero @sentient-trash @stobinesque @matchingbatbites @starryeyedjanai @thefreakandthehair

Eddie didn’t know how he didn’t realize it until just that second, but he was dating— nay, engaged to be engaged to a fucking nerd.

See, Steve put on a good show, a decent little dance for the masses. So good that Eddie apparently actually bought it to such a degree that he missed how much of a dork he really was. Yes, he was a varsity basketball player in high school (Eddie was very fond of wearing his Letterman jacket around the house, so he knows that about him), and yes, he still went on a run early every day like the jock he was pretending to be. And yes, he was a PE teacher and basketball coach at the nearby high school.

All points in favour of his alleged jock persona.

And yet, there he found Steve sitting at his computer with a notebook open and several sheets that looked suspiciously similar to the character sheets Eddie used for D&D.

“Okay, run it by me one more time; what are you doing?” Eddie asked, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth, grinning when Steve glared up at him through his lashes.

“I’m working on my line-up,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes.

“You-your line-up? Your line-up for what?” Eddie pressed, his cheeks hurting from how broad his grin became.

“My line-up for fantasy football,” Steve replied, pouting a bit.

“Fantasy what? Fantasy football?” Eddie asked with a breathy laugh, bending at the waist to prop himself on his elbows on the table and look at the sheets of stats for the players.

That question had Steve launching into a long explanation about how the stats worked, how the game worked, and then what each position was when Eddie’s eyes kind of glazed over. When Steve was finally done explaining it, Eddie was still grinning.

Yup, that changed nothing about Eddie’s revelation at all.

“What?!” Steve asked explosively.

“You’re such a nerd,” Eddie sighed dreamily, reaching the rest of the way across the table to grab Steve’s shirt and pull him into a sweet kiss. As he pulled away, he added, “It’s so hot.”

“’M not a nerd,” Steve complained, but he was smiling, too, broad and full of so much love.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Eddie hummed as he tugged Steve in for another soft kiss.

#gerry writes

[gerrystamour]

71. Roger/Charlie

So, Roger and Charlie are OCs and this little fic is set somewhere in the same universe as here i have found some peace of mind. Some of y'all might recognize Charlie a little bit from i could be honest because he was Tig's boyfriend in that!!

Roger belongs to @stobinesque, Charlie belongs to me. Thank you so much Read for letting me play with your OC and also for shipping him so much with Charlie like I doooooooooo 😭

Tagging: @theheadlessphilosopher @scarcrossdlvrs @starryeyedjanai @sentient-trash @patchworkgargoyle @steddieas-shegoes @vecnuthy

Anyway, to the ficlet!!!

It was a slow, almost lazy Sunday morning, the “almost” accounting for the fact that Roger was doing chores. Technically. He was doing laundry, which involved a lot of sitting and waiting to change the loads over, so he didn’t count that in the same realm of chores like mopping or vacuuming.

Over on the couch, Charlie was sitting cross-legged with an acoustic guitar in his lap, plucking out a few chords and frowning as he started from the top again. When he did a little motion with his mouth that made his moustache twitch, Roger couldn’t help the soft snort of laughter that gusted through his nose. When he looked back over at Charlie, the young man was smiling at him questioningly, eyes wide and guileless. Waving him off with another chuckle, Roger went back to folding his laundry.

As the gentle sounds of Charlie’s guitar filled the room again, Roger picked up one of his sleep shirts that was still inside-out. With a grumble, he started to flip it right-side-out when his finger went through a hole, bringing a frown to Roger’s face.

See, none of his loungewear was particularly new, but it was all still in decent condition. Worn, but not worn-out. It was also just a weird spot for a hole to develop; high on the right side of the chest, just in front of the armpit and shoulder. It was also a fairly tiny hole, which meant it likely wasn’t caused by either the washer or the dryer.

Shaking his head, he folded the shirt and picked up the next one just to discover a nearly identical hole; on the right side, high on the chest, just before the armpit and shoulder. His puzzled frown deepening, he started pulling out every one of his t-shirts and discovered the same hole in various sizes.

Lifting his gaze to Charlie, a question about how those holes could’ve been caused poised on the tip of his tongue. He froze, however, as he watched Charlie lift a silicon pendant he wore around his neck to his mouth and started to chew on it thoughtfully, returning to strumming his guitar thoughtfully.

It was one of Charlie’s habits, a self-soothing technique he said he’d had since childhood, one that led to him biting and chewing on most things. The biggest thing for him to suck and chew on was fabric, especially while he slept. For the most part, it was limited to his own shirts and the blankets he had assured Roger, his face lighting up with one of the prettiest blushes he’d ever had the pleasure of witnessing for himself.

Charlie was embarrassed of the habit, but Roger found it endearing, especially when he would wake up to find his shirt caught between Charlie’s teeth. It was something he found so adorable, he would pretend to be asleep just a bit longer, so Charlie had enough time to wake up and get himself sorted. Roger knew if he ever commented on it, Charlie would somehow try to stop, and while yes it was a little uncomfortable to wake up with a wet spot on his shirt, the knowledge that Charlie felt safe enough to do that more than made up for any discomfort.

And now there was evidence of it. There was something that was, on the surface, so small and insignificant, and yet it was so big. It was something that Roger only had because Charlie existed. Those little holes in his shirts were there because Charlie existed and loved him, because Charlie felt safe in Roger’s arms as he slept and subconsciously felt accepted enough to self-soothe the way he needed. The love Roger felt for the young man was overwhelming and terrifying most of the time, but in that moment, it felt so right and so perfect, and he desperately needed Charlie to know.

Dropping the shirt back into the basket, Roger rounded the island and stood above Charlie, cupping the younger man’s jaw in both hands to tip his face upward.

Charlie stared up at Roger, dark eyes bright and engaged, his smile gentle and adoring, even as he held the stim toy between his teeth. Reaching up, Charlie sucked the toy discreetly with minimal noise before pulling it out of his mouth to grin up at Roger properly.

“Hey,” he said brightly, letting his eyes flutter closed as he nuzzled a cheek into the palm holding it.

Roger was gone on this man, and for once he wasn’t afraid of that.

“God,” Roger started, his thumbs stroking Charlie’s stubbled cheeks. “I love you.”

Charlie’s eyes widened with a soft gasp, his perfect, pretty mouth falling open with his stunned happiness. This wasn’t the first time Roger said it— he actually said it back almost every time Charlie said those words nowadays, which Roger thought was a huge deal. He went nearly forty years not even feeling this way for another person, let alone saying those words and meaning them like he did. And he knew Charlie was perfectly content, even if Roger never said it first, and he would’ve been happy even if Roger never said it back at all.

But Roger wanted to meet Charlie where he was, even just for this small moment in time together.

“I love you,” Roger repeated, this time bending to kiss Charlie’s parted lips, sweet and chaste. Lowering one hand, he grabbed the neck of the guitar and gently removed it from Charlie’s lap to put it back on its stand nearby.

“I love you, too,” Charlie gasped against Roger’s lips, both hands lifting to rest on his chest. “Love you so much, mi amado.”

#charger #pom!verse

[gerrystamour]

@stobinesque requested "I almost lost you" for pom!verse Jeff/Eddie

So this is a wee bit of a pom!verse prequel as well~*~ I actually intend to expand a bit more on this scene and this moment in time of their life.

Anyway, tagging the rest of Jeff Nation too @spoookysix @xenon-demon @inairbinad @scarcrossdlvrs @patchworkgargoyle @theheadlessphilosopher @starryeyedjanai @steddieas-shegoes @sidekick-hero

CW: Sad? Medical stuff? Takes place in the immediate aftermath of Eddie's accident from his backstory in here i have found some peace of mind

It was the worst week of Jeff’s life, and that wasn’t even close to being an exaggeration.

Eddie had been transferred from the ICU after his condition was deemed stable enough, and while he was awake, he wasn’t very lucid most of the time. The painkillers they had him on were the strong shit, that was for sure.

For the first three days, Jeff was scared out of his mind, terrified to leave the hospital, not wanting to be anywhere else if Eddie wasn’t going to pull through. He knew, objectively, that the venue of receiving news like that didn’t matter, but still… Jeff insisted on staying, and his parents didn’t argue with him.

On the fourth day, Jeff had been pissed. He was on a rampage, demanding to know whose idea it was to use hairspray and a lighter to make a flamethrower, and why they let Eddie try it. It became a yelling match in the waiting room between him, Grant, and Gareth before Uncle Wayne broke it up and told them to go home and get some sleep in their own beds.

On the fifth day, Eddie was transferred from the ICU, and they were finally allowed to actually visit him. Even though Jeff didn’t sleep a wink at home, he still felt a lot better, and he apologized to Grant and Gareth for his outburst the day before. They were all sorry for the way they blew up at each other and resolved to not fight like that again. It wasn’t even the first time Eddie had done that stupid trick with the hairspray, it was just the first time the dumbass didn’t consider the direction of the wind.

Walking into that hospital room and seeing Eddie on the bed like that— covered in bandages and his hair shaved off— was almost the worst thing Jeff had ever had to witness. It was second only to watching his best friend go up in actual flames. They were all quiet that afternoon, the mood serious and bleak as they watched Eddie sleep. Now that they were allowed to see him, none of them wanted to leave when visiting hours ended that evening.

When the doctor said that only two people could stay with Eddie overnight, it was understood that Uncle Wayne was one of them. However, when Jeff opened his mouth to suggest they draw straws for who got to be the second person, Gareth and Grant stood up.

“You and Eddie have been best friends since elementary, right?” Gareth said with a shrug, smiling comfortingly. “It makes sense for you to stay.”

“You’re his best friends too, though,” Jeff insisted, and Grant rolled his eyes.

“Not like you two are,” he said with a small snort, and for a scary moment, Jeff thought Grant had figured out that his feelings went deeper than platonic friendship. “Seriously, man, Gareth and I get it. We’ll be back in the morning.”

And with that, Jeff and Uncle Wayne were left alone in the hospital room with Eddie.

Sleep had been fitful, full of nightmares that featured the way Eddie screamed as his shirt and hair caught fire. One particular nightmare had Jeff waking up with a scream strangled in his throat, and he jumped when he realized there was a hand in his, squeezing gently.

He didn’t remember falling asleep with his head on the hospital bed, or with his hand in Eddie’s, but that’s how he ended up somehow. When Jeff looked up, Eddie’s big brown eyes were blinking owlishly at him, a little dazed and hazy with drugs.

“Y’were whimp’ring,” Eddie croaked before swallowing thickly and grimacing. “Fuck, th’hell hap’end?”

The fact that Eddie didn’t remember what happened just pissed Jeff off even more. The fact that he’d have to live with knowing what burning skin smelled like and Eddie apparently had no memory of it wasn’t fair. Immediately, the anger bled out of Jeff; he knew he was being unfair, unkind, that he was just lashing out. It was a good thing that Eddie didn’t remember what happened, at least while he was initially healing.

“You had an accident, Eddie,” Jeff said softly, his eyes welling up with tears and he couldn’t stop them before they started falling down his cheeks. Uncle Wayne wasn’t anywhere to be seen, likely grabbing himself something to drink, or maybe he went back to the trailer he shared with Eddie to grab some clothes. Maybe he had work, Jeff didn’t know.

“’Ey, don’cry,” Eddie said, shushing Jeff loudly and flinching when he tried to reach for Jeff. “Don’cry, Jeffy. ‘M here.”

“I almost lost you, Eddie,” Jeff sobbed, realizing belatedly how that sounded, and would have sounded if Eddie wasn’t so high on morphine. With a sniffle, Jeff wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “We almost lost you. You almost fucking died.”

“But I di’n’t,” Eddie said, soothingly squeezing Jeff’s hand. “Di’n’t lose me. ‘M righ’here.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jeff sobbed, and Eddie’s face crumpled with his own emotions. “It was just scary, Eddie. You were hurt so fucking bad. We thought you— it was bad, man.”

“I know, ‘m sorry,” Eddie slurred back, swallowing again as his eyes rolled back. “’M so sorry, Jeffy. Never gon’do that again.”

“Promise me,” Jeff said firmly, just as the door opened and Uncle Wayne slipped inside. “Promise you’ll never do it.”

“I promise, Jeffy. Never gon’do that ever again,” Eddie vowed seriously. “Whatever it is, won’t do it again. Never.”

Uncle Wayne settled down quietly in the other chair and wrapped a hand over Jeff’s shoulder firmly and squeezed, supporting him as he finally broke down into the sobbing cries he’d been holding back since Eddie got hauled away in a screaming ambulance. By the time Jeff calmed back down, he was fully wrapped up in Uncle Wayne’s arms, his face pressed into the center of his chest while he caught his breath. Eddie had lost his battle against the painkillers at some point, but his hand was still wrapped tightly around Jeff’s, holding on as he slept.

“You’re a good kid, Jeff. Good for Eddie,” Uncle Wayne said, rubbing Jeff’s back. His own voice sounded thick, full of his own tears, and Jeff couldn’t bring himself to look at the typically stoic man when he was like that. “He’s always been so lucky to have you, kid.”

“I’m lucky to have him, too,” Jeff hiccupped and Uncle Wayne squeezed him even tighter.

#jeddie #pom!verse

[gerrystamour]

65. “There is no way this much stupid can fit inside one person.”—Jeff, to Gareth 👀

So i went off-script a little bit bc Jeff isn't saying it too Gareth, but he is saying it about Gareth.

ANYWAY MORE TIGARETH FOR THE MASSES. @steddieas-shegoes @hellion-child @xenon-demon @spectrum-spectre @vecnuthy @sidekick-hero @scarcrossdlvrs @patchworkgargoyle @starryeyedjanai @sentient-trash @vampeddie @theheadlessphilosopher

The video was posted to Corroded Coffin’s official TikTok and took their little corner of the internet by storm.

It started out with a shot of Tig and Grant standing a fair distance away and gesticulating with each other in a way that made it obvious they were discussing weightlifting. Then the camera panned over rapidly to Gareth and Eddie as they sat on the curb behind the tour bus. Eddie was busy looking at his phone as he took a picture of a bug that was on the road between his feet, and Gareth was staring in the direction of the other two band members.

The expression on his face was pinched, his brow furrowed and his cheeks a soft pink, the corners of his mouth down-turned. The person holding the camera was revealed to be Jeff when there’s a choked off laugh from behind the camera. Eddie looked up at the camera with a puzzled expression, then over at Gareth and beyond to what he was frowning at. The smirk that split his face as Eddie rolled his eyes back at the camera had Jeff letting out a soft giggle.

Then Gareth’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open, the blush on his cheeks deepening, and the camera panned back over to Tig and Grant. Tig was now shirtless and doing some sort of flex to show off the tattooed expanse of his back. Jeff quickly spun the camera back on Gareth and slowly zoomed in, catching the way his eyes glazed over, his mouth hanging open.

Gareth only snapped out of it when a shiny drop of drool began to spill over his bottom lip. Sucking back his spit and wiping his face, he glared at Eddie who actually fell back on the sidewalk, howling with laughter. It was only then that Gareth actually looked up and saw the camera on him, and his blush spread rapidly down his throat.

“Put your fuckin’ shirt back on, Slenderman!” Gareth shouted. “Literally no one wants to see that shit!”

“I think over 12,000 people on Twitter would disagree with you there,” Tig called back and somehow Gareth’s blush deepened even more.

The camera flipped to the front-facing camera, and Jeff and Chrissy’s tired faces filled the view as Gareth started shouting about Twitter and bots.

“There is no way that much stupid can fit inside one person,” Jeff said, exhaustion clear in his voice.

“Especially someone so small,” Chrissy agreed, and the video cut off on her giggle at Gareth’s indignant shout.

#tigareth #pom!verse

[gerrystamour]

21 and/or 42 for Freak/Dom c:

Aaaaaaah Sav, thank you so much for the request, it was such an honour to write Your Boy!!

Anyway, everyone, this is a Freak/OC ficlet that is kind of a peek into the future of pom!verse~*~

It's... a wee bit spicy!

“How have you survived this long by yourself?”

It was soft, the way Freak said it, but it still hit Dom like a sack of bricks, or a Mack truck, or a fucking meteor. There were more and more moments like this, when their clawing fingers gentled to caresses and their eyes softened as they looked at each other. It was getting difficult to keep ignoring the shift in their… situationship, and that made Dom itchy.

Especially when Freak was fucking looking at him like that. Like he pitied Dom.

With a derisive scoff, Dom shoved away from the other man and sat up, leaning over the edge of the bed to rifle around for his jacket. “Jesus, can’t even get a good hate-fuck these days without getting that stupid fucking look,” Dom snapped as he finally found his jacket and dug his pack of cigarettes out of the pocket.

“You can’t smoke one of those in my bed,” Freak said flatly as Dom lifted a smoke to his lips.

Rolling his eyes, Dom mockingly mouthed the words back at Freak before he got out of the bed. Stepping out onto the balcony just off the bedroom in naught but his skin, Dom turned to look back into the room while he lit his cigarette and took a deep drag.

Freak was watching him, his gaze heavy and intense as it trailed over Dom’s body. He couldn’t deny the curl of heat that surged through him at the way those eyes lingered on the dark thatch of hair at the crux of his thighs; it was still damp from their earlier activities, the memories of which sending heat thrumming through Dom all over again.

With a knowing smirk, Dom lifted a foot onto a nearby patio chair as he leaned back against the solid railing, shivering as the lips of his cunt spread open and a drop of spend and slick ran slowly down his inner thigh. Freak’s eyes followed the thick drop as Dom took another deep drag of his cigarette.

Lowering his other hand, Dom caught the mess with his fingertips and pressed it back into his cunt with a low moan, his eyes rolling back. By the time he opened his eyes again, Freak was on the balcony with him, crowding Dom against the railing and knocking his chin up with his nose to expose his throat.

“No kissing,” Dom reminded Freak, even if he desperately wanted to feel the man’s lips on his skin.

Just below his ear, Freak sighed and something like guilt swirled sickly in Dom’s gut.

“Why’s this have to be a hate-fuck?” Freak asked, pulling back to search Dom’s face.

“Because, I fucking hate you,” Dom lied, jutting his chin out defiantly as Freak narrowed his eyes down at him. Freak’s expression was far too thoughtful for a man whose dick was beginning to harden where it was slotted between Dom’s thighs.

“Sure, you do,” Freak eventually said before bodily turning Dom around, the sudden move catching him off-guard. “Spread those legs of yours.”

Dom didn’t have a lot of time to actually obey the order before Freak shoved his cock into Dom’s messy, desperate cunt.

Make Me Write! Accepting more prompts until Sept. 30 @ 11:59 PM MT

#FreakDom #pom!verse

[gerrystamour]

52. “What did you do this time?” eddie/jeff 💕💕💕

Thank you so so so much for the request!! This was fun to write.

Please enjoy this little... prequel-ish ficlet for pom!verse 😘 gonna tag @spoookysix @xenon-demon @scarcrossdlvrs and @stobinesque while i'm at it ;p

Jeff barely reacted when Eddie burst into his room and shut the door just barely soft enough to not count as a slam— he’d heard the whirlwind that was his best friend from the moment he pulled up, let alone his thundering footsteps up the stairs. He didn’t even look up from the magazine he was mostly pretending to read, even as Eddie talked a million miles per second about something.

Honestly, all he heard was something about Gareth being an asshole about something, and Jeff knew his input wasn’t needed for this particular story, so he returned his focus to the article he was reading.

Then Eddie flopped down on the bed next to him, crawling up the length of it and settling in against Jeff’s side. Something fluttered in his chest at the closeness, at the steady heat of Eddie’s body against his, but he squashed that all down.

The only way he would be able to stay sane as Eddie Munson’s best friend is if he didn’t also have a crush on him.

“Jeff, you gotta help me,” Eddie whined, pressing his face directly into the center of Jeff’s chest as he flopped over on top of him.

Rolling his eyes and hoping he didn’t feel as hot as his face felt, Jeff asked, “what did you do this time?”

“I just told you, man,��� he complained, practically wailed.

“I’m gonna be honest here, Eddie, I kinda tuned you out the second you said ‘Gareth’ and ‘being a whole dick’ in the same sentence,” Jeff sighed, and Eddie’s head whipped up to level a wounded stare at him.

“He was being a whole dick!” Eddie insisted.

“Oh no! Here I go again, tuning you out!” Jeff said dramatically, as if he was being dragged away while he lifted his magazine to start reading again.

“Jeffothy, I’m gonna call Freak my best friend if you keep being so mean,” Eddie pouted, dropping his face back onto Jeff’s chest. “Seriously, I need your help.”

“With what?” Jeff asked with another eyeroll.

There was a long pause, and for a second Jeff thought that Eddie fell asleep on top of him. Then he sighed and mumbled something unintelligible.

“Eddie, you’ve gotta speak up and enunciate,” Jeff sighed, lifting a hand to play with the ends of Eddie’s curly, long hair.

“… I need your help finding Gareth’s drumsticks—”

“Eddie, tell me you didn’t steal Gareth’s sticks and lose them,” Jeff groaned, covering his face with both hands.

“I didn’t mean to fuckin’ lose them! I swear I put them down for like two seconds, and then they were gone!” Eddie insisted, lifting his head to pout prettily up at Jeff. Already, he felt any amount of resolve against helping Eddie melting away. He never could say no to those big brown eyes, even before he had a not-crush simmering under the surface. Then Eddie’s pout got bigger, his eyes practically tearing up as he said, “Pwease hewp me?”

Barking out a laugh, Jeff shoved Eddie away and off the bed. “God, you’re so annoying,” he said lightly as he got up, ignoring the way his stomach squirmed at Eddie’s grin up at him.

“You love me, and you know it,” Eddie said smugly, hopping to his feet and brushing off the imaginary dust on his pants.

“Yeah,” Jeff agreed, smiling a bit wistfully as he followed Eddie out of his bedroom. “Yeah, I do.”

Make Me Write! Accepting more prompts until Sept. 30 @ 11:59 PM MT

#jeddie #pom!verse