#I NEED TOMMY PICKING HIM UP OKAY
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in dire need of a scene where tommy briefly mentions picking buck up and buck being like "uhh in case you haven't noticed i'm preeeeetty big and i doubt you'd be able t-" before he's suddenly hoisted up into tommy's arms and in his initial panic he wraps his legs around tommy's back and his arms around his neck and gets all flustered and tommy goes "like that?" and buck is a stuttering cute mess before he manages a lil "god that's so hot" before burying his face into tommy's neck <3
#I NEED TOMMY PICKING HIM UP OKAY#I KNOW THAT BUCK WOULD REALISTICALLY KNOW HE CAN BUT HE'S NOT USED TO HIS PARTNERS BEING ABLE TO#he'd lose his fucking mind#he'd loooove being in tommy's arms like that i just know it#tommy kinard#evan buckley#bucktommy#tevan#oliver stark#lou ferrigno jr#911 abc#911
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Ten Minutes
Didn’t love this when I first wrote it. Left it in my drafts for a LONG freakin’ time. Found it again and no longer care, so here yall go; have fun! Probably not a part 2 to this one.
Steve takes a breath, then another, as he waits for the line to connect. He grits his teeth, feeling eyes on him. He does his best to ignore them.
“Munson residence, if you’re calling about the murders I’ve been absolved of, try going to hell instead.”
“I need you to pick me up.”
A pause. “Stevie?”
Steve takes another breath. Tries to unclench his jaw. “Please.”
“Yeah, of course, I’ll be right there- what-”
“My parents are in town.”
Another pause. “I’ll be there in ten. Try not to kill them.”
Steve laughs humorlessly. “Just hurry.”
“Ten minutes,” Eddie says, and hangs up.
Steve sighs, places the phone in its socket, and turns back to face his parents.
His mother is narrowing her eyes at him. “Who was that?”
“A friend,” he says lightly.
“Who, that Hagan boy?” His father scoffs.
“No. Not Tommy. I haven’t spoken to him in years.”
“Oh, Steve,” his mother tuts. “Always so dramatic. We’ve not even been gone a year-”
Steve laughs. It sounds hollow. “Try four years,” he informs her. “And three concussions. Did you hear about the mall two years ago? Or the boy who went missing four years ago?” He shakes his head when his mother looks at him blankly. “That’s what I thought.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” his father snaps. “And don’t you dare speak to your mother in that tone again, Steven. You’re still a child and I won’t hesitate to reprimand you as such.”
“I’m twenty,” Steve says evenly. “I’ll be twenty-one in five months.” He crosses his arms. “The last time you saw me, I was a freshman in high school. I’ve graduated. I found jobs. Lost some friends and made some better ones.”
“And what of that girl you were dancing around?” His mother asks. “Karen’s daughter?”
“We’re friends,” he says shortly, then moves through the kitchen, to the stairs. “Excuse me.”
“No,” his father says. “You’re not excused. Where do you think you’re going?”
Steve turns, one hand on the bannister, to look at the man who had terrified him the last time he’d seen him. It’s funny what interdimensional threats will do. “To pack a bag. I’m not going to stay here while you are.”
“And if I were to say we’re staying for good?”
Steve laughs. “Dad, you’ve said that before. Multiple times, actually. Those words mean nothing to me anymore.”
“And where are you planning on staying?” His mother asks. “Honestly, Steven, I thought we raised you to make better decisions than this.”
“Oh, I see. So it was raising me when I woke up at nine years old to discover you’d left and I’d have to find my own way to school. Then a week later when I had to ride my bike to the store to buy groceries. At eleven, when I looked the school counselor in the eye and said you’d be back soon. I had to go to my own parent-teacher conferences. At fifteen, trying to figure out high school classes. At seventeen when I got my first concussion. At eighteen when I signed my first legally-binding NDA. You hadn’t abandoned me. You were raising me.” He sighs, shakes his head. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”
He makes his way up to his room and packs as much as he can. Clothes. Vinyls. The box of cash under the loose floorboard. Then into the bathroom. Toothbrush, deodorant, even his shampoo. Doubles back into his room to grab a bracelet off his nightstand; one El made him.
He looks around, grabs the nail bat, and makes his way downstairs. His mother gasps when she sees him. “What on earth is that?”
He looks at the bat. Adjusts his grip, twirls it around. “An NDA.”
The doorbell rings. Steve grabs his bags and moves towards it. “If you walk out that door, you’ll never walk back in.”
“Fine by me,” Steve says. He grabs his keys, tosses the house key at his father, and pockets the rest.
He opens the door and grins at Eddie, who’s looking at him worriedly. “Hey, Eds. Ready to go?”
Eddie blinks. “Um. Sure? Are you okay?”
“Sure,” Steve shrugs. “I’m getting kicked out. If you don’t want to take me I’ll just go bug Robin. It’ll only be for a little while, though, just until I find a better job and an apartment or something.”
“Like hell Wayne’s gonna miss this chance,” Eddie grins. “You know you’re his favorite.”
Steve smiles back, tosses his things into the back of Eddie’s van. “I hoped you were gonna say that.”
Permanent Taglist: @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect @i-less-than-three-you @alyelf @quarble @messrs-weasley @littlewildflowerkitten @vankaar @starman-jpg @bornonthesavage @steddie-there @goodolefashionedloverboi @andienotannie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @platinum-sunset @just-ladyme @steddiestains @swimmingbirdrunningrock @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @martinskis-lydias @notaqueenakhaleesi @sleepyboosstuff @bestwifehaver @m-owo-n @thatonebadideapanda @finalmoondragon @velocitytimes2 @callmeanythjing @ajeff855 @ilikeititspretty @knitsforthetrail @sillysparrow @that-one-corvid @ace-is-bored @muricel @harpymoth @weirdandabsurd42
#stranger things#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie#idk if it’s clear or not but Steve and Eddie ARE dating in this one!!#getting kicked out#Steve Harrington has shit parents#hopefully this isn’t terrible ig#starambles
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wrote this goofy thing as an expansion of this post
It’s very surprising when the door to Eddie’s trailer opens and Eddie is standing there with flowers.
It’s even more surprising when he says, “Happy one month!” with a big grin.
Steve looks back and forth between Eddie and the flowers—wildflowers by the look of them, probably picked around the edges of the trailer park. “Uh, one month of what?”
Eddie gives him an uncertain smile like he’s not sure if Steve’s being serious or not. “Of our relationship,” he says, the last syllable tilting up almost like a question.
Huh. Kind of weird, but at the start of summer Steve and Robin had an ice cream party to celebrate the year anniversary of when they started at Scoops together. So it’s not like this is completely unheard of. Except—
“You and I have been friends for longer than a month,” Steve says, “It’s been like—” he tries to count the months since spring break in his head “—at least four? Unless you don’t count when you were unconscious in the hospital, but that was only a couple weeks, so—”
“I mean one month of our relationship,” Eddie says, putting emphasis on the word. And now his eyebrows are drawn together. Face concerned. And Steve is clearly missing something here.
Did something significant happen a month ago? Some moment where they moved from friends to best friends or something? It was probably about a month or so ago the first time Steve spent the night at Eddie’s trailer, but that wasn’t a huge deal. Steve has spent the night at the Byers’ house before and it’s not like he and Jonathan are breaking out the balloons to commemorate it.
Steve feels guilty, because clearly there’s something that Eddie thinks he should know that he doesn’t. He doesn’t like this nervous look on Eddie’s face. Steve tries to think like Nancy, tries to put the clues together. But he’s not Nancy. So he’s lost.
“I’m sorry, dude,” Steve says, “I don’t get what you mean.”
Eddie deflates.
“I know we haven’t necessarily defined it.” His voice is wavering, eyes getting watery. Shit shit shit, what did Steve do? This is so completely out of nowhere and Steve doesn’t know how to fix it. “But I didn’t realize it was actually that insignificant to you.”
Steve shoots his arm out to stop Eddie from closing the door on him. He needs to figure out what’s going on so he can make it right, and that’s not gonna happen if Eddie shuts him out. “Eds, seriously, you’re gonna have to fill me in,” he says, “‘Cause I honestly don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Seriously?” Eddie asks, anger over taking the sadness in his voice, “You’re gonna act like you don’t know?”
“I don’t!” Steve nearly shouts, desperate. “Please, man, I’m not trying to piss you off here. Whatever it is, I wanna make it right. You just have to tell me what you mean.”
“You and I,” Eddie says. Looking at him like it should be obvious. When it’s so, so not. It makes Steve want to scream. “We’re—I thought we were together.”
“Together? Like…together how?”
Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen Eddie look this pissed off. “Use your goddamned brain, Harrington,” he spits, “Like together.”
Oh. Okay. That’s…something. It’s not that Steve would necessarily be opposed, or even that he hasn’t thought of it. It’s just not true. They’re not together. And he’s not sure why Eddie thinks they are. Yeah, they’re close, but it’s not like they’re closer than Steve and Robin. It’s not like they’re closer than Steve was to Tommy back in the day. He and Eddie haven’t done anything that feels outside the realm of friendship to him. And he definitely didn’t realize that Eddie saw it any differently.
“Um,” Steve says, aware that he’s standing like an idiot on Eddie’s doorstep and needs to answer. “Why?”
“Oh my God,” Eddie says, making as if to close the door again. Steve barely catches it in time. It makes Eddie glare at him. “There’s no way you’re being serious,” he says.
Keeping one hand on the door, Steve throws up the other one in a gesture he stole from Robin. “I really am,” he says, “You know what the kids say. I’m an idiot. You really have to lay things out for me.”
That at least makes Eddie soften a few degrees. “You’re not an idiot, Steve,” he says, “You’re just—oblivious, apparently.”
“Yeah, that too.”
Eddie sighs. “Just come in. We can talk about it.” He steps back and lets Steve come inside. The flowers are still clutched in Eddie’s hand, starting to wilt. Eddie sets them on the table before joining Steve on the couch.
“A month ago is when you stayed over for the first time,” Eddie says. Steve nods. “And you kissed me.” Steve nods again. Eddie lifts his eyebrows significantly. “You’re not seeing the connection?”
Steve shrugs. “I mean, I guess there’s other ways you could construe that,” he says, “But I thought it was, like, a friend kiss. A goodnight kiss.”
“A friend kiss,” Eddie says flatly. “You kiss a lot of your friends?”
“Sure,” Steve says, “Well, Robin prefers forehead kisses and Jonathan’s more of a hug guy, but I used to kiss Tommy and Carol all the time.”
Disbelief is the main emotion on Eddie’s face. And a whole lot of other ones that Steve can’t quite parse out. “So—everything we’ve done,” Eddie says, slowly, like he’s trying to come to terms with it. “It’s all just…been normal friend shit to you?”
Steve thinks back over the last month, trying to think if anything stands out in his head as non-platonic. Maybe there’s been a time or two when he was kissing Eddie or cuddling up to him in bed or sitting on his lap during D&D where Steve’s felt a sort of stirring deep in his belly. But he figured that was one-sided. His body’s reaction to whatever was happening and not a manifestation of, like, feelings or something. After all, the same thing used to happen with Tommy when they’d do similar stuff. And clearly they were just friends.
After a full twenty seconds of Steve not answering, Eddie drops his head in his hands. “Holy shit,” he mutters. Then he lifts his head. “This—you—the other day. You slept over. We made out. You—you took my fucking shirt off, Steve.”
Yeah, that did happen. And Steve doesn’t have a great explanation for it. “I don’t know,” he says, “It was the heat of the moment or whatever.”
“The heat of the moment,” Eddie repeats, and Steve can’t tell if he’s on the verge of tears or the verge of laughing. Eddie puts his arm on the back of the couch and leans toward Steve. “Can you honestly say that you’re not attracted to me at all?”
Annoyingly, Steve can feel his face start to heat. “I never said that,” he mutters.
For the first time, Eddie looks triumphant. “So you are attracted to me?”
“Yeah, man,” Steve says, squirming uncomfortably. Of course he’s attracted to Eddie. What’s not to be attracted to? He’s smart, funny, hot, good with the kids, good on the guitar, good at kissing. Helped save the world. “You’re, like, it for me. I definitely think about you that way. I just didn’t think you thought about me that way.”
Eddie laughs, the sound containing more disbelief than humor, but still overall a good thing. “I can’t believe the guy who’s been sharing my bed for the past month didn’t think I was into him.”
“Hey, you’re not the only person whose bed I’ve shared.” Shit, that was a bad way to put it. “Platonically.”
Shaking his head, Eddie laughs again. “Clearly, your idea of platonic does not line up with mine,” he says. “But you mean it? You’re into me?”
“Yeah, Eds,” Steve says, “I’m into you.”
“So, does that mean you’d want to be my boyfriend?”
“Apparently I already have been for the past month,” Steve says, grinning.
Eddie grins back. “Doesn’t count if you didn’t know.”
“Then we can count from today,” Steve says, “Starting now, I’m your boyfriend.”
He hasn’t finished saying the last word before Eddie is surging forward and taking Steve’s face in his hands. He shifts onto Steve’s lap, kissing him deeply.
And it doesn’t feel platonic at all.
#oblivious steve is like a son to me#steve and tommy having made out in the past is also very important to me#steddie#steve x eddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#ficlet
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Hair Care
T | 1,749 words
Prompt for @steddielovemonth: Love is what makes you brave
Steve learnt early on that if he makes his hair all soft, fluffy and big, then girls would play with his hair. He's always loved having people touching his hair.
But after the Demogorgon, after he gets his act together? Suddenly, no one wants to touch his hair. No one comments on it, or even looks at it like they're so much as thinking about it.
And it is driving Steve insane.
"I can't just ask for it!" He complains. "That's weird and- and what if they take it the wrong way? What if I sound too weird or desperate?"
"I'm the wrong person for the weird complaint," Eddie points out. "And I still don't get the problem. What about Robin?"
Robin is convinced that all his little lines, trying to encourage attention towards his hair as subtly as he can, are all pick-up lines.
To be fair to her, she has only ever seen him using said lines when he's flirting. But they're supposed to be little hints, a nudge and a wink. Friendly- playful even.
But, because of that, he has a nasty feeling that she would take any hint or request about his hair as romantic. And the last thing Steve wants to do is make Robin uncomfortable.
"Ok, yeah, I see the problem there," Eddie hums, considering. "What about the kids? El and Max. They adore you and love playing with each others hair."
El had asked to play with his hair once.
She'd heard, somehow, that his hair is 'famous' in Hawkins and had wanted to see why. She encouraged Max to join her, even though she mostly ended up petting him like a dog.
Max had seemed to enjoy it more than El, but not by much, and the snickers from the other kids had been enough for him to refuse to let them "go again".
He's the babysitter, he needs at least some dignity.
"But did you like it?" Eddie presses.
"Well, yeah," Steve mumbles, snuffing his slipper on the carpet. "It was nice or whatever. Not worth the jabs though."
"Why not?"
"I don't know. Didn't feel worth it."
"Hmm..." Eddie pauses again, frowning as he looks him over. "Well... what was it specifically about what they did that was so nice? Has anyone else done that for you?"
Tommy used to play with his hair constantly. He was a quick learner and, with how much Carol visibly and vocally enjoyed watching them, there wasn't any shame.
They both seemed to enjoy themselves more whenever they could convince Steve to sit on the floor, so Tommy could scratch at his head more effectively.
"Which..." Steve pauses, frowning. "In retrospect was probably some weird power play thing. Like, I was the king at school but a dog at home."
"Yikes."
"Yeah."
But they knew exactly what he liked and they were good at it.
Tommy knew that he loves the back of his ears scratched, likes the small strands at his neck tugged. He knew that Steve loved the feeling of fingers brushing his fringe back, especially when he'd get rough and push his head back a little with the motion.
They knew what he needed.
"Well... I could do that," Eddie suggests. "I mean... if you want. It's not like it would be a hardship."
"Really? You wouldn't be uncomfortable?"
"Not at all. As long as you're ok with it, it's all good."
"That- yeah. Yeah, I'm on with that."
That's how it starts.
Steve had sat on the floor, in front of the sofa where Eddie was sat. It reminded him of Tommy for a moment, but Eddie quickly brought him back to the moment with a hand on his shoulder.
"This alright for you?" He asked, squeezing gently when Steve nodded. "Alright. Just let me know if it's bad, too much or you want to stop."
"Okay."
He had thought that would be it, though. Moments when they hung out in private, a thing for them that no one else was allowed in on.
But Eddie starts playing with his hair. All the time.
If he can find an excuse, he abuses it. Even in Family Video, busy with people and customers lining up in front of Robin, right next to them. Eddie just... leans forward, reaches out and pushes his hair back.
He does it so casual, so out in the open, that- somehow- Robin is the only one who gives them a strange look.
On movie nights, he's started putting a pillow down on the floor between his feet. When Steve comes in with popcorn, Eddie gives it a pointed look and raises an eyebrow at him.
It's so much, so often. Steve loves it, has never been so happy for so long. It leaves him feeling high sometimes.
All good things, for him, come to an end though. And his comes in the form of Robin Buckley.
"I'm not saying I have a problem with any of it!" She clarifies, right off the bat. "If it's just a friendship thing, that's amazing. I love how happy you are, really, and I don't want that to go away, and I know-"
"Robs," Steve interrupts. "Slow down. I don't know what you're trying to say."
She stood, staring at him for a moment, seeming to vibrate with her need to speak, before finally blurting out-
"Are you and Eddie dating?"
"Wh- what? No, that's... no. Why do you, uhm, think that?"
"Steve," she whines. "I know about your hair lines, remember? One of them must have worked with how addicted he's got to yours."
"Oh, that... no, that's not what's happened. Those aren't lines, I just... I really like people playing with my hair."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Wait, that still sounds suspicious. He plays with your hair all the time because he knows how much you like it?"
"No one else was going to."
"Oh my god," she rolls her eyes, stepping closer so she lightly tug at his hair. "I would have been doing this all the time if I knew it was ok!"
"Oh, uh, sorry?"
"No apologies, just tell me when you started crushing on Munson."
"How-?"
"I know you, dingus. Apparently not as well as I had hoped I did, but I do. And you're gone on him. When. Did it start?"
The first time Steve realized that he was feeling more than 'friendship feelings' for Eddie was when he was eating at his new trailer.
Wayne had come home early and was surprised to see that Eddie had a guest over.
But Eddie was too busy jumping up, excited to introduce them, to notice.
"Wayne! This is Steve, I've told you about Steve, he's great," Eddie said. "Steve, this is my uncle, Wayne. He's amazing, don't worry, he doesn't bite."
Steve had quickly stood extending an arm, and introduced him properly. He made sure to add a quick 'sir' at the end.
Wayne had quickly dismissed the title, turning to Eddie with a fond look, and said, "what was it you called him? Pr-"
"Shut up," Eddie was fast to interrupt, hands waving around.
And Steve realized that he was feeling hope. He was filled with hope that Eddie had said what his uncle seemed to about to say.
He realized that he wanted Eddie to think of him as pretty. He wanted Eddie to find him so pretty that he told his uncle.
It was a warm feeling, fluttering through his stomach- a feeling that he is all too familiar with.
"I'm gagging," Robin says, monotone. "But that does help."
"Help? How?"
"Uh, because he's obviously into you too!"
"Robs, I don't know..."
"Come on, it'll be easy. He already likes you, so you don't have to try so hard. Just a little thing that lets him know you like him. One of your moves-"
"No, Robs... I'm sure that he likes me too, at least a little, that's not the problem."
"What is them?"
"I... I've never, like... been with a guy. What if I do it wrong?"
"Steve," Robin grabs both of his shoulders. "He likes you. All you have to be is yourself."
"I don't know if I c-"
"You can, and you will. We'll think of a plan that cannot fail, you'll put on your brave pants, and we'll kick this problems ass."
"My brave pants? It's brave face."
"No, I mean those pants that you're always saying make your ass look good. Those are your brave pants."
"... Ok, yeah, they are."
It doesn't take them long to settle in a plan. It's simple, easy. It shouldn't give Steve enough time to doubt himself.
Eddie arrives on time, knocking on the door at the exact time it turns four p.m.
"Hi!" Steve greets, wincing at how overenthusiastic he is. "Come in."
"You alright?"
"Yeah, fine, just... slow day. Too much energy. Come on, I made too much food earlier if you want some."
"You know I'll never turn down free food, Stevie."
Over dinner, Steve starts to finally relax. Eddie is, as always, easy to talk too.
When they step into the living room, Steve snatches the pillow off Eddie before he can put it on the floor and places it in Eddies lap instead.
"Oh, uh," Eddie stutters, eyebrows high, staring down at Steve who did not hesitate to rest his head on the pillow in his lap. "You- yeah?"
"Yeah," Steve agrees. "You alright with this?"
"Yes- yeah, this- of course."
"Great!"
Steve stretches to the coffee table, handing Eddie the remote.
He doesn't pay attention to whatever Eddie puts on though. He can't stop thinking about how he's laying, how Eddie's hand feels so much more gentle in his hair.
Eventually, he turns so he's on his back. He catches Eddie's hand before he can pull away, waiting until Eddie looks him in the eye before pulling his hand close enough to kiss his palm.
But, instead of surprise, Eddie sighs. His shoulders drop, smiling wide- relieved.
"You're so pretty," Steve says, pushing through the confusion he feels at Eddies reaction. "And I, uh... I really like you, Ed."
"Yeah?" Eddies eyes scrunch with how wide his smile is, shifting his hand out of Steves hold so he can brush the back of his knuckles along his cheek. "Little ol' me?"
"Yeah. I'm- I mean, you're funny and you care... you're just... it's too soon to say love, I know, but-"
"I love you too."
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if you love him let him go (if you love him let him know)
pre-buddie, bucktommy | T | 3k | angst, pining
tommy needs to tell eddie something
not on ao3 atm because i can't figure out if this is done or if i'm continuing it - please let me know your thoughts!
now on ao3 because i hate not having all my fic in one place
“Can I get you another beer, man?”
Eddie checks his watch. It’s only a little after nine thirty. He’s kind of hoping to get home before Chris goes to sleep, but he’ll not be heading to bed any time soon, will likely stay up later than Eddie. Friday night means he disregards his supposed bedtime — not that he sticks to it that well on school nights, now he’s sixteen. “Sure, thanks.”
Tommy nods, disappears into the kitchen, returns a moment later with a can of IPA in one hand, a bottle of lager in the other. They’ve already finished the six-pack Eddie brought over, but trust Buck — well, Buck and Tommy — to have Eddie’s favorite beer in their fridge. Tommy hands over the can, already cracked open, and Eddie takes a sip as Tommy settles down at the opposite end of the couch. He doesn’t turn to face the TV, sits twisted towards Eddie instead, but he does pick up the remote and turn down the volume, the post-fight commentary rendered nearly unintelligible.
“I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Eddie twists towards Tommy himself, something not-quite-anxious-but-almost flaring in his chest. Over the years they have been friends, he and Tommy have spoken about lots of things, including those not so easy to discuss: their respective experiences in the army, Tommy’s tough childhood, Eddie’s difficult parents, the hard aspects of the job. But they’ve all been topics that have come up naturally, raised organically. Tommy has never led into anything with such a pointed opener before.
Eddie studies him. He has one knee pulled up on the couch cushion, foot poking out off the end, the other foot planted on the floor, nearly parallel to the base of the couch. One arm is up on the backrest, the other relaxed, beer bottle in that hand, resting on his thigh, dripping condensation painting a charcoal ring on his — probably Buck’s, in fact, given how tight the fabric is stretched over the muscle of his leg — grey sweats. He’s not tense, but he’s not smiling, and there’s something about his expression that Eddie can’t place. It’s not that he hasn’t seen this look before, because he’s pretty sure he has, witnessed it in flickers across numerous occasions over the years, there and then gone, present for but a heartbeat. But he’d never known what it meant any of those times and he certainly doesn’t now.
“'Course,” Eddie says, when Tommy doesn’t go on, seems to be waiting for some kind of sign. Then adds, feeling like it’s necessary given the gravity he can feel pulling this lightsome evening down to something more serious. “Anything.”
Tommy sighs, bites his lip like he doesn’t want to speak, even though he’s the one who said he wanted to talk, then shakes his head and takes a pull of his beer.
“Is everything okay?” Eddie’s starting to feel worried now. He mentally scans back over the past few weeks, trying to remember if Tommy has mentioned anything about work that could be a problem. He saw him at basketball last week, and nothing had seemed off. Plus, Buck hasn’t said anything. Not that he’d necessarily tell Eddie about an issue Tommy was having, not if Tommy wanted it kept private, but Eddie can usually tell when Buck’s concerned about someone, and he hasn’t picked up on anything, not at all.
But maybe this isn’t about a problem Tommy is having. Maybe this is a Buck problem, something Buck has kept from Eddie. It would make sense why Tommy would bring it up with him; sometimes a concerted, multi-person effort is the only way to get through to Buck. And Tommy’s more likely to bring in Eddie first, and then expand the team to include Maddie, Chim, more, as needed.
“Is Buck okay?” Eddie asks, something like panic constricting his throat, making the words come out a little strangled.
Tommy actually laughs at that, a small, choked thing, an exhale of sound and air. He shakes his head again, but not a no. More like an extension of the laugh, a motion to accompany it, to better convey the disbelief — not humor — contained in it. “He’s fine.”
It’s a relief to hear. Buck had seemed physically okay, when Eddie had seen him briefly before he left the house, since he’d maybe purposefully waited to order his Uber until Buck pulled up in his jeep outside, despite Christopher’s insistence he didn’t need to wait for Buck to arrive, despite the fact that his kid is more than old enough to be left in the house alone for the twenty minutes it would have taken Buck to drive over, while Eddie was ferried the opposite way. But there could still have been something, Buck could have been fighting through pain, much better at hiding any hurt of his body than he is at masking his emotional distress.
“But,” Tommy says, and that one word is enough to have Eddie’s muscles tightening once more, “It is Evan I wanted to talk about.”
Again, Tommy doesn’t follow it up with anything. Eddie has found, in their time as friends, that Tommy is not often a man lost for words. Quite the opposite, in fact. He usually says what he means, means what he says, and is an expert at listening and delivering sage advice. This reticence– it doesn’t feel like it bodes well, has the hair on the back of Eddie’s neck prickling.
“Alright,” Eddie says, a feeble prompt. “So, Buck?”
Tommy nods, like he’s gearing himself up for something, to face a challenge, to take a punch. Eddie is expecting something bad, so the words he says catch him even more off guard than they would have. “I want to ask Evan to marry me.”
Maybe if Tommy had seemed eager, excited, when he turned to him, Eddie could have anticipated the blow, could have felt a creeping suspicion this is where Tommy was headed, could have been provided with enough of a heads-up to brace himself. As it is, he doesn’t see the hit coming, takes it full force to the chest, so hard it steals his breath, knocks the wind from him. His mouth goes slack, and he feels his fingers slide against the slippery sides of his beer can, almost spills it over Tommy and Buck’s lounge carpet before he gets a hold on it, on himself. He forces himself to smile. “That’s– that’s great,” he makes himself say, only faintly aware that Tommy isn’t smiling back, like this moment should call for. “Did you–” he swallows around the bile climbing his esophagus, “Do you want help planning the proposal?” He wishes he could take the words back the second they’re out. Because this — just hearing that Tommy wants to ask Buck — is torture enough. To be involved with it, to help enable it, Eddie will be lucky if it doesn’t kill him. Maybe not his body, but certainly his soul.
“No.” Tommy shakes his head. “No, I want to ask him to marry me. But I’m not going to. At least, not now.”
Eddie squints at him. The news that Tommy wants to marry Buck might hurt Eddie, but it’s not exactly surprising. Eddie’s seen how much Tommy cares for him in the years they’ve been together, has seen the way he looks at him, the way they look at each other. Has felt the way it burns him, the scorching heat of flame, the searing cold of ice. He doesn’t understand what Tommy is saying, doesn’t understand why this proclamation seems not to be a happy one. “Why not?” Eddie asks, almost grateful for the opportunity to present confusion, curiosity, rather than forced pleasure at the thought of one of his closest friends and his– best friend marrying each other. “You guys are serious. I mean, you live together.”
Tommy huffs another laugh, still more disbelief than humor, really the opposite of humor. “His lease was up.”
“Right. But he chose not to renew it. He chose to move in with you,” Eddie says, slow, struggling to understand, the pounding of his pulse not helping him think clearly, see through the puzzle that is everything Tommy has said so far and the way he has said it.
“He was never going to renew it,” Tommy tells him.
And that’s– that’s something Eddie didn’t know. He hates it when he learns information about Buck from Tommy, always has, even though he fights with everything in him not to feel like that. Tommy is Buck’s boyfriend, of course he’s going to know things about him that Eddie doesn’t, know him in a way that Eddie doesn’t.
“We hadn’t spoken about living together,” Tommy says, eyes on Eddie. “But he’d said he thought the loft was too expensive and he was spending nearly every night at mine by that point. When he wasn’t on shift. Or at yours.” Eddie pulls his eyes away, takes a sip from his beer for something to do, even though the bitter taste is turning his stomach. “He said he wasn’t going to renew it, that he’d look for somewhere new, cheaper. But this was too close to the end of his lease to find a place before he had to move out. I asked where he was going to stay in the meantime.”
“And he said with you,” Eddie guesses, more a statement than a question.
But Tommy shakes his head. A smile curls his lips but his eyes– his eyes don’t match. “He said he’d crash on your couch, actually.”
Eddie takes another mouthful of beer, holds it there, on the back of his tongue. He didn’t know any of this. Buck would, of course, have been more than welcome. Likely why he hadn’t asked in advance, why he planned for it without seeking permission.
“I said he could stay with me, instead. That he’d be able to sleep in a bed here.” Eddie swallows, the beer somehow thick and cloying in a way that it shouldn’t be. “And then when he started making noises about looking for a new place, I told him he should stay.”
While it’s not how Eddie had, unwillingly, pictured it in his head — Tommy and Buck mutually agreeing that Buck shouldn’t renew his lease, deciding they wanted to live together — it still doesn’t explain what Tommy has said. “And he did stay,” Eddie says. “So, why aren’t– Does Buck not want to get married?” But that can’t be it, that can’t be right. Eddie is certain Buck does want to be married, only he’d tried hard not to think of Buck wanting that with Tommy, with anyone. Anyone else.
“No, he does,” Tommy confirms it. He leans over and deposits his beer on the coffee table. Then sits back, still turned to Eddie, but arms crossed over his chest, like a protection of himself. “We’ve spoken about it, discussed it. And he’s told me he’s always wanted that, to get married, to be part of a family.” Tommy pops one hand out of the fold of his arms to hold it up, out, quelling, like Eddie has protested. He hasn’t, but his heart is doing something approximating a riot at the idea of Tommy being Buck’s family. “And I know he has a family. He knows he does. In you and Chris, in Maddie and Jee, in the 118. But–” Tommy breaks off, tips his head to the side, gaze boring into Eddie’s face so strong that Eddie wishes he could turn away, duck and run. “You know how much he’s always wanted to belong somewhere.”
He does, Eddie thinks, the thought almost violent in its intensity. He belongs with me. Except, he doesn’t. Not really, not how Eddie wants, not the way he does with Tommy.
“And I want that for him,” Tommy goes on, tucking his hand back in, squeezing his arms tighter about himself. Eddie’s never seen him like this, hunched in on himself, curled small. Tommy is usually so open, larger than life. “I want to be the one to give that to him.”
Eddie wants to be the one to give that to him. Desires it desperately, a secret need he’s tucked as far inside himself as he can. He can feel it now, raging to be let out, to be set free. But he can’t, he won’t. Buck is with Tommy, he’s happy with Tommy. Tommy who is so warm and kind and good, Tommy who is better than Eddie in every conceivable way, who brings so much to Buck’s life, who gives all of himself to Buck. Who wants to give him even more. Wants to, but apparently won’t.
Eddie doesn’t understand. “Then, if you want to, why won’t you ask him?” he questions, trying to.
“If I ask him now, he’ll say no.” Tommy states it like indisputable fact, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world that Buck would refuse him.
Eddie shakes his head, understanding even less. “But he loves you.”
Tommy smiles again, then, larger than he had before, but as devoid of happiness, as empty of cheer. This smile hurts to see, reflects the way Eddie felt inside when Tommy had said I want to ask Evan to marry me. “I know he does.” Tommy’s tone is sure, but wistful. “But he loves you more.”
It’s like– It’s like nothing Eddie has ever felt. Or maybe it’s like everything he’s ever felt. The shock of a residual lightning bolt, the joy of being a part of the 118, the pain of a bullet ripping through his shoulder, the awe of holding his son for the first time. Eddie wants Tommy’s words to be true maybe more than he’s ever wanted anything. But he also cannot believe them, has no trust that they are true. Because they can’t be. Buck loves Tommy. Not Eddie.
“We’re friends. Best friends,” Eddie points out. “Of course, he– he loves me. But not more. Not like he loves you. He’s in love with you.”
Tommy sighs, arms uncrossing, palms coming to rest on his thighs, body taking on a posture Eddie is familiar with, the one he falls into when he’s talking someone through something, the one he adopted when Eddie came out to him some six months ago. “Eddie, he’s in love with you.”
Eddie shakes his head. It’s everything he’s ever wanted to hear, but coming from the wrong lips. Spoken by not by Buck himself but by Buck’s boyfriend, oh god. “He isn’t. Tommy, he can’t be.”
But Tommy is nodding, nodding like what he’s said is true, like he wants Eddie to believe it.
“He’s not,” Eddie says, hears the denial, the disbelief spill from him. Buck doesn’t love him. He doesn’t. But Eddie– Eddie loves– “I’m sorry,” Eddie says, almost a gasp. “Tommy, I’m sorry, I–”
“It’s not your fault,” Tommy cuts him off. “I knew what I was getting into. When I started seeing Evan, I knew there were going to be three people in this relationship. I just–” Tommy sighs again, scrubs his palms along his thighs. “I didn’t expect it to get this far. I thought we’d just be a fun, easy thing. Something to ease Evan into his sexuality, that new part of himself. I didn’t expect it to go like this. I didn’t expect to feel like this.” Tommy closes his eyes, lashes falling to his cheeks. He breaths in and out, while Eddie’s own breath is caught in his chest. When Tommy opens his eyes, he says, “But I don’t have to tell you how easy it is to love him.”
Fuck. Tommy knows. Because Eddie does. He loves Buck, loves him so endlessly he doesn’t know where the feeling starts and where it ends. Doesn’t know when it started; doesn’t think it will ever end. “I’m sorry,” Eddie whispers, needing to say the words again, needing Tommy — his friend — to hear them.
Tommy lifts one palm from his thigh, his wrist pressing into the muscle as he cuts his fingers to the side in a dismissal. “Don’t apologize for it. I’m certainly not going to. I’m never going to be sorry for loving him.” He drops his hand back down, pats his leg, emphasis of the point. “But it is a problem.” He smiles, rueful. “I thought I’d be able to break up with him, if he didn’t break up with me. I should have, ages ago. I certainly should have when you came out.”
Eddie, selfishly, had hoped Buck would break up with Tommy then. But it had seemed like a farfetched fantasy. He had told Buck he was queer after Buck had already moved in with Tommy. He’d admitted it to himself, to Frank, before that, but hadn’t told anyone else for weeks. In hindsight, sometimes he figures he’d left it too late, but most of the time he didn’t think it would have made a difference at all. But now, with what Tommy has told him, maybe it would have. It’s a knife sliding between Eddie’s ribs to think maybe. Maybe.
“But I didn’t.” Tommy looks resigned, shoulders drooping.
“Why are you telling me this?” Eddie needs to know. It seems like Tommy has known for years that Eddie has loved Buck. Loves Buck. I knew there were going to be three people in this relationship. So why is he only bringing it up now?
“Because I didn’t. Because I can’t. I can’t break up with him. But I want to move forward. And I want to do so with him, for us to further our life together. But if I ask him to marry me when he doesn’t know for sure that you’re not an option, he’ll say no.”
Fear freezes Eddie’s insides. “So, what– what are you asking me to do?” Because Tommy is asking something of Eddie, wants something. Something Eddie fears he will have to make himself give.
Tommy straightens up, shoulders rolling back. He’s serious, solemn but not demanding or pleading when he says it. A devastating request. “I’m asking you, as my friend, to let him go.”
Eddie could be sick, he thinks, could vomit up the three and a quarter beers and the half a dozen chicken wings he’s consumed since he got to Tommy and Buck’s place. Could spill the mess of his insides up all over himself, all over Tommy, all over their lives. Tommy is his friend, was his friend before he was ever Buck’s boyfriend. Eddie should do this thing for him. Should give Buck his blessing to marry Tommy, give Buck up, give him over, completely, to this man who has loved him so well for the past three years. Eddie should; in his gut he knows it would be the right thing to do. But his heart– his heart is in revolt. It’s Buck. He loves him. How can he ever let him go?
Tommy leans forward, places a hand on Eddie’s leg, squeezes his fingers around the ball of his kneecap, until Eddie lifts his gaze and meets his eyes. “Or,” he says, somehow even more serious, “I am telling you, as your friend, to go and get him.”
#do we need to see where this goes next?#or is it good as is?#these are the questions that haunt me#(also i am totally avoiding writing chapter 5 of my wip please don't kill me)#buddie#bucktommy#buddie fic#bucktommy fic#911 fic#911#911 abc#myfic
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FIGHT TALK | Eddie Munson x Sunshine!Reader
Request: Hi! Can I request a Drabble with the character Eddie Munson, with the prompt “I won’t let anyone hurt you, ever.”. Imagine that Eddie being protective and acting as a bodyguard to the reader who is being bullied a lot, he feels sorry and guard her.
description: Eddie is not very happy when he finds his darling girlfriend stashed in the AV room after her first fight
word count: 1.1k
trigger warnings: swears, blood, mention of the f slur, broken nose? very quick dirty thought from Eds (it’s Eddie what can I say)
main masterlist
authors note: eddie x sunshine reader is about to be a thing around this neck of the woods since my beloved @palacearcaderadiostation demands more 💗
“He’s gonna fucking kill us,” Dustin held his hat scrunched tightly in his hands, as if he were in church or in mourning. “I never even got to say goodbye to Tews, my mom’s gonna be crushed,”
“Are you shitting me, he’s gonna make us wish we were dead,” Mike rubbed a hand over his tired face, “Do you remember what he did to Tommy H when he shook her soda can and it exploded in her face? My mom said the Hagen’s had to take him to a specialist in Chicago to get his nose fixed.”
Dustin paled even more, as Lucas returned with a sweat on his brow, the older boy hot on his heels.
“Move! Move out of my way- Out of my way,” Eddie cursed, shoving the other students hard enough they shot him dirty looks over their shoulders. Not that he cared, he had a sneer of his own as he looked down at the three boys that seemed to quiver in their place under his sable gaze, “Where is she?”
“Eddie, please understand- We tried to tell her-” Dustin spluttered as Mike seemed to biting the inside of his cheeks to keep himself from doing the same. Eddie simply put his hand in the kids face, glaring at him hard enough to silence him immediately.
The three of them would rather face the Wyvern they’d fought in their last campaign head on than have to deal with their dungeon master like this.
“Where is she, Henderson?” He growled, and the boys could do nothing but point to the AV room they’d stashed her in to keep her from the other student’s nosy gaze. Eddie didn’t need any other instruction, he was at the door in seconds, bursting through into the small, darkened room, his eyes falling on the girl sat on the table, legs swinging back and forth happily as if she wasn’t sporting a black eye and a bloodied nose. His breath hitched, his chest constricting tightly as he watched her own gaze flick to his. “Oh, baby,”
“Eds! Did you see? Did they tell you what I did?” She asked, her lips pulling into a smile as her boyfriend came closer, his hands grabbing the sides of her face, thumbs stroking over her cheeks.
“Mother of Christ, what did those shits do to you?” He snapped angrily, though his eyes were wide, the sadness written clear over them. Waving him off, she held onto his wrists with split knuckles, another factor that had him nearly clutching his pearls in aghast.
“It wasn’t their fault Eds, David Johnson was picking on Dustin for his lisp and calling them all-” She stopped, her nose scrunching in disgust when she thought of the word they’d used.
“Gay?” Eddie asked, to which she shook her head, though his eyes were quick to notice how the movement tugged on her split nose, “The other one?”
“The F one,” She muttered, hating that she even had to say it, “I dunno, I can take it when they say it about me. I just couldn’t stand to hear that about them, they’re good kids,”
He felt his expression soften, watching as she fiddled with her sleeve, another thing that had fallen casualty to her heroics as a thin tear trailed up her arm.
“You are just the bravest maiden there is, huh?” He asked, his chest butterflying when she looked up at him with the same happy smile she always had when he spoke like they were in one of his games, “And oh, your teeth! Those beautiful teeth, are they okay? Did they survive the warfare? Let me see,” Within seconds he had puckered her cheeks with one hand effortlessly, his other thumb lifting her lips up and down as if giving her an oral exam.
Her giggles vibrated on his palm that rested on throat as she tried to pull away from his grip, only partially succeeding as he took his finger out but held her still.
“-ds” She mumbled through her pursed lips, feeling him loosen on her jaw for just a moment before he gave her a gentle peck, careful not to bump her nose. Trying to pull away to tend to her ailments, he was stopped when he felt her fingers loop through his belt, tugging him forward for another longer kiss, her pretty lilac nails brushing against his tummy.
Chuckling as he pulled away, his hand moving from her jaw to cup her cheek sweetly, his eyes seemed to zero in on the cut on the bridge of her nose, the skin around it mottling into a bruise. He couldn’t miss the way it seemed to welt with fresh blood, the sight of it worrying him despite it being no bigger than his nail.
“You are just in luck, brave maiden, your medic has arrived prepared,” She smiled wryly as he dug through his bag until his face lit up as he brushed against the packet, “Ah, ha!”
Pulling out two from his collection, he held the bandaids up to her face so she could see for herself.
“Dangermouse or Ducktales?” He asked, the two brightly coloured cartoons staring back at her as she pointed to the three little ducklings.
“Ducktales, please,” She said, watching him peel the paper from the back, gently sticking it over the bridge of her sore nose, “I bet you do this for all your patients,”
“Only the most valiant of warriors,” He murmured, pecking the tip of her nose with soft eyes, “That’s just because you’re my favourite,”
She giggled again, as he picked up her scraped hand delicately, scanning over the small cuts attentively. Putting his hand to his mouth, he fake retched, covering his eyes in horror.
“Oh God,” He gasped, turning away from the sight, “Oh, god. I think we’re gonna have to amputate,”
Shoving him on his chest, she snickered at his dramatics, her fingers already scabbing over from their minor wounds. “Quit playin’. I was very brave today,”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that, baby,” He said, giving her knuckles some tender kisses, not caring it seemed gross seeing as she was bleeding. “Did you get him good at least, honey?”
She perked up even more, eyes alight with a sick little delight he hadn’t seen in her before. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t have his boxers stirring.
“I split his lip, would have gotten his nose too if he hadn’t jumped on me,” She said, and Eddie couldn’t help the raucous laugh that left his throat.
Pressing more kisses to her hairline he smiled, down at her from her place still sat atop the table. “Don’t worry, you’re on the bench in round two, Balboa. I’ll give him something to cry about,” He smirked at her, his nose brushing against hers sweetly, “I won’t let anyone hurt you, ever.”
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#eddie munson#Eddie Munson x reader#Eddie Munson imagine#Eddie Munson fanfiction#Eddie Munson x sunshine reader#stranger things x reader#stranger things imagine#stranger things fanfiction
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Failing
Summary: Joel made many mistakes. The biggest was leaving you.
Pairing: past Joel Miller x fem. reader
Wordcount: 1.3k
Rating: G
Warnings: angst, a lot of inner thoughts, panic attacks, Joel and Ellie do not talk, Joel is a mess, lots of talk about being a failure and not good enough, messy breakup, unplanned pregnancy
A/N: This has been going through my mind since I saw the new pic yesterday. This is really different from everything I write usually, so let me know what you think. And yeah, come yell at me in my inbox
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part one of invisible string
He knew he should have stayed home tonight.
He could have worked on… something. He could have talked himself into picking up his guitar and pretend everything was okay.
He could pretend that he wasn’t a failure.
He could pretend Ellie was still talking to him.
Instead he was here, the people around him celebrating god knows what, music playing, people dancing and he?
He was hoping to at least get a look at the girl that had become like a daughter to him. The daughter he lost because he lied to her.
Turned out his mother was right, lying was not getting him anywhere.
He hadn’t talked to her in weeks, not getting more than a fleeting look at her from afar like a creepy stalker.
Tommy was right, he needed to give her time.
But somehow he felt like time was running out.
Tommy had been right in a lot of things lately. Something Joel was not used to, still having the irresponsible young man in the back of his mind he had been before outbreak.
But Tommy wasn’t that man anymore.
He was a husband, a father, a respected leader of the little community he had helped build.
And Joel was…. He did not feel like he changed much. He was still angry all the time.
Angry at the world.
Angry at the people.
But most of all angry at himself.
The way he was feeling now? Alone and lonely?
He had no one but himself to blame for it.
It was moments like these that you came to his mind.
You would know what to do. You would know how to fix this mess that he got himself into. You always did. Until he had pushed you away for good, almost six years ago when he got even more involved in the underground in the Boston QZ.
Meeting and falling in love with you had been the only good thing that had happened to him since the outbreak. You had seen him, the real him.
The broken man that was desperate for… something.
That something seemed to be you.
But like every good that happened to him, he managed to fuck this up too. Not at first, but definitely in the end.
And he tried. He tried to become a better person. Tried to become the man you deserved, not listening to you when you told him that he did not have to become a better person.
That you fell for him the way he was. With all flaws he thought he had.
But maybe if he had worked on himself he wouldn’t have reacted so poorly when you told him that you were pregnant.
Maybe he wouldn’t have blamed you and you only, taking the easy way out and telling you he would not go through this again.
He should have talked to you, instead of lashing out, should have told you how fucking scared he was about losing another child. About losing you. About raising a child in this fucked up world. About fucking up.
He did so anyway.
He chose to forget about the whole conversation the two of you had after you told him that you were pregnant and that you were intending to keep it from his mind. Or he tried. God, did he try.
But now, deep in the night, when he was laying awake and alone in bed, only the shadows of the night in his company, the words he spat to hurt you creeped back into his mind, not that they had ever been gone.
I don’t love you.
Get rid of it.
Get out of my life.
I never loved you anyway.
He could still see the way your face crumbled, tears running down your cheeks.
He broke you that night. And he broke himself.
He thought about this last argument, this breakup a lot if he was honest with himself.
He never told you, not in words, how much he loved you. He took you for granted. He shouldn’t have been this surprised to learn that you had left the QZ days after he broke you.
Not a day went by that he wondered what happened to you.
If you were alive.
If you kept the baby.
Would it have your eyes and his hair?
A boy or a girl?
Where they as stubborn as Sarah was?
Did you still love him as much as he still loved you?
Shaking his head he took a sip from the surprisingly good beer someone had offered him when he came here, his eyes wandering through the room, sneaking glances at Ellie who smiled at Dina, deep in conversation with the other girl.
Sucking his bottom lip in, his hand flexing on his side as he tried to find the courage to walk over to Ellie and ask her if they could talk, again, when he heard laughter behind him.
Laughter he heard before, a long time ago.
A laugh he heard in his dreams when his mind allowed him to dream about you instead of the nightmares that plagued him.
Narrowing his eyes he tried to remember why he was hearing that laugh, why that voice that spoke in low tones now, made his heart flutter, when he saw Tommy walk towards him in a fast pace, his face worried.
“Joel,” he said but Joel wasn’t listening to him.
He was busy preparing for a breakdown that was creeping slowly into his body.
Joel’s heart seemed to make the connection before his brain did, heart beating widely in his chest as he slowly turned around, his brother’s hand on his shoulder to keep him for turning. He shrugged it off with a grunt, bracing himself to be let down, that he was finally turning insane and imagining you when his eyes landed on you.
Blinking his eyes in disbelief he released a shaky breath when you were still there.
You were sitting at one of the picnic tables, still as beautiful as he remembered a small smile on your face. A man had his arm wrapped around your back and in your lap sat a girl not older than five who had your eyes and his brown curls.
His heart stopped, he was sure of it.
“She got in yesterday. You were on patrol, I was trying to find you and tell you but….” Joel heard his brother say, but he ignored him.
You were here.
You were here.
And you were alive.
And you had a girl sitting in your lap that was….
His eyes widened when you leaned back and he saw a little boy sitting in the lap of the man next to you that looked like a mini copy of Joel himself.
His chest felt heavy.
Closing his eyes he tried to take deep breaths, but he just couldn’t.
This was too much.
This hurt too much.
This was the happiest he ever was.
“Joel?” he heard his name from his side, Ellie looking down at him worriedly as he pressed his hand against his chest, his eyes watering.
This was the first time she had talked to him in weeks and it might as well be the last time from the way he felt right now.
He was having a panic attack.
But it felt so much worse than it had ever before.
Looking away from Ellie he turned his head back towards you, finding you now looking at him with wide eyes.
“Deep breaths brother,” a strong arm came to pull him up and his frantic eyes found Tommy’s.
“In and out,” he said, trying to calm down his brother. Joel’s hands grabbed his brothers shoulders. Trying to mimic the way he was breathing but couldn’t.
“Joel?” he heard your voice, his head now turning towards you, finding you looking at him worriedly.
Joel shook his head, dark spots at the corner of his eyes.
“You’re here,” was the last thing he whispered before he passed out.
#my fic#Joel Miller#Joel Miller x fem. reader#Pedro Pascal#joel miller fanfiction#tlou#tlou fanfiction#fanfiction#fanfic#fan fiction
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Thomas cries a lot.
He's always been sensitive, every since he was a kid. The names other kids and hell, even adults called him cut deep every time he heard them.
Idiot.
Monster.
Freak.
Tears pluck at his brown eyes harshly as the majority of the schoolyard torments him, the teachers turning blind eyes to the mistreatment, too busy making their own comments about his mother and family to intervene.
"S-Stop--!" He hiccups, hands desperately covering his face as he shakes against the metal fence, "G-Give it back!"
"Come get it, Freak!" The little boy taunts him, holding the mask Thomas' mother made for him high in the air, the group of children around him erupting in laughter.
"HEY! What the hell's goin' on over here!?" Hoyt hollers as he yanks the bully up by his wrist, the kids mocking laughter interrupted as they scatter, "What the hell's wrong with you, boy!? Did your Daddy raise you to take shit that ain't yours!?"
Hoyt plucks the mask from the kid's hand as he shakes his head, wide eyed and scared at being caught red handed.
"That's what I thought, so why don't you scatter before I give him a call and tell him what the hell you've been doin'."
"Yes, sir!" The kid darts as soon as Hoyt lets him go.
"Little shit." Hoyt mutters, kneeling down to help Thomas put his mask back on, "Now, I done told you, Tommy, you can't cry everytime one of those little bastards says some shit to you. Man up, you're too damn old for all that whinin'..."
Thomas nods, wiping the tears from his red eyes as Hoyt takes him back to the truck.
Man up...
Man up...
That's what Hoyt and Monty always told him, their words not much kinder and cutting even deeper as they picked at him everytime he cried.
Over the years the tears eventually turned to anger, and isolation. Hiding himself away from everyone and everything around him, protecting himself from from harsh world around him.
...And then there was you.
Sweet, excitable, gentle you.
"...Tommy...!" Your voice is tired and sweet, clearly having just woken up when Thomas came in the room.
He watches as you stretch, waking up a bit more as you look up at him, a small smile on your face.
He's tired. It's written on his face, eyes droopy and shoulders slumping, standing over the bed, looking down at you.
"C'mere." You reach for him, hands grasping as you gesture for him to climb in bed.
He does as he's told, climbing under the covers and into your arms, melting into your warmth as he lays on top of you.
"Mmm..." You hum, relaxing as your arms wrap around him, your hands running up and down his back, sending shivers up his spine, "...My Thomas..."
He sighs at your words, melting even further against you as your hands gain rhythm and begin rubbing his aching muscles, working up and down his shoulders and back as he buries his face in your neck.
You lean your head against his, the smell of the shampoo you bought for him filling your nose as you continue rubbing his back, "...I love you..."
The arms around your waist tighten as he presses further into you, completely engulfing you in his presence.
How?
How is it possible for you to love him so incredibly, and so deeply that he doesn't even need to hear those words to know their truth? How could you possibly break down every piece of him, every broken part and hideous truth and still make him feel like the only thing that matters in the world?
You can feel him start to shake. He's been working so hard, for so long. He's exhausted, and worn down. His body is scarred and calloused. His mind is weary and weak.
And every insult, every hit, every bad thing that he's ever gone through was worth it, if it means he can feel this loved for the rest of his life.
You feel his tears before you see them, the quiver in his shoulders, the hiccups in your ear as he tries to hold it back.
"Oh, Tommy..." You mutter, kissing his hair as you rub his back, "It's okay, sweetheart, you can cry, I've got you..."
And for the first time in a long time, he does.
He cries into your shoulder, a shaking and sobbing mess as you patiently hold him through it, running your hands through his hair and rubbing his back as you coax him.
"There we go..." You coo as he pulls back, holding his face in your hands while you kiss his tear stained cheeks, his mask long forgotten before he climbed into bed, "Do you feel better, love?"
He nods, letting out a deep sigh as he relaxes against you again, feeling more relief than he has in years.
"Good..."
...Thomas cries a lot. After years of believing he was never good enough to be loved, of believing his place was being locked away in the basement, forever shielding himself from the world that hated him, he was proven wrong by a single person who loves him more than every good thing put together.
And that thought alone brings tears to his eyes.
#having thoughts#and feeling ways#thomas hewitt#thomas hewitt x reader#thomas hewitt x s/o#thomas hewitt x y/n#thomas hewitt x you#slasher fandom#slashers#slasher x reader#slasher x you#slasher x y/n
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Where Soul Meets Body - Ghost x Reader
Ao3 Link
Content Warnings - afab!reader, no pronouns used, reader has a call sign, canon typical violence, ghost's past :(, angst, smut, fingering, oral, thigh riding, PiV, unprotected sex, happy ending. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Summary - Simon Riley has been your best friend since the two of you were five. You've been in love with him since you were 15. It's too bad life has other plans
WC: 18k
Big thanks to @shotmrmiller for helping me with the last chapter and big thanks to @itsagrimm for listening to my rambling about this since January. I'm so happy to see it written and finished.
Rainy days in the United Kingdom we're far from abnormal. Seeing the bright sun with no clouds obstruction was abnormal. Seeing someone without an umbrella, even a jacket, in the rain was more than abnormal to you. Who in the world would set out to school without a jacket or umbrella? You approach the strawberry blond boy and tentatively hold your umbrella over his head. "What are you doing without an umbrella?" You ask, head tilting ever so slightly at the boy looking up at you. Oh, he's from your class, what was his name again?
"I don't have one."
"Did your mum not buy you one?" There was a small silence but you smile, "Well it doesn't matter now, I'm here and we can share." You give him your name and get the smallest smile from him.
"I'm Simon Riley." Ah, that's right, Simon Riley.
"Well then Simon, let's get to school." The umbrella was hardly large enough for you to fit under but you held it over his head as the rain came down. It rained all day but that was okay because you and Simon sat together all day. "I'll walk home with you so you don't get wet." You say while playing another round of Sorry!.
"You don't need to." Simon mutters as he moves his piece, his brown eyes downcast. You frown, brows pinching together as you try to piece together the logic behind that statement.
"I don't need to but I want to." You respond with a toothy grin. "It's what friends do." You say with confidence as you draw a card.
"We're friends?" Simon asks, his eyes suddenly meeting yours.
"Of course. We're sharing an umbrella." You laugh and move your piece according to the card. "And when you get your own umbrella, we can be umbrella friends." He repeats the term umbrella friends as if testing the waters and then smiles. A smile suits him much better than a frown you decide. During lunch, you offer part of your sandwich when you realize how sad his packed lunch is. "Here, I'm full." A lie but he hardly had half of what your mum packed. He looked at the triangularly cut sandwich with apprehension. "Please eat it." He continues to stare at it before picking it up and taking a bite then looking at you. When he sees your smile, he keeps eating it. "You have very brown eyes." You suddenly comment, unable to keep it to yourself. "I like them."
Simon easily fit into the routine of your life, each day after school he would walk home with you on Fridays. Together the two of you would chatter about anything and everything, conversation flowing easily. Somedays were worse than others, like right now while you treated Simon's busted lip with a bag of cold peas pressing against his cheek. "I'll beat him up." You promise. He seems different these days, he had always been a bit timid before but any loud noise scared him. You don't ask what happened, you could see it in his eyes that he didn't want to talk about it. Those same eyes were always looking down all the time now too, you wish he wouldn't. You like to see his eyes.
"You can't beat up Tommy." He insists.
"He beat you up, I'm just returning the favor." You huff as you dab the blood away from his lip and hand him a bag of cold broccoli. The attic of your home had become a safe haven to him and the walls and ceiling were decorated in drawings that the two of you had created over the last two years. A plate of triangle sandwiches sat half eaten on the box-made-table. "I'll just punch him. Serve him right." You huff and cross your arms after throwing the wet rag in the corner. Books and half put away board games were scattered all around the little attic.
"Please don't." Simon begs, his brown eyes downcast again.
"Will it make you happy if I don't?" You ask, twisting your shirt and pulling at the loose thread. Simon nods and you sigh, pushing your hair from your face. "Fine then but you're staying the night." You declare.
"Don't you need to ask your mum and dad permission?" He asks.
"They'll say yes. They always do." It was true, there hadn't been a time your mum hadn't let Simon sleep over if you had asked. Simon tapped your arm and handed you a book from the pile.
"Out of your head, let's read." He says while giving a frail smile. When did his smiles get smaller? You take the book from his hand, you hope it'll make him happy. A knock on the attic door as your mum peaks her head up.
"Are you staying for dinner Simon?" You mum asks and you jump on the opportunity.
"Can Simon stay the night mum? Please." You draw out your please and put on your best puppy eyes. Your mum looks between you and Simon who still held the bag of broccoli against his mouth.
"Of course he can stay. Just be quiet after eight pm." Your mum disappears back down the ladder towards the kitchen while you turn to Simon with a victorious smile on your face.
"Told you so."
You knock rapidly on his home's front door, "Come on Riley! I'm not gonna stand out here all day waiting for you." You would, of course you would. Rain or shine, warm or hot. The door swung open and you scrunched up your nose when Tommy was standing in front of you. "You smell like a sewer rat." You remark, "Where's Simon?"
"Don't you ever shut up?" Tommy snapped, "Simon isn't your boyfriend."
"He doesn't need to be my boyfriend in order for me to ask where he is." You immediately respond. He snorts and rolls his eyes. Tommy, Simon's younger brother, had been teasing the two of you for years since the first time he saw you walk Simon home. "Simon!" You say, a smile immediately appearing on your face as he finally appears behind his brother. "Come on!" You push Tommy out of the way and grab Simon's hand. "I got my drivers license." You boast, "Dad's letting me drive his truck around whenever he doesn't need it."
It was a rare day in spring when it wasn't raining and you weren't gonna let it go to waste. The windows of the truck were rolled down and the wind blew through your hair. The city of Manchester slowly disappears, the loudness exchanged for the quiet of the countryside.
"Don't look so grumpy Simon." You say when you notice he had his head in his hand and a scowl on his face. "You're acting like I'm driving you to your death."
"With how you drive, I'm sure you are." He retorts, a small smile growing on his face as you bark out a laugh.
"Well we're almost there so your death won't be quiet so soon." You remark. You slow the truck down before pulling off into a dirt road and coming to a complete stop. You turn the truck off and tuck the keys into your pocket and grab the basket you brought from the back of the truck. You look at the fence blocking the way into the flower field before you toss the basket over the fence before you launching yourself over the fence. "Come on Simon, just jump it!"
"Isn't this illegal?"
"Only if you get caught." You laugh and wink before helping Simon over the fence. The field of flowers stretch far and bumblebees buzz around from flower to flower. You open the basket and lay out the thin blanket onto the ground. Lowering yourself onto the blanket and you motion for Simon to join you.
"What's all this then?" He asked with a brow raised as you began to pull out a few cans of coke, a couple of sandwiches and apples.
"Happy 15th birthday." You say with a grin, "I got your present back at my house but I figured you'd like it out here." Simon stares at you, brown eyes wide as he looks between you and all the food you somehow managed to pack into the basket. You shift a little his heavy gaze as anxiety crept up as your cheeks turned red. "Do you not like it?" You ask.
Simon looked at you before a lopsided grin grew on his face, "It's great. Thank you."
"What are you planning to do after school is over?" You ask after taking a sip from your coke. "I mean, we only have next year left. Are you going to attend University?"
"I'm gonna take a butcher's apprenticeship."
"What?"
"My grades aren't doing great and I figured why not." Simon shrugged, "Not like it's a bad idea." You punched his shoulder lightly and glared at him.
"Why didn't you tell me you were struggling Riley? You know I would have helped." The wind blows softly, the flowers and grass rustle, birds sing in the distance. "You're a smart man Simon, if this is what you want to do," You take a steadying breath, "then I'll support you."
Simon smiles at you, "You took it better then my mum did at least." He sighs and takes a bite from his apple.
"She just wants what's best for you." You say, softening your voice. If there was one thing you learned about Simon Riley after these five years, it's that he loves his mum more than anything. You lean against him, coke can still in hand as the silence blankets the space between you and him. After a few minutes of silently eating and drinking, he nudges you.
"Look." He whispers and points to a flower by his side. You lean over and a massive smile grows on your face as you spot a very tired bumblebee resting within a flower. You look at Simon and feel something within yourself turn on or maybe become louder as you see his soft gaze at the sleeping bee. Suddenly, you wanted him to look at you with that same soft expression.
"You know Daisy?" Simon asks one day while you were driving to the flower field. It had become a place to get away from school and home, away from all the stresses of life for at least a few hours. Daisy was a classmate in the same year, you had never been close with her but you had grown up with her the same as you had with Simon.
"Of course, Daisy Lockmon right?"
"Yeah." There's something in the way he says it that makes your heart clench. It's the softness of it, the fondness and the soft sigh, even the sort of dreamy look in his eyes you spot in the mirror as he gazes out into the countryside.
"Yeah?"
"I'm dating her. She asked me out a few days ago." Few days ago. Why did that sting so fucking much? You smile at him as you grip on the steering wheel until your knuckles turn white and your fingers go numb. It doesn't compare to the squeezing grip of whatever is holding your heart. No, you know who holds your heart and he doesn't even know it. It's my fault, I never told him. You try to reason with yourself but it doesn't stop the hurt.
"Congratulations then. Daisy is a sweet girl."
A few months later, you feel like you're going to throw up. You fight back any words threatening to come out of your mouth besides something good and kind because he doesn't deserve your anger or sadness. Simon doesn't know, you keep reminding yourself, you're just his best friend that he's confiding in. Just the person he's grown up with since ten years old, just the person who treated his busted lips, cuts and bruises. Just his best friend. Not the girl, not Daisy Lockmon who he thinks he loves. He probably does love her, you've never seen him look at someone the way he does Daisy.
You lay in the field, something that allows your stress to melt away, does nothing for you. Not as Simon lays next to you, not as you think about the times before all of this you could have said something. Simon says nothing, you say nothing and the two of you just watch the clouds float by. Simon sits up as he speaks, "I'm ready to leave, how about you?" Your heart clenches again, time in the field has been getting shorter and trips less frequent. You know it's not just because of his relationship and it's just how life is sometimes. He has his butcher's apprenticeship and you're studying for university classes but logic doesn't dictate emotion.
"In a moment, I'll catch up with you at the truck." You say, pasting on a smile. Simon shrugs and grunts as he gets up. You wait until you're sure he's already hopped the fence and heading towards the truck before you move over to his spot. Where the grass and flowers are flattened down into his shape, slowly you curl into the spot. For a moment, you imagined that you were the one he says he loves. For just a bittersweet moment, you pretend that you're his and he's yours.
"I'm joining the military." Your ceramic mug shatters on the floor. Just like that, everything comes crashing down. The world was still reeling from the twin towers attack in the United States, the sense of safety shattered in a terrorist attack.
"What?" That was the only word that could come from your mouth. You look at Simon with wide eyes, the cozy atmosphere of your flat turned cold. "You're joking. Right Simon?"
"I'm not."
"What about your apprenticeship Simon? You've been working as a butcher since you were 16. You're nearly done." The words come flying out of your mouth, "Simon-"
"I'm not asking you to understand my decision. I'm just telling you that I'm doing it and you can't stop me." You laugh bitterly and the sound is so foreign to both your ears and Simons.
"As if I could stop you Simon." You mutter, moving to grab a broom and dustpan to clean up the shattered mug on the floor. "But why? You've never once shown interest in joining the military." The answer is clear, its reason why many people were joining the military and you already know his answer before he opens his mouth.
"The attack in the US." Of course, he doesn't elaborate. "I'm being sent to bootcamp in two weeks."
"Two weeks? That's hardly any time at all." You sigh and sink down into your couch, putting your face in your hands as you try to process everything. "What about Daisy?"
"Broke up with her." He says so plainly and with a shrug of his shoulders. You have to bite your tongue to keep from saying something back handed. You're not petty, you're not petty, you're not petty, is the thought running through your head but you can't deny how good it feels to know he isn't dating her anymore. Not like you have much of a chance now since he's going off to bootcamp. "She said she didn't want to date a guy in the military. It's a deal breaker apparently." It's not for me you think quickly.
The day comes too quickly, for once you wished life would slow down and let you soak up Simon's presence in your life. It's not like he's dying, he's just going off to bootcamp and then he'll be back is what you think to keep yourself from falling apart. Nearly nine years of friendship, spending hardly any time or going a long distance away from one another, now Simon will be gone for 14 weeks. Then he'll be stationed somewhere for two to six years. You wrap your arms around him, squeezing him hard and burying your face into his jacket. "You be safe Simon Riley or I'll raise you from the dead."
He chuckles and pats your head, "Its bootcamp not an active war zone." You just shake your head and he wraps his arms around you. "But I'll be safe. I'll write to you every chance I get, I promise."
"Good."
"Simon?"
The last three years had passed quickly with the letters from Simon being the only rest stop between university studies and work. Grabbing your coat from the back, you sigh as you finally shut off the lights to the cafe you work at part time. With a small click, your work day was finally, finally over. You twist the lock on the cafe front door, struggling momentarily from your thick gloves. You turn to start walking towards your rather cheap flat and scream when you see a massive figure barely a foot away. The familiar voice hissing your name made the panic subside as quickly as it appeared.
"Glad to know you still have those pipes of yours." You look at Simon, he is barely illuminated by the street lights but you can still tell he's different now. He's no longer the slightly slender boy you knew three years ago. He wasn't slouching and made direct eye contact with you. You take him all in before you rush to him and wrap your arms around him, burying your face into his coat and drinking in his scent.
"Simon Riley," You whisper into his coat before pulling back to look up at him, "you've really grown. Come on, I'll let you crash at my place." He opens his mouth to argue but you're already pulling him along. You lead him to your flat, which isn't far away from your place of work thankfully. You kick off your shoes at the door and tell Simon to do the same. Placing a kettle on the stove to boil some water you then sit down and look at Simon. "So, what's brought you back here?" You ask.
Simon looks at you, drinking in your appearance. You look tired, worn down and ready to collapse. "I'm gonna fix my family." He finally answers after you cock your head to the side.
"You're... gonna fix your family?" You ask, leaning back as the words wash over you. Your heart hurt slightly for a reason you didn't want to understand, for a reason you didn't want to voice out loud or in your own head.
"Yes. And I'm not leaving until it is."
You purse your lips and get up to pour the boiling water into two cups. You put an earl gray tea bag with a splash of milk into the mug for Simon and a few cubes of sugar for your own cup of tea. You hand him the tea and sit back down as you continue to run through the implications of his choice. "Alright." You finally say. "You can crash at my place while you fix your family."
"You don't believe me." Simon states and you snap your head to look at him completely. "I know it sounds crazy but I'm stronger now. I can finally do what I've always wanted." He says between sips of his tea. "And I won't leave until it is fixed."
You sigh and set your cup down, "Fine." You get up and grab a piece of paper and a pen. You scribble down the addresses of Tommy's friends that he keeps couch surfing between before handing it to Simon. "This is what I know about Tommy. You'll probably get a confirmed address from your mom."
"And my dad?"
"Still an arsehole who comes and goes as he pleases." You grumble.
You walk out of your bedroom as quietly as possible. You peak over your couch and feel a weight lift off your chest. He was still here, right here in your flat. Your best friend, your rock and crush. Simon was finally back, not for the reason you might have fantasized about more than often you were willing to admit, but he was back. Love is such a funny thing, you think to yourself as you lay in bed. It had been three years since you had last seen him, hugging and barely holding back tears as he hopped on a bus to bootcamp. You hadn't cried that hard ever as you had cried on that day when he left. You turn onto your side and wipe away a few tears that leak from your eyes, at least he was here now.
You stand outside his family's home. You look down the street and recall the exact path that you could take to see your family. You had turned down Simon's offer to come inside, you didn't want to intrude on his reunion with his mother. You tap your foot as you lean against your truck, the same one you had driven to the fields outside of Manchester all those years ago. Simon steps outside of the house and hugs his mother one last time, his mouth moves but you don't hear what he has to say. His mother looks around him and looks at you. She's been crying you realize. You exchange a smile and a wave before she goes back inside of the house.
"Got the address?" You ask Simon as you both get into your truck.
"Got it." He confirms and gives you the address. You can't stop yourself from grimacing, of course it had to be that arsehole’s address. You hadn't left Simon in the dark of what was going on with his family while he was deployed and away. You didn't bother to spare details, okay, well maybe a few. Mostly about your own interactions with Tommy and his friends. But Simon didn't need to hear that, he had already sworn to come back and fix his family at least a dozen times since the third month. He didn't need to stress himself over you.
The car ride was quiet, the radio was off and the only sound was the wind blowing in through the open windows. You can feel the rage rolling off him but also the concern for his brother. The truck comes to stop outside of a dingy and unwelcoming flat building, you look at Simon and take him in. His brown eyes fill with determination and rage the longer he looks at the building. Finally, he opens the door, "I'm gonna get Tommy." He says before turning to go into the building after shutting the door. You let out a shaky sigh and let go of the steering wheel, looking at your shaking hands you try not to think too hard about what Tommy and his friends had done. What kind of people they were.
Tommy, your best friend's young brother had let his so-called friends push you around at your job until they were banned by your manager. Then they slashed your tires. Tommy hadn't changed, just become a carbon copy of dirt-bag father. Simon was made from something different, he was his mother's son, the undying love of his family and the ability to go with the flow of life. To never give up. You tense up as the people who lived in the flat walk past you, your breathing becoming more shallow as you watch them enter the flat. Oh god. Oh god. You panic and go to unbuckle yourself but struggle as your trembling hands only become worse.
You could hear the fighting coming from inside the house as you finally unbuckle yourself. There were five of them and only one of him. Oh god. Oh god. You push the truck door open and nearly tumble out, rushing to Simon's aid. You didn't expect to see him handling himself well against five other people while Tommy crouches low to avoid the fight altogether. One of the men goes to try and put Simon in a headlock, you do the only thing you can think of. You grab the man's jacket and pull him into your punch.
Simon places Tommy in the back seat, telling him he's going to bring him to the clinic and get him clean. You rub your throbbing knuckles, the pain from that one punch still echoing in your body. Simon gently takes your hand and inspects your knuckles, clicking his tongue. "You were never much of a fighter." He comments and looks up into your eyes. "But that was a good punch."
You're standing outside the clinic, the cold early spring wind making you pull your jacket closer to your body. Today was the day Tommy was going to be released, you weren't going to turn down Simon's request for you to be there. You had been spending more and more time with Simon and his mother. She is such a sweet lady, and loves her sons more than anything in the entire world. Simon looks at you and smiles, "I told you I would fix my family."
You roll your eyes, "I'll believe Tommy is clean when I see it." You grumble.
"I know he wasn't a good man back then,"
"He was a fucking mess Simon." You say, "He and his druggie friends cornered me once, demanded whatever money I had on me." You finally spill your guts, "I don't like him. You've been defending Tommy and his stupidity every day since I've known you." You look him right in the eyes, "He doesn't deserve your love or your mothers. As far as I'm concerned, he's been on my shit list since the first time I had to clean your bloody lip."
Simon looks at you for a long moment, your words hanging in the air until he pulls you into a hug. "I'm sorry." He mutters and hides his face in the crook of your neck. You freeze and he hugs you tighter, "I'm so sorry. You should have told me about that. I would have never-"
"Don't be sorry." You whisper quickly, "Never be sorry. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry. Simon you're too kind, too forgiving."
"That's not true."
"I think it is."
Someone coughs and Simon lets go of you, his face breaking into a smile as Tommy stands in front of the two of you. He looks different, better. Healthy and alive. "Can we go home now?" He asks. You watch as Simon walks up to Tommy and wraps him in his arms.
"Of course."
You watch from the driver's seat as their mum opens the door and jump into Tommy's arms as Tommy hugs her tight. You can't help the smile that grows on your face when Simon joins the hug. Their mum looks at you and motions you to join them. You shake your head but Simon walks over and pretty much drags you from the car and into the group hug.
Later that night, their mum pulls you to the side. "Thank you." She says and takes your hand into hers, "for being there for my Simon."
"It really was nothing." You assure her and she shakes her head.
"You love him very much. Don't try to deny it, you've stuck by his side all these years and I've seen the way you look at him." She winks, "I just hope the two of you get together before I'm dead."
You can't help the quiet laugh that comes from your throat, "Me too." You whisper and look over at Simon who sits next to Tommy as they watch a football match after eating dinner.
You can hardly believe that you're sitting here at Tommy's wedding next to their mum as you comfort her. Simon stands as Tommy's best man as they trade vows. Beth looks beautiful as she always has. Long black hair and charming blue eyes, she was beyond kind as well. Perfect for Tommy who hadn't lost some of his snark but Beth softened him. You look at Simon and smile when you notice he's holding back tears as they exchange vows.
The wedding's reception wasn't filled to the brim with people but it was lively, friends and distant family members mingled as you sit at a table with a glass of champagne. Simon lets out a sigh as he sits next to you at the edge of the party. "Are you having fun?" You tease and Simon rolls his eyes. Joseph, Simon's nephew who you are sure will never know a day of fear or hurt like his uncle and father, is exchanged between party members and snuck small bites of cake.
"I'd let to get away from all of this for a moment." He admits as he runs a hand through his sandy blonde hair. You remember when he was the sad strawberry blond boy that rainy school day. The way he avoided eye contact and others. You smile and take his hand.
"Then lets go."
You can faintly hear the music from the reception but other wise, this bench away from the party was the perfect place. The night sky is some what visible, with only the brightest stars being visible from all the light pollution of the city. A small breeze blows through your hair and you close your eyes to just soak in the moment. You open your eyes and Simon looks at you, softness in his eyes.
"What?"
"You're stunning." He says and you furrow your brows, ignoring the heat in your cheeks and neck. He leans in closer and cups your cheek, "Can I kiss you?" The words don't come to you but you nod frantically, feeling worried that he might change his mind for some reason. His eyes look between your eyes and lips before he leans in. The kiss is slow and he holds you like you might break or in case you want to leave. His lips are slightly chapped but soft and you vaguely wonder if he put on flavored chapstick earlier. You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer and he takes the hint. The kiss turns from soft to practically ravenous as he holds you close, your mouth parts automatically and he slips his tongue in.
When you finally pull back to breath deeper, he looks at you with amazement. "I love you Simon Riley." You whisper and rest your forehead against his, "I have since we were 15. Don't leave me again Simon. Not if you can help it."
"You're gonna hate me then." He whispers as he holds you close. "I'm returning to duty in a month."
"I could never hate you Simon. Not in a million years. Just… write to me and when you go on leave again,” You take a steadying breath, “We can talk about what we are." He nods and you press your lips to his again.
You stand in the rain. You fucking hate the rain. It soaks through your black clothes and makes it stick to your skin. It mats down your hair and hides the tears that run down your face. There is no one here, no one but you and the priest at this funeral. How could this happen, you wonder. Everything was perfect. You look at the name on the gravestone. Tommy, Beth and Joseph, there's another gravestone a few feet away that has his mothers and fathers name on it. Simon is the only one who is buried alone. A bitter and petty choice from their distant family. Everyone thinks Simon did it. There was no proof to prove otherwise and it fit the story. A soldier returns home and suffers a PTSD breakdown and kills his entire family.
It didn't make sense. Simon was getting better, he promised he was getting better and attending therapy appointments. He loved Joseph, he loved his family and he loved you. He would have never done this. Maybe he would have murdered his father but the anger there was long and bitter, if he wanted to kill his father, he would have done it years ago.
Earlier last month, you had passed by a stand with different brochures. Some of them were for churches, others for activities to do with the family. Normally, you would have passed by it, eager to leave the store as quickly as possible. But you stopped this time and glanced at a particular brochure, you picked it from its spot and glanced over it. “You belong here.” A soldier is yelling while another is taking cover, inside are different recruiting offices and general information. You pocket it.
It was an impulsive decision. But the papers were filed and your two week notice already given. You didn't want to think about the consequences of what you were about to do, you just felt lost. University didn't matter, your cafe job didn't matter and every street in this fucking city reminded you of him. You decided if you were going to join the military. You had been accepted, the letter sat in your bag now that all of your items in your flat had been packed up and stored in your old childhood bedroom. This was just the last thing to do before the bus picks you up tomorrow morning.
You throw the roses in your hand into the caskets until you reach Simons. Your hand trembles as it holds the thorny rose, shakily you bring it to your lips and kiss the petals before tossing it into his grave. "I love you Simon Riley."
You watch as the city of Manchester flows past you like a river. It's raining again and the droplets obscure your vision of the outside world. People around you talk and you realize just how out of place you are. These are 16, 17 and 18 year olds with bright eyes and dreams. You vaguely wonder if Simon had sat in silence as he liked to do or if he had been dragged into a conversation. You glance at your duffle bag by your feet before leaning your head back and shutting your eyes. The bus ride would be a long one, you figure that some rest would make it faster.
Your name is called and you step forward, you hold onto the bag of items shoved into your arms. You listen to the drill sergeant yell that these are your items. You are responsible for maintaining and keeping track of all things in this bag. You realize, in a way that makes it difficult not to smile, that Simon was right. They are hard arses here.
You wonder why Simon never told you about this but he never seemed to tell you anything. You curse the dead man and curse yourself for being impulsive. Nearly done with university and you dropped out for him, for a dead man who was buried alone in his own grave. You use your anger to make it to the end, your uniform is covered in mud and the sensation makes your skin crawl but you run forward towards the rope wall, swinging your rifle over your back. “Come on Private!” The drill sergeant screams at you, “I’ve seen injured men move faster than you do!” You grit your teeth as he mocks you.
The scratches that litter your body sting as you crawl through the mud and muck underneath the barbed wire with a rifle held close to your chest. You breathe out puffs of condensation in the air, you’re shivering and you keep your jaw clenched so your teeth don’t chatter. You keep crawling, inching like a caterpillar towards the end of this section and fight the urge to just lay there on the ground. The cold rain soaks through your clothes and you grunt when part of the barbed wire above you catches onto your leg again. “Fuck.” You hiss but you’re nearly there.
It's his job, you remind yourself, to try and break you. If Simon leaving didn’t break you, if him and his family dying didn’t break you then this fucking drill sergeant was not going to break you. You climb up the rope and grapple onto the next bit of rope, locking your legs with your ankles and you inch down the rope even as your hands burn.
That night as you sit in the corner of the mess hall, you itch at the bandages wrapped around your hand. Whatever salve the lady in the med bay had slathered onto your hand hadn’t done much to cool the burning. You know it's counterintuitive to scratch at it but who was going to stop you? You were an adult now and could suffer the consequences of your stupid actions. Like not demanding Simon give you answers on why he was pulling away after finally confessing his feelings. You clench your fist and smother those feelings with the pain you feel.
No matter how many times you try to remind yourself there's no point in focusing on the past you can’t stop. How can you stop? Everything you’ve done has been for him and now he’s gone and you’re still doing things for him. You look around the mess hall at the different groups of fellow trainee’s and know you’ll never have that kind of connection with anyone else. Simon was it. Your best friend since childhood, your first crush and first heartbreak. You wander outside and sit on a stack of crates near the mess when the talking and clanking of silverware grows too much.
The night is cool, the sky is clear from the rain that had poured so hard earlier but you can’t see the stars anyway. You go to itch at your hand again when a drill sergeant comes around the corner. You stiffen up and immediately get up to salute but he dismisses you before you even get your hand to your forehead. “Private, why aren’t you in the mess eating?”
“Lost my appetite, sir.” You reply, “Figured some fresh air would do me some good.” You go to scratch at your hand again and his eyes snap to the motion.
“Private, did the nurse not provide you with burn cream?” He asked and it was weird having the man who yelled at you all day suddenly become concerned for your well-being.
“She did, sir, it just itches.” You explain and the drill sergeant makes a face, for a second you worry that he will demand that you return to the med bay again. Instead, he nods.
“Dismissed Private. Get some rest.” You nod and scurry away to your barracks.
The helicopter’s wings slow but any flyaways in your hair whip and stick to your face anyways. After serving in the SAS for five years, you had been picked by Chief station Laswell and Captain John Price to be a part of the 141 task force. You couldn’t believe you had finally done it, all these years of serving and you start to finally believe that you might’ve done Simon some justice. All the broken bones, bruises and scars are worth it if it means he’s looking down on you fondly. You look between the four men in front of you. You recognize Captain Price immediately with his boonie hat and well groomed mutton chops. He extends his hand which you take and shake with a firm grip. “Boys, this is Gator. They’ll be joinin’ our task force startin’ today.”
The man standing next to Price smiles at you, beautiful white teeth with a stunning smile and soft brown eyes. He has a scar on his cheek and you wonder how he got it as you shake his hand, “This is Sergeant Garrick.” Price says and you beam back at him.
“A pleasure to meet you Sergeant.”
“No need for that, just call me Gaz.” He assures you and lets go of your hand. You turn to meet the third man and before you can even open your mouth or extend your hand to shake, he’s grabbing yours with a grip tight enough to shatter a few bones. He has a stupid mohawk haircut that he somehow makes work, crystal blue eyes and you can tell that he’s a little mischievous.
“I’m Sergeant MacTavish but e’eryone calls me Soap.” He laughs, warm like an early summer day, when he sees your eyebrows raise. “I’ll tell ye why later.” He promises with a wink.
“Oi! Johnny, stop hoggin’ the new meat.” You turn to the voice and have to stop yourself from taking a step back just so you could look at the man fully. He’s fucking huge. Broad shoulders, wearing all black and a skull mask to hide his face. You can barely make out his brown eyes from under all that eye black. His accent is rough, with a voice that gives away how much he smokes. He looks down at you, like you suspect he has to most people, and you want to slink away into whatever hole he thinks you crawled out of. Despite this, you stick your hand out for him to shake.
“And this is your Lieutenant, Ghost.” You have to stop yourself from snorting. Ghost, how fitting for a man literally wearing a skull mask. He grips your hand and gives it a firm shake as his eyes burn holes into your soul. You look at his hand when you feel something other than familiar flesh, it's a glove. Even funnier, its skeleton gloves. It sends you nearly into a giggle fit, yes this man is intimidating to a point where you would have been shaking in your boots a few years ago. But he’s unironically wearing skeleton gloves. How is that not funny? He gives you a firm shake but just as quickly removes his gloved hand from yours. “Alright Gator, Ghost will give you a quick tour around here and then I want you to report for training at 0500 hours.”
The tour is silent besides the simple sentences Ghost speaks and you’re that sure he wouldn’t if Price hadn’t put him on the spot for giving you the tour. “This ‘ere is the training hall, this is where yer expected to be tomorrow.” He gruffly says, stiff as a board. You nod and nearly jump out of your skin when someone wraps their arm around your shoulders.
“There ye are! I was tryin’ tae find ye.”
“Sergeant.” Ghost says gruffly and Soap rolls his eyes before removing his arm. “They are busy.”
“Away an bile yer heid.” Soap says with a laugh, “I ken that yer aboot as excited fer this tour as they are.” You didn’t need to see Ghost roll his eyes to know he did, it was just in the way the air shifts around the three of you. “Lemme take over the rest of the tour aye?” Ghost sighs but concedes which confirms that he would really rather be anywhere else than giving the FNG a tour. “Good lad.” Soap chuckles and pats Ghost’s shoulder.
Ghost leaves quickly for being a man so massive and Soap turns to you, “Dinnae mind him, he’s a big grump.” You snort and laugh while nodding in agreement. “Alright, let's continue this tour.” Soap claps a hand on your back and for the rest of the day, with breaks for food of course, he showed you around. He was certainly better at it then Ghost who acted like he had been asked to travel across the sahara desert while carrying you.
“Steamin’ Jesus.” Soap groans while he stumbles back from you. Sweat sticks to your forehead and your usual hairdo is ruined but so is the way of sparring and training. “I see why they call ye Gator.” He grumbles as he holds his head. “Ye fuckin’ death rolled me.” Soap accuses and it was true. You have the strength to take down men bigger than you in not only height but sheer mass. It was a skill you had honed for the past several years ever since you figured it out in bootcamp.
You wrap your arms around him as he tries to pin you to the mat and roll. You twist with all your might and switch the position then without a second thought you slam your head against his. The force knocks your brain around and the headache you’ll get later is going to be absolutely terrible but the man under you groans and holds his forehead. “I yield! Holy shite.” He curses as you immediately back away from him. You glance around at the group of people who had made it this far into the training and then meet the eyes of your drill sergeant who, if you weren’t mistaken and didn’t have a concussion, looked almost proud.
That night as you hold an ice pack against your forehead and sit outside the mess hall away, he approaches again. “Never seen a private do that.” He says after immediately acknowledging your salute and telling you to be at ease. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone do that before.” You sheepishly shrug.
“I didn’t want to lose.”
“And so you didn’t.” A silence hangs in the air as the crickets chirp and you wonder if that's an owl’s hoot you hear. “I think you're going to have a nickname before you even leave camp.” He says, “You have the other sergeants wantin’ to call you Gator.”
“Gator?” You ask even if you understand the implications. You guess you did a kind of death roll that poor buy but Gator? Really?
“Better than some poor sod who got named Dirt because he ended up with a mouth full of dirt after tripping on the 20 mile march.” You chuckle at that.
“I guess Gator is much better than Dirt.”
“That’s the spirit. You better get some rest for tomorrow, Private.” He says before walking away and just like that time, leaving you to sit in the cool night air before you heed his warning.
You grit your teeth as Ghost ignores you again. You’re just trying to get him to sign from fucking paperwork Captain Price asked of you. “Lieutenant I need-”
“Not now sergeant.” Ghost says as he walks away from you and you want to scream. Its been like this the entire time you’ve been on this team. At first you thought it was his way of hazing you, act like a dickhead and see if the FNG breaks. Well you haven’t broken, you’ve only doubled down because every time he acts like this you keep being reminded of Simon and how he wouldn’t have given up.
At least Gaz and Soap were more open to you being on their task force now that months had passed. Although you doubt if Soap had ever disliked the idea of you being on the force. You barely duck Gaz’s punch but aren’t fast enough to catch his leg before it slams full force into your side. You grab it before he can bring it back and yank on it so he falls onto the floor, he rolls over before you can pin him down. You stare at each other for a moment before you lunge at him like a rabid dog without a leash.
He steps to the side and then grabs the back of your shirt collar to slam you down into the mat. You squirm and fight to keep him from pinning your arms back but it's no use. And in this position, death rolling him was nearly impossible. And you’ve definitely been trying. “Distracted Gator?” Gaz asks as he pants and you snarl back at him before you let out a meek ‘I yield’. He releases you immediately and you rub your wrists. “Broken?”
“Negative.” You say as you walk over to grab your bottle of water.
Watching you spar from the corner was Ghost. He observes the way you fight and the way you wiggle out of every attempt to pin you until the last. If it wasn’t for your infamous ability to death roll, he’s sure you would have ended up being called Weasel. And wasn’t that an amusing thought? Still better than Soap. “Ye stalkin’ the FNG.” Soap teases and Ghost glances down at Soap with what he knows is a deadpan expression. Or at least deadpan eyes. Mask and all that.
“You stalkin’ me?” Ghost shoots back and Soap grins this feral grin that makes Ghost groan inwardly because that grin meant only one thing. Dog with a fuckin’ bone, thats what Soap is when he thinks he’s smelt something out. “Don’t start MacTavish.”
“Oh its MacTavish it is?” Soap feigns hurt as he clutches his chest. “Ye wound me sir.”
“It is when yer about to say somethin’ god awfully stupid.”
“Yer no fun L.T.” Soap laments and Ghost rolls his eyes while shaking his head at Soap’s antics. Soap looks past Ghost and to Gator who is talking with Gaz on the bench while the two of them drink water and give the other advice. “Slippery thing they are.” Soap comments and Ghost nods. “Dinnae think I’ve ever seen someone slip out of your hold befure.”
“Is tha’ the reason yer botheirn’ me Sergeant?”
“Botherin’ ye? Nae sir, jus’ wanna see how Gaz manages to take them down.” Soap says, a half truth and they both know it.
“They gave him a hard time too.”
“Do ye think tha’ they oil up befure every sparrin’ match?” Soap says with a smile and Ghost rolls his eyes despite the small smile growing beneath his mask. You look up and notice Soap and Ghost which immediately makes him want to flee the scene. Every time you lock eyes with him, it sends him back to his time in Mexico. You’re a constant reminder and he wants you gone. Simon is dead and he’s not sure why you even joined the fucking military in the first place. Last he knew you were close to finishing off your degree, did you drop out to join this place?
Ghost grits his teeth as he shoves the memories of both Roba and you back into the box he had stuffed the two of you into years ago. He can’t open the box for one without the other escaping. You offer him a small smile and he turns on his heel. He walks as quickly as he can back to his private quarters, perks of being an officer and also being dead he guessed. He slams his door behind him and marches right into the bathroom. He yanks off the mask and stares at himself. He stares at the scars across his face, his broken one-too-many-times nose and the scar that cuts his lip. He takes stalk of his flaws within his face, the one you had seen and hadn’t recoiled from.
He wonders if you even suspect that its him and his chest hurts at the thought that you’ve forgotten him. But he knows he hasn’t earned his right back into your life, he’s dead. He can never be the man you need or want, he’s different now. Much more scarred than when he returned from Mexico, he’s brash and rude. He doesn’t like people and he doesn’t like that he still wants to be near you. It’s irrational, it’s stupid and there’s nothing he can do about it but try and get to you to quit.
“Captain Price told me to give this to you.” A Corporal says, clearly shaking in his boots, as he hands Ghost a file. “A-and he told me that he wants you in the briefing room.”
“Dismissed Corporal.” Ghost says and the man scurries off. Ghost looks at the file and opens it, the first thing he sees is that it’s a duo op. The second thing he sees is that you’re the one coming along. “Fuckin’ hell.” He mutters as he looks at your little picture papercliped to the top of the page next to his faceless one.
“He always does that.” You groan to Gaz as you watch Ghost turn on his heel and leave once you lock eyes with him. “Did I do something wrong?” You ask, “It's been months.”
Gaz shrugs, “Ghost is an enigma, when you start to think you know him you find something else about him. That man has secrets upon secrets.” You frown at that statement. Obviously he was hiding his face to protect his identity and of course that made you naturally curious but you’ve never pressed about it. He’s quiet and efficient if any of the stories told you by Gaz and Soap were anything to go by. And now he’s a secret keeper.
Who are you Ghost?
”The group that had been inhabiting the old soviet base are still lingering around and might return when they realize that they’ve left behind a very important piece of information.” Captain Price says and points to the projected map on the wall. “You’ll need to be fast and efficient. Is that clear?” His blue eyes scan over the two of you and both of you echo a ‘yes sir’ at the same time. “Good, get your gear and be ready, you’re wheels up in two hours.”
You sit at the table in the briefing room, bouncing your leg up and down under the table as Captain Price goes over what the mission objective is and what intel you and Ghost will be going in with. The mission is in Siberia, the objective is to get an old usb drive from a recently re-abandoned USSR base. You glance over at Ghost who hasn’t stopped looking at you this entire time, only dragging his eyes away from you when Captain Price addresses him specifically. His brown eyes seem to be trying to burn holes into your very soul so you try to match it. This would be your first duo op with Ghost and you would not be pushed around during it.
“Yes sir.” You say and leave the room after being properly dismissed. You look at the file in your hand, the information covered in the briefing summarized in the file with certain things blacked out. Like the fact this is in Siberia or that it’s an old soviet base that had been taken over by a terrorist group for a short while. You worry about that fact, if this base had been well and truly abandoned, why would the group set up there? Siberia wasn’t exactly a very hospitable environment and would take a certain amount of resources to deal with. Not just any kind of terrorist group would be able to afford those expenses.
“What’s got ye frownin’ so hard?” Soap asks and you jolt, not even aware that Soap had come up to you. He glances at the file and whistles, “Yer on a mission with L.T?”
”Somethin’ wrong with that? Something I should be worried about?” You ask, glancing behind Soap to make sure that specter wasn’t there.
“Nae, nothin’ ye should worry about besides the stick up his arse.” Soap jokes and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you. Soap grins, “There’s that smile.” Soap pinches your cheek and you swat at his hand.
”What are you? My aunt?”
”Nae I’m worse.” Soap laughs as he goes to pinch your cheek again. You squeal and laugh as you take off towards the armory and Soap gives chase. You eventually make him leave, shoo-ing him off so you can change into your gear. The gear is heavy but familiar, a comforting kind of weight that you always mourn once an op is over. Tightening the strap of your vest until you felt like it was secure enough and doing the same thing with the gun holster on your thigh.
”You tighten it anymore and you’ll lose blood flow.” Ghost grunts and you stop yourself from startling a little. Ghost walks up to you and loosens the straps himself a little before your brain starts working again. You slap his hands away and glare up at him.
”I am perfectly capable of knowing when to stop tightening my straps.” You hiss. You had been in the SAS long enough to know your preferences and the fact that he is trying to baby you is insulting at best and downright disrespectful at worst. Ghost stares down at you, brown eyes dead but also filled with some kind of emotion you can’t place. He says nothing else, doesn’t even grunt, before he turns to get his gear on. You huff and finish preparing your items for the op.
You go over the file one last time while on the flight to Siberia, flipping through the different pages and you can’t fight off the gut feeling that something isn’t right. You bounce your leg as you look at the map of the base, for an old soviet base, it's small. Granted, you don’t know how big USSR bases in Siberia tended to be but this is just too small. You glance at Ghost and contemplate mentioning this to him but since the armory he hasn’t spoken a word to you. Let alone even look your way which would normally be a reprieve but right now you wish he would look, just so you’d feel less awkward starting a conversation. You remind yourself that he’s a Lieutenant, he knows more than a Sergeant such as yourself. You need to trust your commanding officer.
Ghost can feel the warmth from you, like you had leaked a part of yourself into his gloves and now he can’t get rid of it. He doesn’t understand why he had approached and went to fix your straps, really they are too tight for comfort, but when you had slapped his hands away it was like a shock had gone through him. Like his entire system had been rebooted from the simple touch, now he can’t even bear to look at you. He can feel the weight of your gaze on him though and that’s how he knows that he acted out of character. He clenches his fist so tight his knuckles are cramped when he opens it again, he wishes you would just say what you want to say.
He wishes you would yell at him so he would have something to tell Price about, to maybe get you booted off the team. He’s been a prick to you, moving your stuff in the rec room, eating your food and being condescending. What kind of drill sergeant you had, he didn’t know but they must’ve turned your will into steel. Or maybe you were always like that, you hadn’t given up on him when you got a glance at his life at home. You treated his bloody noses and busted lips, you convinced your parents to let him stay over as often as possible. You even went with him to get Tommy despite the shit Tommy and his shitty friends had put you through.
Ghost clenches his jaw, no matter what, this is better for you. He just needs to get you to quit or maybe transfer to some kind of safer job in the military if you’re so hell bent on staying. He still can’t wrap his mind around the fact that you dropped out of university. He steals a glance and sees you looking at the file the same way you would look at study notes before a test.
You were right. Of course you were fucking right. Why do you have to be right? The base is much, much bigger than the intel said and worse is the fact that its not completely abandoned. “Get the fuck out of there!” Ghost yells over comms and you’re so close to just tearing the wiring in half so you don’t have to listen to him. You turn another corner, refilling the ammo in your pistol as the sound of pounding footsteps echo down the long concrete hallways of this underground base. You wait for the man to turn the corner and shoot him right between the eyes, the muzzle on your pistol only does so much and the sound bounces off the walls. ”I said to get out of there soldier!”
You snarl, “I’m getting this fucking USB drive, fuck off!” You say into comms as you run down the halls. Lights flicker above you and distantly you can hear soldiers yelling. Just a few more turns, you tell yourself as you slide into a wall, using your arms you push off it and keep going. Once out of this god forsaken underground, NOT abandoned, USSR base you’d die happy never seeing another concrete hall. You slam the door open to the server room stored deep in the base and lock it behind you, hoping that might spare you some time between you and soldiers surely running down the halls towards you.
”Don’t ignore me Sergeant!” His voice comes out warbled, likely because you’re so far underground. You clench your jaw so hard your teeth hurt as you fling open different desk drawers, toss everything onto the desk in search of the USB they sent you here for in the first place. After six desks, you realize there is no way there is a USB.
”Fucking CIA intel.” You grab an unused USB from a desk and jam it into the nearest computer. “Fucking lucky I took that damn class.” You mutter to yourself as you bypass the passwords and begin to download the information.
”Sergeant! I said get out of there, use your bloody ears!”
”I have to download everything myself!” You yell into the comms, “The intel was shite!” You slam your pistol into the PC you’re not currently using. “Fucking CIA.”
”I don’t care! I’m pulling us from this mission.”
”I’m getting this USB Lieutenant, you’re welcome to chew me out once I’m back on the surface.” You snap, “Going dark.”
”Don’t you da-“ You rip the wires out of your comms and throw the damn thing onto the floor.
Ghost yells into the comms again but only gets static back, he looks down at the base from the scope of his sniper. It looks abandoned, it looks small and easy to navigate but he heard what you said. He knows that its all a facade, that the terrorist group had found tunnels to another base nearby and have been smuggling weapons and food between those tunnels, hardly ever having to go outside at this base. Which is what led the intel team to believe its been abandoned and therefore an easy op. His heart is pounding against his chest and it hurts from how hard its beating against his chest, he keeps trying the comms. “Gator! Gator turn your comms back on!” He snarls into the mic but still nothing.
It’s then that it dawns on him that you didn’t just turn comms off, you ripped the wiring out. “God damn it.” He grunts as he gets off the ground, the snow disguising him falls to the ground as he hauls his sniper up and buries it under the snow between two trees. He pulls out his shitty cracked phone, that he frankly refuses to replace. He knows why and its not because he doesn’t like the newer versions. It’s because this one has those pictures of you, the version of you that hadn’t turned your back on civilian life yet. The version of you that makes him feel kind of sick for looking at now that he knows you now.
He opens up his map to the coordinates to the nearest safe house, and grabs his pistol before he puts his phone away. He sighs and makes his way down towards the base that must be crawling with enemy terrorists but no one gets left behind. And he’s not about to let you die down there, his grip on his pistol tightens for just a second before he forces his fist to relax. He saunters his way in, everyone is far too distracted with chasing you down to pay attention to the cameras. He slides down the ladder into the base and is immediately greeted with the muffled sound of an alarm. “Fucking hell.” He mutters as he readies his pistol and knife.
You grunt, push the metal cabinet against the door, pushing through the pain in your thigh to do so. By the time it’s in place, you collapse against the wall next to it, grunting at the pain that shoots up your thigh in quick bursts. You look at the bullet wound and can’t help the disgust that crawls up your face when you realize it's pumping blood out in the rhythm of your heart beat. It’s funny, you’ve been shot before but you never had the time to look at it. It makes sense that it would do that though. You lean your head back against the concrete wall and can’t help the sob that rips it way out of your throat. Not because you’re going to die, not entirely because of that. Because you’re going to die in a concrete box alone.
You smear your bloody hand against the wall, wiping it off as you fumble with your shirt, pull just enough fabric out and rip it. No, you think, you’re not going to die here. Anywhere but in fucking Siberia surrounded by enemies and in a damn concrete room underground. You wrap the torn fabric around your thigh, just above the wound and wrap it tightly. So tightly you can actually feel the blood flow being slowed and this time on purpose. You check the bullets in your pistol and laugh when you see only two. “And I’m fucking out.” You mumble just as you hear someone’s boots echo outside of the room. You rise on shaky legs and bite your tongue to keep from crying out from the pain but walk over to the corner. You raise the gun and point towards the metal cabinet that is rocking from the force of what must be either several people pushing or one big motherfucker.
You don’t pray, no sense in praying right now. Even if you did ask for forgiveness you wouldn’t get it, the blood on your hands is more than any person can justify, not even God because it is a rule. Thou shall not murder. You huff out a laugh at that, well you’ve certainly sinned. The metal cabinet comes crashing down and in bursts three men. Fuck. You fire your last two shots and take down the first two but when the third enemy hears the gun click, he laughs. It’s an ugly and horrible laugh, one that expresses his entire arrogance of you being in this situation. Wounded and without any ammo, your knife left behind in some fuckers neck a few corners ago. “You lose.” He taunts as he walks closer and your leg finally loses feeling, you slide down the wall as you stare at the man who is going to hopefully bring you death.
You’re reminded of that quote you read once, When I die, bury me in the woods, the wolves will be kinder to me than any man. And if you weren’t about to meet your end, you’d laugh at the fact you can’t even remember the woman who said it. You hope she got her wish. The man raises his pistol and presses it to your temple. You hear a bang echo in the room and expect for it all to be over but you grunt when the man lands on you. “What the fuck?” You mutter as you struggle to push the weight of a dead man off of you. He’s pulled off of you and you look up at the bloody skull face plate, “Aren’t you just a life saver?” You quip before you throw up.
Ghost huffs when you pass out after throwing up and narrowly avoiding his boots. He hauls you up and over his shoulder, tucking your pistol into your thigh holster. Trying to get you up the ladder was hell, he was constantly afraid that his grip would loosen and you’d fall to your death. The walk to the safe house is about half way done when he feels your stirring. He grips you tighter just in case you try to flail around and attempt to land yourself in the snow.
When you come to, you realize that you’re over someone’s shoulder. Just as you’re about to flail around, the memory of Ghost standing over you. “Awake now?” Ghost asks, his voice rough as always and that reminds you of someone you used to know. You give your reply in the form of a groan which is all that seems to want to leave your mouth. “We’re about an hour away from a safe house.”
”And I wasn’t told?” You snap, anger pushing past the way you feel like you’re going to throw up if you speak again.
”Need to know.”
”Well I might’ve needed to know!” You flail your arms around harmlessly before you collapse back to being a rag doll on his back. He doesn’t respond and when you think he’s about to return to his normal grumpy silence, he breaks it.
”What the fuck were you thinkin’?” He snaps and you jolt awake from the half sleep you had unknowingly slipped into. “Ripping your comm wires out and going dark. What the fuck Sergeant?”
”I wasn’t able to focus with you screaming at me to abandon the mission.” You immediately jump to defend, “I got the damn USB drive with the intel they need, I completed the mission.” You don’t even realize that he’s reached the safe house until he nearly kicks the door in because the doorknob is frozen. He practically tosses you onto the couch before slamming the door shut. “I completed the objective.” You nearly snarl out.
”You failed to follow simple orders to retreat.” He slams his pistol and knife down on the table, “You nearly died.”
”Yeah, well it didn’t seem like you’d care all that fucking much if I did! If I hadn’t gotten the USB,” You pull the damn thing from your front vest pouch and throw it onto the table. “then the entire thing would have been a waste!”
”I don’t care about the USB, if you’re in danger like that you follow my damn orders! I can’t lose you!” Ghost grabs you by the shoulders and shakes you just a little. You look at him, feeling confusion creep up before it is swallowed down by anger.
”What?”
”Forget about it.”
”No. You’ve been treating me like a damn nuisance the minute I joined the task force and now you suddenly care? Why now huh? Why now? Because you sure didn’t act like I mattered very much.”
”I said forget about it.” He snarls but you go to stand on shaking legs
”No fuck that! Fuck you Ghost! What changed?” You keep hounding him until he slams his fist down the table and rips off his mask.
He says your name gently, like he’s trying to soothe an animal but you’re frankly ready to sink your teeth into his skin if he tries to approach. “You didn’t even have the courage to write? Not even a little postcard? Something! Anything! To let me know you’re not dead? You’re lucky I’m not able to walk.” You spit.
Rage boils up in you so quickly, so quickly you aren’t able to express it all just through yelling. It burns you up, sets you on fire and throws lighter fluid into that inferno any time you think it's about to burn a little less. It’s all consuming anger mixed with all those years of grief that you never properly addressed, just slapped a bandaid on called military life and carried on. Hot tears run down your face as you scream and rage at him. You even throw something at him, though he ducks out of the way easily. “You fucking bastard! You bastard! Fuck you Simon Riley!” You scream as you cry, head pounding from something. The pain in your thigh? The rage in your temple? Or how hard you’re crying? Probably a mixture of all three. “You’re dead! I buried you! I went to your funeral Riley!” You throw something else at him, probably an MRE.
”Would you listen-“ Simon tries to say but you immediately cut him off. Hearing his voice makes whatever walls you have built up over these five years crumble so easily. You can’t let him speak or else you’ll fall into his arms and just cry. And you need to be angry because you deserve to be angry.
”No! You listen to me Simon Riley!” You ball your hands into fists, “Why? Why did you treat me like shit? Why did you undermine me at every turn? It’s bad enough that you let me believe that you were dead! Wasn’t that enough for you? But of course it wasn’t, you had to make my life hell because you met me again!”
”Shut up!” Simon finally snaps, his brown eyes swirling with fury and guilt. “I had my reasons and if you would just-”
”Well what were they then? Huh? I’m all fucking ears.”
”You keep interrupting me. If you didn’t-“
”You had months to come clean Simon! Years if you count the time before I met you again and after all that time you couldn’t just be a man and tell me? Couldn’t even send me a hint that you were alive?” You slam your fist into the wall, you ignore the pain that shoots right up your arm into your shoulder. You glare at him through your tears and wipe at them frantically. “You didn’t even try.”
”I did it to protect you! And if you’d just let me speak I’d tell you all the reasons I had to not tell you or even let you think I was alive!” Simon finally manages to say, he goes to speak again and you hold up your hand.
”Don’t talk to me Simon Riley.” You say as you wipe away any tears from your cheeks that hadn’t rolled all the way down. Your eyes burn and your stomach hurts from just how much you’re feeling right now. Deep down, past the anger you feel relief because he’s alive. Your Simon is alive and maybe more rough around the edges with a scar bisecting his lip, a nasty scar along his cheek and nose broken and not properly set several times. You’re also sure his eye bags have increased tenfold since you last saw him but his eye black keeps that little fact hidden from you. His teeth are chipped and broken but his brown eyes still hold that same depth. You can tell he still smiles the same and he’s still that overprotective boy who had scared off your date that one time just by opening the door.
That’s still your Simon Riley. But damn him to the deepest hell and back for making your heart hurt so badly. “Fine.” He grits out before he marches to what you assume is the safe house bathroom and slamming the door behind him.
There is something wrong with me. That is Simon’s first thought when he looks at himself in the mirror that must be old because his reflection is warped. There is something wrong with me and it's not the scars or the way my joints ache when I stand or sit down. There is something wrong with me and it makes my blood run black. Simon wonders if he had been born wrong. He suspects he’s always been this way, he was his father’s son after all, doomed to be awful to all of those he knows. To use them and drain them dry until they cut him off or he tosses them away. He doesn’t want you to be part of that cycle, to be a part of the cycle that always results in those close to him dying.
He already lost his family, he couldn’t lose you too so he cut you out completely. It was better if you thought he was dead. You were better off thinking he was dead in the ground even if it hurt you, even if it hurt him. And fuck did it hurt that first year, every time something happened he wanted to call you or text you. Tell you all about it late at night in a part of base where no one would care if he was awake if they even dared to approach him at all. Simon wanted to return to you more then anything but Ghost hadn’t dug himself out of that grave and lost his entire family as consequence for not fucking dying just for you to meet that same fate. No, you’d be his only in memory. Maybe one day he’d stalk your social media and find that you’ve moved on. Hopefully out of that fucking city, working a good paying job with a man who deserved you.
And it didn’t matter how much that thought made his supposedly ice heart hurt. It didn’t matter because he was dead and there was nothing he could give you besides this rotting body and whatever love he could scrape together for you.
Simon looks at himself in the mirror, completely maskless and bare for what felt like the first time in years. It felt like his skin had been pulled away to show the maggots, rotting tendons and muscle underneath. Every tear that had left your beautiful eyes had felt like acid on his skin, every word thrown his way a well placed knife throw. He knew he deserved all that malice and if you didn't want to talk to him, then he wouldn’t talk to you. No matter how much he wants to.
The next two days go by slowly, it reminds you of the time you had to go through a bog. Slow movements and time seemed to slow to a fucking crawl as you traversed the bog to go around an enemy encampment so you could get the jump on them from behind. It didn’t matter that your clothes had been soaked through or that you could feel the cold of the water seeping into your bones. You kept going. So the same logic was applied here. Your bullet wound in your thigh eventually got treated properly, in silence of course. Simon had given you the first aid kit and you did your best with what you had. Digging out the bullet had to be one of the most painful experiences you’ve ever had.
Simon had wanted to step in and do it himself but he knew you’d sooner accept an infection then let him any closer then needed. By the end of the hour and several deep, guttural screams cut off only by the belt between your teeth, you had managed to pull the bullet out. You were quick to stitch the hole closed and to wrap it in bandages. When that was over, you only had enough strength to crawl onto the shitty couch and pass out.
The first day not talking to him was filled with tension. It was so thick you could cut it with your knife, if you had it that is. It’s still stuck in that asshole’s neck which sucks because it was a good neck. You were hesitant to put any pressure on your wound, terrified of ripping your frankly shit stitches and increasing the chances of you getting an infection. You spent the entire day cleaning and taking apart your gun with occasional glares sent to Simon if he tried to enter the same room as you and stay for more than a few minutes.
He understood your anger, he did, but he couldn’t stand it at the same time. He wants to sit right next to and soak in your presence in a way he hadn’t allowed himself before this. He hadn’t bothered to put his mask back on and when he had stepped out of the bathroom without it the first time you had jerked like someone had pinched you. You could still tell he had blonde hair from his eyebrows but seeing his blonde hair in a buzz cut had felt like an electric shock. That was still your Simon even all these years later and that made you angrier. How could he? How dare he? After all these years, he looked the same despite the scars on his face but you? Do you still look the same despite the weariness in your eyes and being grief eaten.
The only word he spoke to you was, “There’s a blizzard coming in tomorrow.” You had only given a grunt in acknowledgement which he had to admit, stung. How many times had he responded to you like that while trying to get you to quit and transfer somewhere else? Far too many times, he ran a gloved hand through his prickly hair as he shook his head. God he had been so fucking stupid and stubborn. As it turns out, the blizzard couldn’t wait until tomorrow or maybe it was the next day. The wind shook the entire safe house, the walls creaked and groaned from the force of it. The windows were covered by snow or maybe it was a white out, you couldn’t tell. You didn’t even want to lift your head to check. You were fucking freezing despite your thermals and the blanket. Your teeth chattered as you pulled the blanket even closer and closed your eyes. Your cheeks were numb and you could barely feel your nose, your fingers actually hurt from how cold they were.
You blew more warm breath into your cupped hands, your entire body shivered as another burst of wind caused the house to groan from the weight of it. You glanced around the living room/kitchen area, the fireplace was boarded up but it wouldn’t matter if it wasn’t, you had no wood. The only thing of light was a battery powered lamp that you had been surprised still worked. You knew where Simon was, in the only other room besides the bathroom, the bedroom. Getting up those stairs would have been impossible for you the first two days here with your injury. Hell, you even doubted if you had enough strength to do it now even with the protein and nutrient packed MRE’s given to you for rations. But you suspected if you didn’t seek out another form of warmth and soon, you’d end up a popsicle. And frankly? That sounded like a bad way to go.
You shakily got to your feet, where it was from being nervous about putting weight on your injured leg or if you were cold, you couldn’t be sure. But you wobble up the stairs, gripping the rail for life the entire way and nearly falling when you finally manage to get the doorknob to turn. Simon catches you, he opens his mouth to chastise you before he realizes the state you’re in. He mutters your name, brown eyes filled with worry as you shrug, too tired and frozen to verbally shrug. He shakes his head and brings you to the mattress in the corner, he quickly runs downstairs and grabs your blanket before returning upstairs. You grumble, which honestly was just noises from the back of your throat as he settles next to you, pulling both blankets over the two of you. After a few minutes and warming up a little you mumble, “This doesn’t change that I’m upset with you.”
”I would never expect it to.” He whispers back as he wraps an arm around you. It shouldn’t be as easy as it is, like two pieces of a puzzle finally snapping together. You seep warmth from him like a leech while he holds you close and steady enough that you don’t shiver or shake. He stays awake the entire time, long after you’ve fallen asleep on your pack-made-pillow. Simon looks at you and drinks you in properly this time. Despite the blizzard outside still raging on and the cold temperatures making your skin lose a little color, you’re still as stunning as the day he confessed his love to you. He can still recall that day, sitting at a bench a little ways away from the reception party. The cool October breeze blowing through and the way you looked so relaxed. So content with the moment and with him. He kissed you that night, he kissed you like a starving animal. Like he might never get to kiss you again and that he needed to take what he could now.
“I love you Simon Riley. I have since we were 15. Don’t leave me again Simon, not if you can help it.” He was fucking idiot not to say it back, he didn’t even think to do so because his heart had been stabbed the moment you pleaded with him not to leave because he was leaving again. He was leaving you, the best thing in his entire life. Then he came back fucked but he did his best to get better. He didn’t want to touch you, he was terrified he would hurt you. Force himself on you, every night he dreamed that he was hurting you and that he enjoyed it. The therapy helped a little, you and his family helped a lot. Having something to return to helped so much. Then it all came burning down and damn it, he wasn’t going to let you die. So he killed the men then he returned to Mexico and killed Roba and his entire cartel. Then he never returned home, he never let you even think that he was alive. He glances down at you, sleeping in his arms
Sometimes, if he looks at you even now, he can recall the day the two of you met.
It was so cold and the rain didn’t make anything better. He trembles in his too-big shirt and pants which are rolled up to stop him from tripping again. He sniffles and wipes at his face, if he wipes away tears or the rain he doesn’t know. Other kids pass by him quickly with their umbrellas, rain coats and boots, protected by the things their mum’s and dad’s buy for them. His dad had sold his and Tommy’s umbrella’s and coats to afford more alcohol and drugs. Being the good big brother that Simon told himself he was, he let Tommy take their mum’s coat instead of him. He didn’t regret that, he could never regret making Tommy’s life a little better.
He isn’t expecting you to walk up to him with an umbrella with yellow ducks on it. He recognizes you almost instantly, you go to his class. You ask him, “What are you doing without an umbrella?” with your head tilted to the side like a confused puppy.
He mumbled out, eyes averted to the ground and soggy strawberry hair sticking to his forehead, “I don’t have one.” You asked if his mum didn’t buy him one. She did, she always did her best to provide for him and Tommy but his dad always ruined it. You don’t wait for him to respond, you don’t push for further answers or make fun of him for not having an umbrella or raincoat.
Instead, you smile at him and hold the umbrella with yellow ducks on it over his head after pulling the hood of your coat over your head. “Well it doesn’t matter now, I’m here and we can share.” You give him your name and he gives you his with the tiniest smile on his face. You held the umbrella over his head the entire way there then you walked him home because it was still raining. You called him a friend.
When you wake up, he lets you sit in silence. The blizzard had mostly passed through during the night, the worst of it was over but the safe house outside of the blankets was freezing cold. Simon knew he wasn’t exactly in a rush to leave the warmth and comfort of this moment. The silence hangs between the two of you and at some point, you begin to play with fingers in the way you used to when growing up. It takes a better part of an hour for him to work up the courage and it really feels like he is going to throw up when he whispers, “Do you still love me?” It’s quiet that if you didn’t know his voice that you’d think it was the wind still blowing.
He swallows hard and squeezes his eyes shut as he waits for the killing blow. For you tell him that you don’t love him anymore, especially after these five years and the shit he pulled. But it doesn’t come, instead he hears your shuffling and feels your slightly cold hands cup his stubble covered cheeks. He peaks his eyes open and nearly melts at the sight before him. You, nearly in tears as you look at him so fondly like you did that October day. “Of course I still love you Simon Riley.” He can’t stop himself from closing the gap between the two of you as tears spill from both of your eyes and kiss you.
”I love you Simon Riley.” You kiss his cheeks, “I love you.” You kiss his forehead, “And I’ll keep loving you for eternity.” Simon melts with each kiss you give him and sighs when you kiss his lips again. His large hands find your waist and tug you closer, his thick thigh parting yours as his tongue swipes at your bottom lip. You happily part your lips for him, your hands gripping his shoulders as his tongue explores your mouth and a needy moan leaves you. Your heart aches still and tears keep slipping down your face because he’s here. Simon Riley is alive and has been for years. The relief is almost enough to make you forgive him on the spot.
You’re taken by surprise when he kisses you, it's gentle and some tears slip between your connected lips. You don’t even realize that either you or him has started to cry but you return his kiss, trying to keep him this close for as long as you can without breathing. His hands tug you closer, if he could tear open his ribs and stuff you in there instead of his heart and lungs, he would. When you finally pull away, tears still running down your cheeks, you look at him. Tears run down his cheeks too and wet the fabric of his shirt now that they’re not being caught between your lips and spread between your cheeks and his. “Say it again.” He croaks and you repeat it.
Maybe you are forgiving him in a way, not fully. God knows that it will take a lot more than just this to make you forgive him but it's a start. And it’s a start you desperately need, your fingers dig into him further which pulls a groan from him. Immediately you loosen your grip on him, fearing that you’ve hurt him until he pulls away completely breathless and with pupils so wide there’s hardly any brown left, “Don’t stop doing that.” He leans in and whispers against the shell of your ear. It sends goosebumps rising up on your skin as you dig your fingers back into him right as his mouth connects with yours again.
He rests a hand on the back of your neck to keep you close and connected to him. You feel like a teenager again when he slips one of his thick thighs between your own and you grind down on it nearly out of pure instinct. The pressure of your pants seam pressing against your clit makes your legs weak and a liquid warmth to pool. You do it again and you moan into the kiss, his other hand which he had used to cup your cheek immediately went to your hip and grabbed it. He doesn’t try to stop you, instead he encourages you to grind against his thigh. He mutters something against your lips and it comes out muffled but it sounds like, “Take what you need love.” And you’re not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
You grind against him, a little harder this time which causes your entire body to jolt as the electric pleasure shoots up your spine. His hand on the back of your neck tangles itself into your hair and he pulls away only barely so he can catch his breath. You’re left breathless and panting as you grind against his thigh, he rests his forehead against yours and his eyes focus on you using his thigh. “Fuck.” He mutters as his hand on your hip moves up and cups your chest. “I’m sorry.” He whispers and you furrow your brows, your pace faltering at his words.
”Did I do something wrong?”
“No! No, I’m sorry fo’ bein’ such a twat.” He says and pushes his thigh back against you. Your head tips back as a moan leaves your throat and you resume your previous pace. He gropes and paws at your chest, trying to pinch and twist at your hardened nipples from over the fabric of your shirts. “Love, please let me- let me push your shirt up.” He begs and you immediately give your consent. He doesn’t waste another second and pushes your shirt up as far as it would go then he grumbles something to himself before he pulls it over your head and discards it nearby.
He dips his head down and immediately takes a nipple into his mouth while his hand squeezes the other breast. He sucks on it, laving his tongue over it like a dog and letting his teeth graze it slightly when he figures out it makes your hips jolt. You tighten your grip on his shoulders as your thighs tense up and you desperately keep rocking your hips against his thigh. “Si-Simon I’m cl-“ You’re cut off by your own moan when he switches nipples and when he looks up at you between blonde lashes your orgasm washes over you. Your hips stutter and your entire body jolts once or twice as you soak your underwear. Simon swears at the sight of your mouth falling open and your head tipping back to expose your entire neck.
His fingers are nimble as he unbuttons your pants, he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of both the pants and your underwear then yanks them down. “Let me? Please let me make you feel good.” He begs and you nod, mind still trying to piece itself back together after the first orgasm. He shuffles under the covers and it’s kind of funny to see the bottom half of his body sticking out but the sight of it is pulled away from you as he yanks you further down the mattress.
”Simon-“ You yelp before it’s cut away into a moan. There’s no preamble or teasing, likely because he feels like he’s going to die if he doesn’t have his mouth on your cunt now, before he buries his face in it. You grab at the blankets, your mouth falling open as you moan when his tongue flicks your engorged clit. He can’t seem to decide if he wants to focus on your clit or your pulsing hole, dipping his tongue down to slurp up your juices before returning to your clit. He’s desperate, his hands are gripping your thighs like you might try and pull away despite your moans and pleads for more filling the safe house.
He eases one thick finger into you as he sucks on your clit and you see stars in your vision. “Like that- oh my god- like that please don’t stop.” You whimper as your fingers card through his hair. You moan and start to squirm a little as he begins to pump his thick digit in and out of you. He seems to be searching for something, trying different things and sticking to the one that makes you keen the loudest. He crooks his finger just right and your thighs tense up around his head as a moan tears through your throat.
Like the sniper that he is, he focuses on that spot within your increasingly soaked cunt as he tortures your clit with his mouth. The slurping sounds have your cheeks heating up and you squirm as he pushes a second finger into you with no resistance. He rubs against that soft spot inside you that causes your body to relax further and pins down your hips when you try to squirm away from his tongue.
“Simon- nngh- that feels so-“ You can barely string together a sentence as he seems intent on rendering you boneless and incapable of speech as he abuses your g-spot. You feel a tightness growing within your abdomen, like something is winding up before it lets go. It barely registers in your brain that you’re on the verge of cumming. Simon must feel it too, with the way your pussy clamps down around his fingers, because he redoubles his efforts. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as your pussy pulses without a rhythm and you’re thrown over the edge. The muscles in your thighs clench involuntarily as the pleasure runs through you. He keeps rubbing at that spot through your orgasm, his fingers soaked in your slick as you twitch a little from the aftershocks.
You try to move upwards when he eases a third finger into you but he holds you down. “It’s too much.” You choke out as he crawls up your body, leaving a trail of sticky wet kisses. “Si please.” You hiccup as he begins to work you open with those three fingers.
”Got to work you open love.” He mutters reassuringly before capturing your lips in a kiss. He swallows down your moans like the greedy man he is, keeping all of these sounds for himself. He doesn’t care if the two of you are the only people around for miles upon miles, he doesn’t even want the walls to know your sounds in case they ever learn to talk. You whine at his words and a hand grabs his bicep as he fucks his fingers in and out of you. The stretch of three of his fingers is delicious, just that slight sting that ebbs away the more he finger fucks you.
It feels like he rips the next orgasm out of you, your entire body tenses as it slams into you. You feel yourself gush on his thick fingers and he keeps going, keeps fucking you through it until your pushing at his arm and pleading for a moment of reprieve. It’s only until tears gather in your eyes that he finally stops. Simon peppers your face in kisses while he whispers that he’s sorry. He promises that he’ll do right by you this time, no more running away or disappearing. He swears it as you unbuckle his pants and pulls them down. There’s a noticeable wet patch on his boxers but you don’t comment on it, just pull those down as well. Your mouth waters and your eyes widen when you see his cock.
It's thick, uncut and long. The tip is red from neglect and drips pre-cum like a leaky faucet. His cock is heavy that it hangs low and his brown eyes are filled with lust as he watches you reach down and wrap your hand around his length. “That’s not going to fit.” You finally whisper out, meeting his eyes which crinkle from the cocky smile on his face.
He leans down, body draping over yours. You can feel his body heat rolling off him in waves as he takes his cock from your hands and lines up the bulbous tip with your cunt. He strokes it a few times with his slick coated fingers as he looks you in the eyes before whispering, “I’ll make it fit.” When he pushes it, he does it slowly. You can feel every ridge, every pulsing vein of his cock against your walls. Despite having stretched you with three of his fingers before hand and making you cum twice the sting remains. It’s a sweet burn, a delicious heat that licks from your hips up to the back of your skull. It grounds you to the moment as his fingers dig into you as his hips meet yours, bottoming out in you he lets out a low moan. His eyes flicker down to where the two of you meet and he licks his lips at the sight.
He pulls back just a little and the squelch that comes from your cunt when he pushes back in makes your face hot. He leans down and grabs your uninjured thigh. He hooks his arm around it and forces it up as he cages your body between his arms. You grab onto his shoulder and bicep, your eyes can’t seem to leave his as he thrusts in and out of you. The pace isn’t fast but his hips snap against yours, the sound of skin on skin fills the room and mixes with each noise pulled from you. Simon swallows the lump in his throat as he supports himself on one arm and cups your cheek, his thumb swiping something away. You sniffle and reach your hands up to his face, you try to drink his face. The same face you thought you would never see as tears roll down your cheeks and his cock fills you past the point of full.
“I love you.” You say between hiccups and moans. You watch as his eyes water and he buries his face within the crook of your neck. He mouths at the sweaty skin there and whispers that he loves you back. That he loves you so much it hurts and that he’s sorry. He repeats it over and over again with each roll of his hips and that feeling within your stomach grows again quickly. With each snap of his hips you feel yourself getting closer and more tears leak from your eyes. You cum again with his name on your lips and feel his hips stutter and loose pace. He grinds up against you, nudging your cervix in a way that causes a slight pinch within your lower abdomen that makes you clench down harder on him.
You feel him cum, you hear his groan right next to your ear as his hips come to a complete stop and pressed against the meat of your thighs. His sticky warm cum fills you, the feeling is odd. Foreign but not entirely unwelcome as he stays in that position after letting your thigh rest back down onto the mattress. You twist your head to the side and give him a quick kiss, “Say it again?” He whispers.
”I love you.”
Simon lets out a shaky sigh, the relief he feels is palpable, “I love you too.”
It’s not all that surprising that he can’t keep his hands off you and you’re not innocent either. After seemingly fucking all of your anger towards him out, the two of you cling to each other. He rocks his hips into your again, every movement lighting up your nerves in a way that seems never ending. Like this pleasure will swallow you whole but you don’t mind, it hides the twinges of pain from your thigh from being pressed so close to your chest. You kiss all of his face, soft moans from both of you mixing together into a melody.
”How long until someone is able to get us?” You ask later while you lay on his chest and trail your fingers up and down his abdomen. You’re exhausted, barely able to keep your eyes open and the heat between the two of you is slowly lulling you further into sleep.
”The radio said they’ll be here tomorrow.” Simon replies and you mindlessly hum.
”What will happen when we leave?” You ask, “When all of this is over.”
”We’ll figure it out.” he murmurs and kisses you. “Rest up love.” You’re not surprised, actually delighted, when he wakes you up with kisses on your neck. He trails down from your jaw, nipping occasionally at the soft flesh which earns a wanton moan from you.
”Happened to resting?” You tease and he chuckles against you.
”Oops.” He says and it would be convincing if you couldn’t feel his smile. Simon’s hands trail down your naked body and he pushes two fingers back into your sopping wet cunt. You gasp and arch your back, eyes fluttering closed as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. “You’re so wet.” He groans, like he still can’t believe that you still want him. “Never going to let you go again.” He promises as he begins to abuse that soft part inside you.
Simon kisses your nose and you chuckle. “Excited?” You ask and he nods. It’s been two years since that mission when everything changed again. Two years since you found out Simon Riley never died, that he had refused to die once again. It had taken a little while to figure out what the both of you wanted, therapy helped a lot. It helped you realize that the military lifestyle, despite it being the thing you had only known for the past five years, wasn’t truly for you. Of course you had known that you had only joined in Simon’s memory but therapy helped you let go of it.
God bless John Price, bless him for being utterly professional despite two of his soldiers fucking which has to be the most unprofessional thing to do in the military. He looked at you with that smile that made his eyes crinkle when you placed the discharge paperwork on his desk that day 8 months ago. “Finally figured out what you want then?” He asked as he immediately signed off on it, not even bothering to read through it.
”Yeah, I have, Captain.” You said with a fond smile, you’d miss this. You’d miss him, Gaz and Soap but it wasn’t like they couldn’t come and see you when on leave. You’d only be an hour away in a nearby city anyways. You glance at the two keys in your hand, one for you and one for Simon. You place the second one into his palm. “Let’s go see our home then.” You pick up the cat carrier and Mittens meows in protest. You coo your reassurances to her, promising that it’s almost over. The three of you climb the steps up the porch of the townhouse you now own and Simon unlocks the door.
You glance around the currently empty space then glance behind you to the moving truck parked out on the side of the street. “I think it might take us a day to get everything in here.” You say when you turn to look at Simon
”I’d say two.” Simon says as he takes the cat carrier from your hands and sets it down next to the stairs. You quirk an eyebrow up and part your lips in an ‘o’ shape when you realize what’s on his mind.
”Really Riley?” You ask as you loop your arms around his neck and he chuckles as your expression.
”I’ve always wanted to bend you over a countertop.” He purrs as he tugs his mask down and plants a kiss on your neck which sends shivers down your spine.
”Is that so?” You ask as he backs you up against it after closing the front door. He hoists you up on top of it with a ‘mhm’ before he captures your lips in a kiss and his hands settle on your hips.
You grasp at the edge of the counter, moans being punched out of you with each thrust of his hips. The sound of skin on skin echoes in the house and mixes with his groans. Simon’s fingers dig a little harder into your hips, enjoying the sight of how your fat squishes up between his fingers. “You’re so fuckin’ stunning.” And all you can respond with is a moan as his fat cock abuses the tip of your cervix. “I’m gonna retire.” He babbles and his words hardly register in your mind as you begin to clench down on him as a sign you’re on the precipice of an orgasm. He loops a hand around and rubs mean circles around your clit which sends you falling off the edge.
He swears as your cunt clenches down on him like a vice and he spills himself in you all while he keeps rubbing at your clit. You lay there panting, trying to gather your senses as you blink away the tears of overstimulation once his hand falls away. You gasp and gulp down the air, “Simon?”
”Fuck I said that out loud didn’t I?”
You can’t help but giggle and shake your head. “You mean it?”
”Yeah, I mean it. I’m gonna look into retiring, I can’t be a soldier forever.” He rests his sweaty forehead against your back as he speaks.
”I love you so much Simon Riley.”
His hand reaches out and loops through yours, the matching rings on your fingers glinting in the light. “I love you too.”
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having thoughts. about buck and tommy and 'daddy', and about how eventually, the use of it starts to occasionally leak outside of the bedroom, too.
they don't always use it when they're having sex, just when the right mood hits for it. and it's not really a thing, except for how it's maybe become a little bit of a thing, but it's also not something they make into their entire dynamic; they don't want it to be, really. they're just having fun with it. but tommy's not blind to how well buck responds to it, either. how when tommy refers to himself as 'daddy' it grabs his attention, makes him listen, makes him melt, soft and pliable in tommy's hands.
the first time he uses it outside of sex, he doesn't really mean to. evan's just come off a rough 48 hour shift. he's bruised, inside and out, body trembling and exhausted and ready to drop at any moment, but in true evan fashion, he keeps insisting that he's fine. tommy doesn't push him, doesn't make him talk, knows that's not what evan needs right now, knows that part will come later. but when he catches him in the bathroom, fighting a losing battle to get his top off over his head because it's pulling uncomfortably at all his aches and bruises, he also knows he can't keep watching him hurt. so he slips inside the room, loud enough to make evan aware of his presence, but quiet enough to not startle him, either. he crowds up behind him, takes evan's wrists in his hands and carefully brings his arms back down to his sides. drops one hand onto his waist afterwards, places the other over his chest, feels the way that evan's breath hitches and gently, but firmly presses evan back into him. hooks his face over his shoulder, drops a kiss, two, onto evan's throat, and nuzzles his face a little into the crook of his neck and says, "it's okay, baby, let daddy take care of you now," and feels the way evan shudders, and then completely melts against him. there's still tension in the outlines of his body, but he's putty in his boyfriends hands right now, and tommy will help ease the rest of it away in the hours that follow.
-
he finds himself using it more intentionally after that, though it's still few and far between.
like when evan ends up in the hospital, again. injuries minor, but completely avoidable if not for the dangerous, reckless stunt he'd pulled. he struggles to keep the upset off his face after he knows for sure that evan's going to be okay, and his boyfriends quick to pick up on it. things quickly turn into a heated discussion that tommy's sure evan must have had a million times before with other members of his family by now, and when it's apparent that what he's saying isn't really sinking in, he makes a decision without giving himself time to second guess himself. stands up from his seat, quickly makes sure that no one else is around and bullies his way between evan's legs from where they're hanging off the edge of the hospital bed. evan's hands immediately come up to hold his waist, pull him in closer, but tommy doesn't let himself get distracted. gently, but firmly grabs evans chin in his hand and holds it in place. makes sure that he has evan's eyes locked on his own, says, "evan, listen to me. daddy needs you to come home to him, okay? i can't lose you."
evan's mouth drops open, breath escaping him. and then his hands grip tighter at tommy's side, whole body softening and swaying forwards, towards tommy. whines, quietly, "t-tommy, that's not fair."
"baby boy, anything's fair if it keeps you alive," he says. means it with his whole being. moves his hand to cup evan's cheek instead, and leans down to press a quick kiss to his lips.
-
his least favourite memory using it has his hands coated in evan's blood. a drunk driver t-boned them on the passenger side. tommy was driving. his memory's hazy, doesn't remember everything; doesn't think he wants to. but he remembers evan's blood. the way it seeped past tommy's fingers no matter how hard he pressed. how it matted in evan's curls and stained his lips. and he remembers evan's fluttering eyes, fighting to stay open, "no, no, no, evan- evan, keep your eyes open for me. evan, come on, baby, eyes open. i know it's hard, but you gotta keep them open," he remembers begging, "evan, evan- daddy needs you to keep your eyes open, okay? can you do that for me, baby boy? that's it, keep them open for daddy," remembers thinking hysterically that evan's usually the one begging, that it sounds so much better when he's the one doing it.
remembers how weeks later, the only good memory to come out of the whole ordeal, evan had cheekily presented him with a 'my daddy is my hero' mug.
#911#911 abc#evan buckley#tommy kinard#bucktommy#buck x tommy#tw blood#i did not know how to end this#and i am so very tired so my brains not helping rn#so awkward ending it is
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Buck goes over to Tommy's place late one morning, coffees in hand. They agreed to go out today, maybe go for a walk in a nearby park or something, no solid plans for the day other than spending it together.
When Buck gets there, though, he feels something is wrong. The curtains are closed, for one thing. And when Buck knocks, he doesn't hear any immediate movement towards the door. Usually, Tommy opens the door before Buck even makes it up the drive.
But today, Buck knocks, and he waits.
Had Tommy gotten held late at work? Buck knows he had a shift that was supposed to end a few hours before, but maybe he got stuck with overtime and didn't have a chance to call or text. But his car is there, in the same place it always is, and there hasn't been anything on the news about any major disasters.
Buck knocks again and considers calling or texting when he finally hears shuffling on the other side of the door, then the jingle of keys before the door opens.
Tommy is... A mess, honestly.
His hair is sticking up in every direction, old sweatpants with a hole at the knee, and a worn out old hoodie which Tommy shoves his hands back into the pockets of when he sees Buck.
"Hey, Evan." He swallows, voice think with some heavy emotion. "I'm so sorry, I... I forgot we had plans today, I—" he's hunched into himself, and he looks smaller than Buck's ever seen him.
"Tommy," Buck reaches for him with the hand that isn't holding the coffee cups. "What happened? Are you okay?"
Tommy shrugs, hesitating before stepping aside to let Buck in. "Rough shift," he says after an extended silence. "Everyone... The team all made it out, but... We lost someone. I lost someone."
Buck sets the coffee cups down on the entrance table and pulls Tommy into a hug, tucking his head into his shoulder and holding him tight. Slowly, Tommy's hands raise enough to wrap around Buck's waist.
"I don't think I'm gonna be much company today," Tommy sniffs after a while. Buck can feel a wet patch on his shoulder, but doesn't mention it.
The fact that Tommy trusts him enough to be this vulnerable with feels like something sacred, something he's been searching desperately for. Up to now, Tommy has been the one adjusting to make space for what Buck needs, but it's time for Buck to step up, to be there for Tommy.
"I get it, but I'm here." Buck kisses Tommy's cheekbone, just below his eye and he tastes the salty tang of tears there. "If you'd rather be alone, I-I get it. I can go home, and we can reschedule this. But, Tommy, I don't care if all we do is sit on your couch in the dark, okay? Whatever you need, I'm here."
Tommy holds Buck tighter for a moment.
"Evan," he says, in the same way he always says it. Like it's a something precious and delicate and wonderful. Buck's not sure where it came from, but he adores it.
"What do you usually do after a bad shift?' Buck asks.
Tommy sniffs, and it takes a while to answer. "Usually..." He clears his throat. "Usually I curl up in bed or on the couch and watch a rom-com. I know, it's a little—"
"Don't you dare say it's embarrassing," Buck warns, cupping Tommy's jaw and running his thumb over the stubble there. "Go make yourself comfortable, drink your coffee, pick a movie. I'll make us some snacks and join you in a minute, okay?"
Half an hour later, Buck settles on the couch—the coffee table full of popcorn, chopped vegetables and dips to snack on.
Buck reclines against the arm, and pulls Tommy on top of him, head on his chest. It's a tight fit, but from the way Tommy settles into him, Buck knows it's what he needs.
Tommy hits play, and Buck smiles at the opening monologue. "Love Actually?" He asks.
Tommy makes a sound, a soft sort of hum. "It's... kind of my favourite," he admits.
Buck smiles and kisses the top of Tommy's head, then replaces his lips with his fingers, running them over Tommy's scalp.
"That's really cute."
Tommy nestles in closer to Buck's chest, and neither of them say anything else for a while.
"Thanks," Tommy says, when they're about halfway through the movie. "For staying."
Buck kisses his head again, and Tommy lifts himself up a little so he can turn and kiss Buck on the lips, instead before settling back against his chest.
"Thank you, for letting me stay. For letting me look after you."
The words are on the tip of his tongue as he looks down and watches Tommy turn his attention back to the movie, watches him mouth along to a handful of lines.
I love him, he thinks. He doesn't say it out loud, not yet, but the realisation is soft, and warming, and perfect. And he will say it, soon. When the time is right. And he hopes Tommy will say it back.
For now though, Tommy is like a weighted blanket on his chest, comforting and warm, and Buck's content to just stay here for as long as he can.
They'll put on another movie, finish the snacks, maybe order takeout for dinner later, and Tommy will smile again, will laugh again, will kiss Buck the same way he says his name.
#my fic#evan buckley#tommy kinard#tevan#bucktommy#might just end up writing bucktommy ficlets about every tiny sliver of information we have about tommy from begins episodes ngl#the fact that his fave movie is canonically love actually is so cute im obsessed with him
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7x10 coda. beware the spoilers
Three months pass, and Eddie still isn’t used to it. It’s too quiet at home, and too awful at work, and he still grabs two bowls every morning even though he’s the only one eating.
He thinks about quitting, again. Leaving behind Captain Asshole and following Christopher to Texas. He knows he can’t. He’d promised. Eddie clenches his fists and forces himself to finish buttoning his uniform.
He sends Christopher a text, the same one he sends every morning, then shuts his phone in his locker.
“Line up in five,” Gerrard bellows from the loft. “If you’re late, you’ll be scrubbing the rig with a toothbrush, no exceptions.”
Eddie stands mechanically and walks over to the bay.
Another day, another goddamn reason to bury himself in blankets and hide until the world ends.
Buck invites him over for dinner most nights, or offers to go home with him. Eddie says no more than he says yes, but Buck… Buck’s always known Eddie better than he knows himself. He doesn’t stop asking.
“C’mon Eddie, it’ll be fun—you, me and Tommy, we can come up with ways to drive Gerrard insane.”
Buck looks at him, soft and imploring, an expression Eddie rarely knows how to refuse. But despite everything that’s happened, Buck’s managed to carve out a small sliver of happiness, and Eddie doesn’t want to drag him down.
“You go ahead,” he says. “I’m picking up half a shift at the 136 tomorrow. Need to get some sleep.”
It’s true and it’s not. He is picking up the shift, but he doubts he’ll sleep.
He goes back to therapy, but he never knows what to say. It was all—everything was in his head, last time. It’s not, now. It’s all real, and it all hurts, and no amount of talking about it makes it hurt any less. He says as much to Frank.
“Then why are you here?” Frank asks.
Eddie looks away. “I don’t know,” he says.
That’s not quite true either.
Kim calls him, and Marisol doesn’t. She leaves voicemail after voicemail, apologizing for that night. Eddie can never bring himself to answer the phone. Eventually, he blocks her number.
He texts his own apology to Marisol, but it never goes through. It’s probably for the best—he doubts the message would’ve made either of them feel better.
Eddie needs—he doesn’t know. Before, he would’ve said time. Now though, he’s got all the time in the world, and he’s desperate to get rid of it.
Buck calls. Eddie can’t answer him, either. He lets it ring out, then listens to the voicemail.
“Hey Eds, it’s me. I uh—just wanted to check in. It’s been a couple days. Call me when you can.”
Eddie tells himself he will, but he has no idea when that’ll be.
Christopher doesn’t text him, but he does text Buck.
Eddie never asks what he says, and Buck usually doesn’t offer to tell him.
“Just—he’s okay, right?”
Buck smiles, a little bit sad, and leans into Eddie’s space. “He’s okay,” he says. “He misses you, even if he’s not ready to tell you that.”
Tears streak down Eddie’s face before he even realizes he’s crying. Buck wipes one away and pulls him against his chest.
“What if he never comes home,” Eddie whispers into the soft material of Buck’s sweater.
“He will,” Buck replies. “He will.”
Good morning, Eddie texts on the one hundred and second day since Christopher left. I love you, and I hope you have a good day.
He drops his phone on the table and tries not to hope for a response. A second later, though, it dings. Eddie’s heart leaps into his throat as he scrambles to open the message.
Morning, Dad.
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Kiss and Tell
(Can be found on ao3)
Steddie
WC: 2,279
Tags: Post Season 4, Steve Harrington Has Auditory Processing Disorder, Eddie Munson Loves to Talk, Minor Angst, Mostly Fluff, Queer Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Has a Bisexual Awakening, But He Already Knows (Sort of), First Kiss, Lots of Kissing
Based on this post that I made. Happy reading! <3
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Steve has a staring problem. He knows this. He's been told this. And it's not something he can help or fix or find an alternative for. This is just what he knows.
It's something he's tried to maintain since he was a little boy. And, on that same note, is something he picked up while being a boy in a room with two adults who were fast talkers and big negotiators and all-in on the nature of their careers. But his parents certainly hate that he has a staring problem. Which, that's not unusual, most people hate that he does. Because he doesn't look them in the eyes for more than thirty seconds at a time. And even if he does, he doesn't hear a single thing they said, politely asking they start over, and feeling hurt when they just scoff as loud as possible and walk away from the conversation all together.
The audio just doesn't process. Never has. Probably never will.
He listens to music, but doesn't understand any meaning. He talks over the phone, but must have all other sound blocked out and the curtains shut and his eyes closed to imagine what the words look like leaving the other person's mouth. He argues, but loses track of the original point of the argument—when he laughs instead of apologizes.
And it would be fine—if—he wasn't close to losing his life every year. Where he has to listen to everybody and the important tiny details and the plans and the reasons for what they're doing. Which leads him to danger. Which gives him a bruised face. Which makes the listening even harder, once the concussion leaves and he's just got the leftover damage of his quirkiness.
It would be fine—if—he wasn't made to feel so stupid for what he must do. The jabs and the constant reminders and the...yeah, his sob story.
But there was Tommy Hagan and Carol Perkins, who he could keep up with. Because they'd talk about the same things over and over, until he could practically relay all the information, pulled straight from the deep crevices of his brain, and it ends up that they had forgotten, rather than him.
And there was Nancy Wheeler, who was polite enough to repeat things. Who had flash cards and a soft, focusing voice. It was easy to write off looking at her lips. "Eyes up here, Steve," she'd say. "Sorry," he'd respond sheepishly, "getting lost." And he'd chuckle and she'd giggle and then they'd kiss a little and he wouldn't be reminded that he's just a little weird. That, maybe, he just isn't normal.
Robin Buckley makes things easy-ish. She talks fast. And a lot. And she never looks him in the eyes, unless she's asking for a very serious favor, or he has something on his face, or she just feels the need (she claims it's that she hasn't looked in a while, but he shrugs her off every time). (If he can get away with staring at her lips, then she can get away with never looking him in the eyes.) He's mentioned, though, that he has a hard time following her sometimes. That he needs the words repeated a few times. Explained the lip thing, with a tense voice and a quake in his chest and his fingers tapping at the sides of his thighs. And, for a brief moment, he had felt like a creep. Like one of those weirdos that preys on the idea of women kissing. And he wanted to open up Family Video's register, shove his head inside, and sort himself out into the container of fives. But she shrugged, said "Okay," and went back on some ramble, to which he was immediately drawn to her mouth. And saw her repeat the name, Vickie, at least twenty times. He grinned and then when the store was empty, he leaned across the counter and teasingly said, "You have a big fat crush on Vickie, don't you?" To say that he was proud of her sputtering is an understatement.
Now, Dustin and the others were harder to get through. Because they moved at their own pace. And they don't really stop to add him to the conversation. He gets it, to an extent. He knows that he's not really all that intrigued in what they enjoy. (Even if he really leans into the conversation when they mention Sherlock Holmes or Dracula or Star Wars or, even, Star Trek. And he pretends to not be interested in their science fair projects. Or the one time he caught them huddled around a Sports Illustrated, in which he fought the urge to chat their ears off about both baseball and basketball statistics.) But there's a point in the conversations where he's made to feel a little dumb; even if he was staring where they were speaking, but they always grow frustrated, a huff of air released, when they notice he's not "paying attention" (translation: looking them in the eyes. "Because, Steve, it's just talking etiquette!" Dustin had shouted once).
He loves all of them anyway. Even if he misses words. And he loses track of what they were saying. He just wishes they were a little bit more forgivable about it at the end of the day.
Then, Eddie Munson is walking along side him in an alternate universe. He's peeled the vest off his back and chucked it at Steve. And they're talking. Jealous of one another, but talking. But, Eddie's voice goes soft and quiet, his eyes pointing towards Nancy's back.
Steve is looking at Nancy, words fading into the background. And it's not a moment of realization. Or a moment of longing. Yearning, what say you. No—it's one of his moments in which he's "listening," but not processing. So he looks back. And for a mere second, Eddie's eyes are big where Steve stares. Big and wet and curious. Big and wet and persuasive. Big and wet and not at all his lips and Steve is still not listening.
But his lips. Well, Steve's seen lips. These are pretty. They're pink. Chapped and bitten and plush appearing. Mesmerizing. Stretching over Eddie's sharp teeth, exposing dimples and smile lines, making his recent stubble more noticeable than it's ever been before. But his lips are pretty.
Like girls lips, Steve muses. Not really taking in what that means. Because Eddie's saying something about true love. And—shit—okay. Steve can get behind an act of true love. He can get behind sharing denim and coating Eddie's clothes in blood and staring down his lips and—god, his eyes, Steve can't help but notice once more.
Eddie's like a vulnerable cow. With pretty lips, he has to point out. Or a baby deer. With such pretty lips. And he's talking and Steve's finally listening. But it's not just processing. No, Steve's intrigued, interested even. He tilts his head like a curious puppy. Leaning in. Eddie's breath ghosts the tip of his nose. And, sure, it's a little rank. But weirdly sweet. Warm where Steve is otherwise cold. Warm in places Steve's never considered to feel warm in, but he's willing to give in, to wrap up in whatever Eddie has to say. If it all means more of him.
So, it makes sense that after all that they go through, Steve finds himself in Eddie's orbit. As a friend. As a trauma bond. As everything Eddie needs him to be.
He sits on the Munson's couch. On the cushion that dips a little too low. The lights orange and dim and casting beautiful streaks of almost candle light on Eddie's soft, beautiful features. Highlighting where his nose is the most bulbous. His pronounced Cupid's bow. The outer edges of his irises, golden and honey against the off-white of his scleras.
Eddie talks like Robin does. Excited. A lot. Fast. But his voice is soft, focused on the information—like Nancy's. It's teasing, like Dustin's. Soft, though. So gentle. Murmured. Which makes sense, if Steve were to stop and think about it for just a moment. With how late it is. With the little amount of weed they smoked. And it all just fits, with how slow and careful Eddie's lips move. As if testing the words. As if searching for what he means.
But, god, Steve is following along. Of course he is. Hanging onto each one of Eddie's words.
"So, the cashier at the record store got all apprehensive about selling me this tape. Which, I guess makes sense because it's a special edition. Comes with a photo card or whatever, but like—Come on, y'know? If he wanted it so bad, he should'a bought it the moment it dropped. Not my fault he slacks on not just his job, but also his opportunities," Eddie rambles. And, that's right, he's complaining about the music store encounter he had today. Trying to buy some album for some band. Steve got lost part of the way through, so he's not sure who exactly Eddie was getting a tape for. The style of music. But he has most of the information. He just—
Has to squint harder.
So, Steve leans in. As casual as he possibly can. And narrows his eyes at Eddie's lips. The word pretty comes to mind again. Because of course it does. And he can't pull his eyes away, no matter how hard he tries. For some reason, the tips of his fingers tingle a little. Wanting to reach out. Trace his lower lip, right where it sticks out, just above the divot of his chin. Would it be soft, he asks himself. Does he wear chapstick? Steve sighs softly. I wish I could...taste it. His eyes widen, just the tiniest bit. But he ignores that in favor of whatever Eddie is saying. If only he could make it out. He leans impossibly closer.
And there it is again. The soft puffs of warm air. On the tip of his nose. His own lips. Tickling his stubble. Eddie's breath smells like weed and strawberry Tab; a little bit of Kraft macaroni and cheese. Maybe the smallest trace of pepper—
"Uh, Steve?" Eddie nervously calls out. But gets no response. Steve is only a couple inches away from his face. Eyes hooded. Glassy. Zeroed in on Eddie's lips. He's not talking. Doesn't even give a hum. Just...keeps staring.
Eddie sucks in a breath. Eyes darting over Steve's face. He doesn't talk again, hoping maybe Steve will stop. But, nope. In fact, the only thing Eddie gets as acknowledgement for the fact he's stopped talking, is that Steve pouts. Upset. As if his lips no longer moving is some great catastrophe to Steve, some tragedy, some misfortune.
And, Eddie, the awful wreck that he is, can only assume that this means one thing.
Steve wants a kiss. And is, maybe, too chicken shit to close the gap.
So, with no other option. And definitely not wanting to get away from the heated, stirring, calm mask of Steve's face—Eddie presses his mouth against Steve's. Hesitantly smushing their lips together. Dragging his lower lip against Steve's soft scowling one.
And he pulls away. Because Steve isn't doing anything in response.
No, in fact, Steve is extremely expressive now.
Wide eyes. Mouth opened into a silent "Oh." His cheeks are flushed. And as quick as it came upon him, whatever realization that was, fades. Like a cartoon character, Steve's face melts into one of pure infatuation. Mouth lilting. His posture slouching. Eyes going soft against the extreme red of his face.
"Do that again," Steve whispers.
Eddie obliges. And he obliges. And he keeps obliging until they're under a cool top sheet, skin slick with sweat and eyes piercing one another's mouths.
That's when, in the silent air of Eddie's tiny bedroom, Steve admits the greatest thing in the world. "I don't really process when people are talking unless I'm looking at their mouth. I have to read their lips. I didn't—I wasn't trying to kiss you at first, but—" And the motherfucker giggles. "If that's all it took..." Then he's kissing Eddie again. Like it's the last thing he'll ever get to do. And Eddie thinks, If I die from running out of breath doing this, then I've done everything in my life correctly.
So, sure, Steve has a huge staring problem. And he doesn't really listen. And it's something he'll never fix, even if there's a way to.
But he finds that his technique—the thing he's crafted since he was a little boy—no longer works. At least, not on Eddie. Because suddenly, looking at his gorgeous pink lips makes Steve only able to think about one thing: Kissing. And he can't follow along unless he fulfills that want.
Eddie could be in the middle of a deep, all inclusive description of his recent trap in the campaign he's crafting. He could be singing. He could be complaining about some movie he rented. But that doesn't matter. Because he stops talking the moment Steve leans in and kisses him. Kisses like he needs it to live.
And though he rolls his eyes. Huffs a breath. Smirks and barrels on. There's that giddiness, that love pooling in Eddie' heart. Just knowing the effect he has on Steve. And the way he's affected, too, when Steve just whispers, "Sorry, I got lost again. Start over?"
He obliges. And he keeps obliging. And his lips are usually swollen by the time he's finally done rambling.
Steve stares. Eddie talks. And it's the combination of a lifetime.
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❤️
#stranger things#fanfiction#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#fluff#first kiss#Steve Harrington has a bisexual awakening#Steve Harrington Has Auditory Processing Disorder
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Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife: Date Night
Joel Miller x F!Reader
based on this lovely ask. I've added some zest and a lil smut that came out of nowhere cuz why not. Mommy and Daddy are horny when they're alone.
Warnings: unprotected sex, brief breeding kink, car sex, semi-public sex, descriptions of reader's body related to pregnancy
18+ONLY
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Joel’s been waiting for this night for over a year now. It really shouldn’t take this long to get a date night alone again with the wife after giving birth, but lord knows the Miller family girls were inseparable the minute Sarah let out her first cry into the big world.
You’ve been the ever attentive Momma, and Joel couldn’t have been more ecstatic to have the perfect trifecta.
But oh my god he needs a minute alone with you again. You wanted to be with Sarah 24/7 and vice versa. And since the little bean turned 3, she’s become more clingy than ever possible.
Not tonight. He’s made the perfect reservation, had Tommy clear his schedule to babysit for weeks now, and even picked up a gorgeous necklace and matching earrings to compliment adults-only night out. The kids (being Sarah and adult-Tommy) can have their own fun. Joel needs his wife tonight.
“And she gets 30 minutes of TV max okay? Then you have to read her—one second Joel—one of her books, she might pick it out herself, please be patient, she’s gonna keep switching it on you but that’s ok, and then—oh don’t forget her blanket is in the dryer so its extra warm—oOH and Tommy—“
“He’s got, honey,” Joel tuts. Tommy has been approved for babysitting duty before. He trusts him (as far as the neighbor can see into the house not being burned down).
You and Joel are standing in the kitchen, ready to sneak out the back door while Sarah is dancing to the little trolls on the television in her own world.
“Okay,” you whisper. Joel holds the door open as you hesitantly look back. “I”m just gonna give her a quick kiss--“
He looks his arm into yours and hoists you back. “No! She won’t let you go. She’ll be fine. C’mon.”
Joel and you tip toe out and round the garden to the front door with giggles, trying not to stumble over the long grass and patchy holes in the yard.
You’re almost to the car parked in the driveway when you hear screaming from inside, followed by the door opening and a midget Sarah running towards you with a red, tear-stricken face as Tommy is shouting “Hey get back here bug!”
“Mama!” She smashes her face into your dress and wraps her arm around your legs. Her little body trembles with sobs.
“Sarah, Mama’s here, it’s okay.” You pout and crouch down and hug her, cooing away her baby tears.
Joel makes eye contact with Tommy who’s standing at the front door with an apologetic look. He shakes his head: mission failed. But he’s not giving in so easily.
The toddler sniffles and wipes her cheeks with puffy fists. She grabs your hand and leads you back inside the house, and Joel follows behind.
You sit and watch tv with her for a few minutes but she starts to look sleepy. Joel nudges you again, and you slide off the sofa carefully as can be. This time, you don’t even make it to the door before you feel a strong grip tugging at your dress.
Twice more over the next 40 minutes, Sarah comes screaming towards you, refusing to let you go.
Joel’s given up on the reservation and just hopes the two of you can snag a bar spot at this point.
“I’m sorry, she just keep slipping—“
“She’s got so much fat,” Joel grumbles as you plant fat kisses on her head and sway her side to side in your arms, “There’s no way she just ‘slips’. Just hold her down, Tommy!”
Sarah is glued to your leg, crying as you once again try to leave the house with Joel.
“No!nonononoNONONONONO!” She wails, bitty nails digging into your calf.
Joel gives Tommy a look just as Sarah is rubbing her face on your dress. "SARAH,” he shouts with a stern booming voice. His thick finger points down at her authoritatively. She hiccups, startled, and listens:
"Daddy and Mommy are LEAVING. Do you understand me?"
Her lips wobbles, eyes scrunching into a terrible fit before screeching at the top of her lungs in tears and going to hold you tighter.
Before she reaches you, Tommy scoops her up by the belly and slings her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes at the same time Joel hoists you over his and takes you to the truck.
Joel has to drag you to the car as you watch Sarah's teary red face and outstretched arm yelling for you dramatically from Tommy's shoulder before he closes the front door on her.
You sit in the passenger seat timidly. Joel angrily slams the door before rounding towards the driver side.
“Finally,” he grumbles, putting his seatbelt on and turning the ignition.
You sniffle a bit, looking at the window solemnly.
“You’re not crying, are ya?” He asks hesitantly.
“No!” You cry.
He grinds his jaw but continues to put the car in reverse. His warm hand pats along your thigh as you wipe the almost tears from your eyes. You refuse to let your makeup get ruined.
“It’s gonna be fine, Christ, Mama.”
You nod and cross your arms, thinking about your baby girl and her sad tears the entire ride.
-
At the restaurant, Joel managed to get a table despite the hostess grumbling about their lateness. He’s pleased, finally having you to himself, no child at the hip to worry about, just the two of you again like it all started.
He sips his wine and admires the view: you really put forth the effort tonight, your hair blown out and beautifully full, makeup neutral yet with a sexy hint of red lipstick, and the earrings and necklace compliment your looks perfectly.
Not to mention the boner he’s getting from seeing you in such a dress as if you were back in your 20s again.
"You look so beautiful," he says quietly with a smile.
"Yup sure do,” you say curtly, sipping your water quickly and then twiddling the button at the time on the phone.
He grunts disapprovingly. “Can you really not just relax—“
"We've never been apart from her this long!"
"Yes we have. When we both work. She goes to daycare. Tommy has baby sat her before."
"Mmmhgmmgmfmdmdddfgfggrrhrhrr but she--"
“She needs to learn to self sooth on her own. She’s FINE.” He reiterates. Joel refuses for this night, this one night in a very very long time, to be about Sarah! “What about us?"
You pause and look up from your anxious state, turning to a worried, perplexed one instead. “What do you mean? We're fine, aren't we?" You ask hesitantly, and he absolutely catches the wobble in your voice.
"Yes…! Oh honey, no I didn’t mean it like that. I mean... well… I never get to see just you anymore."
Your eyes soften with remorse and heartfelt appreciation. “That's what happened when you have children, Joel."
"I know I know, and I love her to death, but Jesus I love you too! I loved you first and I miss just having you to myself sometimes too. I feel like I’m competing with her over you.”
You nod in agreement. “I’m sorry. I know I get so worked up. If she had a sister, it'd be so much easier on her.”
“How are we supposed to give her a sister if I can't get 5 seconds alone with you?"
You hide the little grin on your face just as he dips to catch it with a satisfied smirk. “If that were the case, you would have taken me to a hotel tonight. Not dinner.”
Joel contemplates with wide eyes of realization at his mistaker of venue. “We can get this to-go right now. Can get to the holiday inn in 10 minutes, and I’m sure they got a room for the next few hours—“
You kick his shin and laugh.
He can’t stop smiling with you. You’re finally relaxed now, and just as radiant as the first day he met you. Same when he married you, and every day you were glowing during the pregnancy. The only moment that beat it was when he saw you first hold your newborn in your arms.
“I can’t stop staring at you,” he admits. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”
You bite the inside of your lip and check your phone again for the time. Butterflies kick up in your stomach and nestle somewhere south that has your your thighs clenching together. Throwing your hand up in the air to signal the waiter: “Can I get a to-go for this? We have somewhere to be, right now.”
-
You couldn’t manage to wait for the drive to the hotel. Forcing Joel to pull over on the side of some empty backroad, crawling into his lap and stripping his jacket just as you grind your panty-clad core into his slacked-bulge.
“Fuck, oh my god,” he groans, pulling you flush against him and kissing you deeply. Both your hands are busy trying to undo the other’s clothes—his fingers working to unzip your dress, revealing your smooth back, breasts on display for groping. At the same time you nimbly fight each of his buttons to push your palms against his broad chest. Fighting to suck in air between each forceful kiss. Entangled in one another like horny teenagers.
“I miss this,” he hums against your cheek just as you reposition your underwear to the side with one hand, fisting his cock out of his slacks with the other. His hands glide over your ass, patting your cheek once, ruffling the slit in your dress.
“Me too,” you snicker, finally settling his tip at your entrance. “I miss being able to straddle you without a belly,” you add quickly, and he almost laughs were it not for the synchronous moan you both let out as you sink down on his length fully.
Your eyes flutter, but a gentle grasp of your jaw pulls your face just an inch from his. “I want you to watch me,” he groans. “Watch me make love to you.” Your lips hover over his plump ones as you begin to slowly rock up and down along his massive cock. “That’s it, that’s my wife. So good f’me.”
You nod, whimpering softly. Each little hump pushes his tip deeper, nudging your g-spot effortlessly.
“So full,” you whine.
“You take it so good, baby. Always have.” His arms wrap securely around your hips as you grind on one another. He really was made for you. Your walls always fit like a glove around him, just tight enough to make him nearly blow his load each time were it not for an extreme amount of effort to avoid it. Every change to your body since having Sarah has only made his lips and hands hungrier to feel, the new dips and curves, soft plush areas just begging to be grasped by him. He wants it, wants you and so much more.
“Joel,” you warn, keening with little high pitched etches caught in your throat. “M’gonna cum.”
“Me too,” he rasps. “Gonna do it inside. You gonna take it?”
You nod, tears of euphoria welling in your eyes as you whimper.
“Gonna put another baby in ya? Right fuckin’ here, in my truck behind a restaurant? That how you want it? Dirty dirty girl, holy fuck—“
You gasp, your entire boy trembling against him as you cum. He captures your lips before you let out your moan, walls contracting around him until he feels his lower tummy snap. Balls twitching, he grunts into your mouth as he spills his generous seed deep into your womb. It’s so much, so pent up, so drawn out.
It’s the best mind-clearing cure you’ve ever had.
You collapse forward on him, slouched and panting against his sweaty neck. Your soft lips connect with his collarbone. He pecks your forehead, brushing the hair from your face.
It’s not comfortable at all, scrunched up here in his car. neither of you are nearly as young as the recent activity suggest, but with his strong arms wrapped lovingly around you, the fog blurring the windows and separating the two of you from the rest of the world, you could stay like this forever.
It’s quiet in Joel’s arm. Just the two of you—
His phone buzzes in his pocket and you fish out the device.
12 missed calls from Tommy.
You sit straight up and hit your head on the roof. “Ow!”
But there’s no time to hurt, not when Tommy’s last text message isa jumbled mess : ‘45ssfgh5 vi w2434467777$$75%refft+..87’
“Oh my God! OhmyGod—OHMYGOD— Joel, we need to go home right fucking now! What if they’re incoherent? What if something crashed into the house? What if it’s a fire? What if someone broke in—!”
He wipes his face with both hands. Truth is, he knew his phone was going off all night, but if you weren’t getting any messages, then it couldn’t have been an emergency. It was best to deliberately ignore whatever Tommy, a grown adult, couldn’t figure out on his own.
“Alright alright. We’ll go—“
“HURRY THE FUCK UP!” You scratch, setting into the passenger seat and reaching to turn the keys for him.
He slaps your hand away offensively before tucking his softened, creamy cock back inside his trousers and speeding back home.
Low and behold, as you nearly trip out of the car towards the house (the very intact, not on fire, not broken into, normal looking house just as you left it,) you stumble into the front door to see Tommy passed out on the couch with a drooling Sarah propped up against his shoulder.
Clutched in her tiny hands is Tommy’s massive phone that is the side of her arm, with Joel’s contact open and a half jumbled message of random letters and numbers still half written before she must have fallen asleep.
You sigh heavily.
Joel comes in right after you and chuckles as you catch your breath. You smack him on the shoulder.
“Probably shouldn’t wake her,” he whispers to you with a peck to the lips. You pout but obey, not wanting to make a scene right as she’s asleep.
He walks over to his younger brother and flicks his forehead.
“M’up!” He mumbles.
“You’re supposed to put her to bed before you fall asleep.” He scoops his sleepy baby into his arms and carries her off to her room, leaving the door cracked.
Joel escorts Tommy out just as you unlatch your earring. You glance back towards her room, the light from the kitchen illuminating a sliver of the bed, and Sarah has somehow miraculously disappeared.
You’re running out after Joel, who’s opening Tommy’s truck door just as you both see something waddling in the dark and getting into the back seat by herself.
“Sarah!”
The toddler rubs her sleepy eyes but doesn’t respond, just sits quietly in uncle Tommy’s truck with the lap belt pulled over her seat.
Joel, on the other hand, sees the opportunity to get you alone, loud, and spread out in bed all to himself for the rest of the night. “Yes, take her!" He encourages. Tommy grumbles with his hands on his hips.
You shake your head in disbelief and shove past him. “Sarah no! Mommy's home! Let's cuddle—“
"No." She says plainly. "I go to MeeMee now."
"No! You stay with Mommy!" You cry.
She shakes her head again more defiantly, but her little voice cracks as just mumbles. “You lef me!”
Your heart is cracking in a million pieces, chest aching so badly as water blurs your vision. “I’m sorry! Please I won't do it ever again!"
"No!"
"You're never watching my child again. Thomas!” you seethe at defenseless Tommy.
Now you and Sarah are crying and hyperventilating in the driveway at 10pm.
"Daddy made me!" You wail like a baby yourself. sounding almost indistinguishable from Sarah now. Fat tears spill down both of your faces, sagged shoulders twitching with each sniffle.
You and Sarah both huff and wipe your puffy red eyes.
Finally, Sarah speaks up with her little sobs subsided: “Daddy go to MeeMee and Mommy and RaRa stay home.”
“Deal. Joel, pack your bags,” you say plainly, straightening up and reaching out for Sarah, who gladly accepts you in her arms.
As you walk with her on your hip back to the house without another word, Tommy glances back in amusement.
And just like that, Joel was #2 again.
-
Joel fluffs the flat pillow on Tommy’s bed. The two of them sharing the full mattress since the younger brother only just moved into his new apartment, not having picked up any other furniture at the moment except for his tiny ass mattress.
"You think this is real funny don't you,” Joel grumbles. He tugs on the blanket and shifts uncomfortably over to his side, facing away.
Tommy chuckles and wipes his face, trying to clear the soreness from his cheeks after laughing all the way home. “Hell yeah. You wanted that, all of it, remember?"
Joel just grins happily, subconsciously twirling the gold band on his ring finger. He checks his phone one last time, the picture of you and Sarah as an infant in his arms smiling up at him. "Yeah. Yeah I do."
-
He’s achy and exhausted when comes back home in the early morning. Tommy had kicked him off the bed in his sleep, so the older brother just walked home for 20 minutes.
It’s not until he sees you and Sarah curled up on his bed together, her little pjs riled up over her fat belly, fist clutched above her head, and you with your protective hand around her hip, nose buried in her hair, breathing so softly in unison, that he can't imagine anything better. He kisses both your heads before walking back towards door.
There’s a little rustle and patter noise behind him, and Joel stops, almost shouting and jumping up when he turns to see little Sarah standing on his heels looking up to him. She points to the bed with very pouty lips and tired yet steamy eyes. Joel takes her hand and she guides him to the bed.
She clutches the side and hoists herself up with all her might before Joel joins in on his vacant side. Two tubby fingers grip his cheeks and pull him to stare directly into her soul a she says clearly: “Don’t ever take Mama away again. You understan me?" With a fat digit pointed inches from his eyeball.
He swallows and nods fearfully: “Yes ma’am".
Switching on a dime, his babygirl smiles gently and kisses his scruffy cheek. Her little head settles onto his shoulder just as he tucks her between the two of you, curling around her and nuzzling himself into your hair.
He sighs heavily and feels himself falling asleep, his family finally wrapped up into his arms.
"Daddy," Sarah says after 12 seconds of silence, rubbing her eyes. “Chocwit pancakes."
Your head jolts up and you hazily grumble, “Ooo pancakes yes please! Can you put chocwit chips in them?"
You fall back onto the pillow, pulling Sarah back into your arms with a content, lazy smile.
He rolls his eyes and crawls out of bed just as Sarah and you cuddle closer together and fall back asleep.
- - - -
taglist:
@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop
#pedro pascal smut#joel miller fan fiction#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfiction#last of us fanfiction#joel miller smut#last of us smut#the last of us fanfiction#joel miller fic#joel and sarah#the last of us fluff#the last of us fic#tlou smut#tlou fluff#tlou fic#tlou fanfiction#last of us fic#joel dealing with preggo wife#the last of us smut
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♡ Dating Thomas Hewitt Headcanons
❝ I often ask myself, 'What makes a man a killer?' ❝
[ SFW + No Gendered Terms]
General Warnings: Mentions of Murder, Slight Stockholm Syndrome, Hoyt being Hoyt
A/N: Congrats to Tommy for winning the last poll for headcanons :) I love this man sm. I scour the entire internet just for fanart of his body he's so soft and aaaaa !!!
🔪 Tommy is unfamiliar with romance entirely. The most he'd gotten to know of it were stories from Luda Mae during childhood but he never got to experience it himself.
🔪 And the mention of what a "man does to a woman" by Hoyt wasn't appealing to him in any way. Tommy just focused on providing for the family and ignoring what Hoyt said.
🔪Then, a new set of victims made the mistake of running into Hoyt and Tommy was to do his job. Yet, for some reason, he couldn't help but stare at you when he brought you down to the basement and rather than running, you clung to him instead to hide from Hoyt.
🔪 For once, he wanted to protect you while Hoyt yelled at him to just kill you. But, everything was different this time. Someone willingly approached him rather than screaming.
🔪 Tommy was firm in his decision, towering over Hoyt as his own silent threat to keep you around. And so he did. While he couldn't speak to you, he tried his best to care for you despite you now being a prisoner in a home of cannibals.
🔪 He'd carefully place a plate in front of you and then just sit and stare at you, waiting for a reaction or for you to eat. Telling him you don't trust the meat in the case that it's human has him confused because they taste fine to him? But since your stuff was taken from you, Luda will just buy other foods for you to eat with your money.
🔪 In truth, Tommy is just as scared of you as you are of him. He doesn't want to upset you in any way because for once, it seems like he has a friend. An attractive one too. He waits for you to be more comfortable around him.
🔪 Tommy is a light sleeper so he'd have you sleep in his room with him. If you were to try and sneak out, he'd be right there to stop you. But, it's not like you have much of a way to sneak out anyway since he is completely clung to you in his sleep without realizing it. It's as though you were his pillow or plushie to cuddle during the nighttime.
🔪 When Luda noticed the way Tommy treated you, she would whisper little things he could do to impress you or make you happy. She always wanted him to find someone, especially since Tommy had his struggles.
🔪 He gets nervous when trying to do some of what Luda suggested because it felt like he was a little boy again. A little lovesick boy. But he’s a mama’s boy and knows Luda is helping him. He'd approach you and hand a flower to you, just as she suggested, hoping that it works to make you happy.
🔪 Some days, you’ll wake up to find a little note in your dresser. It’s in poor handwriting but you can tell it’s from Tommy. He picked it up from what Luda used to do—Leave notes in his lunch each day.
🔪 The first note you got had some drawings on it. You could make out smiley faces and hearts. The only legible words on the note was “I LOVE YOU”.
🔪 Tommy is very careful around you since he's aware of his size. He tries to be like a gentle giant, although, he can default to being too gentle, treating you as though you were made of glass.
🔪 He's scared to hurt you. After all, that's the only thing Hoyt has him do. Gods forbid if he did hurt you in some way, he'd slink away into the basement to avoid being around you. He would need some coaxing to understand that you're okay.
🔪 Overall though, Tommy is an absolute sweetheart. He's very attentive and willing to do whatever to make you happy. And he's also very easy to please! He's been taught to be happy with the minimum so anything besides that immediately makes him overjoyed.
🔪 Tommy's favorite thing to do is hold hands with you. He's self-conscious over the fact that his hands are scarred and rough but he can't help but be an internal mess at the electric touch between you two.
🔪 Sometimes when he's upset with Hoyt's constant yelling and berating, he'll toss you over his shoulders like nothing and bring you outside with him so he can cool down with you.
🔪 He finds solace in you. You'll find how Tommy will just sometimes stare at you because he's admiring your appearance. He has a particular fascination with your eyes. He finds it hard to look at them directly but when you aren't looking at him, it's all he can focus on.
🔪 One thing about Tommy: As much as he can be sweet, he still is a brutish murderer. Any victims who even catch a glimpse of you are his first targets.
🔪 It can be almost unnerving how easily Tommy can switch like that. To be so gentle with you to becoming a murderous beast towards anyone else.
🔪 One quick way you’ve seen Tommy get upset is when he heard Hoyt talk explicitly about your body. Hoyt did it specifically to make you uncomfortable as that is what gets him off most.
🔪 But his grin was quickly wiped off by how Tommy turned around and stared down Hoyt. He didn’t have much restraint but decided to simply pick you up and leave to his room with you. His silent threats spoke for him.
🔪 He also has a tendency to be paranoid about you staying. He makes sure you understand that this is your home now. He is your family. You wouldn't leave him alone again, right?
🔪 Tommy isn’t that hesitant to never take off his mask but he is around you because of his insecurities. He knows what generally attractive people look like considering the victims he’s caught before and knows he doesn’t look like that.
🔪 He grows more accustomed to having his mask off when you aren’t afraid to kiss and caress his face. You couldn’t be lying about that when your touch was so sweet and gentle with him.
🔪 Tommy’s main Love Languages to give are: Acts of Service and Quality Time. He loves to receive in return Quality Time and Words of Affirmation.
🔪 Tommy likes to go out of his way to do things for you because he likes to feel useful to you. Anything he can do to help you out and he’s rushing to help.
🔪 Any errand around the house he immediately takes up so he can hear you praise him for it.
🔪 If he sees you working, he’s made it a habit to get you tea or lemonade. In the mornings, he’s used to waking up early so he’ll let you sleep in and surprise you with breakfast. Before bed, he has a whole ritual for you before going to bed.
🔪 Pulling back the covers, making sure the pillows are cold and plumped up. And once you walk in, he’s planting kisses across your face, picking you up and tucking you in while he gets in beside you and holding you close.
🔪 One of his favorites to do is when you ask him to pick something up for you if it’s too heavy. When you compliment him for being strong, he’s barely letting you pick anything up anymore because he wants to hear you praise him more.
🔪 Tommy also just generally loves to spend alone time with you. Constantly being around his family in the home can leave him feeling slightly stir crazy.
🔪 He loves to just sit under a tree, under the shade and away from the harsh sun, beside you and just enjoy your presence.
🔪 Tommy was a little hesitant at the suggestion of a spa day with face masks and other things, considering he’d have to take off his mask but seeing you in the same face mask as him in the mirror and he was silently asking each week to do it again and again.
⤷ divider credits: @cafekitsune
#my precious slasher cannibal bby boy deserves the whole world in my eyes#i crave more of tommy content everyday fksgshwb#slasher x reader#slasher community#slasher fandom#slashers headcanons#slashers x reader#slashers imagines#slasher fucker#slasher headcanons#leatherface#thomas hewitt#thomas hewitt x reader#thomas hewitt x y/n#thomas hewitt x you#thomas hewitt headcanons
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You know what I want to see, I want to see more of Steve, Eddie, and Robin being 1980s small town kids from Indiana, by which I mean;
Robin is The Source of Gay Knowledge purely because her parents host Hippie Christmas and she managed to sneak away to find a neat bookstore in Indiana once.
Her knowledge is not in depth. It's patchy, woven together through rumors, stories she heard or things she picked up from her parents' old pictures. She's got a handful of zines, one book, and some movies she managed to order for Family Video behind Keith's back.
She acts like she's Queen of the Queers because in Hawkins she pretty much is.
(Max and El ask her what a lavender marriage is once, something they overheard snooping around.
Robin confidentially answers that it's code for when one woman dresses up as a man, fooling officials into wedding two woman.
She does not live this down two years later when they find out what it actually means.)
Eddie doesn't spend every weekend in Indianapolis.
Gas is expensive, his busiest days of his "job" is Friday and Saturday, and he has no fucking clue what the hanky code is.
He's wearing that bandana because Metallica front singer James Hetfield has one on all their tour posters.
Eddie does make it down to a gay bar though, by accident. Rick needed some back up for a shady deal. Promised Eddie a boatload of free drugs to sell if he agreed to just stand there and look mean.
He was warned the bar they were meeting in was 'weird' and to not 'freak out' --which Eddie thought was hilarious given his nickname and general appearance, but whatever.
He doesn't understand when they get there, because it's just a bunch of hot men with hanky's in their back pockets everywhere.
Then he sees two women kissing and it clicks.
He can't out himself in front of Rick, but one of the bartenders playfully dresses him down for his own hanky, letting him know all about the code and teasing him through his embarrassment.
He's got an offer to come back and learn what color and which pocket his hanky should actually be in, a prospect Eddie was salivating at until Chrissy Cunningham up and died on his ceiling.
(He still wore the hanky, because the feeling of that bartender tugging it out and stuffing it back in might be the closest thing he's ever had to sex and he absolutely wants a repeat.
He's young and horny, sue him.)
Steve Harrington may not be academically smart but he's not dumb.
He figured out a while back that the basketball team as a unit probably crossed the queer line more than once--or at least it did before Hargrove came in.
( Brad Handly for example, went around slamming kids into lockers and screaming slurs like a fucking movie villain one Monday because the varsity team got dead drunk at Laura's party on Sunday and hey, look, there weren't that many girls there, okay?
They all had fucking hands and mouths. Everybody but Tommy was single and hot to trot. Nothing gay about it.
Its not even like they were kissing or treating each other like chicks. It was just Brad's first time and they got to tease him later for overthinking it.
Dude graduated soon enough after and given Steve was on the team as a sophomore, he hadn't thought about the guy and why he might be freaking out so bad in years.)
Robin's entire panic attack at Starcourt, and a few more after had Steve replaying that whole incident. Reframed it a bit, and, yeah.
In retrospect that had been extremely gay, actually.
It sat with him a lot easier than he'd thought it would. Partially because of Robin, but mostly because that's just who he was.
Stranger things had happened to Steve and this one didn't want to kill, maim or otherwise eat him, so it got filed under 'interesting facts he should never tell his parents if he wanted to keep his trust fund' and then he went about his day.
(Or he tried too, anyways.
It caught up to him when Eddie and Robin somehow figured out the other was queer and dragged him along to some bar Eddie had a standing invitation at, with demands for Steve to do what he did best.
Babysit.
Their magical trip was utterly destroyed when Brad Handly happened to be the very same bartender who had given Eddie the invite.
Considering Brad's immediate bark of laughter followed by a hug and introducing himself as "Steve's gay awakening", Steve ended up having to speedrun through Eddie and Robin both having a crisis for him.
It didn't help that Steve had politely, and laughingly, corrected Brad with a casual;
"Pretty sure that was Tommy man, but if it helps I think that tongue of yours gave Matt Burdon a crisis."
--which ended up with him answering a lot more gay sex questions with Brad than he cared too.
At least he, through Brad, was able to help Robin connect to some local lesbians and--after a second crisis from Eddie regarding how Steve managed to have more sex than "the resident town freak and guy who actually knew he was gay, Steve!"-- even helped Eddie out by catching the metalheads tongue with his mouth later that evening.
The last one landed him a boyfriend, trust fund be damned.)
#this started as thought and ended as a mini fic#filing this under shit I'm not expanding on#steddie#platonic stobin#its the “Eddie and Robin drag Steve to a Gay Bar” trope but with a twist#the twist is that Steve skipped his gay crisis entirely#and also that basketball team is not straight#steve harrington#eddie munson#robin buckley#I just want to re-invoke that pre internet feeling of "No one has an easy way to google whether or not their friend is right#so it comes down to who sounds right LOL#or whose known for what
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