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#my uncle hated that mans guts

januaryembrs · 1 month

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CROSS MY HEART | Spencer Reid x wife!Reader

Request: read here

description: Spencer's wife struggles with the aftermath of JJ's confession

length: 1.5k

warnings: JJ's 14x15 confession spoilers (big ick, pull yourself together Jennifer) infidelity, thoughts of worthlessness, reader thinks Spencer is going to leave her for JJ.

authors note: I have loved JJ for all of fourteen seasons and fourteen episodes. this was a BIG ICK for me watching this won't lie

She should have known something was wrong the minute they left that damn store.

It took her all of two seconds to throw herself into her husband’s arms, her voice choked with tears that had threatened to spill when she’d seen the video of Casey shooting at him, and she swore Spencer had never grabbed her so tight.

“I thought you,” She sniffled, running her fingers through the back of his scalp, the entire spanse of his huge hands ran along her spine, counting every vertebra to make sure she was still intact, despite the fact he had been the one held hostage, “I thought he’d shot you- it came so close,”

He hushed her mewls, a hand reaching to the back of her head and tucked her into his neck further, the sob rattling through her ribcage almost, almost, taking his mind entirely off what JJ had said in that stupid game of truth or dare.

What the fuck did she mean she had always loved him? She had a husband and children who doted on her; Will, who loved every shred of her being like it was his only purpose in the world. His godsons who had known him as uncle Spencer since he’d held them in the hospital, covered in goop and looking like the cutest little aliens he’d ever seen.

And yet JJ, his friend, perhaps one of his longest friends, was willing to throw it away for him? He, who had a wife he adored more than there were birds in the wind, leaves on an Autumn floor, more than there were galaxies in the damn cosmos. His wife, who had been there for him since the moment they’d met, who he’d known was the one since that first day she’d ran into him in the lobby, their files mixing together because neither of them had been watching where they were going, like one of those romcoms she forced him to watch and he pretended to hate, or like the silly thing she called fate that she insisted was very much real.

Spencer was a man of statistics and numbers and facts; things he could see. But he was sure there was nothing in any textbook that could have ever made sense of how the one person so perfectly created for him, the blob of cells that made up his wife that seemed to call to his own as if they were coming home to one another, would have just so happened to bump into him on a random Tuesday in August.

Most people waited decades for that kind of love, or something close, and he’d managed to get it at the ripe age of thirty three.

And yet in the space of ten seconds, of four little words in a wretched game, he felt like the carpet had been pulled from beneath him. Because why would JJ, who saw as clearly as anyone else how much he cherished his wife and the future they were planning together, try to take that away from him?

And as if his own odd spiral of thoughts wasn’t a kick to the gut enough, his sweet wife had quickly released him from her grasp and thrown herself at JJ, who seemed to just now be understanding the gravity of her words as she looked around with wide eyes, tear stains wetting her cheeks, the guilt gnawing in her gut already.

“JJ! Are you okay? Oh, you poor thing, you must have been so scared,” She sobbed, wrapping her friend in a loving hug that was shakily reciprocated, like JJ was waiting for the second she would get a fat shiner to the nose for confessing such a thing.

But that never happened. Instead, she pulled away from the frozen blonde woman, who looked like she could burst into tears then and there and apologise for everything until her face turned blue, and ran a kind hand over the JJ's hair, stroking it behind her ear tenderly as she tried to quell her cries because she wasn't the one who had been held at gunpoint.

She didn’t know. It hit them both at the same time. She didn’t know what JJ had said, hadn’t even got an inkling into what had happened, and god did it make the sinking feeling in Spencer’s chest swallow itself up into something the size of the Mariana Trench.

And what was left, what had for a second been a horrid mix of confusion, shock, fear and then another big dollop of confusion for good measure, quickly was dragged away by the current and replaced with anger.

Anger that JJ could do something like this to his wife; he frankly didn’t care how her words had affected him, that if he had been single he would have been left feeling unworthy of her affection the first time it had been offered around, like there was something so disgustingly wrong with him this was what it took for her to say anything. He didn’t care about any of that. He cared that this would absolutely destroy his wife.

And it was for that reason Spencer hurried the paramedics into fixing the small graze on his palm as he watched with boiling blood his wife tend to JJ like she would any other time her close friend was hurt in the field. He seethed whenever Jennifer would simper and avoid her friend's eyes, how his beautiful, caring, devoted wife would stroke the woman’s back and will her to talk, to tell her what to do to make it better.

Because it was her who should be fussing over his sweet wife, certainly not the other way around.

But he couldn’t say that, not there at least, and so he didn’t, not until he had got the greenlight from the medics to leave and he had all but cut off the circulation in her fingers with how tight he’d held her hand as he led her to the car.

Spencer said nothing, not wanting to fight when she forced him to sit shotgun as she climbed behind the wheel, not wanting to cause a commotion when there was a much bigger bombshell he was sitting on that he knew would change her feelings entirely.

“What?” Her voice was soft still, a murmur in the quiet night air of their bedroom. She sat, fresh faced, minty breathed, kevlar vest long gone and replaced with one of his old Dr Who shirts and comfy bottoms.

She said the word again, like she hadn’t heard him, but judging by the way her expression had fallen into something dejected, he knew that wasn’t the case.

Sighing, drawing gentle motions up and down her legs with his warm hands, shuffled closer where he kneeled down in front of her submittingly. “JJ said that she has always loved me; that was her ‘truth’ in the game,”

“Well, she-she was lying right?” His wife said quickly, her voice shaking, trying to make sense of it herself. She didn’t get an answer right away, just her husband’s eyes casting down as he tried to think of the best thing to say, “Right, Spencer?”

“I don’t know,” He said earnestly, and he saw immediately the way tears sprung to her eyes, her bottom lip trembling, her face warming in wet-anger, “But it doesn’t change anything, sweetheart. It doesn’t matter, to me- baby, please don’t cry,”

“Ofcourse it changes things, Spencer, it’s JJ. She’s literally the hottest woman to walk the earth, Pen said you were like in love with her when you started the BAU, and now you have your chance,” She whimpered, fat tears rolling over her freshly moisturised cheeks, and he swore he felt his chest concave at her words.

“My chance? I don’t want a chance, I want you,” Spencer said in earnest, his hands rubbing further and further up her legs until his hands went under her night shirt, grabbing onto the soft of her hips with pleading tenderness, “I want you forever, no matter what JJ or any other woman feels about me,”

She sniffled pitifully, her eyes still unsure and he took it as a sign she needed more, so he leaned in fully to hug her to him.

“But it’s JJ,” She said again, like that was going to change anything, and he shook his head, stroking over the back of her hair softly.

“I don't care,” He said, and she sniffed gently into the crook of his neck, his skin wetting with the contact. She finally wrapped her arms around him, and he knew he was close to getting it through to her, “I had the smallest crush on JJ, what, fifteen years ago? Honey, I want you for the rest of my life, and nothing and no one is going to change my mind about that, not even you.”

“Really?” His sweet wife whispered tearfully, and he chuckled sadly, hating how hard she had cried that it had ripped the life from her voice.

“Cross my heart,” He kissed her hairline softly, tipping her head upwards with one long, warm finger under her chin, pressing a gentle kiss to her wetted lips, “Hope I never die,”

She smiled sorrowfully, kissing her husband as if it was the last time she could ever do so, hoping it made up for how puffy and ugly her tears had made her face. But he didn’t care, he never had, he thought she was perfect just the way she was.

And he’d remind her of that any time she thought otherwise.

–

#spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #matthew grey gubler x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic

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runninriot · 13 days

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written for the @steddiesongfics may prompt

(David Bowie - Absolute Beginners, 1986)

wc: 1986 | rated: t | tags: Steddie in love, newly established relationship, fluff, background characters, Good Uncle Wayne Munson | also on ao3

As long as we’re together, the rest can go to hell

Waking up in Eddie’s arms for the first time feels unreal. Like maybe he’s not really awake after all. Maybe Steve’s still stuck in a beautiful dream and the sound of the other man’s peaceful breathing is just a fragment of his imagination. But he can feel Eddie’s chest rise and fall beneath his head, can feel the comfortable weight of Eddie’s arm on his back, the soothing warmth of his skin.

Maybe it is real.

Maybe they actually, finally got their shit together – as Robin would say.

God, Robin would be so smug if she could see him right now, nuzzling Eddie’s skin, sinking deeper into the sleeping man’s arms.

She’d known there was something going on, told him so but never pushed. Even before that night Eddie came out to them a few months back. Where Robin told him her secret, too, and Steve didn’t even know he had one of his own to share.

Before Steve realised what that funny feeling was. What it meant to have a riot of butterfly wings create a storm in his stomach, to have his heartbeat set the rhythm to a song he’s never heard before.

Man, she will be so proud of herself when- if they tell her.

They will tell her, right?

They’ll them all – Robin, Nance, the kids...

Dustin.

Oh God, what will Dustin say if they tell him that they’re-

Together?

Are they together?

Is this- Is this what they are?

It must be, right?

Eddie told him he loves him. Kept repeating the words over and over again between kisses. Said it so many times, Steve had no reason to believe it wasn’t true.

It must be true because Steve wants it to be true.

Eddie is-

This isn’t just a stupid crush, some made-believe infatuation with his high school sweetheart. Steve isn’t a stupidly naive teenager anymore. He knows the difference between simply searching for affection and truly wanting to be with someone.

He is in love with Eddie. That’s a fact. Unshakeable like the fact that water is wet, the sun is hot, and the moon is 238.700 miles away from earth (yes, he does listen to Dustin ramble about his stupid nerd interests sometimes, thank you very much).

He’s in love and although this is all very scary and new, he wants their friends to know about them. Wants them to be happy for them.

But what if they’re not?

What if the fact that he’s in love with another man gives Mike one more reason to hate him? What if Lucas refuses to let Steve coach him because of it? What if it doesn’t work out and Dustin has to choose between him and Eddie? What if-

“I can hear you think.”

Steve startles when Eddie tightens his arms around him, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head. And when he looks up at Eddie, Steve finds two sleepy eyes blinking back at him.

“Morning, baby,” Eddie says through a smile and-

Steve’s heart immediately does that thing again and there’s this familiar feeling in his gut, and Eddie looks so soft in the warm morning light that Steve just can’t not kiss him.

“Morning,” Steve finally answers when they part – Eddie’s hand still holding his face, beautiful eyes looking right into his soul, and Steve feels like flying.

“Hm, so that’s not what it’s about, huh?”

Steve’s confused, doesn’t know what Eddie is talking about and it must show on his face because Eddie chuckles before he continues.

“For a moment I was scared you’ve gotten all nervous and fidgety because you were- I don’t know. That maybe you had doubts. About this?” He moves his free hand between the two of them, pointing at himself and back at Steve.

“But I guess you kissing me despite my morning breath must mean you-“

Steve shuts him up with another press of lips, morning breath be damned. He won’t give Eddie any reason to even think for another second that he doesn’t want this. Because he does. He wants this, them, together. Probably more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life.

He shakes his head, doesn’t know how to express all those things that are rattling his mind. How to tell Eddie what goes on in his head without stumbling over the words, without twisting his tongue, without making a fool of himself because-

They’ve only just woken up and it’s the first time they’re in bed together and instead of just enjoying the moment, instead of being in the here and now, Steve is already like, 238.700 steps ahead.

“Talk to me, Stevie. Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

Steve slowly relaxes into the pleasant feeling of Eddie’s fingers gently scraping along the back of his neck like he’s trying to coax the words out of him, trying to help slow down his racing thoughts. And somehow, it works.

“I was just-“ Steve takes a deep, grounding breath, “I was just wondering if we should tell the others. About us. A-about us being... boyfriends?”

Steve feels heat spreading in his face, feels the blush creep from his cheeks to his ears.

He didn’t mean to make it sound like a question but they haven’t really defined what they are, yet. They’ve been way too busy making out, kissing, touching – God, how could he not have been completely distracted by the way Eddie kissed him. The way he painted his neck in love-coloured bruises. How he worshipped Steve’s whole body with his lips like he was something special, something worth taking his time with.

And oh, his time he took, that teasing bastard. Made it his mission to kiss every goddamn mole and freckle on Steve’s body. Started counting them with his lips, his tongue, tracing his fingers over every inch of his exposed skin. Kissed him where no one had ever kissed him before, his touch so careful and gentle it only made Steve crazy for more, more, more.

By the time Eddie finally put his mouth on him, Steve was already so far gone that it took not even 30 seconds for him to lose it. But then Eddie didn’t give him a chance to feel embarrassed about it, just kept kissing him, touching him, showering him in sweet little nothings that meant everything to Steve.

“Steve? You with me?”

Hm? Oh.

“S-sorry. What did you say?” Steve smiles apologetically, relieved when Eddie chuckles lightly.

“I said. Yes, boyfriends. If you want that? And yes to telling people. God, I can’t wait to see Dustin’s stupid little face when he hears that I, Eddie Munson, get to date the hottest guy in Hawkins. Hell, the hottest guy in the entire fucking world!”

Eddie balls his fist and punches the air like he’s just won a competition, and the excitement in his voice is infectious, startles a loud and very unsexy snort out of Steve.

“Take that, Dustin! So much for teasing me for my lack of success in the dating department. Ha! Oh, but Mike will be devastated. Everyone knows he’s got the biggest crush on you.”

“What?! Shut up, he does not!” Steve is screeching now, tears in his eyes from laughing so hard.

“You think I’m lying? Ask Lucas! He was the one that told me. Said he doesn’t quite get it but Lucas only has eyes for Max so, of course he doesn’t.”

“Eddie, stop! I don’t believe it. Mike hates me! Sometimes I could swear he’s doing his best to pretend I don’t even exist.”

“Tell yourself whatever makes you feel good, baby,” Eddie winks, smiles so bright it’s like he’s the sun himself. Bright like the sun and just as hot.

(How hot is the sun? Dustin will know, he’ll ask him next time he sees him.)

“Robin will be a tough one, though.”

“Huh? Robin? She’s literally one of us, Eds. Why should she of all people have any problem with us being together?”

Eddie must sense his concern, because he glides his thumb over Steve’s furrowed brows to smooth out the worry lines, kisses him on the forehead like that’s gonna stop his mind from reeling.

Weirdly enough, it does.

“Well, duh! She’ll be so happy for you. It’s me I’m worried about.”

Eddie winks at him and that’s when Steve finally catches on. He huffs out a laugh, rolls his eyes in fake-annoyance, can’t not smile when Eddie offers him the saddest, most convincing puppy eyes he’s ever seen.

“She’s going to kill me if I ever so much as make you mad or, god forbid, sad for whatever reason.”

“Oh that’s easy to avoid. Just never make me mad or sad and you’ll be fine,” Steve mocks him, knows deep down Eddie would never anyway.

“What about-“ Steve realises he hasn’t even thought about that before.

They’re at the trailer. Steve heard Wayne come home from his night shift a while ago, knows the man’s still awake, considering the noise coming from the outside Eddie’s bedroom.

“Do you want to tell Wayne? It’s okay if not. We don’t- We can just pretend nothing has changed. I don’t want him to get mad. Or, or worse.”

Now it’s Eddie’s turn to look worried and Steve gets it. He couldn’t even think about telling his own parents. His father would- No, he’ll just have to keep this from them. Not like they ever really care for what goes on in his life anyway.

“Come on.”

What?

Eddie throws back the blanket they shared, leaving them both naked and exposed to the light of the day, the reality of the night before hitting them both with a rush of childish embarrassment, sending a deep blush into both their faces, both not used to being so vulnerably bare in front of each other.

But Eddie seems to regain his composure quickly, untangles from Steve’s arms and jumps out of the bed.

He grabs two pairs of boxers and sweatpants and shirts from his dresser, tossing half of them at Steve who’s still too stunned to speak.

“Eddie, what-”

“Hurry up, sweety! I smell coffee.”

Steve follows Eddie, nervously fussing with his hair in a weak attempt to make himself more presentable, less... ‘spent the night making out with your nephew’, hiding behind Eddie when Wayne catches sight of them.

“Morning boys. Coffee?” The man grumbles, not even batting an eye when Eddie abruptly turns, grabs Steve by the face, and plants a kiss right on his mouth.

“Yes, please. Me and my boyfriend would love a nice cup of coffee. Don’t we, Stevie?”

Eddie beams at him, a teeth-flashing grin on his face, and Steve wants to kill him. Wants to kiss him even more. Doesn’t know what to say, what to do. Just stands there, frozen in shock, dumbly nodding to answer the question he only vaguely remembers has been asked.

“I see.” Wayne stands up from the armchair he was sitting in, walks over to them, blank expression on his face.

He exhales deeply and Steve holds his breath, not ready for whatever comes next.

“Took you long enough to figure it out.”

Eddie shoots his uncle a look, rolls his eyes, scoffs – and Steve feels the weight of a thousand worlds fall off his shoulders.

(How much does one earth weigh? He’ll ask Dustin. Maybe he-)

“You better treat him right, son. You do not wanna get in trouble with me for hurting him, you hear me?”

Steve’s mouth falls open in disbelief when he realises those words are directed at Eddie and not at him.

That’s what finally cuts the tension. Steve starts laughing, loud and whole-heartedly, feels lighter, better than ever before.

He kisses Eddie again, because he can. They’re in love, and that’s okay.

And as long as they’re together, the rest can go to hell.

#steddiesongfics #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fluff #steddie fic

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bakugoushotwife · 7 months

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kinktober day twenty-eight: uniform kink

>>> all the hating bitches to the back i literally do not want to hear it!!! ttyl xoxo this is for more of my depraved self-ship needs

>>> starring: satoru gojo x curvy!f!reader >>> cw: established relationship, clothed sex, reader and gojo have three kids, breeding/pregnancy kink, uniform kink obviously i swear they tie in bear w me, spankings, doggy >>> wc: 3.6k >>> event masterlist:

it started out innocently enough. well, that’s a lie. it was not innocent, ever—though it wasn’t weird!! you guys are the same age, married for years–with children! it’s only weird when there’s massive age gaps, right? either way, he feels a daunting sense of guilt mixed with devious amounts of excitement shiver down his spine as you step around the corner.

the two of you have been pilfering through boxes all day, trying to clear out the bonus room now that the girls were old enough to have their own rooms. they were visiting uncle megumi while their parents rearranged the house to surprise them, but it seems you’ve gotten a little side-tracked walking down memory lane. the first box was full of pictures from school, some of your earliest moments with satoru memorialized forever in the stills. it does make you a little emotional to think about how far the two of you have come, the years spent together and the things accomplished side by side. these pictures tell your story; the first few days of school where you and satoru—then spitefully called gojo-kun—stood at opposite ends of the frame to be as separated as possible. satoru gives ieiri bunny ears and you’re hugging suguru’s arm–but the two of you are looking at each other. it’s clear to you now that you were trying to make each other jealous, but at the time you would have sworn to the heavens above that you couldn’t stand the man.

now satoru always had a soft spot for you, torturing you was all just fun and games to him—until you started dating a guy from the kyoto school. this, of course, was memorialized in pictures too. there teenage you stood, all dressed up for winter formal, grinning ear to ear as you pose for the camera shoko was operating. you can remember this like it was yesterday, standing in your dorm after exchanging your uniform skirt for an icy blue cocktail dress—you were more nervous for a certain someone to see you than you were to meet up with your date. you knew what you were doing when you picked the dress out, and its effect was clearly captured with satoru’s bulging eyes, red face, and gaping mouth in the background. you pass that one to your husband after taking a few good chuckles at it, remembering shoko turning around her little canon camera to show you the picture and how good you felt after seeing gojo-kun’s reaction.

he waves the picture in his hands, whistling in the same way he did as soon as that camera fell to shoko’s side. he looks at the picture with fondness, remembering it as the moment he decided to get serious about you. the warmth in his cheeks and jealousy squeezing his heart as your date came to pick you up had him reeling to come up with a way to stop you from going.

“he gonna make you go halfsies on dinner?” he calls after you, and embarrassment stung your cheeks. your date, just as petrified of gojo as he should be, shakes his head no.

“n–no, we’re going on full stomachs.” he replies, clutching a pathetic bouquet in his hands. gojo laughs. that bouquet was three dollars maximum, and you were a $30 arrangement at the least. and too cheap to take you on a real date? he shouldn’t be surprised, but he can’t help but press on at the horror on your face and the desperation in his gut.

“ah, daddy didn’t give you any money? i’ll pay you enough to get yourself a real nice dinner if you leave the lady with me.” he sings, holding out a few yen notes for him. you’re mortified, sure this was another one of his stunts to embarrass you— but your date was easily bought.

“but–”

“b-but–” gojo rolled his eyes in annoyance, slapping the money in his hand. “i recommend the sushi place on the corner.” he turns, beaming at you, slipping his arm through yours when the kyoto boy drops— without skipping a beat. “c’mon. i believe there’s a dance tonight?” he pulls his sunglasses down his nose a little bit to let you see the mischief and excitement swirling in his eyes.

you bite the inside of your cheek. you want to punch him in the arm–so you do–and then you nod. it sure took him long enough. “you better make this worth it, gojo-kun.”

he grins. “call me satoru and i’ll make it all worth it, pretty lady.” his voice is a low rumble in his chest instead of his usual light tone. it makes your heart skip a beat and that warmth burn on your cheeks again.

you never call him gojo-kun again. the rest is history–a viewable version with the many grainy phone selfies of dates and onslaught of school photographs and even an old camcorder with some footage of you practicing your technique on him made it to this spare room. you’re amazed at how nostalgic it all feels, pulling out a picture of you and satoru on graduation day. he’s smiling and pressing a kiss to your cheek—making the switch to a blindfold instead of his circular specs. his hair stands due to the fabric, but you liked the new look; especially when he pulled the blindfold up to wink at you and let you see his sunshine. he’s slumped over you, arms wrapped around your chest. you’re grinning, leaning back against him with your hands tucked into his hold on you. it’s a sweet picture—but you’re focused on the next few. you’re in the same position, but he sneaks his hand to the dip of your waist, then your hip, finally ending with a picture of you blushing from the invisible hand grabbing a handful of your ass. you pass those to satoru too, watching his expression as he flips through them, admiring the youth on your faces.

“god you made that uniform so sexy.” he snorts, eyes dancing over the way the black fabric clung to you. at the time, he wondered if you’d ordered it that tight just to taunt him, but now he knew there was no amount of clothes that could’ve hidden that bangin’ bod. he shakes his head as he remembers just how horny he had been–not that much has changed even after three kids and over fifteen years together. “had so many fantasies of you in that thing.”

you arch a brow, “really now?” you ask, clearly intrigued. you had seen the familiar bundle of fabric folded at the bottom of the box. “what kind of fantasies?” you purr, making the hairs on the back of neck stand up, the effects you had fifteen years ago just as efficacious now.

how honest could he even be with that answer? yes, back then—even as your equal, he envisioned punishing you as your sensei in that little skirt—oh the ways he would have defiled you in yaga’s classroom if you had let him. he’d wondered if you would lean into the slutty schoolgirl act, if you would call him sensei instead of daddy. or would you think that was too much given his current occupation. not like it was the uniform that he liked, just the way you looked in it—and the way it felt to be young and obsessed with you. his obsession has never wavered, its just had to become more subdued as you raise your children —wanting to be a good example and all, he’s nothing but a loving and proper man in front of them. buuuuut. they were with megumi for a few more hours. “what other kinda fantasies about schoolgirls are there, gorgeous?”

“you perv! gives gojo-sensei a whole new meaning.” you tease him, watching in sheer enjoyment as his cheeks darken a few shades and he crinkles his nose at you in embarrassment.

“only if you say it like that.” he mumbles in his defense. great, now you think he’s a sicko. he turns back to his box of collectibles, pilfering through what he actually cared to keep now—even though he hasn’t seen any of it since your oldest was born. it’s mostly to hide his shame as he continues to think about you in that little getup with that matured body of yours. he wonders if the material would stretch to accommodate your wider hips and fatter ass. he wonders if the stretchmarks you’ve developed from carrying his children would peek over the waistband of the skirt that’s sure to ride up a little due to your widened thighs. he’s so immersed in the thought of you that he doesn’t hear you slip around the corner to tug on the old outfit.

it certainly doesn’t fit the same, but it fits. there’s not a shred of modesty to be found– the once form fitting turtleneck top now a cropped version due to the strain from your chest. you hadn’t realized just how much your body had changed beside the obvious pounds on the scale and the marks on your skin—but your mid-thigh length skirt was now a navy mini, showing the dimples of your thighs and the bottom of your ass cheeks. you were no longer the girl from those pictures, but instead a woman who bears the beautiful changes of giving three gorgeous gojo’s life. your husband has always been a massive fan of what he calls “enhancements” to his favorite areas—loving the fluffy stomach for him to rub and the hips that fill his hands. he traces your stretch marks to soothe his racing mind at night, snuggling into your heavy chest for warmth and ultimate comfort in his free time. you know he’s only fallen deeper in love with you and it makes your heart warm with appreciation now that the differences between the young you and the current have been made so clear. you almost give up on the idea altogether, but your husband’s voice calls out for you, so you step around the corner before you can doubt yourself any more.

he was giving you the sweetest little face—holding up your youngest’s hospital baby blanket with only fondness in his eyes. that is until it registers, as his eyes follow your bulging chest struggling against the fabric, the sides of your hips spilling over the top of the skirt—barely covering anything at all. his face turns red and the blanket falls from his hands, back into the box from whence it came. oh the shame he feels as his cock processes this shock too—making him hiss at the sudden tightness in his pants, biting his lip as he looks at you. it worked on you then and you make it your bitch now, absolutely stunning him beyond words. and he’s never short on things to say. you look even better than anything his imagination drummed up for him. fuck, you are so sexy—you only get better with age.

the way he looks at you makes you feel like he’s falling in love all over again—eyes bouncing around your frame like he can’t make up his mind to settle on one area. your face burns under his amorous stare, but you fold your hands behind your back and sway to let him admire you. it makes your whole body warm and your cunt clench around nothing the longer he sits and stares–biting his lip, clearly in no hurry to end this moment. as beautiful as he makes you feel, you just can’t help but tease him slightly. you know he’ll pay it back in kind. “do you like it, gojo-sensei?”

“oh aijichan, can’t you tell?” he hums, eyes falling to his clear erection before they flicker back to you—overcast and darker than usual. he usually playfully calls you his lover, but the addition of the suffix lets you know how thoroughly he’s enjoying your little act. he pats his thigh, spreading his legs even wider across the luxurious office chair. you giggle a little bit, excitement flooding your veins as you walk over to meet him. how you swing your hips and flutter your lashes is not lost on him, in fact he feels the painful buildup pressing against your thigh as you sit sideways on his, looping an arm across his shoulders. “you were such a good little girl in school. i always wondered what it would be like to treat you like a bad one.” he offers, his voice a permanent purr when it comes to the naughty things he presses to your ear.

it sends a shudder down your spine, and you can’t help but press your chest closer to him in an automatic response. he hooks his hand around your waist, feeling the dip of your waist. he doesn’t miss the reaction—and he loves that you like it. his hand squeezes the fat on your hips, helping you off his lap before standing to full height to tower above you.

“then bend it over, little lady.” he suggests with a wiggle of his brow, pushing the office chair closer to you with his signature smugness. his eyes sparkle with an erratic excitement, gripping the back of the chair with a tight hold—leaving his impressions in the fabric. you giggle and lean over the chair as instructed. a giddiness floods your veins while he walks circles around you, humming approvingly. “i think ten should teach you your lesson, hm?”

you wiggle your ass preemptively and nod just to be safe. “yes sir, i think that’ll fix everything.” you purr, feeling one harsh spank to your cheek. it sends a jolt of excitement pulsating to your core, and you know that the results will be evident once he moves your skirt. the arms of the chair dig into your stomach—but it just adds to the sensation as he layers a few intense slaps to your ass.

“well?” he talks over your loud squeals and happy giggles. “aren’t you going to say thank you?” he hums, shoving your skirt up to your waist to expose the growing redness and incriminating wetness all over your bottom half. he chuckles fondly—you surely do impress. he hits you once more.

“yes–mmf-” you moan out at the stinging sensation. it’s so much more pleasurable on your bare skin, you can’t help but arch back into him, giving him such a beautiful view of your glistening hole and handprint-branded ass. he slaps it again, enjoying the recoil. “thank you sensei, feels so good~”

he kneads the irritated flesh a little in between the spanks–he’s not heartless, after all. you’re his wife, no amount of roleplay could make him forget the love that swells in his heart for you; especially with that beautiful ass of yours. “that’s seven—can you take your last three, naughty little thing?”

“mhm, i can take it.” you assure him, finding it wholesome and sexy that he still checks on you even if the dirty talk never skips a beat. from the way you wiggle your bruising ass for him, he knows you’re loving this. he cups his hand under your pussy just to check even though your shiny thighs tell him all he needs to know. he’s delighted when your essence coats his hand anyway, giggling with schoolgirl excitement. hey, that’s your part—

“seems the punishment’s only making you badder.” he hums in approval, hurrying his last few spanks up in order to finally have you. he makes them count though, loud and stinging worse than a wasp—though you can’t recall the last time a bee sting made you feel that good. he can’t remember the last time you two had the house to yourselves, and he planned to put that all of that alone time to good use. you scream out and shudder at the delicious agony, tossing a look over your shoulder to see the sheer pleasure on his face–tufts of hair hanging over his vivid eyes. “seems we’ll just have to move onto something that suits you, aijichan.”

you clamp down reflexively at his statement, nodding to your undetermined punishment, if such a thing existed under your husband’s treatment. he frees his erection with a little grunt of relief, sliding it through your sloppy lips instantly. he sighs at the feeling—but you whine at the lack of relief. the fire in your gut was burning so hot—you couldn’t take any more of the waiting.

“aw, what is it, little girl?” he mockingly pouts with you. “so needy for your sensei you could cry?” he arches a brow–sheathing his impressive length into the hilt without any more wasted time. he closes his eyes at the feeling of you, just as tight and warm as the first time he had you. it’s wild to him how three kids haven't changed how amazing it is to have you wrapped around him.

you do cry out at how perfect he fits inside—curving into every gummy spot that needs him with hardly any effort. the sound you make is like music to his ears. you haven’t been able to be this loud since ieiri took the kids to the beach for a weekend four and a half years ago—and that’s how your youngest happened. not to say you haven’t been intimate since, just more…cautious and certainly more quiet. but that does give him an idea.

he starts to move, grabbing a decent handful of your hair to make a handle out of, pulling you up into a pretty arch. “got one more in you, princess?” he coos, leaning over your body to give you short but powerful thrusts. you can tell from his tone and your regular nickname that playtime was over—he was too consumed by the feeling of you coupled with the undying love you bring out of him to keep up the pet names, but he could succumb to the flash of memories flooding his brain. falling in love with you, making you his for the first time which was also the day he decided he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. he can see the day you played strip uno—which was something he made up just to be cheesy. he remembers your wedding day, you looked so beautiful and were already a few weeks pregnant with your first baby together–your son. god, the memories of you swollen and whiny—

“i—are you serious?” you giggle, a little out of breath from the rigorous way he rocks into you, keeping your asscheeks separated so he didn’t have any resistance. you knew what he was asking, and you know your heart flutters at the idea of having another one despite agreeing to stop after the ones you have. “i thought three was all you could handle?”

“i changed my mind. wanna see you big again. i miss it—’nd i can handle anything.” he says in between the sound of his balls hitting your ass. you can hear the pout in his voice, “you don’t want one?”

“didn’t say that.” you struggle to form responses, knuckles turning white as you grip the desk in front of you. “just wanted—to be sure—you’re sure!” you squeal with every bruising thwap to your cervix, eyes scrunched shut. you’re almost so gone you might just agree to anything, but the idea of one more pregnancy, one more addition to the family, one more round of being endlessly spoiled as you wait for another gorgeous baby to arrive—it doesn’t sound so bad. it sounds perfect actually, and his words only egg you on. you clench around him in spasms, nodding. “gimme–”

he chuckles wildly in pride. he would say he loves bully-fucking you into getting his way, but he heard you on the phone with your girlfriend the other day. you were missing that feeling of a new baby as much as he was—and he’s here to please. he moves your hips back to meet his, ass bouncing at the force. your squeals slip into screams and he’s fucking you as hard as he can in order to get more of it: of the sounds, the feeling of your womb keeping him from going any further, the way your pussy flutters around him to tell him you’re so close to cumming—everything was sending him reeling.

“cum for me first—then’ll give you everything you want, baby.” he encourages, giving you a cocky, “yeahhhh that’s my girl.” when he feels you coat around him—gasping out moans as your legs wiggle and jump. it’s not long after that that he’s gripping your hair even harder, balls drawing up close to him just to spurt his seed as deep as it will go—hoping that his sperm is still just as successful as it’s been known to be. he helps shove it deeper with a few more rolls of his hips, to which you shiver and whine due to oversensitivity.

he pats your ass affectionately, leaning over you again to kiss your cheek as you both sit in the moment and try to catch your breath. he lets your hair fall from his fingers and gently brushes it out of your face, grinning his usual giddy grin. “you’re even sexier now, you know? feel like it’s every day, but even teen satoru would—”

“allllllright thank you, honey, that’s sweet.” you chuckle, shaking your head as he pulls out. he scoops you over his shoulder and shakes his head.

“whaaaaat–you’re a fucking milf–” he slaps your ass playfully as he sashays toward your room with you. “that i still have–mmm forty-five more minutes give or take to knock up again.” he guesstimates, tossing you on the mattress and crawling over you—determined as ever.

#kylee's kinktober event #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #kyleewritesjjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo #gojo smut #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo saturo #saturo gojo

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no-longer-humin · 8 months

Text

Bsd Men reacting to crying when they yelled at you(accidentally)

A/n: Got lectured by my uncle today for something I didn’t do so time to write so shit to cope 🙂

Dazai

Dazai felt bad after seeing the tears silently fall from your eyes as he stopped talking. He had, had a bad day at work and didn’t realize he’d started raising his voice at you. He noticed you were trembling slightly trying not to make a sound. He knew the reason behind this reaction had to do with your past and your childhood.

“Hey, hey I didn’t mean too-” He started trying to place a hand on your shoulder but stopped noticing have you took a small step back fresh tears forming in your eyes. Unsure of what to do Dazai left the room momentarily. Knowing you weren’t one to eat if drink anything when you cried or were done crying he opted to find a comfort item of yours.

He returned shortly after with the item and placed it in front of you. He also grabbed the remote to the television and threw on a show he knew made you laugh. He was trying his best to calm you down and make you feel better and it kind of worked.

You were still tense not feeling super comfortable around the brunette at the moment and he knew that so he left waiting for you to be ready to come to him. Dazai respected your boundaries and that’s what matters.

Atsushi(this man gives off the vibe he doesn’t like being yelled at either)

Atsushi always tried not to yell at others, specifically you. Some people would snap back in a meaner tone, others would ignore him, but something’s people would cry.

So a bad day at work and someone wanting attention when all Atsushi wanted was to rest made him snap. “Just leave me alone would you?!” He yelled before stepping back surprised by his own outburst.

“Oh…yeah sorry I’ll just, I’ll just go,” you muttered in response going to your room while fighting back tears. You closed the door laid on the bed curled into a ball hugging a pillow/stuffed animal and quietly cried.

Due to past experiences you never locked your door no matter what you were doing or if you wanted some privacy. So when Atsushi knocked lightly on your door before entering you quickly sat up wiping your tears away trying ti look as though you hadn’t been crying.

“Are you alright?” Atsushi asked, genuine concern written on his face. You could tell he was sorry for yelling and you nodded even though it wasn’t entirely true. He knew you weren’t ready to talk yet and he nodded before leaving the room.

Atsushi came back with a glass of water setting it down on the nightstand. “Let me know if you need anything else,” he said leaving again. He glanced back at you lying on the bed and sighed before closing the door. He knew he messed up but he would wait until you were ready to trust him again.

Ranpo ⚠️Spoilers for his past if your not there yet⚠️

Ranpo hates getting yelled at just as much as anyone. You know he doesn’t like feeling worthless or useless. However he never was really aware with his tone.

His usual playful, childish personality wasn’t there today. He messed up during a mission and wound up arresting the wrong guy resulting in three more people getting murdered. He felt as though he’d disappointed everyone. He thrives off of praise and doing a good job, so when he didn’t do a good job and therefore no one reacted to him he felt upset.

You asked about how work was that day and he shot you a glare as he stormed off into his room, slamming the door. You could sense that he was angry and you couldn’t tell at what. The general feeling of anger radiating off a person being enough to bring you to tears.

“Ranpo?” You asked slowly opening his door.

“Go away I don’t want to talk to you right now.” His words and aggravated tone hit you like a truck an unsettling feeling forming in your gut as you left the room. Going to your room trying to rid the words from the constant replay in your head as tears slowly formed in your eyes.

Ranpo came to check in you and apologize but that’s when you saw you crying. His eyes widened in shock and he immediately realized he was the reason you were in this state. He tried to apologize but you weren’t ready to trust him yet. You turned away from him curling into a ball hugging your knees to your chest trying to disappear and Ranpo backed off. He knew he couldn’t do anything and just had to wait it out. It took a lot of effort considering how much of an attention weaker Ranpo is but he made it to the next day and you were ready to talk to him again.

A/n pt.2: How the fuck do I write for other characters idk their personalities 😭

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brbsoulnomming · 7 months

Text

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies Part 20

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Robin and Steve shower together the next morning.

And that's - fine, it's fine.

He was right about Steve being a resourceful guy, it seems, because he can faintly hear the sound of smacking and giggling and an oh my God before he finishes getting dressed and books it out of Steve's bedroom. He doesn't have to feel guilty about preventing them from their celebratory activities anymore, at least, and he just -

He just won't think about it.

It doesn't matter what he wants, or what he thinks he might be able to have. It matters that he wants to be in this party, that he wants to keep Steve and Robin, and you can't have two romantic soulmates, it's just not -

"What?" he mutters viciously to himself. "It's just not done? When have you ever cared about that?"

When it comes to this, apparently. Maybe you can have two romantic soulmates, maybe Steve wouldn't mind, but Eddie, well. Eddie can't, and there's too many other things he needs to deal with right now to be able to focus on figuring out what the gut feeling that it'd be a disaster really means.

He gets coffee started for them instead, makes himself a bowl of oatmeal, and his knee is only bouncing in agitation a little when Steve and Robin come down to the kitchen.

Steve notices it immediately, because of course he does. "You worried about telling your uncle?"

Eddie grimaces. "Worried about a lot of things right now, man, it's getting to be kind of a list."

Steve tips his head. "Eh, fair."

Robin hums as she pours herself a cup of coffee. "Want to talk about it?"

He opens his mouth to immediately decline, then pauses, actually considering that. No way in hell is he going to try to process anything related to their soulmate arrangement with them, but… everything else? Yeah, he could actually see that.

"Not right now," he says finally. "I'm gonna have enough talking to do with Uncle Wayne later."

They don't push him. Instead, they eat breakfast together, with Robin's foot pressed up against his and Steve's hand on his knee. He kind of wants to say something about it, but he doesn't know whether what comes out of his mouth will be a thank you or a joke to try to brush it off, and he's honestly not sure he wants to draw attention to it.

Eddie's always been all easy, casual physical contact, hands gripping shoulders and arms slung around his friends and playful shoves or nudges, but this is -

This isn't loud and boisterous and purposefully over the top, this is quiet and sincere and done almost on instinct.

It's strange, how different it feels.

And how much it works to calm him down, despite both of them being the source of one of his swirls of chaotic thoughts.

After breakfast, Robin hugs him goodbye and they head out. Steve's going to pick Dustin up, drop Robin off at the high school, and then hopefully come back with Uncle Wayne. The rest of the hoard is making themselves scarce today, so Eddie doesn't have an audience for seeing his uncle again.

He'd been a little surprised that there wasn't an argument about looping his uncle in, but Nancy had pointed out that if they didn't tell him something soon, his insistence on putting up missing person fliers was likely to put some kind of pressure on the police to pursue Eddie's case more.

Eddie'd been all for not having a gaggle of teenagers around for this before, but now that he's alone, just waiting - look, he might not want an audience when he has to ask his uncle if he hates him now, but he kind of wants one in the leading up to it so he doesn't have to keep thinking about all the different possible ways this is going to go.

Logically, he knows that Uncle Wayne isn't going to hate him. He stopped doubting the love his uncle had for him a long time ago. Jesus knows Eddie's tested him in so many ways since then, but it's never been this.

It's never been a dead girl in their living room, and Eddie no where to be found.

Even if he doesn't think Eddie did it - Eddie still just left, just left him to deal with all of that, and then he went back and helped destroy their home a little more, made sure it was really uninhabitable.

He wouldn't blame his uncle for having some misgivings about everything, about him.

Eddie's not sure how long he's been sitting there when he hears the unmistakable sound of his uncle's truck. It's a sound he's heard almost every day since he was twelve, usually when he was blearily shoving cereal into his mouth or burrowing deeper in his blankets to steal just a little bit more sleep. It's always been accompanied by the crunch of gravel, first under the tires and then from Uncle Wayne's footsteps, and hearing it pull smoothly into the Harrington driveway now feels almost as otherworldly as that first trip into the Upside Down.

He's been in a little bit of a bubble, here. He doesn't feel like he's being overly dramatic when he thinks that the last time he heard his uncle's truck, he was a different person than he is now, and those two lives colliding is kind of a head trip.

His hands are trembling a little, and he stands up partly just for something to do, something other than sit there.

What if this is it? What if this is finally the thing that's too much, what if Eddie finally went too far, after all these years? There's a lot of things that he knows his uncle has forgiven him for, but a murder charge is asking an awful lot, what if he -

His uncle comes into view.

Steve is saying something, and there's some kind of response from Dustin, but Eddie can't hear any of it.

"Hi Uncle Wayne," he manages to get out.

Uncle Wayne drops the boxes he'd been carrying. They must have been empty, because there's barely a sound as they hit the floor, but Eddie doesn't really care, because his uncle is striding across the room in long, purposeful steps. He's there between one breath and the next, strong arms wrapped around Eddie as he pulls him into the kind of hug he hasn't done since Eddie got too tall to be tucked in under his chin.

His uncle's breath hitches, and it hits him that he's crying, and oh, fuck, that does Eddie in completely. He clings to him, trying his best to stifle his own sobs, hearing them come out in little hiccuping gasps anyway.

"We'll, uh, just go start loading things," he hears Steve say, and he registers the sound of footsteps walking away and the garage door opening and closing, but it just makes him hold onto his uncle tighter.

Somehow, they find their way to the couch, and then Eddie does have to pull away. He's healing up nicely, but there isn't a good angle for him to stay in his uncle's hold for much longer without something hurting.

Uncle Wayne notices it, of course, and his eyes scan over Eddie as they sit down. Eddie watches him register the dark sweats, the gray sweatshirt - neither of which are his, obviously - then move back up to his face.

"Are you hurt?" Uncle Wayne asks.

"I'm healing up," Eddie replies. "It, uh. It's kind of a long story. And a pretty unbelievable one."

Uncle Wayne raises his eyebrows. "Son, they've been trying to tell me that you hurt that girl and those other kids. No matter what you have to tell me, it's never going to be more unbelievable than that."

Tears sting at Eddie's eyes again, and he has to look down to try to get himself under control enough that he can actually talk.

Then he tells him.

Not everything - there's a lot of stuff that happened before spring break that he still isn't super clear on, and some things that aren't his to tell, but he gets out the basics. Hawkins Lab doing shady things, how they've been behind the strange deaths and the mall burning down, the existence of the Upside Down, the real story behind the Creels, that it was Henry Creel behind the deaths. The NDAs that the party had to sign, how everything's been covered up. How the others found him hiding, looked after him, looped him into everything. Nancy's vision, their plan to stop it, how it only half worked. Steve getting injured, Steve getting the others to stand up for him at the town hall meeting, Steve carrying him out of the Upside Down, Steve having him stay here to recover and stay hidden - so much of Steve that he has to clamp his mouth closed when he catches himself, cheeks flushed.

Uncle Wayne looks at him for a long moment. "Anything else you want to tell me?"

Eddie groans. There's no way his uncle doesn't already know, he clearly just wants to make Eddie say it. "Steve's my soulmate. Platonic soulmate," he adds quickly. "Steve's got two, and he's already found his romantic soulmate."

Uncle Wayne's brows draw down a little, like he's not sure if he should be concerned about that or not.

"It's okay," Eddie says without thinking, then has a brief moment of panic before he realizes it's not a lie. "It's okay," he says again. "I, uh. It's been good here. You know, apart from all the stitches and hiding from the police and not knowing if you were okay."

Uncle Wayne huffs out a disbelieving little laugh. "Oh, apart from that, huh?"

"Sorry about the trailer," Eddie says, very quietly.

"Oh, son," Uncle Wayne murmurs gruffly, reaching out to grip his shoulder and give him a gentle shake. "Now that I know you're okay, there's not a single thing in there that I can't afford to be without, all right?"

Eddie nods, afraid he'll sound too choked up if he says anything.

"I'm glad you're doing good here," Uncle Wayne says. "The fuss has died down, with the earthquake and all, but that Carver kid's got a small handful of diehards who're looking to stir up trouble."

Eddie grimaces. "Do me a favor and don't tell Steve that?"

His uncle raises one brow. "You trying to hide stuff from your soulmate?"

"It's not that I want to, it's just… Steve's protective. He's already saying that he won't claim his soulmate rights if I get found out before they work out a plan, that he'll go with me to prove I'm telling the truth."

Uncle Wayne frowns. "And you don't want him to?"

Eddie huffs out a laugh, dry and humorless. "I don't think the truth is going to matter to them much if they don't have someone else ready to blame them on, and I don't want Steve to go through that for nothing."

His uncle gives a thoughtful little hum. "You ask me, seems like Steve doesn't think it'd be for nothing."

Ugh, he should have known his uncle would be on Steve's side. He can't honestly say he minds, considering their side is the side that wants to get Eddie's name cleared, but still. "Yeah, well, like I said, Steve's just protective."

"Just protective." Uncle Wayne raises one eyebrow. "You gonna look me in the eye and tell me it ain't because that boy cares about you?"

Eddie can feel himself flushing almost immediately. Well, yeah. It's obvious Steve cares about him. They haven't dropped any kind of words about it yet - he doesn't think either of them are ready to actually say it, or to hear it - but Steve's actions kind of speak for themselves, and Eddie hopes that his own actions have done the same.

"No," Eddie admits. "I'm not going to tell you that."

He fiddles with the straps on his wrist brace, and his uncle - always able to figure out when there's something more going on - waits patiently.

"It's not my story to tell," Eddie says finally. "But Steve has been through a lot. He says it'd be fine, and I know he believes that, but - he also sat there with a straight face and told me he knows how to take a beating and keep going, and he'd rather it be him than any of us."

Surprise colors Uncle Wayne's expression for a moment, and then something in his eyes goes tight. Eddie recognizes that look. It's something like the one he'd gotten when he found out something that happened to Eddie - usually something that his dad taught him, or the handful of times his mom had gotten so drunk he'd had to watch over her in the bathroom, or the times he'd almost had a deal go bad. The things that his uncle's always said no kid should have to go through.

"This has been happening since 83," Eddie admits quietly. "They've all been dealing with this alone."

His uncle twists to look at the garage door for a long moment before turning back. "You call me if you get found," he says, more serious than Eddie's ever seen him. "You hear me? I'll be right there with the both of you."

Eddie swallows roughly, nodding.

"Promise me," Uncle Wayne insists. "No matter what it is, no matter what kind of thing happens - you call me. None of you are alone."

It takes Eddie a moment to get his voice back, but then he manages to get out, "I promise."

He'll have to talk it over with the others, of course, but he's pretty sure Steve and Robin are already on board, and he's got confidence that the three of them can convince the rest of the party.

Which is, admittedly, a little bit of a trip - that he's part of a monster hunting group now, that when he thinks about deciding as a party it's real. Ridiculously, that gets a little bit of a smile tugging at his lips.

Uncle Wayne looks closely at him. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

"We're not alone anymore, either," he says, hears it come out almost shy, and makes a face at himself. "Just, uh. They've kind of decided I belong to them, and I'm not going to be the one to tell Nancy Wheeler or Erica Sinclair no, so."

"Good," his uncle says decisively, as if that's that, which -

Well.

Eddie guesses it is.

Uncle Wayne claps his hands on his knees, pushes himself up. "Let's see how those two have managed to get along."

He ambles over to the garage door, sticks his head out and calls for Steve to get on back in here.

There must be some kind of argument - Eddie can't hear it, but he's assuming there is, because somehow Steve manages to get Dustin to stay in the garage while he comes in alone.

Eddie stays where he is on the couch, trying to tell himself that there's no reason to be nervous. Steve'd talked to his uncle before, had managed to convince him to come to his house, but - that'd been before Uncle Wayne knew everything, knew they were soulmates.

It doesn't help that Steve's clearly a little nervous when he comes back in, too - or maybe he's picking up on Eddie's own nerves.

"So," Uncle Wayne says, looking Steve up and down. "You the one my nephew was always talking with?"

Eddie watches Steve's throat work as he swallows.

"Yes, sir," Steve says. And then he gets this look in his eyes - one that Eddie recognizes, that says he's terrified of what he's about to do but he's doing it anyway. "I'm the other little jackass with no impulse control."

Eddie lets out a squawk, the sound of which is drowned out by his uncle straight up guffawing, loud wheezing laughs that break the tension in the air.

Steve looks far too pleased with himself, even though his smile is this little tentative thing, so Eddie kicks out his foot to nudge Steve's ankle with his toes.

"I told you not to try to charm my uncle!" he protests.

"Charm me, huh?" Uncle Wanye asks, raising his eyebrows at Steve, who looks a little sheepish.

Uncle Wayne shakes his head. "Boy, you brought my kid back to me, and from what Eddie says, you've been keeping him safe here. There's nothing else you could do that'd top that, not as long as you keep treating him well."

Steve's quiet for a moment, and Eddie's pretty sure he wants to protest that it wasn't just him, but then he just nods.

"I'll take care of him. I promise," Steve says, holding out his hand.

Uncle Wayne reaches out to take it, giving it a firm shake before he pulls Steve into a hug.

Eddie can't see his uncle's face, but Steve looks at him all wide eyed and stiff, and Eddie just grins at him, shrugging.

He's already gearing up to tease him, but - then Steve takes a deep, shuddering breath, and hugs Uncle Wayne back, arms winding around him and holding on tight, and something about the sight of it makes Eddie avert his eyes.

Steve's parents haven't been home this whole time. Eddie hasn't asked - no one's mentioned it, like everyone's used to them being gone, and he kind of figures if Steve had anything more to say other than what he already had, other than what's obvious, he would.

But now he makes a note to mention it to his uncle, later. Now he thinks that as much as he's been adopted into this party - maybe his soulmate needs to be folded into Eddie's own little family of two.

They don't talk about it when they separate. Uncle Wayne just slaps Steve on the back, tells him to go finish up loading the truck, and he'll be out in a minute.

But when his uncle turns back to him, there's a look in his eye that tells him maybe Eddie won't have to mention anything at all.

"Maybe you could stay for dinner?" Eddie finds himself asking.

Uncle Wayne clears his throat, the way he does when he's feeling a little emotional about something. "Your boy already asked me, but it's better if I don't stay long. I don't want anyone to get to wondering what I'm doing lingering here."

It's a good point, Eddie knows it is, but he feels like he's fifteen and pissy again. "I hate this," he mutters. "I hate you being at that school."

Uncle Wayne cracks a grin. "Oh, I won't be. I've only been there trying to find a trace of you. Now that I know you're safe? Our insurance will be putting me up in the best hotel room Hawkins has. I knew paying the extra for earthquake coverage would come in handy."

And fuck if that doesn't make him feel worlds better.

"I'll leave the number with your friends," Uncle Wayne promises.

Eddie stands to hug him again, burying his face in his neck and holding on as tight as he can, like he never wants to let go.

Eventually, though, they have to pull away, and his uncle heads out into the garage.

There's a few beats of silence, as Eddie pulls in one ragged breath after another, trying to get himself back under control.

Then the garage door opens again, and Steve comes back in.

"Everything okay?" Eddie asks, unable to stop himself from feeling a little jittery again.

"Fine, Dustin went back to the school with Wayne. I'll follow them in a bit to pick up him and Robin, I just, uh. Wanted to check on you," Steve says, making a little face at himself. "How did it go?"

Eddie can't help but be a little touched. "It went good. He believed me."

Steve nods. "Like you thought he would?"

Eddie - can't actually agree to that, he realizes. He's not confident enough that it would be the truth.

When he stays silent, Steve seems to get it.

"Will you tell me?" Steve asks, which - apparently is now their code for I'm not going to ask directly so you don't have to lie but I'll listen if you want.

Or at least, Eddie's going to assume it is, since he said it to Steve first.

"I just-" Eddie starts, then pauses to take a deep breath. "I know I'm a lot. There's a lot that my uncle's had to put up with, cause of me. I pushed him a lot the first year I moved in with him, trying to figure out what would be too much for him, but it never was. I guess I wondered if maybe this would be it."

"But it wasn't?" Steve asks.

Eddie shakes his head. "No. It wasn't."

Steve just looks at him for a moment, like he's considering something. Then, "You're not too much, Eds."

Fuck.

"Don't you start, man," Eddie warns teasingly.

Steve huffs out a laugh. "All right, all right. Let's get you upstairs before I head out."

He thinks about protesting, but really, he's kind of grateful to be able to lean on Steve a little. Eddie doesn't want to admit to overdoing it, but he's pretty sure he overdid it.

"Oh, hey, I got something for you," Steve says once they're in the bedroom.

Eddie raises an eyebrow. "But you already got me my uncle," he teases. "You keep going like this and I'll get spoiled."

Steve rolls his eyes, but Eddie kind of means it. The longer he stays with Steve and Robin, the more he just. Kind of never wants to leave - or if he does, he wants Steve and Robin to move with him, he wants to stay in the same room and sleep in the same bed and have their toothbrushes in the same holder and his Yoohoo next to Steve's Gatorade and Robin's grape soda in the fridge.

It's stupidly domestic, which means Eddie's mostly trying to ignore it and just enjoy it while he has it.

Still, Steve's ears are a little bit pink, which gets him off that train of thought and makes him perk up. "Wait, seriously? When did you even have time to get me anything?"

"I got it a long time ago." Steve heads over to his desk, pulling open a drawer and rummaging around in it. Then he holds out a wooden box, pressing it into his hands. "Wanted to give it to you while we're alone."

Sure enough, it looks old. The wood is worn and a little dusty, and the hinges squeak a little as he opens it. It opens almost like a book, unfolding in a way that would make it easy to prop up on display - and when he gets a better look at it, it clearly is meant to display. There's a glass lining set in each half of the box, like two picture frames, except they hold a small collection of preserved butterflies.

It's, well. It's pretty fucking cool, and Eddie looks up at Steve, speechless.

Steve sits on the bed, rolling his pant leg up to the knee. He gestures at it, and Eddie can just make out Butterflies are so annoying, I hate them.

What.

That's.

Eddie just keeps looking at him, afraid that if he says anything it's going to be to tell Steve that god, he loves him.

He loves him.

"Oh," he manages to get out, shaky and breathless.

"Yeah," Steve says. "That was back when my dad still gave me advice sometimes and I gave a shit about following it. He said you should always have gifts ready for your soulmate, so they know you're thinking of them. Pretty sure he meant like diamonds and flowers and shit to bring back after you've been gone, but, you know. I figured this would be the kind of thing you like."

"You figured right. Fourteen year old me would have gone nuts over this," Eddie says, running his fingers over the glass. "Thank you, Steve. This, uh. Shit, this really means a lot."

Steve smiles at him, all pleased and fond, and the silence rests nice and comfy between them for a moment.

Then Steve pulls in a breath and lets it out, and Eddie's pretty sure he recognizes that particular blend of uncertainty and determination, and oh.

Oh no.

"Steve," he whispers. It comes out a little desperate, half a warning and half a plea.

He's not sure what he means by it. He's not even sure he knows what Steve's going to say - it could be a million things, honestly, just because Eddie is painfully aware that he can't keep convincing himself that their bond is at all platonic, at least on his end, doesn't mean that Steve's thinking the same thing.

Eddie just knows that he can't. He's not ready for this, he's not ready for any of it.

Steve seems to get something out of Eddie just saying his name, though, because he swallows, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "Can we just think about it?"

Eddie finds himself nodding before he really realizes. "Yeah," he agrees. "Yeah, okay."

"Okay," Steve repeats.

Steve heads out to go get Dustin and Robin after that, and Eddie gets settled on the bed, taking another dose of meds and staring at the little preserved butterflies.

Think about it.

Fuck, everything has just been so much these last few weeks, and Eddie'd really, really like it to just… not. He's exhausted, all wrung out and hollow, and he just wants to close his eyes and not think about anything, but.

He said he would, and he wasn't lying when he said it, so he guesses he has to.

It's not that he can't share Steve with Robin, not by a long shot. He's well aware that it's Robin sharing Steve with him - and he knows that even if it were the other way around, even if Steve and Robin were platonic soulmates and Steve and Eddie were romantic, it would still be Robin sharing Steve with him. Steve and Robin have something that goes deeper than anything, something that Eddie couldn't touch even if he wanted, and he… he kind of likes that. The part of Steve that is Robin is just what makes him Steve, and Eddie's pretty on board with that.

It's just that he knows himself. He knows that if he kisses Steve - if it starts being something they do, if they let themselves go there - he's going to want to be the only one that Steve kisses.

It's not fair, not to anyone, but it is what it is. He's not sure he can change that part of himself, not even for Steve. So it's just better if they don't go there.

Now he just has to figure out how he's going to tell that to Steve, without any of it coming out as a lie.

Up next: the platonic/romantic lines get even more blurry, and a much less pleasant house call

-----

Part 21

Tag list (always happy to add more!): @vampireinthesun @koibug @estrellami-1 @mentalcyborg @allbimyself26 @questionablequeeries @the-s-is-silent @whimsicalwitchm @a-gae-af-racoon @tinyplanet95 @n0-1-important @velocitytimes2 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @newtstabber @jcmadgirl @roblingoblin285 @lexyvey @paperbackribs @goodolefashionedloverboi @evix-syne666 @raisedbylibrarians @stxrcrossed186 @nightmareglitter @greekgeek24 @starman-jpg @crazyhatlady86 @imfinereallyy @manda-panda-monium @deleataecount @prideandsensibility @chaoticvictorianspirit @maydillydally @disrespectedgoatman @scarlet-malfoy @i-less-than-three-you @hbyrde36 @hallucinatedjosten @dragonsandgayships @arepaconchocolate @g4ys0n @novelnovella @bisexualdisastersworld @ghostofyourvampiregf @scarletyeager @pettrichore @nerd-and-nervous @hiimlevi @queenie-ofthe-void @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic #wayne munson #robin buckley #platonic soulmates stobin #just gonna extra emphasis the platonic since eddie is misreading things #steve and robin have zero boundaries #wayne munson uncle of the century #steddie soulmate au

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abibliophobiaa · 1 year

Text

Begin Again: Chapter 4/4

Summary: The year is 1988. After the loss of a beloved family member, you find yourself inheriting an old coffee shop. The quiet bartender at the Hideout across the street just so happens to catch your eye.

(20k words; eddie munson x afab!reader; sunshine!reader x grumpy!eddie vibes)

Note: Tumblr ate my formatting, so AO3 is probably best. 🙃

Warnings: Vignette style (sorta); Eddie’s post S4 trauma; panic attacks; nightmares; family member loss; grief; alcohol use; nightmares; suicidal ideation; smut 18+ only.

AO3 | MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS CH

Winter 1988/1989

He leaves you alone in the coffee shop.

The smell of the coffee brewing grows sour, your stomach churning with the dread seeping into your veins with every throb of your heart.

Your four walls, your space, now empty without him there to fill it.

You never realized how much sound he’s brought into your life, how much color, how much of his light.

And in a moment, Chance had thrown a shade over it. Squashed it just as it had really started to grow.

Chance’s words roll around in your head.

Chrissy. Fred. Patrick. Jason.

Names without faces, people you’ve never met, people you’ll never meet.

Because they’re dead.

All of them.

Gone.

He says it’s Eddie.

It’s not Eddie.

There’s no reality you could ever find yourself in where you believe the lie that Eddie’s done something like this.

Not this man, not the one who consumes fantasy literature like it’s a lifeblood, who talks DnD with his youngest friends animatedly and conjures up new ideas for sprawling campaigns full of high stakes and grandeur, who flips Max upside down in his arms when he greets her until her laughter shakes deep within her bones and a smile lights up her whole face, the man who drinks out of a Garfield mug when he visits his Uncle, who listens to ABBA and Blondie with you and his friends even when he claims to hate it.

Not this man.

Never this man.

But now you need to find Eddie, tell him everything’s okay, that you don’t think he did it.

You know he thinks you do.

Could see it in the way he looked at you, in the way he flinched from your touch.

The title of murderer.

The weight of it.

You can only imagine how crushing that is, how hard it’s been to keep those accusations to himself all this time, to carry it on his back each and every day.

To live near to those who might whisper behind your back, question how you’re free, ponder your innocence.

You decide to close up early, dismissing your customers as nicely as possible, feigning issues with your machines. A patron grumbles that they were working moments ago, but you only offer them free coffees for their next visit and wave as they all bustle down the street.

It’s likely not the most professional thing you’ve done, but it’s necessary, your fingers removing your apron from around your hips before moving to go snatch your keys from behind the counter.

The front door locks with a click behind you, eyes flashing across the parking lot to find Eddie’s van missing. He’s likely skipped work, and you understand why he would, but all it does is curl the guilt further in your gut.

That you hadn’t done more, said more, chased after him—something.

You run upstairs to your apartment, grabbing your things and rummaging about, trying to make it look some semblance of normal before you grab your pocketbook in hand and rush over to your wall phone, dialing one of the first numbers in your phone book.

Max picks up on ring number two.

Your breath shudders out as you ask, “Is Eddie there?”

“He was, but not anymore,” she says honestly. You can hear her shuffle around on the other end, a huff filling the line. “He looked upset. Did something happen?

“He heard Chance and I talking.”

“Okay, and? Chance is a dick, we all know this, so what did he do?”

“He told me about March. Of eighty six.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” you tell her, quickly adding, “but I don’t believe him.”

You hear her huff once more, followed by the rustle of something in the distance. “Good, because whatever he told you isn’t true. He doesn’t know half of what really happened, and I doubt he ever looked into it. Which, you’d think we would have since the idiot works for the police.”

“So you know where Eddie might be?”

“He’s at Steve’s,” she says simply, like she knows, and of course she does.

He’s her brother. Minus the blood and title, of course, but her brother all the same. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

“For what?”

“You’re picking me up,” she states plainly, and you almost laugh.

Almost.

But she sounds serious, and you’ve seen Maxine angry and you don’t want to be in the line of fire on the receiving end if she ever explodes.

“I’m picking you up,” you agree, swallowing thickly. “Hey, Max?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Just…I know you’re my boss, but don’t hurt him, okay?”

“Gosh, Max—no. I…I lo—really care about him.”

“So I’ll see you in fifteen?” She says, as if she knows the exact distance between yours and the Munson’s.

And you suppose she does after all this time.

You nod, even though she can’t see you, and say, “I’ll see you in fifteen minutes.”

You’re there in twelve, the roads zooming on by as you turn and weave through the pathways that are almost second nature now. Muscle memory, because of all the time you’ve spent with them. With his family, who has, in a way, sort of become yours as well.

She’s there as she said she would be, sitting on the front step to the little home, hair billowing around her in the wind.

She drops down into your passenger seat without a word. The sound of her buckle sliding into place greets your ears, her dirty shoes kicking out before her, that delicate profile of hers set into a firm look.

“I heard what you said, you know?” She says after some time.

It’s quiet, a little lilting, her lips curling a bit at the edges. You know that look. It’s the same look she’s given Eddie after catching him in a state of disarray after a night spent making out with you like the two of you are teenagers all over again, and not twenty-three year olds with careers and rent to pay.

“What do you mean?” It’s a trap. You know it is, but you’ll give in just this once.

“I heard you start to say you love him,” she teases, tongue sticking out slightly.

It’s the truth.

It’s not a hard thing to do—falling for Eddie Munson, that is.

And still, your heart thunders away at the thought of it. For years you’ve spent trying to never form lasting connections with others. You’re in and out of places quicker than you can, never getting too close, never making those lasting ties.

And now you’ve gone and tied yourself to him, a single strand, an invisible string that tethers you to him.

It’s terrifying, and still there’s this sense of peace that fills your blood. Cool it before it can sizzle and burn.

“You definitely said it,” she says once more, as if you didn’t hear her the first time.

But you did. You said the words and you heard her, but she’s not the first person you want to say them to.

The person who deserves them the most is currently hiding out at Steve Harrington’s home, likely reliving the pain of the events of two years ago, exposed like a nerve by someone who only wants the worst for you.

You suppose you can’t fault Chance, either. You saw the pain in his eyes. The grief over the loss of his friends.

Three.

Three in a lifetime is already too much, but three in one week is a tragedy.

There’s no denying that fact.

‘He doesn’t know half of it…’

Max’s words swirl in your mind. Over and over again on an endless loop.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, but there’s a slow smirk sliding across your lips, fingers curling around the steering wheel as you peel out of the Munson’s driveway, heading in the direction of Steve Harrington’s family home.

It’s on the way that Max starts to talk, warning you in a sense, of what you’re about to hear.

“It’s…a lot to take in,” she says, and there’s a seriousness in her tone unfamiliar to you.

She’s usually always meddling with the kids, the rowdier and more hot headed one of the bunch. You’ve seen her interact with her friends, always just as fiery and explosive as her friends. You’ve seen her get angry with Eddie till her face turns red. But there’s always this sense of ease that accompanies it.

A laugh at the end of a snide remark, a smirk, a gentle tilt of the lips.

It’s not present this time, and an uneasiness settles into your blood.

“Just…when they tell you, promise me you’ll keep an open mind. You’re going to hear things that sound impossible, and that’s because honestly even we thought they were, but it’s…the truth. It’s the truth that the media swallowed up, the truth the government hid. But it doesn’t make it not real—it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. And it’s crap because the world moved on, and yet we were left to deal with it.”

She means your friends.

You know that.

The fact that this ‘they’ she speaks of telling you this tale is the same group of kids that you’ve grown to know, your friends you’ve flourished with all these months, the man you’re falling in love with.

“Max, I just want to know the truth. So whatever you all say, I’m here to listen. I want to know. It’s important that I know,” you tell her seriously, pulling into the driveway to the sprawling home.

Your head slams against the headrest of your driver’s seat, hands coming up to cup over your eyes. Your breath draws right in your lungs, eyes burning from the prick of tears. A new fear dawns, unwanted and unbidden.

You voice it, a quiet strain of your voice that comes out as a broken sob. A fearful questioning of, “What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if he hates me?”

“He couldn’t,” she tells you, voice stern.

“What if he does, though? You didn’t see the way he looked at me. He was there, but he wasn’t. It’s like he went away in his mind and he didn’t want me there.”

She chuckles. “Have you seen the way that idiot looks at you? It’s honestly disgusting. All puppy dog eyes and goo.” You break out into a watery laugh and, satisfied, she continues, “Look—Chance’s friends…well, not Chrissy, but Chance’s friends are assholes. I’m not saying they got what they deserved, because no one deserves to die. But they were terrible to him. He probably saw Chance and saw you and thought he’d turned you against him. Just like they turned the whole town against him in eighty six.”

There are no words that come to mind after what she says. After the truth she reveals. You’re not sure of what it even means, and yet you think of your customers in your early days or the shop opening. The way some, however rarely, would look at him and mutter amongst themselves when he happened to stop by. You remember the woman at the supermarket with her blonde hair and haunting eyes. The depth of her warning as she stood beside you on line at the register, telling you Eddie wasn’t a good man, telling him he should have never come back.

You think of the fact Eddie moved out of his own childhood home to make room for Max. But you also recall how much freer he is when he’s out of town. His smiles come easier, he seems lighter…brighter, without the weight of the world resting on his shoulders.

The pieces start to slide into place, a push here, a click there. You think of your puzzle he’d brought you both for your first date, now finished and tucked away. How the image became clearer and clearer with each passing moment.

It’s the same now.

That clarity that takes shape.

The reasons why Eddie’s open in some regards, and keeps others very close to his chest. The evasions he’s had to create in his backstory with you, to protect you from the truth of it all.

To protect you from the danger of it, if what Max claims is true.

“Are you ready?” Max’s voice stirs you from your silent reverie. A quiet beckon. A soft lilt that drags you from your thoughts.

You’re not.

There’s nothing that can ever prepare you for what you are about to hear, and yet you twist the key in the ignition all the same. You tug your keys free and toss them into your pocketbook, opening your car door without another word. Max tips her head over the roof of your vehicle, looking to you for reassurance…or merely to see how you’re doing—you’re not really sure. But you dip your head all the same, shutting the door into place, fingers trailing along metal and window, heart racing in your chest at what you are about to enter into.

The walk to the front door is harrowing. You don’t really know what to expect. Max gives you a warning, sure, but nothing compares to reality. Especially not as you knock on the front door and Robin is there to greet you. She offers a kind smile and a hug, her voice quiet as she mutters she’s happy you’re both there. Max glances over her shoulder as you enter the home, your eyes trailing the insides. You’ve been here multiple times, but it feels different now. There’s a whole world you’re not privy to—a world that Eddie’s been a part of, Max and Robin, Steve and the others. The world that those who warned you of this town only spoke of as if they were conspiracies. The gates of hell, satanic cults, gruesome deaths. The fact there are some truths there weighs heavily on your mind, hands shaking a bit as you enter the kitchen and Steve is there to greet you with a warm hug.

You wonder briefly if Charlotte knows. If she’s privy to the world outside of your own that your friends have dealt with. This unshakeable strength they all seem to hold. But you hug him all the same, heart hammering away against his as your arms come to wrap around his neck, his breath a comforting puff against your ear. He steps back momentarily to look at you, all long dark hair, wrinkles high against his forehead. He’s too young for those, but they linger all the same, written into his features alongside the pain you see so clearly there now. The pain of the unknown swirling in your gut, the unknown that has Max reaching across the space between you to curl her hand in your own, squeezing tight.

You squeeze her hand back and look at both your friends as they stand before you, merely basking in silence, all your minds a swirling mass of chaos. Robin speaks first, voice wobbly, words fast and disconcerting in your ears. “He’s…he’s not doing well, babe. He came here a wreck. He never intended for you to find out this way.”

You know that. You do.

It’s why you’ve always been respectful. It’s why you’ve always been weary of what Eddie wants, why you’ve made it a mission to always have an open heart and open mind toward him. And in a few moments Chance had thrown it all into the wind. Obliterated the safety net you were forging, the space you wanted Eddie to live in—to thrive in.

“Max…she warned you, right?” It’s Steve who asks next. The boy with the loud and boisterous personality, always a little piqued, and yet he’s serious now. Guarded toward his best friend. Your heart swells because Eddie has people like these; people who will defend him tooth and nail, even from you.

Even from the woman who has spent nearly every day with him for the past few months.

And still, you nod all the same, your hand still entwined with Max’s. “Max…she warned me.”

Steve and Robin pass one another a look, and you’re brought into the living room. It’s dark there, the lights dimmer than you remember, your friends settling down in different areas about the room. Steve and Robin to the couch. Max on the floor. There are two seats brought out into the living area, set there like they were expected to be there all along. Separated by a few inches sure, but placed there with intent. You glance down at the one, wondering if it’s meant for you, and catch the stiff nod from Steve as you eye the wood carefully.

You drop down into it and hear the slow slide of a door in the distance, the tall form of Eddie catching your eye.

He’s as beautiful as you saw him last. A picture of black, red and white before your eyes. His eyes dark, his shoulders hard, body lithe and lean. You think of those moments from early this morning, his arms around your waist, chest against your back. Lips at your ear as he whispered what you meant to him, as he kissed you like you were the most precious thing in his life. Unbreakable, like he meant to keep you. Like he meant to hold you safe for the rest of his days. You know he means it now, can see it in the way his eyes flicker as they meet yours, as water clouds those swirling depths of chocolate brown.

There’s love there.

It’s not lost on you as he scans the room and lands on yours, holding for a moment, whispering those unspoken words into the space between you.

Unmistakable and yours alone.

You will the same into your eyes as he settles down beside you, legs spread wide, cup of whatever he’s drinking poised at the ready in his hand.

He says nothing. Remains stoic as Steve and Robin straighten in their seats, cushions of the couch forgotten as their elbows lean onto thighs, ready to regale their tales of this world outside their own.

The part of you that’s grown to love him over these months wishes to reach out to him. You want to stretch your hand into the space between you and curl your fingers within his own. To comfort him in the way you know only you can—body, mind and soul. But he remains in the gap between you, separated by inches that feel like miles. There’s a moment, however brief, when his fingers twitch against his thigh and you wonder if he intends to reach across and touch you.

But he never does.

He never does, and you suppose you cannot be upset with him for that.

He’s hard lines, harsh beauty, and adamant walls.

Impenetrable.

Fierce.

You pray they don’t remain that way—that your months of progress don't reverse in a moment's time.

Steve glances about the room, between his best friend Robin beside him, down to where Max sits staring at Eddie on the floor, Eddie with his grim expression as his eyes meet hers, and then lastly on you when he exhales and says, “What we’re about to tell you, you can’t tell anyone. It stays a secret, it stays within the group.”

“It stays within the party,” Max adds, shifting away from Eddie’s stare enough to look at you. “It’ll mean you’re part of it.”

“One of the family.” Robin laughs weakly, passing you a sympathetic smile. “Part of our dysfunctional family.”

Your eyes shift amongst them with a swallow, and then slide briefly to Eddie’s. There’s…there's something there. A softness, a quiet whisper behind his gaze, but you don’t know what it means. Can’t decipher the meaning behind how he looks at you; you just know it curls deep within the pit of your belly, makes you warm, reminds you it’ll be okay.

Everything will be okay.

“I’ll take it with me to the grave,” you tell Steve.

His hand cards through those long strands of dark hair and he stands up from the couch, walking across the room to tend to the fire churning in the fireplace. Once he’s happy with the flames sparking and dancing within, his hand comes to rest on the ledge, his other hand resting on his hip as he glances down at a dirty spot on the carpet.

“I guess we’ll start from the beginning then…”

And it begins.

They start from the beginning. With the missing boy Will. With Will, who you know and works at your shop. Kind, sweet Will with the world on his shoulders and nothing but love inside his heart.

Steve recounts the loss of Barbara Holland, a friend of Nancy’s. You learn about the gate that opened in Hawkins to another world. This Upside Down that sounds as harrowing as it truly is.

You learn early on that El has superpowers. She has psionic capabilities, can lift things with her mind, step into alternate dimensions when she goes away in her mind.

El, with her dark hair and bright soul. That innocence that always seems to burn bright behind her gaze.

El, who you learn has fought monsters bigger than her.

Steve walks you through that first encounter with the Upside Down, the demogorgon he faced, his words careful as he explains the appearance to you. A standing, hulking monster, with endless rows of teeth, intent to bring death to those that encounter it.

You’re told about their next encounters.

Max moves to town with her family. Her crappy step-father, her late step-brother, and her late mother move in and immediately she’s thrown into this world she’s never planned for. Apparently Dustin finds some sort of tadpole creature that eventually grows into a demodog. Another monster like the one Steve explained earlier, but this time there are multiple, and they move in what seem to be packs. You learn about Will’s possession by the Mind Flayer, the loss of their friend Bob, their first experience with the ‘hive mind.’

“It all sort of…works in tandem,” Max clarifies. “All tied to one power source.”

El closes the gate this time, they tell you, and for a while it seems everything is okay again. They start to heal, the kids begin to go back to their normal lives, Steve and Robin start working at the Starcourt Mall.

“That parking lot that’s still empty?” It’s your first question in a while, you’ve simply been taking in everything they have to say, trying to be respectful of their experience.

“Yes,” Robin says, frowning as Max glances down at her shoelaces.

Eddie watches the younger girl like a hawk. His face is tight and drawn as Max says, “My brother didn’t die in a fire.”

It’s July and the kids are on summer break. All is well in Hawkins. They’re having fun, being kids, living for the first time in a long time. And then there’s the issue of Billy. Billy, who has always been rough around the edges. Not a good person at all, from what you’ve been told, but he had been alive and had been well one day, and then the next it was like he was different.

Max recalls him being a lot of blank stares in his room, a lot more standoffish. But there becomes this issue around Hawkins, of people becoming aggressive, something to do with kitchen chemicals? And a girl at the pool Billy worked at had gone missing.

Heather, Max explains.

As this is all going on, Steve and Robin explain their encounters with Russian code and their involvement with a secret organization taking place quite literally inside the belly of the mall.

There’s a Mind Flayer building an army, some gigantic beast of a thing, that towers over the building. The same thing that had put itself inside of Will, the same thing that also puts itself inside of Billy.

Your head spins with it all, from the explanation of how Robin and Steve were tortured for information inside the Russian base, to Max and the other kids fighting this monster inside of their friend Hopper’s home. There’s the battle at the Starcourt Mall, when they’re all later reunited, where Max watched her brother die after laying his life down to protect her and her friends.

It’s overwhelming.

Your chest aches, and you’re grateful when Eddie calls the meeting to a halt, catching the glittery tears on Max’s cheeks that she tries to swipe away when no one is looking.

Eddie slips out of the room with the younger girl in tow. There’s a brief moment he makes eye contact with you, his mouth working slowly like he anticipates saying something before thinking better of it.

It’s been only hours and yet you feel like he’s been gone longer, the sting of the emotional distance between you two burning deep in your chest.

“Babe, don’t take it personally, okay?” Robin runs a hand up and down your arm, pouring you a glass of something strong and full of ice.

Your face pinches as you take a sip, throat burning from the harsh bite of whatever she’s put into the concoction. “What is this? Battery acid?”

“Very likely,” Steve muses from the doorway, coming to loop an arm around your shoulders. You lean into his side, seeking out the comfort of a friend in the moment. His fingers curl around your skin, giving you a squeeze. “They went for a walk. Eddie said they’ll be back in five. The next part…it’s Eddie’s bit. It’s what happened back in March and…it’s a lot. He’s never really shared it outside of the group. He wanted to tell you before…you know, before Chance. He told me he wanted to. He was finally ready.”

Your heart clenches at the thought. Here Eddie was, ready to open up to you fully and bare his soul to you, and Chance came along to throw a wrench into the whole thing. Robbed Eddie of the opportunity that was meant for him all along.

“I just…a whole world underneath Hawkins?” Your throat swells around the words, around the reality of what you’ve been told the past few hours.

Before you came here, you heard all these ludicrous rumors about the happenings of the small town you were running to. To know they’re fact, to know they’ve been hidden behind lies and government workings—it’s a crazy reality to swallow. A world where monsters exist and walk the earth, a world where gates to new dimensions exist.

It’s your world now.

“And El—having powers?”

Robin comes forward to join you on your other side, sliding a hand into the center of your back. “I felt the same when I found out.”

You feel the need to sit. To really soak in the words swirling around in your brain like little specks of confetti twirling to the ground. Dozens of strands of thoughts in an endless funnel of wind and disarray. But you lean into the warmth of your friends instead, relishing in their closeness, when the glass door to the outside slides open and Eddie and Max reappear.

She’s a little red in the face. Bitten and kissed by the wind, but the rims around her eyes catch your attention next. The telltale sign she’s been crying, paired with that of her sleeve dragging along the bottom of her nose, bumping her glasses that always sit a little too loosely on her face.

Eddie’s dark eyes scan your face, like he’s shocked you’re still there, and you pass him a weak smile. There’s the barest of twitches in his face, and most would miss it, but he offers you that.

A slight smile.

You’ll take it.

“Are we good to keep going?” Robin asks, glancing about the room.

“Yeah, we’re good,” Eddie says, and it’s the first time you’ve heard him speak in hours. It jolts you, drawing a wince out of him.

Robin turns back to you, eying your drink in your hand as the others head back into the living area. “You might want to keep that close.”

She’s not wrong.

Eddie’s fingers toy with the silver of his rings, twirling them round and round low against his knuckles. “So, uh, it’s March…of eighty six and, you know, I’m still the Freak around town. So you can imagine I’m just a tad confused when Chrissy Cunningham, the Queen of Hawkins High, comes to me for a deal.” His eyes flash to yours, a grimace pulling at his mouth. “Used to deal. Don’t anymore, but—I, ah, yeah, sorry sweetheart. But Chrissy is not herself. I didn’t really know her much, but she’s just perpetually happy. I mean, I guess she had to be. Cheerleading captain, about to be valedictorian, friends with everyone. So I meet her in the woods behind the school and she looks scared as shit. Like—maybe I should have paid more attention to it, maybe that was my mistake, but…she asks me for ketamine.”

You train your eyes on Eddie as he speaks. He’s a shadow before you, hollows of his features glowing from the orange hue spilling from the mouth of the fireplace. He’s all long limbs spread out, legs before him, slender and spidery, bent as his back rests against the wooden chair. His hands rest against his thighs, where he continues to twirl the metal around his digits, head bent low and mind seemingly back in the forest that day in eighty six.

“I…brought her back to my trailer that night and I couldn't find the ketamine. So I leave her in the damn living room and when I come back she’s just standing there. Blank face, nothing behind her eyes, just gone. And I’m yelling at her over and over and over again, but whatever this thing is that’s pulling at her just…she never hears me. I wonder if she did, even now. Like if she knew I was trying to save her and—” He pauses as your hand curls around his kneecap, and you worry for a moment he’s going to push you away, to reject this comfort, but his hand slides over your own and squeezes lightly.

He doesn’t let go.

What he explains next has your throat closing around the truth of it. Chance’s words swirl in your ears. The fact Jason Carver, fueled by jealousy over being cuckolded by Eddie Munson, killed his girlfriend. But the reality is that much more horrifying. Because Eddie recounts the moments with ultra clarity, the memory of them burned into his retinas for the rest of his life, of the girl levitating above the ground. The way her body stretched across the ceiling as her bones snapped one by one in her body, before she died right before his eyes.

“We all met…that next day,” Max says with a bitter laugh, gesturing between Eddie and the rest of the group, including herself.

So they were bound by the untimely death of Chrissy, Steve explains, recalling how they all went looking for Eddie with Dustin’s help, because Max had seen flickering lights coming from Eddie’s trailer and disrupting her own, just before he had run.

A sign of the Upside Down. Their first sign that Eddie had been innocent in all of it.

“Held a glass bottle to my throat,” Steve laughs as he explains those tense few moments of their ‘friendship.’

“You kind of deserved it. Jabbed me right in the ribs with that oar,” Eddie says, but there’s a lightness to his tone reserved for his loved ones. “His name was Vecna. This…thing, this person, responsible for cursing Chrissy. And…Fred, Patrick, and Max.”

Your eyes flicker up to Max at Eddie’s admission, blue eyes flashing with your own. “Max.”

“The asshole cursed me,” she says simply. “So what happened to Chrissy, what happened to Fred, we knew was likely coming my way. And it did—but we found a solution.”

“Thank goodness for that Walkman,” Robin exhales. “We found that music could bring people out of Vecna’s…soupy mind trance. Happy memories, favorite moments, your favorite song.”

“The song you could listen to over and over again on repeat…” You mutter the words out, feeling your eyes burn at the memory of Eddie asking you for yours so many weeks ago in your apartment.

“What’s your favorite song? If you had to pick one, what would it be? The one you can play over and over again and never get bored of?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says softly, the words meant only for you. Your stomach twists painfully. “That one.”

Proof he cared, even then.

It’s a race against a clock.

It’s not long before Eddie’s a suspect in the murders he never committed, and it’s paired with the looming threat over Max’s life. One night in particular, Robin tells you, Jason Carver and his friends find Eddie at the boathouse and come with weapons in hand. You know their intention, from the way Eddie’s breath catches, was never to merely talk about the situation.

Hunt the Freak, he tells you bitterly, recalling those moments out on Lover’s Lake, just before Patrick suffered the same fate as Chrissy.

Two.

Eddie watches two people die that week.

You shudder out a breath as they tell you about the Upside Down. As Steve tugs the neck of his sweater down enough to show you the lines around his throat, and then slips up the side of his sweater enough to show you the scarring on his side that looks like a splash of sun against his skin. It reminds you of the ones that litter Eddie’s arms, the smaller ones on his face and neck, the ridges of his abdomen you barely felt before he pulled away from you.

“We’re, like, the most screwed up blood brothers to exist,” Steve says bitterly, his shirt dropping down into place. “Matching scars and all.”

“Demobats,” Robin explains, shuddering at the end. “Scary little shitheads.”

It paints a picture for you—clearer now than ever before.

Fills the gaps in your understanding over these nine months.

Yet another memory flashing behind your eyes of Eddie in your kitchen. Of wings and claws and the sound of skittering against your window. The choked breath from Eddie’s lungs that suddenly stopped working. The panic attack he suffers in your kitchen.

You think you start to grasp an understanding as they talk about how a plan began to form. They gathered a bunch of weapons with the intention of using Max and Eddie and Dustin to create distractions for Vecna. To give enough time for the others to try and kill him. But even the best laid plans go to hell—and it’s proven correct in both aspects.

Eddie and Max, to make things simpler, both die that night.

Max, with her limbs broken and mangled, blood dripping from her eyes. And Eddie, with his flesh torn into over and over again, countless rows of teeth sinking into skin, taking pieces of him, ripping him into ribbons, robbing him of life.

It chokes you. Chokes Eddie as Steve explains the parts of the story Eddie’s mouth can’t work around. The gaps are still too raw to fill in by himself. You don’t blame him.

You press the heel of your palm into your eyes, feeling Eddie’s fingers tighten around your own, the severity in his gaze making the room come crashing around you.

“Eddie never…he never murdered any of those people,” Max says, but you know that.

You’ve known that.

In the end, Eddie spends a few weeks in the hospital.

Max spends months there.

His name is cleared relatively swiftly. Steve is a bit cagey as to how they manage to get Eddie’s name pulled from any further headlines, but you know it’s because there was nothing to hold together a case against him.

Jason is suddenly the blame for the events that occurred, and laid to rest on that March day.

It’s a lot to process.

The room feels heavy with it, thick in a way that reminds you of honey. Sticky, yet missing all that sweetness.

Steve suggests you all stay for the night. Get some rest. Recount the stories in the morning.

It’s been hours and every inch of your body aches from work and your eyes feel tired, burning with the unshed tears lingering on your lash line.

Steve lets you borrow some of his things, an oversized sweatshirt, some pants you need to roll up multiple times, and leads you and Eddie down the hall of the second story to the home, pausing in front of a bedroom.

“It’s a guest room,” he says, gesturing inside. “We’ll talk more in the morning. Goodnight, you two.”

It’s normal for you to expect mirth or a deeper scheme behind Steve’s eyes. The sense of teasing there that you’ve grown to know and love, and yet standing before that bedroom in the lonely hall has you unsure of where to look, Steve only whistles and shifts awkwardly before leaving you to your solitude. Neither of you speaks for a time, bodies shifting in the darkness, not touching and awkward.

This morning you had been curled as tight as two could be, your spine to his chest, your thighs to his, those strong arms of his wrapped around your waist, his chin over your shoulder, lips to your ear.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before,” he whispered.

Your heart stuttered. Faltered from the weight of what he was saying. Your fingers slid up to curl into his hair, his face leaning into your touch. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before either, Eddie.”

It was the truth then, it’s still the truth now, and yet there’s a chasm that grows wider by the second in that hallway, and for fear of watching it grow anymore, you take the initiative and push past the man to slip inside the guest room.

Neither of you speaks as you move about the room and take in your surroundings. There’s a simple dresser in one corner, a lamp on a stand that sits in another, and there’s only one bed.

One.

It’s a thought that might have thrilled you some other time, and now it only fills you with a maelstrom of emotions. In the past few hours your conversations have been reduced to sparing words, your touches to brushes of fingers. And now there’s a silence that screams between you, those murky depths curling and lapping at your ankles.

You drop your borrowed clothes onto the bed, glancing over your shoulder to where Eddie stands awkwardly in the doorway. The fullness of his form is outlined in golden light emanating from the hall, those dark eyes of his searching.

“You can take the bathroom,” you tell him, “I’ll tell you when I’m done and you can come out.”

He’s seen you in nothing but a pair of jeans before, yet somehow changing around him feels more intimate. Especially with the disquiet between you two. So there’s no protests on his part as he reaches into the side dresser, as if he’s done this before, and snatches a pair of pants and a shirt from within. He opens his mouth to speak and you feel your soul soar for a moment, before he’s snapping it shut again and slipping inside.

When the door clicks shut, you let out a shaky breath and change in silence.

Eddie knocks on the bathroom door moments later, your voice beckoning him out when you’re finally and fully dressed again. You’re moving about and folding your original clothes up onto the dresser when he moves to go sit down on the bed and you maneuver around him to get ready for sleep.

He watches you in silence as you wash your face and brush your teeth, wiping down the countertops after, a habit from working at Sunshine Coffee for so long now. You know why you’re really doing it, though. It’s a temporary distraction from the deeper issue at hand: the rift between the two of you.

Sighing, you slip back into the bedroom and walk around to the opposite side of the bed closest to the lamp and slide underneath the covers. Eddie watches, still upright, as you turn onto your side and reach over, asking if you can shut the light.

“Uh…yeah, yeah that’s fine,” he says softly from behind you, and the room drowns in darkness.

You pinch your eyes shut to try and get some rest, chest aching, heart clanging like a damn cymbal, but your mind only spins. You’re certain you’ll find no rest tonight, only the dizzying free fall of your wandering thoughts.

That is, until the bed dips beside you and you feel Eddie pull back the covers, sliding down against the mattress to rest a head on the pillow beside you. You feel his hand accidentally brush your hip and from behind you a following, “Sorry,” that spills through his lips.

You laugh, because it just feels so silly.

You’re not mad at him, but there’s still this disturbance hanging in the air. The worry to push him beyond his boundaries, beyond what he feels comfortable with now after sharing his past with you. If he wants to remain in silence, you want him to remain in silence. You want whatever he wants—whatever he needs at the moment.

“What’s that?” Eddie asks, his voice tight.

“Nothing…I just—nothing.”

He doesn’t speak for a bit. Only settles down far enough on the other side of the bed you can feel the heat radiating from him, but not even the ghost of touch from his form.

A beat of silence passes.

And then—

“Sweetheart, I hate this.”

Your head nuzzles further into your pillow, voice a little shaky as you whisper back, “What do you mean?”

“I left earlier because I thought the worst. I thought—I thought you believed him. Wouldn’t be the first time someone was turned against me,” he says a little breathlessly. Jason. Jason did that. And the ramifications of it are still present to this day; you’ve seen it first hand. “That was dumb as shit for me to think. I…I wanted to tell you. I was going to, he just beat me to it first. Should have come from me, should have been sooner, should have—”

“Eddie, it’s okay.”

“It’s not, though.”

“Seriously it’s—”

“I’m sorry. I’m really really sorry,” he says, and you shatter.

Eyes flush against your cheeks, lashes dancing along the topmost points of your cheekbones, you mutter, “There’s nothing for you to apologize for. At all. I need you to understand that.”

“Then why aren’t you talking to me? You’re all the way on the other side of the bed. You won’t even look at me.”

“Because I know how hard tonight was and I didnt want to push you. Eddie, what you told me tonight…it’s important and it’s huge and the fact you’ve trusted me with it means everything to me. But I also want you to take the time you need. Process what you’re feeling and all of that.”

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Where you’re too nice,” he says. “I just want to hold you.”

“Then hold me, Eddie. You never need permission to hold me,” you whisper back, sighing as his arm comes to loop around your waist and tug you flush against his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

Your fingers drag slowly around his bare forearm, feeling gooseflesh pimple the surface of his skin. “For what happened. For what Chance did. For eighty six. For all the people who have been unkind to you. I wish they could all see what I see.”

You roll over then, seeking his face in the dark. His eyes are molten honey, soft in a way that has your fingers seeking the warmth of his chest over his tee shirt, feeling the divots and lines of his abdomen against fingertips. He’s lean and lithe and perfectly yours, with a heart that melts yours.

He just never sees it that way. But you suppose that’s what loving someone means. It's choosing them, even when they don’t choose themselves. It’s the good and bad days, not just the ones that are bright shades of orange, pinks and reds behind rose-colored glasses. It’s standing by them no matter the circumstances, supporting them fully. It’s the whole hearted acceptance that resides in your heart for him.

For who he was, who he is now, and who he will be.

“I’m happy you know now,” he says, rubbing a thumb along the bump of your chin affectionately. “I’m tired of being nervous. I’m tired of the constant looking over my shoulder and running. It’s been almost three years.”

“It takes time, Eddie.”

Your fingers reach up to cup the curve of his jaw, dancing along the scarring there. It still kills you to know he’d been broken and on the brink of death in the middle of this other world that resides beneath your own.

That he had been inches from death and still held on, only to find the world outside just as cruel as the one that nearly killed him.

“What you’ve been through—what you’ve all been through,” you start, exhaling as his forehead drops closer to your own, pressing there to linger. “It changes you. There’s no way it couldn’t. And yet you’re all still living, you’re all still loving and showing your past that it can’t rule you. You’re so brave. I don’t think you’re running anymore.”

“I don’t want to,” his fingers slide down along the slope of your face, the line of your throat, skipping along your collarbone. “You’re the first person I’ve opened up to in a long time. I’m afraid I’m going to fuck it up.”

“You’re the first person I’ve opened up to in a long time.” His hand slides down the slope of your shoulder, along your bicep. “We’re bound to make mistakes. But we get to make them together. It’s a learning process.”

“I’ve never been good at that,” he teases, chuckling lightly.

“It might be a steep learning curve, but I think we’ve got it.”

His fingers trail down your forearm, before tangling in the space between the two of you on the mattress. He lifts your hand and brings the center of your palm to his lips, presses a kiss to the center there, eyes lingering on your face.

“We’re good?” He asks against your skin, his eyes practically molten in the night.

“Yeah, we’re good.”

He sighs in relief, biting softly at the skin at the heel of your palm, earning a laugh from you. You’re about to protest when his face pushes into your collar bone and he practically drapes himself over you, his long limbs tangling with your own.

“What would your friends think knowing you’re basically a koala bear in bed?”

“I’ll deny it,” he mumbles against your skin, the outline of his smile making your stomach tumble.

Your fingers come to curl in the tangle of his dark mass of hair at the back of his head and hold him as close as he can possibly be to your frame. “I’m glad you stopped running, Eddie. I don’t think we’d have met if you didn’t. And I’m really glad we met. Really, really glad.”

His head lifts at your words, those dark eyes of his searching your face in the barely lit room. He brushes the bump of your chin again with his thumb, resting it in the dip below your lip. His eyes flicker southward, and you lean forward a bit, just as he presses his mouth to yours, silencing all other thoughts from your mind.

There’s only this moment, this bedroom sequestered away from the world, these hands holding you, this boy kissing you, whispering how much he cares for you, and your hearts full to the brim because the world lies ahead and it’s yours for the taking.

There is no more running.

The next morning dawns bright for a winter day.

The first official day, really.

It’s all pearlescent skies, overcast, pale clouds stretched in what looks like a blanket across it. It looks like it’ll snow, the news forecasting a foot of it just before the holidays.

It’s how you wake up beside Eddie that next morning. His arms slung low about your hips, his breath at your ear, the curtains parted enough to allow you the view of the backyard.

Your fingers dance along the tops of his hands, along the hair along his forearm.

Today feels different somehow.

Your relationship has taken a new turn. A hurdle overcome. Now there’s only a blank canvas—open spaces to fill with new memories.

Eddie also sleeps easily. The few times you’ve slept beside him he’s either not slept at all and waited for the sun to rise and you to head off to work to finally allow himself rest once the night bled into day, or has fallen asleep and woken up in the throes of a nightmare or tossed and turned in his restlessness.

Now his chest rises and falls steadily at your back, his mind quieting enough for him to do so. You shift slowly, gently enough so as to not wake him, onto your side to look up at him. He’s all smooth edges now. The wrinkle between his brows is gone, face unmarked by any thoughts warring in his mind, those pillowy lips of his parted slightly. He looks younger than his twenty three years. Your fingers trail up to touch his cheek, fingertips running along smooth pale skin, earning a sigh from the man.

A hand at your back presses you closer to him, a little ‘oof’ spilling from your lips as your face meets his chest and his head comes to rest at the top of yours.

“What day is it?” He mumbles against your head.

“Saturday. We’re both off.”

“Oh,” he hums thoughtfully. “So we have the day to do nothing.”

“No, we have the day to go shopping. You haven’t gotten any Christmas presents and we have four days until the big day,” you remind him. “We’re spending it at the Wheeler’s, remember?”

You’d anticipated spending the holidays with Eddie at the very least. Your own family was traveling to Florida to seek out warmer weather instead of the bitter cold of Hawkins. Had brushed off your invitation with a simple, “Next time, honey.”

Nancy’s invitation came later. She’d cornered you at a get together over at Steve’s and said she’d really like you to come. That her house was more than large enough and that her parents were looking to have everyone get together. The more the merrier.

You were over the moon about it. Your first real “family” holiday season.

He only groans.

“It’ll be fun. We’ll spend the whole day together wrapping gifts and watching movies.”

“With Max.” He says it like he doesn’t enjoy her company, but you know he doesn’t mean it.

“Yes, with Max. She has shopping to do as well.”

He huffs out a laugh that warms your skin. “We have vastly different ideas of fun.” He pushes back just enough to drop a kiss to your forehead, before shifting up onto his elbows. “We should probably head downstairs soon. I hear them moving around in the kitchen. They’ll be looking for us.” He leans down to press his lips into the curve of your neck, sighing. “Just wanna stay here instead.”

For emphasis, he drops back down and hugs you tight, resting his head against your collar bone.

In the end, you win out, managing to extricate Eddie long enough to dress and ready for the new day. In the kitchen, Steve stands over the stove, working up some breakfast, while Max and Robin sit at the kitchen table, faces impassive as the two of you slip back into the room. When they notice the way his hand brushes your back as he slides a chair out and you move to take a seat, the mild discomfort fizzles and conversation resumes.

“Did you two sleep well last night?” Steve asks, waving his spatula like a sword for emphasis. “It’s almost ten.”

“Like a baby, Harrington.”

You snort at Eddie’s words, thanking Max as she hands you and Eddie steaming cups of coffee just as she knows you like them. You thank her, smiling warmly.

“You two kiss and make up? Because I’m not about to spend the day with you two pouring at each other non stop,” Max asks, nonplussed.

You choke a little on your coffee.

Eddie’s face hardens.

“Red.”

“What?”

She shrugs, biting into a strawberry as Steve starts shoveling breakfast onto everyone’s plates.

Your chest warms.

In the end you manage to get all the shopping you need to do finished.

It’s not without its struggles, however.

Max and Eddie separate are two different storms.

Max with her fiery, sometimes explosive energy. Not to mention that deadpan that endears you to her, her open opinions, the brashness in which she lives her life.

And then there’s Eddie. Charismatic and explosive like her, all frenetic energy as he moves in and out of stores, looking for the perfect gifts for those he cares about most.

She urges him to hurry up, he barks back at her to let him think.

It’s a constant back and forth that has you both amused and frightened, because you’re never quite sure if they’re seconds away from fighting in the mall. Onlookers question if the two of them are okay, to which you mutter back “siblings” and they nod in understanding, like they know exactly what that implies.

And later, as the three of you return to his dimly lit apartment, illuminated only by the Christmas tree the two of you lovingly decorated together, you bask in the warmth of their familial bond. The way the two of them curl up together on the couch watching The Grinch Who Stole Christmas as you work on putting together something to eat for dinner. Every so often you glance over your shoulder, catching the way Eddie’s arm curls around the younger teen, how she seeks out his warmth.

It dawns on you—the depth of this moment. These two souls are so willingly open to allow you into their lives. Into their hearts. It’s taken time, months really, and the fact they trust you wholeheartedly now is not lost on you. You’ve never had a close family. Always absent, leaving you to your own devices.

You understand Max and Eddie are a family now, bound by unexplainable trauma, and yet they are family all the same. And in a way, though you wouldn’t voice it to them right now, watching them from afar like this…them allowing you into the safety of this moment…it almost feels like family for you, too.

This overwhelming sense of belonging that curls around your insides, makes them warm, brings a wave of tears to your eyes. Eddie catches the glitter on your lashes, untangling himself from Max just as you dip your head into your shoulder, ladle spinning through your freshly made sauce, trying to hide yourself from his sight.

“Hey, hey. Don’t you hide from me,” he urges, tapping at your cheek, earning a watery laugh from you.

“‘M fine,” you mumble, sniffling noisily. The tears recede and lift your gaze to his to prove it to him, but Eddie remains at your side, curling an arm around your hip to drag you close. “Really, I promise.”

He presses his forehead into your cheek. “Let me see that smile.” You snort as his lips smack a kiss there, loud enough to draw Max’s attention.

You hear her scoff, her drawl of distaste, but there’s a smile on her face all the same.

“Just feeling really happy is all,” you reassure him, a smile sliding onto your face.

He slides a hand down your arm and curls his fingers into your own, squeezing your tangled digits. “I know what you mean.”

The three of you eat your chicken parmigiana in comfortable silence, Eddie only groaning every so often in enthusiasm over the fact he’s being fed. You snort, knowing very early on in your friendship that the best way to Eddie Munson’s heart was through his stomach.

Later, it’s Max and you sitting at the kitchen table wrapping gifts as you walk Eddie through baking a tray of cookies. You’ve already successfully wrapped the gifts you all got for Wayne, as well as the smaller gifts for the kids and your friends. Eddie had told you he’s terrible at wrapping gifts, at which you had told him it’s not about the wrapping but the fact love was put into the package. But he reassures you all the same he’ll be better put to use doing something else. So you’d set him up with some baking supplies in his small kitchen, and gathered things for you and Max to get started with.

“Small round circles,” you tell him, watching his fingers hesitantly roll dough within his palms, now bare from their usual rings.

“He’s really got the easier job,” Max grumbles.

She’s been…struggling, to say the least. Every so often she curses under her breath when a tab of tape gets stuck to her fingers instead of the package, or she doesn’t have enough paper to cover a box because she underestimated. You try to assist her as much as she’ll allow, but she reassures you over and over again she’s fine (she’s not) and that she doesn’t need help (she does).

“Why is that, Red?” Eddie asks, the line of flour on his cheek a slash of white against his face.

And there on the table, in a mess of crinkly red paper and endless tabs of tape keeping things positioned in place, lies one of Lucas’ gifts.

She holds it up with an uneasy laugh and Eddie tries to hide his own chuckles into the lip of his coffee cup.

It’s not perfect, no, but this moment is.

The Wheeler’s truly go all out for the holidays. Upon entering their home, Eddie’s palm in your own, your eyes are drawn to the endless holiday decorations. Their tree is dressed to the nines, all wide and fluffy branches, glowing lights, endless ornaments that twinkle against green branches.

There are lights twined around all the railways and banisters, illuminating the room in a pale glow. There are centerpieces on all their tables, little candles with tiny wreaths around the bases, the smell of pine filling your nostrils as you take a turn about the place.

Karen Wheeler is there in a flurry, ready to take your jackets. “I hope the drive wasn’t too bad, sweetie,” she says to Eddie, brushing the snow from his shoulders.

It’s been snowing all afternoon. A few inches now blanket the streets of Hawkins, and though it did provide for a harder drive, you find that it only adds to your experience in town with the people you love. A true white holiday season.

Last year you’d been somewhere tropical, in a bathing suit on the beach, sipping a margarita funded by your parents. Now Karen moves about you and helps you slip out of your jacket, coming around front to look at you, a giant smile blooming across her face.

“You’re a doll! Eddie, she’s so beautiful.” She turns to him, then glances your way. “Come on in. Be a dear and help me with the table, would you? Nancy, your friend is here!”

It’s not long before you’re put to work, setting up table placements, smiling and waving every time another arrival comes through the front door.

Dinner is warm and bright. Full of laughter, full of quiet conversation and guests asking to pass the pasta, a roll, the chicken. It’s memories told about the kids through the years, Hopper regaling you with moments that make El flush deep scarlet in embarrassment. It’s Max leaning into Eddie when she grows a little morose, and him curling an arm around her shoulder to whisper against her ear because he knows what she’s feeling. It’s Wayne crying later when Eddie gives him a new mug that says “World’s Best Dad” and Max rushing over to tackle you and Eddie when you give her the tickets to a concert she’d been talking about taking Lucas to.

All around the room people pass around gifts, room full, hearts fuller.

Charlotte and Steve slip away after a while to go kiss beneath the mistletoe, Nancy and Jonathan hold one another close on the couch, Robin and Vickie glance lovingly at one another as Vickie holds a new sweater up to her chest.

The kids thank Karen for their new socks, knitted hats, and warm mittens.

You smile as Eddie slides your new necklace around your neck, a locket with a picture of the two of you on one side, and a picture of him on the other, just so you’ll always have him close.

He kisses you and tells you his thanks over the new cassette tapes and guitar strings you'd gotten him, the new fantasy books he’s been meaning to read, and a couple of things for his new campaigns he’s been dreaming up.

“Hey, Eddie,” you tell him, as people retreat to the dessert table and dining area, leaving the living room mostly unattended.

He brushes your hair back into place and trails his finger over the locket. “Yeah, sweetheart.”

“I have another gift for you—and before you get upset, it’s little. It’s…well, here.” You slide the little pouch into his hand, the drawstrings pulled tight.

Tentative fingers move to open the little bag, dropping the item inside into his open palm. His head tilts to the side, shifting the key with a fingertip. “What’s this?”

“It’s a key. To my apartment. So you always know you’re welcome. And also because…all my life I’ve been running from reality. Bouncing between place to place so I don’t have to really get to know people. Trying to protect my heart because I didn’t want to get hurt. Never really allowing anyone to get all that close. Until I came here…and met you.”

“I’m not understanding.”

You shift closer to him where you sit on the floor, your knee brushing his own as you lift the key and dangle it in the air between you two. “I thought about it. About the shop, about the friends I’ve made here, and how I feel about you and I want to stay. I’m going to stay in Hawkins.”

Home.

You’re finally home.

And the slow smile that starts to spread across Eddie’s lips as he finally understands is all you need to see to know you’ve made the right choice.

His eyes shine with the reflection of Christmas tree lights, and swim with affection for you.

Home.

You’re staying here in Hawkins, staying with him, choosing this.

So if his voice wobbles a little, you say nothing of it, because he’s glowing. “That’s…that’s the best gift you could have given me.”

You curl the key into both your hands and squeeze tight, the imprint of it cool against your skin.

But it’s the easiest decision you’ve made in a long time.

“Merry Christmas, Eddie.”

Hawkins feels even more like home the next afternoon.

It comes unexpectedly, as most things do, with the door blowing open from the cold winter air, bringing Eddie along with it. His head is bent down, looking at something within his jacket. You’re worried he’s hurt from the way he’s cradling his side, but what you find instead makes you pause.

Hidden within the side of his jacket is a silvery ball of fur, with a tiny button nose, two dark eyes, and a set of ears that look funny on its small head.

“Eddie, what is that?” You ask, already knowing your answer, but wanting to hear your boyfriend fess up all the same.

He tucks it closer to his side and mutters, “Nothing.” The kitten gives a tiny meow and Eddie melts, his dark eyes growing softer by the moment as one of those ringed fingers comes to rub along the furry head.

You take a step closer, glancing into his jacket to see the little one. It peers out curiously, leaning into Eddie’s side as if it knows that he’s his protector already. “It’s not nothing because it looks like a kitten. A living, breathing kitten.”

Eddie rubs the tiny head again. “That’s because itisakitten.”

“What was that?”

“It is a kitten,” he says simply, pulling the jacket away to hold the baby in front of him.

“Why is there a kitten in my apartment?” You step closer, stroking a finger along one of the too-big ears. The kitten purrs and leans into the touch.

He rubs a thumb along the tiny little spine and says, “Well, you see, I was walking over here from work and I heard this tiny little thing meowing by the dumpster. And I had to pick it up. It was calling my name.”

You pause in your gentle stroking, and the kitten's eyes pop open. “It was saying Eddie?”

He nods, and you move to rub underneath its chin. “Yes, so clearly, you should have heard it.”

“Eddie…” you warn, just as a tiny, sandpaper tongue drags along your fingertip.

You melt a little bit, and Eddie takes note.

“My apartment doesn’t allow pets. But this apartment is yours. Fully and completely yours.”

“Eddie no.” And as much as your mind screams no, the kitten stares at you and your resolve crumbles all the more.

“Look at it. How can you deny this face?” He holds the kitten up beside his face.

And you know he’s talking about denying the kitten, but the look on Eddie’s face is just as hard to say no to. All pouty lips, bit doe eyes, lashes batting at you obnoxiously.

So it really should come as no surprise to you when the two of you spend the next day at the vet with the kitten (a boy, they tell you) and then the pet store after (Eddie tells you he needs toys, though you tell him food is more important) with a very giddy Eddie who spends way more money than he really needs to to spoil his new “son.”

Later that evening, after you’ve all eaten (kitten included) you sit around on the floor as Eddie rolls a ball toward the little one and grins widely as it pats a tiny little paw against the surface until the bell inside jingles.

You’ve been like this for hours, taking turns showing the little one new things, figuring out which toys he likes best, getting him used to the two of you and his new home.

“It is really cute,” you say as it comes to curl up in Eddie’s lap, sound asleep.

“He’s really cute,” Eddie agrees, running a gentle hand along its back.

“What do we name him?”

“He was chewing on my buttons in the car. How about Chewbacca? Get it?”

You laugh, incredulous. “Chewbacca? Eddie, this is our son.”

He snorts at that. But you suppose this is your fur-child now. Both of yours.

“Yes, I understand that, and I happen to think Chewbacca is a wonderful name,” he says plainly, not quite getting the issue here.

“He doesn’t even look like Chewbacca. He’s silver.” You rub at the little head, leaning over to kiss the tiny nose.

“How about Chewy for short? Chewbacca is his full government name, though. Chewbacca Munson.”

“What if I wanted him to have my last name?”

“We can hyphen.”

“Wow, I’m surprised you compromised that quickly.”

He shrugs, leaning over to kiss you on the temple. “It doesn’t slip my mind you’re keeping him here. Thank you for indulging a childhood wish of mine to have a pet.”

You snort, but your grin is megawatt. “You’re lucky I l—like you so much.”

Your friends are inside, the sound of music and chatter drifting from the opened patio door. The countdown to the new year is set to start soon, but you’re staring up at the sky, Eddie’s arms low around your waist, his chin against your shoulder as the two of you stargaze. He reminds you of the constellations he’s already shown you, then starts to point out the newer ones you’re not familiar with.

You’ve been like this for a while now. Him holding you close, keeping you warm, your breaths curling in the winter air. There’s a whole party happening just feet away, and yet you’re exactly where you want to be the most.

“They’re going to be looking for us soon,” you whisper, though you find you don’t really care.

A particularly loud laugh echoes from inside, the outline of Steve and Charlotte’s forms illuminated across from you as Robin tells them a story with a wide smile on her pretty features.

She waves and you wave back, returning your eyes to the stars, to the boy who you’d believe hung them if he told you so.

“Hey, sweetheart?” His voice is quiet. Timid.

You turn around in his arms to face him, his lips a little chapped from the cold, that too-big jacket of his becoming your blanket as he cradles you in the circle of his arms.

“Yeah?”

“There was something I wanted to talk to you about. Something kind of serious,” he says, and you feel your lips tug southward. At the furrow of your brows, he shakes his head, cupping the side of your cheek with his hand. “Wait—maybe not the best wording. I, uh, it’s serious in a good way.”

“In a good way…” you repeat slowly, chewing idly at your bottom lip.

Now his brow furrows, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I’m not…I’m messing this up. Okay, I’m going to just come out and say it…”

“You’re worrying me,” you mutter, a little breathless, hand coming to rest over his hand comfortingly.

“I…”

“Hey lovebirds, wanna stop sucking face? The countdown starts in five minutes!” Steve shouts outside, Charlotte shushing him with a hand on his shoulder. Her giggly apology reaches your ears and the two of you turn to find them staring your way.

“Can we get some privacy?” Eddie calls back, face pinching in his frustration.

“Come on, Stevie. Leave them alone,” Charlotte agrees, tugging at his arm. “We’ll catch up later. Sorry, guys.”

The patio door slides shut once more and you’re left alone with your favorite boy. He huffs out a sigh, sliding his arms back around your form, breathing a cloud between the two of you.

You’re not expecting him to just blurt out his next sentence. Not expecting the words at all, and yet they’re the same words you’ve been holding to yourself for safe keeping, for that perfect moment like this one. The moment where it’s the two of you, overwhelmed in one another, hidden away in a stolen moment captured in time.

Because it’s New Years Eve and Eddie’s just said, “I’m in love with you.”

Because it’s New Year’s Eve and your tears prick, voice a broken sob as you whisper back, “I’m in love with you, too.”

It’s New Year’s Eve and you’re spending it with the person you want to go make countless memories with in the next three hundred and sixty five days. You want all his days, good and bad. To brave the storms should they come, to chase away his nightmares, to rejoice in the happy times. You want to wake to him in the morning and kiss him goodnight before bed. You want to dance in the kitchen as you cook together, to taste his sugar sweet lips on those days you try something new to bake. You want those new adventures, dinners with Wayne and Max, play time with Chewbacca. You want the game nights with your friends, to listen to him play Dungeons and Dragons with the kids, to go on that camping trip Steve, Robin and the others talked about come summer time.

You wanted it all, want it all, with the boy standing before you with all the love in the world behind his eyes.

“I’m in love with you,” you repeat, just as the sound of the countdown spills from inside.

Ten…

He curls a hand around your face once more.

Nine…

You brush at the hair near his shoulders, feeling him warm beneath your skin.

Eight…

He tugs you closer, always closer.

Seven…

You slide your hands into his jacket, hands resting against his back.

Six…

He tells you he’s in love with you once more.

Five…

You press your forehead to his, smiling up at him.

Four…

He glances down at you through those dark lashes.

Three…

You feel his breath dance along your bottom lip.

Two…

You wish him a Happy New Year.

One…

He kisses you as party poppers explode showers of confetti inside. Kisses you as shouts fill your ears. Kisses you until butterflies dance to life in your belly, until fireworks dance behind your eyes, and the rest of the world falls away.

It all dissolves around you, and you’re just standing there in the arms of the man you love.

Nothing else matters.

All that matters is this moment, this boy, this love.

It starts, you suppose, in the car ride. The atmosphere has a new heaviness, a thrill that boils in the cabin. Your fingers slide through Eddie’s, toying with the rings resting cool from the winter air against your thigh. You’re not sure what possesses you. Not sure if it’s the happiness from the evening, the weight of his confession, the way your heart feels full to burst—but it has you feeling bolder, has you slowly trailing your fingers along your opposite thigh. A slow path, a gentle up and down, over and over again.

His eyes flash to yours, linger briefly on your exposed flesh, the warmth of your skin. You catch the way his tongue dips to his lip, the pinch of his teeth against skin, before flashing back to the road. You’re almost home, only minutes now, but you’re itching for touch. For his touch in particular, warm against your skin, along the outline of your leg muscle, inside your thigh, at your center where you want him most.

You feel the first little brush of his fingers as they slip free from yours, the tantalizing trail of them, along the thigh nearest to him. A gentle drag of skin against skin, venturing higher every time. His fingertips tease the hem of your ruched satin dress, now bunched near your hip, leaving only inches between where he lingers now and your clothed center. There is a question in his eyes, a pass of chocolate brown eyes in the night as he looks your way, and you dip your head, understanding his meaning.

His fingers start a new exploration, a curious slide along your inner thigh, a gentle sweep that leaves gooseflesh in its wake. It’s unfamiliar to him and you, and yet it elicits a soft sigh from your lips, head falling back against the headrest. Taking this as all the coaxing he needs, he pushes up higher, halting at the edge of your panties. There is a brief moment where he pauses, and you wonder if he’s about to freeze up and end this before you’ve even had a chance to begin the night, but he dissuades those fears when he shifts and presses his middle finger against the spot of slick already forming against the gray material.

He curses, his eyes sliding up to the ceiling in a silent prayer, hand tightening in a white knuckle grip against the steering wheel. “Wanna touch you.”

“Then touch me, Eddie,” you breathe out, shuddering as he pushes the material to the side and slides a finger through your folds, dragging in a curious line.

It's a wonky, unpracticed pattern that he tries once…then twice, and pulls back.

“Show me. Show me what you like.”

It sounds choked.

A little gasp, a soft plea.

Understanding what he means, you reach down to join him, dragging a line down your center, swirling in the pool of slick at your entrance before circling the bead of your clit. His eyes dart from the road to where your finger starts to move in small circles, toes already curling within your heels.

He watches like that for a few moments. Captures the way your chest rises and falls with each sweep of your finger, the heaviness of your breath, the shudder of each pass of air through lungs. And it doesn’t take long before he’s replacing your fingers with his own, following the same path you’d taken. Dragging those thicker digits from your entrance up to your clit, starting the slow slide of his fingers along hot flesh, murmuring, “You look so pretty. So fuckin’ pretty, baby.”

Your answer is a hum, a broken whisper of, “Right there, Eddie. Just like that.”

You’re already close.

You feel the beginnings of your orgasm beckoning, dragged closer by your own ministrations, and swifter now with Eddie’s fuller fingers, your hand coming out to grab at his thigh. You can’t help the whine that spills from you as that heat coils higher in your belly, the rubber band pulling taut, ready to snap as he moves faster under your guidance.

Your fingers dig down where they rest against his flesh. His eyes sweep back over to you, molten and dark in the moonlight, stuttering along where he’s touching you in a way he’s never done so before. He looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, mesmerized by the way you look in this moment. It’s terrifying and exciting, eyes shut against the feeling. Flames lick at you as he pulls into the back of your coffee shop and parks the van. You barely register the click of his key pulling from the ignition before his mouth is on yours, face crashing into you from over the center console. You’re immediately moaning into his mouth and driving your hips up further into his hand to seek more friction as the rubber band snaps and sweet release spills into your system.

“Oh shit,” he breathes against your lips, brushing kiss after kiss along your face as your hips fall back against the seat, your eyes heavy as you try to catch your breath, looking up at him with a little laugh. “Was that good? I—”

You silence him with a kiss, whispering, “Inside,” against his skin.

He barely has a moment to lock the door before you’re grasping his hand and rushing him up the stairs, humming as the door locks close behind the two of you and you’re finally and blessedly alone. You both toe off your shoes as you maneuver your way over to the bed, connected at the mouth, hands reaching to grab at clothes, a clash of lips, tongues and teeth.

“Chewy, stay in your room. Your parents are busy!” Eddie scolds, the kitten in question already sound asleep in his little makeshift bed.

You giggle airily as the backs of your thighs hit your mattress, back falling into plush comforters as he crawls over you, walking you backward up the bed until your head rests upon your mountain of pillows.

“Say it again?” He asks, marking a path down your cheek, along your neck, pulling a whimper from you as he sucks a hickey into your collarbone.

“I’m in love with you, Eddie.”

He’s kissing you again, your head swimming with the ecstasy of the moment. It’s slower this time. Not like in the car where it’s a frantic, wild thing. There’s all the time now in the world to taste, tease and explore. His tongue sweeping low against your lip, sliding along yours, licking into your mouth with slow, languid kisses.

He moans into your mouth, a sweet thing you swallow as his body slides closer to yours, the beat of his heart a tattoo against your sternum. A frantic flutter you slide your palm up between the two of you to feel, tethering yourself to this moment—to this man.

His guitar string callused fingers drag a familiar path along your thigh, sliding your dress up higher over your hips, baring you to him once more. His fingers come to slide between your folds, still puffy from your orgasm, making you shudder and mewl against his skin. Hips move upward at the sensation, seeking friction, seeking him.

In your impatience, you fist both sides of your dress in your hands, Eddie’s hands falling away from you long enough to let you sit up and pull the material up and over your body. You feel bared to him, already nearly naked against your mattress because the dress had called for no bra lines, and a forearm moves to drape across your chest.

“Hey, hey,” Eddie coos, cupping the side of your cheek. “You’re so beautiful. There’s no need to hide with me. I love you. I love you so much, sweetheart.”

Your arm drops away and he replaces it with his lips.

This part he knows.

This part he’s practiced on you already.

One hand comes up to knead one breast, while he pastes wet kiss after wet kiss to the other, tongue laving over your flesh, sucking into supple skin until you’re bucking up against his clothed thigh, rubbing your center against the fullness of it—seeking something, anything, to satisfy the need swirling in your gut.

“Come here,” you nearly beg, curling your fingers in the hair at the back of his head, tugging him back upward to your lips. You kiss him soundly, mewling as his thigh shifts and his hips roll forward, the hardness of him rubbing just right against your core, robbing you of all air. “Missed you.”

“I’m right here,” he chuckles, fingers dancing along your thigh. “Not going anywhere.”

“Want to touch you, Eds. But only if you’re ready.”

He leans back onto his haunches above you, hair a wild mess, chest rising and falling swiftly. He looks beautiful like this, just as he always does, all dark eyes and swirling heat living in them. They’re blown out now in his desire, in a way you’ve not seen him before. Heat flares at the thought it’s meant only for you, reserved only for you at this moment, just as his fingers reach for the hem of his shirt and hesitate.

“I can shut the light,” you whisper, hand coming to smooth up and down his thigh.

You want him to be comfortable. Fully at ease in a moment you know is already nerve wracking for him. It’s his first time with you, but it’s also his first time baring himself fully to another human after what transpired two years ago. His eyes shift to the left, to a faraway spot on the wall, like he’s mulling it over.

You stretch your arm out toward your lamp when a hand curls around your wrist like a bracelet. Eddie’s voice breaks into the silence with a soft, “No, leave it.”

He reaches behind his back and tugs the shirt up and over himself, slipping it off to toss it into the far corner somewhere. He waits. Waits for you to scream and run, to push him away you’re sure, what with the way his mouth settles into a firm line, his hands shaking where they rest at his thighs.

You’re familiar with his scars. At least the ones on his face, his neck, the spattering of them along his arms. The ones that litter his torso break your heart all over again for the boy on the floor of the Upside Down. The boy who had been close to death, and lived to tell the tale. The boy with the biggest heart you’ve ever known.

You lift yourself up to sit, hand coming up to hover over his abdomen, gaze flashing up to his momentarily. “Can I?”

He dips his head once, releasing a shaky exhale as your fingers trail along the first scar along his abdominal muscles, then further up along the two smaller ones to your left.

“Do they hurt?” You feel his stomach jolt as you drift back southward again, the softness of his abdomen dancing beneath your fingertips. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“No, not anymore. Not for a while now,” he manages to get out, watching your fingers where they linger against him, one of his hands sliding along the crown of your head comfortingly.

His left side, just over his heart, is the worst. A ridge of patchwork done by the plastic surgeons at the hospital, all puckered flesh, hills, bumps and divots. The demobats had tried to take him from you, tried to rob you of ever knowing this man, and your eyes water as you curl your palm over his ribcage, catching the soft shudder of his breath as his eyes fall closed.

You love him.

You love him fully and completely. Even in this body he resents, because it houses his soul. And it’s his soul you long for, want to entwine yourself to, want to cherish for as long as he’ll allow you. Even in this body that he rejects because it no longer looks as it used to, because it’s this body that has held you, has loved you, respected you.

It’s him.

You’ve never loved another person like this before, this feeling of fullness that makes your head swim. It drives you to lean forward, brushing a kiss over his heart, feeling him warm beneath your touch. His hand comes up to curl against the back of your head, your head turning so your ear rests over his sternum, arms looping around his back.

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, as those ringed fingers curl around your chin and tip your head enough for him to kiss you sweetly.

When you pull away, you hear the first whimper fall from him. A choked garble that threatens to cleave you in two. Tears slide down his cheeks, along the bump of his cheek, salty tracks you brush away with your hands.

“I’m crying during sex and we haven’t even had sex yet,” he says pitifully, sniffling loudly.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, thumbing at his scarred cheek. “It’s okay. If you want to stop, we stop. We don’t have to do this now.”

“I want to. I really want to.”

After that it’s a swirl of movement. You slide your underwear down and kick them off as he moves to clamber off the bed, fumbling with his belt buckle and struggling in the process. You jump up to help him, his hands falling to his sides, as you unhook the belt and tug it free from his jeans, letting it fall to the floor with a clatter. You toy with the button on his jeans next, earning a sharp hiss from him as the zipper slides down and you accidentally brush him beneath his boxers, heart thudding when you find him hot and hard already. Swallowing, you watch as he wiggles the jeans down his thighs and stands there in nothing more than a pair of boxers, leaning across the space to kiss you once more.

You can feel the way he trembles, nervousness bubbling as he lowers you back against the mattress, elbows on either side of your head so he can cradle you. Your fingers trail along the hem of his boxers, eliciting a sigh from him, before they slip further within and wrap around silky hot flesh. He’s thick, thicker than anyone you’ve been with. You wonder for a moment if he’ll fit as you drag your thumb along his slit, collecting the bead of precum there. The curse he lets out has you slowly moving your palm up and down his length, watching him pinch his bottom lip between his teeth, shuddering above you.

His eyes flash open then, head shaking as he reaches to grip your hand where it rests against the base of him. “Wait, wait, wait. I’m gonna blow if you do that. I’m already scared I’m only going to last ten seconds. That’ll have me tapped out in five, baby.”

You snort as he leans forward to brush a kiss against your breast, your hand falling away from him to curl instead in the comforter beneath you. Emboldened, Eddie reaches down and slides his boxers off, kicking them into one of the various piles strewn about your floor now. He pops out stiff and ready, your eyes barely having time to take in the sight of him before he’s kneeling back down onto the bed, stealing a soft kiss that has you feeling warm like honey, all sticky sweet and languid.

“Do you have a condom? I didn’t think to bring one. I wasn’t…I didn’t know we’d be doing this, not that I’m sad about it. I’m actually really happy and—”

“I’m on the pill,” you explain, and the furrow between his brows softens, head slowly nodding. “But I have some right here.”

You reach over into your bedside table and he reaches over to pull a foil from the box. You watch him open it with shaky hands, chuckling to himself as it almost falls out of the packaging.

You reach out to see if he needs assistance sliding it on, muttering as you watch him roll the condom down himself. “I got them at the store the other day.”

“Oh—well that’s good. Safety first and all of that,” he says, chuckling nervously. You shift a bit beneath him, moving up further, making room for both your bodies, as his hand marks a slow path along your ribcage. “This is where my experience stops.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “I’ve got you. Just remember we have nothing but time.”

“Okay,” he says, voice a little wobbly as he lowers himself against you, grabbing himself in hand. “Are you ready?”

“I’ve been ready since we were in the car,” you laugh, making him smile as he slowly drags himself up and down through your slick, bumping your clit in a way that has your eyes clamping shut, voice hitching in a whine. “Eddie.”

He understands your breathy plea, sliding lower until his tip rests at your entrance, full and warm as he presses in slowly. You both shudder out a moan, your fingers coming up to grip his shoulder at the slight burn of the unexpected fullness of him.

He’s babbling your name into your throat, gasping at the feel of you fluttering around him, muttering how much he loves you into your neck. And you’re rolling your hips up further into him, wanting to be full of him, wanting to be as close as you’ve ever been until he’s cursing against your skin and burying himself to the hilt.

“Oh, hell. Okay. I’m inside of you.”

You snort, shoving playfully at his side as you adjust to him. “That’s typically how this works.”

He swallows thickly, hips rocking shallowly against yours. “Can I move?”

“Yeah, hon. Please.”

He starts off uneasily. Moving a little too swiftly against you as his human instinct takes its time to kick in. You grip at his shoulder, trying to steady him, gasping into his neck at the still delicious drag of him along your walls.

“Hey, Eddie,” you whimper, and his eyes pop open to look down at you.

“Oh no. Baby, I’m not hurting you, am I?” He stills inside you, hands coming to rest on either side of your face, those dark eyes round with fear.

“No…no. I just wanted to say go slow,” you whisper, mewling into his mouth as he does exactly that. Pulls back gently and rolls his hips forward in a way that has your eyes rolling back a bit, shuddering out a breath. “Y-yeah. Like that—just like that.”

“Is this good? Want it to be good for you, because—” He groans into your shoulder as your hips rise up from the bed to meet him, hands sliding up and over his back, thigh curling around his hip to keep him closer. “Shit. You feel so good. Like you were…like you were made for me.”

“You are.” You whine as he palms your breast, kissing the corner of your mouth, rocking against you in a way that has you seeing stars. If he kept going, if he kept hitting that spot over and over again—“Doing so good, Eddie. Making me feel so good, so full of you—mmmm—”

But it’s all over soon after your praises fill the room. You clamp your nails down as his shoulder as his hips move more erratically, sweat on his forehead pooling, his teeth pinching at his lip as his eyes slam shut.

“I’m close. I’m so close, I’m sorry baby—”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Just let go, I got you.”

His thrusting grows erratic as his chest falls forward and presses you down into the mattress. You feel him give one more final snap of his hips before he comes to a halt, trembling against your form with a curse. He’s gasping as he spasms inside, riding out the aftershocks of his orgasm.

He remains against you like that for a moment, panting heavily against your skin, pasting kiss after kiss into your sternum before he finally pulls out of you with a low whine.

You gasp out a breath and slide a palm over your racing heart, watching him walk over to your bathroom to discard the condom. When he returns, he loops an arm over your waist, fingers wandering against your belly, the curve of your hip, the tops of your thighs.

You shudder out a breath as he grazes your center, asking, “What are you doing?”

“You didn’t…finish, right?”

He leans down to press the softest of kisses to your lips, the answering shake of your head all he needs before he runs a finger along your slit, a gentle drag from your entrance before following the pattern against your sensitive clit you showed him in the car.

“Eddie…” Your heel shifts to press against the mattress, thigh falling open, baring yourself fully to him. “It’s okay. Really.”

“Wanna kiss you there, sweetheart.”

You chuckle heartily at his brazenness as he starts dropping kiss after kiss along your breasts, down the line of your sternum, across your belly where he sucks a little hickey into the skin below your belly button until your chuckling against his smiling mouth, his hand coming up to curl with yours resting by your hip. He gives you a little squeeze and laces your fingers with his as he starts kissing along the tops of your hip bones, the span of skin between them that makes you gasp against your pillow, head rolling back.

He doesn’t stop the slow torture there. You’re not sure where he’s learned this, but you’re silently thanking them with a plea as his lips mark a scorching path along the insides of your thighs, his other hand curling around the meat of your leg to open you further to him, nose tickling your sensitive flesh until you’re shifting your hips against the mattress, earning a nip against the inside of your thigh.

“Eddie, please,” you whimper, breath robbed from your lungs as he finally slides the flat of his tongue from your center up to your clit, drawing a tentative circle there.

“Tell me what to do. What you like. Wanna make it good.”

“To the left. And just like that, keep doing that.”

You’re a shaking mess as his ringed hand leaves yours and joins his tongue, prodding where you want him most, and you practically cry out your “yes” as he slips a finger inside.

“Like that, like that,” you babble, hand dropping down to rest at his full head of curls. When his second finger eases in, you feel your walls clamp down around him, his answering chuckle vibrating against your sensitive flesh. “If you curl your fingers like that—ah, yeah, just like that—”

You break off into a sob as he mimics your ‘come hither’ motion, his fingers moving in tandem with his tongue in a way that has your legs shaking on either side of his head, fingers twisting tight into his curls. You’re afraid you’ve hurt him at first, whipping your hand back, but he reaches up and slides it back into place, pressing your open palm against his hair so you can tug as you teeter closer and closer toward the edge.

“I’m so close, Eddie. You’re doing so good,” you pant, white flashing behind your eyes as he crooks those fingers against the part of you that has the flame flickering in your gut burning brighter and brighter, coil growing tighter as his tongue works you, his own sighs after a particularly hard tug of his hair against your center vibrating down to the tips of your toes.

The flames dance higher.

Burn brighter.

Become all consuming as tears prick in the corner of your eyes.

Because it’s Eddie.

Eddie Munson, the man who walked into your coffee shop all those months ago. The man with the quiet soul and loud mind. The man who cracked into a smile at your silly factoids and your ridiculous jokes. The man who had first been your friend and became so much more. Who tended to you when you were sick, helped make your house a home, created a little family with you by adding Chewy into the mix.

The man who became a safe place to land. A shoulder to rest your head. A door to walk into at the end of the day, to seek shelter from a storm with, to love endlessly and be loved in return.

It’s him, and in a way you think it’s always been him.

You snap with a low keen, trembling as your orgasm rushes over you, Eddie’s head peeking up just enough to watch it roll over you as his fingers continue their gentle slide.

You writhe beneath him as pleasure hits a peak and settles back into a low simmer, his head coming up to kiss you on the lips when he finally pulls out and joins you near your pillow. Your hand comes up to rest at the back of his neck, holding him to you, your mouths moving slowly over one another, tongues licking into mouths, neither one of you wanting to part from the other.

You’re not sure how long you lay like that in the circle of his embrace, his arm around your waist, your bare chests pressed to one another, ankles tangled beneath bedsheets. All you know is you hate to see him go as he slips out from the bed once more, sliding on his discarded boxers, into your bathroom. You hear the water run momentarily before shutting off, his frame reappearing with a washcloth in hand.

He helps you clean in silence. His fingers gentle along your still sensitive flesh, punctuating each slide of damp cloth with a kiss against your temple, before tossing it into the heap of clothing strewn about your floor. After that is a slide of hands as he helps you up and off of your bed, slipping his sweater over your head and letting it fall into place at your thighs. Your fingers skirt his side, along his bare chest, as he leads you into your bathroom and the two of you get ready for bed in silence.

He’s just been inside you, wholly and fully, but all you can think of is how these moments are your favorites. The ones only you’re privy to. The way Eddie slides lotion over his scars to maintain the elasticity of his skin, the care he takes in washing his face thanks to Steve’s incessant urging, the snap of his hair tie as he pulls his hair away from his face.

You stand before him as you brush, his larger form swallowing yours, fingers coming to toy with the hairs at the nape of your neck, thumb brushing lightly against skin. And as you spit into the sink and flush water down the drain, he spins you in his arms and presses your backside against the counter, drawing you to your tippy toes as he kisses you soundly, swallowing your sigh of happiness.

“Ready for bed?” You ask, running your hands down his chest, curling along his sides.

And he is. You find as much as the two of you slip back into your blankets, him drawing you close to his chest, pressing a kiss to the slope of your shoulder. You barely have a chance to whisper goodnight before he’s shutting his eyes and slipping off into a deep sleep.

You bury yourself closer to him and follow him into rest.

Eddie’s sure he’s dead.

Has to be.

It’s the only explanation for the way he wakes with you resting against his chest, your mouth slightly parted, little sighs filling the air.

He has to be dead, because last night Eddie Munson was Hawkin’s resident twenty-three year old virgin, and now he’s no longer a virgin and in bed with the love of his life.

Only he’s not dead. He feels the throb of his heart in his ribcage, the sound of it rattling in his ears thanks to your otherwise silent apartment.

Last night feels like a wispy dream he made up in his mind. Your hands in his hair, your body closer than ever before to his, the way you gasped and moaned in his ear. The feeling of you wrapped around him, hips rising to meet him, driving him further and further over the edge. He pictures the look on your face in utter bliss, watching you writhe for him, bringing you to that peak and watching it rush over you, leaving you shaking in his arms with him as your anchor.

All his life he’d thought himself unworthy of love. His father hadn’t been around much—always in and out of jail, and when he was around his way of showing love was teaching him how to shotgun a beer and hot wire a car. His mother, god he loved his mother, but when his father fell deeper and deeper into his poor habits, she retreated to other things to fill her heart.

Wayne had been the one to give him a home, to give him shelter, to let him know what a family looked like. A real family, at least. And then there was Max. The rough and tumble girl from across the street, with a personality that matched the fiery hue of her hair. She showed him what it was like to love someone like your own kin. Like blood. To want to cover them, protect them from the world, keep them safe.

And then there was you. The girl who had walked into his life and changed the course of it. For two years he retreated into his shadows. Craved the darkness they provided, the safety of drawing away from others. Hiding, because it seemed easier than facing the world. For a while, he was content with his core group; the same kids who had been with him during the worst week of his life, stood by him when he needed it the most, loved him when he lay broken and battered in the hospital. When the town turned on him, even after he’d been exonerated, they were there to protect his name. To try and fight back the rumors that threatened to swallow him whole. They never saw him as a murderer, never saw him as anything but Eddie Munson, loved him beyond the whispers of those who wanted to see him fall.

Loved him beyond those who wanted to run him out of town, wanted to believe the lie that he had the heart to kill all those kids, wanted to put a blame on the fact half of Hawkins had been ripped apart and sunk into the hell that lingered beneath.

You walked in and changed all of that.

Loved him despite his shadows, coaxed him out of them, wanted to see the parts of him he desired to keep hidden. You called to him, a gentle whisper, those small gestures that slowly broke away at the walls he erected to keep others out. You were patient, a constant beam of light in his world, a gentle smile on the days where he hated himself more than words could ever say.

You loved him in the light.

Loved him proudly in public, despite the way people might have looked onward in stores. Loved him even after knowing what he had gone through in eighty six, loved him despite the scar ravaged body that lingered beneath his clothes.

You’d given him a home to place his heart within. A roof to keep it covered. Your hands are there to cradle it and hold it close. And he trusts you. Whole heartedly trusts you.

Smiles against the crown of your head as he recalls telling you he loved you the night before, the way tears like stars glittered on your lower lashes, the choked hiccup of your breath as you whispered back in a broken voice you loved him, too.

“Are you awake?” You mumble beside him, humming softly as your arms come to stretch above you. He aches at the feel of your chest pressing further into his, cock stirring to life at your hip when you lean over and kiss him soundly. “Oh, good morning to you too.”

“Shut up,” he laughs, feeling his cheeks warm. Only you’re pressing further into him, hips flush against him, making him shudder. “Too early.”

“Is it?” You practically simper the words and his chest tightens further, gasping at the feel of your fingers along his chest, down his abdomen, dancing along the thatch of hair at the base of him before curling your palm around him fully. “We have no plans, it’s just us…”

He reaches down to grab your hand, already missing the heat of you around him, and presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist. Sighing, he leans up onto his elbows and stares down at your face. Beautiful, even freshly washed for bed, you’re so beautiful it stirs an ache deep within his chest.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you so much.”

You lean up and brush your lips against his. Tentative at first, and then coaxing as you slip your tongue along his, breaking apart long enough to rasp out, “I love you, too.”

Soon it’s a flurry of movement. He slips out of his boxers, kicks them down around his ankles, and moves to shift between your thighs. He remembers you’re on the pill and grabs himself in hand, feeling you beckon him forward with a swivel of your hips as he dips himself to the slick already pooling at your center. This time, as he sheathes himself fully, he languishes in the mutual gasp that fills the spaces between the two of you. Nearly chokes on a sob as he rolls his hips forward and back and feels you shifting to meet him thrust for thrust. You chase your end together, a slow ebb and flow, a quiet that wraps around your hearts save for your mingling breaths and moans.

You mewl into his skin that you love him.

To keep going.

Right there, you gasp out, when he hits that spot that has your eyes rolling back in your skull. Hits it over and over again as you start to shake beneath him, your impending orgasm drawing closer and closer.

It’s not like last night. The nervous, awkward feeling of exploring new lovers for the first time. Today he relishes the feeling of you around him, of rocking his hips into yours, of drawing out your pleasure, watching your face pinch, listening to your sounds. He wants to memorize every one. Every look that passes along your features as he moves against you, pushing your head further and further into your pillow.

With every movement he tries to show you his love. Tries to kiss you in a way that pours every bit of him into you.

He wants you to know that you’re it, this is it, this moment and this girl.

He’s done running.

He’s found home.

He’s found you.

Today feels like making love. Up until this moment he thought it was a cheesy thing people said about sex. But now he knows it’s real, feels the severity of it as he holds you in his arms, safe and sound from the rest of the world.

“Fuck, I don’t think I’ll ever get over how beautiful you are.”

You only gasp his name in reply. Hands come to slide up along his back as he picks up his pace. Rolls his hips down into yours, hitting that spongy part of you that has your thighs trembling where they curl around his hips.

His forehead drops against yours, your eyes coming up to meet him as he tells you he loves you over and over again, hand curling tight with yours against the pillow beneath your head.

Forever.

For the first time, he wants that.

You shatter around him. Walls clamping down as you practically sob his name.

He’s not long after, moaning low and heavy into your skin, heart pounding in his ears. You whimper and writhe against him, as he slows in you, coming down from his own high.

He flops down onto his back and feels you shift beside him in the bed, coming to rest along his chest, hand trailing along his abdomen.

“Better?” He laughs, curling his arm beneath your head.

“Last night was perfect. Stop that.”

“Yes…yes it was. But this was better, no?”

You level him with a stare and he bursts out into laughter, waking Chewy who scampers over to hop in the bed with the two of you.

Your little family.

“Happy New Year, Eddie,” you whisper, reaching across to lace your fingers with his. “I have a feeling it’ll be a good one.”

“Happy New Year, sweetheart.”

Spring, 1991

“Baby showers are so weird,” Steve mutters, bringing the lip of his beer bottle to his mouth to take a sip.

The two of them stand near the door leading to the patio, glancing out to where Steve’s wife, Charlotte, sits in a circle of her closest friends who are all ‘oohing’ and ‘ahhing’ over the dozens of new little girl outfits she’s received.

Steve continues, “Bunch of girls sitting around opening gifts for someone who isn’t even here yet.”

“Also kind of weird because it’s sort of like a ‘congratulations, your dick works’ celebration.”

“You two are disgusting,” Robin says. “Neanderthals. Babe, you live with this man?”

You’re at Robin’s side, wearing that dress that flutters around your thighs when you walk, looking pretty as ever. You still rob him of his breath even after the past two years.

“That I do,” you laugh, kissing him as you brush by to go grab more desserts from the countertop. “Have fun, boys!”

The two of you slip back out from where you came, Steve waiting until the door slides shut fully when he asks, “So when are you going to ask her? That ring has been burning a hole in your closet for weeks now.”

“Soon…” he says, watching as you walk around with a tray filled with cookies in your arms, passing them out to greedy guests. “I’m just waiting for the perfect moment.”

His first attempt has him sweating. Literal sweat dripping from his pores as the two of you sit at that too-ritzy restaurant Steve suggested you try. It’s not his scene, and it’s not yours. You prefer eating indoors, within the comfort of your now shared apartment, with Chewy always nearby to beg for table scraps (you always yell at him not to give him people food, but he’s quick to remind you he’s a growing boy).

This—the candles on the table, the multiple forks and spoons he’s not sure what to do with, the intricately folded napkins. He feels so out of place.

But the plan is as follows for the evening: the music will change to something soft and romantic just as the waiter walks out with your glasses of champagne and dessert. He’s requested a little note to be written in scrawling letters, set to read “will you marry me?” As you’re reading (and hopefully crying) he plans on dropping onto one knee and popping the ring box open.

It’s foolproof, Steve and Robin have reassured him only about fifty times now.

He just knows it needs to be perfect.

You deserve nothing less.

However, nothing ever goes quite as planned. You’re holding his hand, talking about the shop, when a table near you starts to shift. A trio of men start singing, actually singing, to the woman staring up wide-eyed at them, clearly enjoying a moment she’s been dreaming about. She’s a hysterical crying mess, Eddie’s horrified, and you look ready to sink into the ground from second hand embarrassment as one of the men steps forward and asks her to marry him in front of the whole room.

“Shit,” Eddie curses, and you pry your attention away long enough from the now frantically kissing couple to look over to him.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing, sweetheart,” he says, glancing up to where the waiter is standing with a tray holding your dessert and glasses.

He’s waiting for him, he realizes, to give the go ahead.

But now his head is spinning, because he’s definitely not singing to you, he’s not prepared any fancy speeches or grand gestures, and definitely won’t be topping that display.

He just wanted to get down on one knee and let the words pour out of him in the moment.

The plan comes to a halt even further when you huff out, “I understand the whole public engagement idea, but I don’t think that’s for me. I feel like…I don’t know, I’d want it to be more intimate. Just you and me. Us.”

It’s like a record scratch in his ears, lungs relieved of all air as he tugs on his collar because he’s choking now too.

Is the room getting hotter?

The waiter glances over and Eddie shakes his head stiffly, reassuring you he’s fine when your hand reaches out to cup his forearm.

“Check,” Eddie mouths to the man when you’re not looking.

So no, it didn't happen that day.

The second attempt fares worse than the first. You’re cooking beside him in the kitchen and he’s about to get down on one knee when the phone blares from the far wall.

The two of you stand close to the receiver when the familiar voice of Dustin fills Eddie’s ears, grating and frantic, like he’s recently run a marathon or something.

“Dustin Henderson, resident butthead, what do you want?” Eddie drawls, earning a soft shove from you where you stand beside him.

“Aren’t you twenty-five?”

“Some things never change,” he says, and he can practically hear the kids' eyes rolling in his skull on the other end. “Is someone dying, because I was kind of in the middle of something.”

“That’s disgusting and you should be ashamed of yourself,” Dustin groans.

“Not that kind of thing, you perv.”

“Look, I need help not being single and miserable…”

“That doesn’t sound like someone dying.”

“It might be soon if I don’t fix things with Suzie.”

“Okay, so how do you suppose—”

“Not from you! You’re not romantic,” Dustin continues, leaving Eddie a spluttering mess because he was, in fact, about to be romantic. Probably the most romantic he’s ever been in his life. So fuck him, he thinks. “I need your girlfriend.”

It didn't happen that day either.

The third attempt has you in the hospital, Eddie nearly wearing a hole into the ground as he asks the doctors a million and one questions. Is she going to be okay? What kind of medicine can she take? How long will she need to be on crutches for? Do they have to amputate? (He knows that one is a little dramatic, and he’s only asking because his brain is practically shaking in his skull, but he has to know).

You were taking a walk through your favorite park, following along a trail you’ve walked many times now, his sights set on the little lake in the middle of it that is viewable from a small bridge that sits beneath a canopy of leaves.

The only different thing about that day was the way you stepped funny and rolled your ankle, falling to the ground clutching at the offended limb with tears in your eyes. He’d been a mess, an absolute mess even though you told him over and over again you were okay, that it’s likely nothing serious, even though you were the one hurt in the first place.

But he drives like a bat out of hell to the hospital, only to sit in a waiting room for hours, before you’re taken for x-rays.

You have a broken ankle, and his heart aches when they cover your limb in a cast.

That afternoon it’s all dinner in bed and cuddling with Chewy and him as he props your foot up on a mountain of pillows, refusing to let you lift a finger for anything.

Not even the remote, he tells you when you grumble that you’re fine.

Definitely not the right time to propose, he decides, and shelves it for another.

He finds you a few days later sitting on the floor with your injured ankle resting in front of you and your palm upturned. He catches the sight of the velvet box next, the way your eyes behold the box like you’ve never seen anything like it before in your life.

“Oh no,” he cries out, rushing over to where you sit on the ground. “No, no, no. I had it all planned out. Well not planned out; I’ve had to change the plans a few times now, actually. But I wanted to make it special, take you somewhere or do something we like to do and ask you—”

“Eddie.”

It’s ruined.

The whole thing is ruined. He presses the heel of his palm to his forehead and groans.

“Eddie,” you try again, and he lifts his head to see you turning to look at him.

There are tears in your eyes, but you don’t seem sad. He’s just ruined your proposal and you’re not upset?

“Eddie, ask me now.”

He feels himself stumble a bit. Stutters out, “W-what?”

“Ask me now.”

You swallow thickly, handing him the ring box as he settles down on the ground in front of you. Chewy pokes his head up from the top of the couch, tail swishing at his two humans.

“A few years ago a new girl moved to town. There’s this idiot that works across the street from her shop at the bar, and he’s kind of a dick to her at first. You can laugh, it’s true. But it’s funny because she’s never deterred by it. She starts writing these little facts on his cups, and these corny little jokes that make her laugh and make it really hard for him not to laugh too because she’s just so pretty. They become friends…sort of. You see, he doesn’t really like to let many people in, and here she is with this big personality. Everyone falls in love with her, I mean—how wouldn’t they. Except for him. Or so he thinks.”

You’ve moved closer, your knees against his, one of his hands in your lap, curled in your own.

“He starts helping out with her apartment and realizes the more he hangs out with her, the more he likes her. He starts to feel less like a monster, and more like someone capable of love. She peels back those little layers and is so patient with it, never pushes him, always puts his feelings first. And then, he realizes he’d be a complete dingus to not tell her he likes her. And then the most surprising thing happens.”

You’re laughing through your tears, but laughing all the same and asking, “What is that?”

“They fall in love. Him for the first time ever, and he realizes…he wants that person every day for the rest of his life.”

He pops the box open and watches your hand come up to press against your lips, taking in the single diamond on a slender gold band.

“I love you so much, sweetheart. Every day more than the one that came before it. And I want that, I want this…us, for the rest of my life,” he says thickly, trying to hold back his own tears. “If you say yes, of course.”

“Yes, Eddie, yes,” you whisper, holding out your hand so he can slide it onto your ring finger.

It’s a perfect fit.

Then again, you’ve always been.

Eddie Munson marries the girl of his dreams six months later.

It’s a small ceremony, surrounded by your closest friends in the Wheeler’s backyard. You share personal vows with one another, words that encompass the years you’ve known one another, the love you share, the dreams for the future.

He promises to love you for the rest of his life as Steve—newly officiated for this occasion—instructs him to slide your wedding band onto your finger. And you do the same, standing there in a pretty white dress, your own words falling around him and filling his heart as you push the solid gold ring onto his own hand.

You dance under twinkling lights the kids have twined around the trees, hearts full to burst.

Wayne tells him he’s proud to call him son and wishes you well as you part for the night, Max joining soon after to hug the two of you and remind you she’ll be by the apartment often to check up on Chewy (her favorite and only nephew).

You slip into your hotel room in a flurry of kisses, a sea of white tulle around you, your hands in his suit and his working on undoing the line of buttons down your back.

You fall into one another as you always do, his lips against yours, bodies burning, sighs mingling into one as he slides home for the first time with his new wife.

He holds you close, one arm low around your back, the backs of his knuckles against your cheek. Tells you he loves you as the two of you creep closer and closer to mutual bliss.

Later, after you’re both cleaned up and spent, he tucks you close to his chest and hums the song you danced to at your wedding.

He’s happy.

Happier than he’s ever been in his life.

“Fun fact: Becoming your husband made this the best day of my life.”

You press your head further into his chest, finger toying with the new ring on his finger. “Fun fact: Becoming your wife is mine.”

Tag List: @clinicallyonline17, @sidthedollface2, @lazywillow6748, @idkidknemore, @blue-eyed-lion , @emma77645 , @bambipowerblueaddition , @aysheashea , @lezzy-bennet @yeehawbitchs

#eddie munson x you #Eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x afab!reader #eddie munson fluff

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pianokantzart · 6 months

Note

I posted something somewhere about Papa Mario’s “these are boys” line being wholesome (and made more so because of who voices the character!) and I got some comments from people who hated the line because it was clear Pio “didn’t give a shit” about either of his sons and only accepted them once they gave him something he could brag about. In other words, he only “cares” about them when they make him look good. I don’t think this is the case, and I get the feeling you don’t either. Can you do a brief analysis on the character given what little we’ve seen of him? :)

Yep, I 100% agree with you. Mario and Luigi's dad may have his flaws, but he definitely cares about his kids.

The thing about Pio is that he strikes me as the family patriarch? At least for as long as the grandpa has been in his twilight years. Not only does Pio appear a lot more emotionally restrained than Uncle Tony and Uncle Arthur, but he's bulkier and moves with a lot less pep. Either he's a good number of years older than either of them, works a far more physically demanding job, or both. Whatever the case, he takes matters with a lot more gravity, and his lapse of judgement at the dinner table seemed to be out of genuine worry rather than disdain or apathy. At first he did his best to talk about anything other than Mario's failing plumbing business, keeping his head down and eating his pasta while everyone else was either defending or teasing Mario and Luigi.

It's only when Mario directly asks his dad for his opinion that he gets right to the heart of the matter:

"I think you're nuts. You don't leave a steady job for some crazy dream. And the worst part? You're bringing your brother down with you."

It's harsh, but you can tell he means well. This is not the face of a man who "doesn't give a sh*t." This may be a big joke to Arthur and Tony, but to Pio it's dead serious. Mario's taking a huge gamble with his and his brother's financial stability. Yes, this is Mario AND Luigi's dream, and Luigi is perfectly capable of making his own decisions... but it's clear who's leading the charge and making a lot of questionable choices along the way. If Pio has a place of headship in the family like I suspect, then this statement has a lot more weight to it– he knows what it is to have other people's wellbeing rely on you. It's important Mario understands that if this longshot fails, he won't be going down alone.

Did Mario already know this? Yep. Was telling him he was bringing his brother down a step too far? Absolutely, but Pio was not trying to emotionally gut his son the way he did.

When Mario storms off, he looks blindsided by the reaction.

When everyone stares at him in surprise he asks "what did I say?" in a tone of genuine confusion. This was meant to be a wakeup call for Mario, not a slap in the face. Apparently, Luigi's inability to read a room is hereditary.

But Pio's not a man of pure stoicism, he's still a hot-blooded Italian at his core, so of course he gets so excited when his kids appear out of nowhere to decimate a giant turtle dragon and his invading army??? (Please note the way he's leaning way too far out of that window in his excitement. It's lucky he's got good core strength or he'd be falling right out of the third story into what is still an active war zone.)

When the smoke clears both Mia and Pio are climbing over wreckage to get to Mario and Luigi, well before a crowd has gathered to cheer. The "these are my boys!" was a continuation of the pride Mario's dad had already expressed before he realized anyone else was watching. He has absolutely no idea what just happened, but anyone with eyes can see that Mario and Luigi just did something fantastic! And as much as Pio sees Mario in the leading role– responsible for his and his brother's failures– he also sees him as responsible for their victories.

So yeah. Conclusion: Mario's Dad is a flawed guy who makes big mistakes, but there's no doubt in my mind that he cares a lot about his kids.

#anyways I'm on the Pio defense squad and my opinion will not be shaken easily #super mario brothers #mario movie #Mario Family #mario headcanons #mario analysis #Local father who is VERY bad at communication tries to teach his son the importance of responsibility #and accidentally delivers psychic damage. More at 11 #askbox #anon #long post

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j0elmill3r · 1 year

Text

Man, I Hate Golf.

Pairing - Joel Miller x Daughter!reader

Summary - Joel has a newfound hate for golf after Abby leaves him traumatized.

Warnings - Major character death, violence, sad Joel, diverges from canon, spoilers for the last of us part 2

Word Count - 1.4k

A/N - I am...so sorry for this, this could be sadder than my previous fics.

Joel Miller Masterlist

You knew this was too good to be true, things had been going too smoothly since you and your dad had joined your uncle Tommy - Joel having stopped talking to Ellie after their argument. You'd saved a girl younger than you - Abby, her name was - from a horde of infected. You were freezing, the blizzard that had swept through Jackson drastically lowering your body heat, your dad had given you his jacket to try and keep you warm - Even though you were now in your late twenties, Joel was still hellbent on looking after you as though you were still a small child.

You should have trusted your gut instinct, which had told you to take all of Abby's group out. They had acted as though they knew your father and uncle, which then resulted in your leg being shot, and Joel and Tommy both being knocked out.

"Y/N Miller," Abby seethed, crouching down in front of you as she held her gun. You struggled in the grasp of the two men holding you against the window, but you wouldn't have been able to move very much, the makeshift tourniquet tied around the gunshot wound on your leg seriously restricted your movement. You couldn't quite make out the girls face, the place was dark and grim, illuminated by the white glow of the snow outside.

"Do I know you?" You asked her through heaving breaths, your chest rising and falling as you gritted your teeth in pain. She shook her head, you could see tears in her eyes as you looked over her face - Shit. You did know her. Abby Anderson.

Ellie, the hospital, your dad killing the doctors before they could kill Ellie. They were fireflies.

You remembered now. You let out a sigh as you shook your head, giving her a hard glare as your dad and uncle Tommy started to wake up. "Why don't you just give me whatever speech you've been planning and get it over with?" You said, your gaze hardening on the girl in front of you. You let out a scream of pain as they tightened the tourniquet around your leg, the two men beside you letting go of your arms as they fell limply to your sides. The two men moved over to where Joel and Tommy were slowly waking up, they held them back, rendering them unable to move in their tight grip.

You watched in slight fear as she raised a golf club, but you stayed composed, even if you couldn't see how panicked your dad now was. Joel feared for not only his and his brother's lives, but now yours - He knew the girls cause, and you didn't have anything to do with it, it was him that she wanted, not you.

"You stupid bitch," Abby spat at you, pointing the golf club she held tight in her hands at your head. "You don't get to rush this." She told you harshly, giving you no time to react before she swung the golf club at your head, a sickening crack echoing throughout the room as you crumpled to the floor with a pained groan. You couldn't feel your legs any more, and everything felt all muffled, both your sight and hearing.

"No!" Joel cried out, trying to get out of the man who held him's grasp. No. This wasn't happening. You didn't hear your dad and uncle Tommy screaming out for you to keep your eyes open, you were tired. "I'll fucking kill you!" Joel yelled at the women who stood over your limp self, the only showing that you were still alive being your shallow breathing, and your eyes lazily looking up to meet his. Joel could tell that you were tired, watching as your eyes lethargically rolled around, a lazy smile on your face as you met your dad's eyes.

Why was he crying?

You were no longer aware of your situation, your brain slowly shutting down due to the strong blow that had been delivered to your skull.

"Pin him down," Abby ordered, watching as they moved Joel to be laying on his front, kneeling on his neck to make him watch. He felt tears rising as he realised you weren't getting out of this, your blood splattered across the window where you were once kneeling. "I wanna make him watch." She spat, looking down at Joel in spite before she turned back to you, gripping the golf club in her hands tightly.

"No, Y/N, baby, please get up," Joel pleaded with you, he knew that you still had to be in there, despite the blood seeping out from the crack in your skull. "Y/N fucking get up." He cried, now begging you to get up. "Please stop, don't do this, it's not her you want." Joel was no longer begging you, but begging Abby, who held your fate in her hands in the form of a golf club.

Joel's begging fell on deaf ears, as he watched Abby swing her golf club down on your head.

Cracking your skull open with a sickening crunch, which echoed throughout the room - feeling deafening towards your father, it was all he heard, over, and over, and over again.

"No!" He cried, not realising that Tommy had yelled out at the same time at the death of his niece. Joel struggled in the grasps of the men holding him down, watching as your blood dripped from the club "I'm gonna fucking kill you," Joel threatened throughout his sobs, ignoring the man that came towards him, a gun pointed at his head. He just stared at you - laying there, bloodied and lifeless - As if trying to will you to wake up. Everything became muffled to Joel as he continued sobbing, mourning the death of his youngest daughter. He gave one last look towards the woman who had so brutally ended your life, before he was kicked in the face, everything turning to black once more.

He woke up to shaking, his eyes opening to make out the blurry face of his brother, who's face was marked with tear stains after witnessing your traumatizing death.

"Joel," Tommy watched as his older brother finally came around, once more looking over at you. Tommy had moved you away from the pool of your own blood, trying to trick Joel into thinking it wasn't as bad as it looked, going as far to manoeuvre your head to hide the hole in your skull. "Come on, we should go." He advised, helping his brother stand as he limped over to you. Joel held your hand gently, fearing that if he held you too tightly then you would turn to dust - Even though no matter how gently he held your hand, your blood still coated his. Gently, Joel picked your lifeless self up, the way he did when you were a young child at the start of the outbreak.

"I wanna take her back, bury her in Jackson," Joel spoke quietly as he studied your face, stained with blood. Tommy nodded in understanding, he knew Joel had taken Sarah's death badly, but now you were gone too, so he was unsure of how Joel would handle your death. He watched as Joel let out an angry heave. "And them I am gonna kill, every single one of those girls friends, and save her for last."

Tommy couldn't say he had ever been particularly scared of his older brother, but this, this was Joel at his most unhinged. He knew that Joel wouldn't stop until he avenged your death, and that he wouldn't take any prisoners in his quest to avenge you - He would also, show no hesitation in his violence in dealing with them. If they wanted to make your death a brutal one, he could double it.

And make sure it was painful.

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darkwolf989 · 2 months

Text

Outside The Office Part Twelve

Hi All! Trigger warning for Valentino, adverse reactions and Lucifer being himself. As always, feedback is welcomed and appreciated!

The next thing I knew, Valentino’s hand was pressed against my forehead, and another on my shoulder. I opened my eyes and looked up at him, involuntarily breaking out into a smile. The man truly had the most handsome face, especially when it was doused with love.

“Come on, Princessa. You can’t sleep yet. You need food, and then a nap. In that order.” He said gently as he shook my shoulder.

On the coffee table, he set a plate of sandwiches, several bags of chips, two bottles of sweet sixteen and a plate of cookies just close enough for both of us to reach. He sat down next to me and I leaned into him. He nudged me gently until I reached across and chose one of the sandwiches. Valentino gave me a look and I nibbled on my choice of lunch. Across from us, Vox and Velvette had their plates and Vox began flipping through the television channels.

“When is that episode due to air?” I asked between bites.

“Bright and early tomorrow morning,” Vox answered. “Which means tomorrow night we need to go out on the town and get back into that routine of being seen. As long as you can stand it, of course. ”

“Back to the routine of being seen, hmm? Can’t say I disagree with the idea.” Lucifer’s voice boomed from behind.

All four of us jumped. Lucifer grinned and opened his arms. “Hello hello!”

“Twice in one day? Uncle Lucy, what gives us the pleasure of your company?” I asked, trying to bite back the sarcasm that threatened to drip with each word.

He bent over and plucked a sandwich from the plate on the table and shrugged. “What, I can’t visit my favorite niece for lunch?” He laughed at his own joke. “No, but really. I came because I saw the tape Vox sent over. It’s perfect darling, honestly. Couldn’t have done better if I wrote the script myself.” He took another bite, chewed and swallowed before he continued, “I took a little field trip based on what Valentino and Velvette told me about your remaining injuries. Hell’s medicine can’t fix everything, but I think what I have in my bag will speed up the remainder of the process.”

He opened his suit jacket and pulled out an orange bottle, shaking it. I could hear the pills rattle and I began to raise my objection.

He shook his head before I could protest. “Listen to me. I know you’re not a fan of medication that makes your head fuzzy, but believe me when I tell you by tomorrow night you’re going to need to be at the top of your game. These pills get swallowed on a full tummy. Do you understand? Full tummy. Otherwise you’ll spend the night puking your guts out instead of getting better.” He paused. “I would have offered them earlier, but they’re incredibly strong, sweetheart. And they will make you high. If it wasn’t so damn important that I drop this news tomorrow morning I would push it off. But I can’t, and there isn’t a fucking thing I can do about it. So please, even though I know you hate the idea, or maybe the actual process of being high, take these for your Uncle Lucy, so I know that when you walk out that door tomorrow night you are fully ready to handle whatever comes at you.”

I hesitated. I saw his oint, but the idea of taking something to quell the pain left a solid distaste in my mouth. And quite honestly, I had never experienced any sort of high- the closest I got to losing control was drinking too much. In the angelic realm, painkillers that did that were reserved for the utmost emergencies, of which I had experienced none. At least, none I could remember. The soreness in my muscles, the offer of relief along with the desire to be able to protect myself was tempting. But I couldn’t. I could push through the pain, right? No need to take anything to speed up the process- I would heal on my own.

Sensing my uncertainty, Valentino leaned into me, dropping his voice to almost a whisper. “Princessa. The sooner you heal up, the sooner I can show you…all of the things we’ve talked about the past few days.”

As if magic, the butterflies returned and my hesitation vanished. Lucifer narrowed his eyes at Valentino and opened his mouth as if to say something. I quickly cut him off.

“Alright. I mean, if it makes you feel better Uncle Lucy. But this is an exception to the rule, not the norm. Got it?”

His expression relaxed. “Ah. Good choice dear. Valentino, will you step out to the kitchen with me while she finishes her lunch?” He looked down at me. “I cannot stress enough that your stomach needs food in it before you can take this medication. Eat as much as you can, alright?”

Lucifer slung his arm around Valentino. “Come now, good man. We need to talk.”

I looked at Vox and Velvette. Vox shook his head and turned up the television volume, making it impossible to make out what was being discussed. I listened for any sound I could discern from the kitchen as I finished my sandwich and, with Lucifer’s warning in mind, grabbed a cookie and one of the bags of chips on the table. I had swallowed the last bite and taken a few sips of Sweet Sixteen when Lucifer and Valentino walked out of the kitchen, both thankfully in one piece.

“What was that about?” I asked worriedly.

Lucifer stood behind me and leaned on the back of the couch. “Nothing to worry your pretty little head about,” he said, patting my hair. “Did you eat?”

“Vox and Vel as my witnesses, I had had a sandwich, a cookie, and a bag of chips,” I answered, the uneasiness washing over me. “Is that enough? I’m nervous, Lucifer.”

He did a double take at my admission. “Totally natural to be nervous, sweetheart, but I promise I won't let anything bad happen to you,” he assured me, and then gave Valentino a look. “I promise you, this is your best choice at the moment.”

Valentino grinned at Lucifer, but didn’t respond. Instead, he draped his arm around me and pulled me to him, kissing the top of my head.

“Val, what did he say to you?” I asked, nudging him.

“If I told you, Lucifer would probably kill me,” he answered lightly. “Really. Don’t worry about it, it's between us and has nothing to do with you.”

“Alright then, let's do this,” Lucifer tapped my shoulder as he spoke. “Hold out your hand.”

I did as he directed, and two bright orange capsules dropped into my outstretched palm.

“Here. Put these in your mouth and swallow. Drink the rest of the Sweet Sixteen with them,” Lucifer said.

I did as he instructed, and when I finished the bottle, Lucifer leaned over the couch. “Now open up, so I know they’re safely in your tummy.”

I rolled my eyes but leaned back and opened my mouth and lifted my tongue as he requested. While I didn’t expect him to ask me to prove I had swallowed them, but it wasn't totally unusual in my world. Or should I say, my former world. The doctors at the military base required us to do the same with any medication they dispensed.

He frowned. “It concerns me on so many levels that you knew exactly what I was asking you to do. And compiled without so much as a hesitation. But regardless, atta girl. They should kick in in about…twenty minutes or so. Let me know how you feel when you wake up tomorrow afternoon.”

“You mean tomorrow morning, right?”

And with that he vanished and I looked to Valentino, fear crackling through my chest.

“What’s about to happen to me?”

He wrapped his arms around me and brought me to his chest. “Nothing that will last forever, my love. And I’m right here to get you through it. I know you’re scared, but we’re here. We are all here.” He looked at Vox and Velvette. “Right?”

“Absolutely. We’ll work from home for the rest of the day too. Just in case you need anything.” Velvette said, yawning and cuddling into Vox.

I snuggled into Valentino and he took the final bite of his lunch before lifting me up and cradling me to him. Once he was finished, he carried me down the hallway to his bedroom.

“How about a warm shower before the medication kicks in?” He suggested, setting me down on the bathroom counter as he turned on the water. “Or if they do kick in, I’ll be there to hold onto you so nothing awful happens.”

“That sounds lovely,” I answered, kicking off my heels so they fell onto the floor. “I feel exhausted. And every inch of me hurts.”

“Mmm, I can help with that, princessa,” he muttered, reaching under my dress and yanking down my pantyhose with practiced ease. “We have a few minutes until the water warms up, how about we have some fun while we wait?”

Every part of me wanted him. I wrapped my arms around his neck and he ran his hand down my back. Involuntarily, I yelped from the pain and he recoiled instantly, and concern washed over his features.

“Or not. Princessa. You hurt that badly? Why did you keep that from me?” He asked with frustration. He paused for a moment and took a deep breath. “See, princessa? I am frustrated that you didn't communicate with me. I communicated that frustration to you. Therefore that frustration isn’t festering into anger. And you know how I feel. Keep that in mind as you start to explore all the things that come with your power. Communication helps to keep emotion in check.” He bent down and kissed my forehead. “ It’s the key to other things as well, but we can discuss that once the pain subsides. Come on, the warm water will help.”

I jumped down from the counter and I swore I could feel the pills knocking around in my belly. Or maybe it was the nervousness of what was to come. Valentino took my hand and we stepped inside, sinking us both beneath the streams of water. I breathed a sigh of relief as the pain slowly eased up, laying my head against his bare chest. Even over the sound of the water, I could hear his heartbeat thundering under my ear, taking in every single moment of that soothing sound as I let the water wash away the discomfort.

And then it hit me, fast and sudden. The pain was gone, vanished as quickly as it had been present. I felt my entire body relax, leaning my weight against him. I held onto him just the slightest bit tighter and I swore I heard his heartbeat grow louder.

“What’s happening? Why is there so much…” Is what I tried to say, but to my ears it came out garbled and broken.

An amused smile broke out across Valentino’s face. “Princessa? Have you ever been high before?”

Confusion ripped through my brain like wildfire as any thought I had disappeared. I desperately tried to bring myself back to focus. “No, that isn’t right. It’s…it's…why does the world seem so, not real?”

I felt him laugh under me, a steady movement. “Ah, princessa. My sweetheart. Come now. Let’s go get you dressed and in bed.”

The next thing I knew my head was on his chest, wrapped up in the softest blankets I had ever touched. I felt his hand on my back and the loud click of his laptop keys as he continued to work. It sounded too loud, but I couldn’t bring myself to care enough to ask him to stop. Not a single part of my body hurt. I felt like I was floating. All my worries, my fears seemed far away, too far for me to grasp. It felt unnatural and wrong that for the first time in my life, I just didn’t care about, well, anything.

I didn’t like it.

I tried to reach for Valentino, tried to tell him about this feeling. I tried, but I couldn’t make out the words I wanted.

“Shush. Babydoll. It’s alright, I’m here.” Valentino answered soothingly. “Go back to sleep. I know, mi amor. But you’re safe, I promise.

I felt his lips press against my forehead and I closed my eyes, allowing the darkness to consume me once again.

Dreams turned into nightmares as around me, monsters flew. Dark shapes cornered me time and time again as I did everything in my power to fight them away, fight for my own survival. I felt Val shaking me gently and I startled awake for the briefest of moments. The terrors of my nightmares faded away slowly before resurging, again and again. I would escape and they would come back, yanking me back into the abyss. Somehow, I was vaguely aware of his hand on my wrist.

“Sweetheart, wake up, it's okay, it's just a bad dream,” he muttered gently as he shook me. “Babydoll, come on. Wake up.”

I tried to sit up, the need to sleep washing over me as I leaned into him, closing my eyes again as the darkness flooded my brain.

Just a few more minutes, Val, I thought. I didn’t have the energy to speak even if I wanted to.

“Come on babe, you’ve slept long enough. It’s time to get up.”

My voice barely registered the urgency in his voice. I felt his hands lift me up and carry me to the couch, propping my body upright against him.

“I can’t leave you by yourself like this,” he muttered, running his hands through my hair. “Come on babydoll. Wake up for me.”

“Val, go do what you have to do. We’ll keep an eye on her, get something in her when she wakes up more,” Vox said. “She isn’t in any shape to join you. She’s safe here, with us.

Somehow, Valentino was now next to Vox and I was propped up against a pile of pillows. I opened my eyes just a touch and the entire room spun, the walls a shade of purple I couldn't piece together.

Velvette looked up at me and did a double take. Or at least, I thought she did. Honestly, was that Velvette? I couldn’t tell. I closed my eyes and put my head back against the pillows, letting the darkness consume me once again.

This time I was being chased, my father’s face in front of me. He swirled into his angelic form- wings broad as he vanished behind a raging sea of blackness. I tried to scream as I fell in the opposite direction, sure every bone had shattered when I landed. Instead, I found myself in a raging sea, fighting against the waves as I struggled to swim. I sank, down, down, down…

How much time passed, I couldn’t tell. The next thing I registered was the TV shaped face looking at me as he shook me for reasons I couldn’t quite piece together. I startled awake, looking at him in confusion. Why was Vox trying to wake me up? Around me, the room spun, and I couldn’t remember exactly where I was or how I had gotten there.

Vox leaned over and brushed the hair out of my eyes. “Come on babe, I brought you soup. Lucifer said you’ve got to eat.” His arm fell to my waist and he hoisted me upright. “Come on, babycakes.” He handed me a spoon and set a mug on the coffee table in front of me.

I stared at him and then at the spoon, trying desperately to remember what he had said, and what in the world a spoon was used for. Velvette’s face appeared next to me and Vox shook his head, knelt down and waved his hand in front of my face.

“I honestly can’t tell if it's like a bad acid trip, or if she’s stoned out of her mind,” He said with concern. “We should probably wait for Valentino if she’s this fucked up. He should be back any moment now. I wonder if I can get her attention on the TV, try to keep her awake? Otherwise, I’m out of ideas.”

“Worth a shot,” I heard Velvette say.

I watched the black screen on the wall flicker with pretty lights, unable to make sense of them, but somewhere in my brain I felt a happy buzz. I drifted between the pretty lights and the blackness, unable to fight when either one overtook my thoughts.

It could have been minutes, or hours later when Valentino sat next to me. My brain felt ever so slightly less fuzzy, and I couldn’t feel any pain. Or anything at all, really. Valentino wrapped my hand around a plastic cup and ever so gently, he guided the straw to my mouth.

“Drink, babydoll. That’s it. Good girl.”

I tried to think about what he was doing and slowly, slowly, I tasted the liquid on my tongue.

“My brain is fuzzy.” I tried to say, but it didn’t quite come out right.

Nonetheless, he seemed to understand. I saw him turn to Vox and Velvette. “If she were anyone else, this might be cute. Refreshing to see someone so easily put under the influence.” He ran his hand through my hair. “But honey, this isn’t a good look on you.”

I felt the cup leave my hand and around me the room began to swirl, only this time much, much faster.

“Yeah, I think I’m going to call Lucifer and make sure this is…right.” I heard Valentino say.

Valentino’s voice sounded very far away, and I wondered why he sounded so nervous. Wasn’t he used to this? After all, he told me himself he was the top drug lord in Hell. The thought quickly vacated my mind and I vaguely felt his hand brush against my neck before the darkness yanked me down once again.

Flashes of the next few hours, trying to fight against the restraints that held me down. A prick in my arm, and Lucifer’s voice echoing around me. I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t as the medication overtook me. Fighting monsters both invisible and real. I watched as a faceless angel plunged towards Valentino, carrying him off to someplace I couldn’t reach him. Velvette and Vox in pieces, and Lucifer on his knees, kneeling over a graveyard of white and yellow souls. I yelled, and yelled but no one I could recognize would make it stop. Finally, finally the blackness shaded into gray, and then white.

I sat up, my heart pounding and my body covered in sweat. The crook of my arm had the telltale tape and gauze and I looked around the room frantically as the haze drifted away, leaving a crystal clear image of my bedroom. Next to the bed, Lucifer sat, thumbing through a book. His eyes lit up when I sat up.

“Finally, the princess awakens.”

Valentino stirred next to me and sat up at the sound of my voice. “Princessa. You’re awake.” Relief flooded his tone and he gingerly ran his hand through my hair before pulling me to him.

Lucifer yawned, and stuck a post it note in the middle of his book before it vanished. “So glad you’re alive. There were a few moments where I wasn’t sure that would be the outcome of this whole ordeal. Tell me, how much do you remember and how do you feel? Any pain?”

I stretched my body slowly. Stiff, as though I had been sleeping for way too long definitely, but no pain. I tried to think back, willing my brain to pull out some sort of solid core memory of anything that happened since I swallowed the medication. All that came to mind was blackness, pain, fear and another emotion, one that cracked and crushed my chest and rendered me unable to breathe. I remembered Valentino’s voice somewhere far away and Lucifer’s eyes hovering over me.

“I don’t know what that was, but I never, ever want to go through that again. How long was I out for?” I asked.

Lucifer smiled, “At ah. My questions first. How much do you remember, and how do you feel? Any pain?”

I looked at Valentino and he nodded, his face awash with worry.

“Just blackness, emotions. And not ones I’m eager to feel again, anytime soon. And flashes of you and Val. No pain, but I’m really stiff. I think with a hot shower and some stretching I’ll be back to normal. Now answer my question- how long was I out for?”

Lucifer checked his watch. “Well let’s see. The medication hit your belly at about three oh five yesterday afternoon and it is now almost four in the afternoon today. I’m no math wiz but I would say you were on and off for about twenty five hours.” His tone faded from its usual lighthearted banter to something more serious. “But honestly, how do you feel? You had a much, much worse reaction than I expected.”

“I feel fine. Honestly, it's the best I’ve felt since the start of this whole thing. Why do you both look like I’m going to die any second?”

“Because at one point, I thought you were.” Lucifer said simply, leaning over and planting a kiss on my forehead. “And I cannot tell you how glad I am that I was wrong.” He looked at Valentino begrudgingly, “thankfully, Valentino knows a thing or two about…adverse reactions. He got you through most of it, even though I’m sure you don’t remember.”

I picked at the tape on my arm and Valentino reached over, and gently tugged it off. “No need for that anymore. I gave you fluids about six hours ago, but you were thrashing and fighting so badly you ripped the IV out.” He leaned in and kissed me, cupping my chin. “Princessa, I have never been more scared in my life. I never want to see you like that again.”

“Neither do I. So let’s do our best to ensure that doesn’t happen.” Lucifer added as he stood up. “Now that you’re awake, the first order of business is for you to eat. And then when you’re cleaned up and full, go see Velvette. You four have a busy night ahead. And don’t worry- I have eyes on all.” He paused and looked at me, “glad you’re okay, love. You really did frighten me for a moment.”

And with that he vanished.

#the vees #valentino x reader #valentino x wife #vox x reader #valentino x you #hazbin fluff #valentino #hazbin hotel #the vees x reader #valentino hazbin hotel #hazbin x reader #hazbin lucifer #hazbin x you #hazbin x y/n

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zuffer-weird-girl · 10 months

Text

Is there a reason why I decided to remake a fic of my family au? No, not really, but I wanted to.

Why did he agreed on this? Why?

He could be free of any eyebags,. He could have more time om his work, projects to get the hassaikai back to their glory... more PRIVATE time with you.

But no. No, no no. Have a kid Chisaki they said, it will be a great experience they said.

"Daddy I threw up." The four years old boy mumbled in the door of his office and he could only grimace at the hint of the puke on the corner of his son's lips and all over his shirt.

It wasn't a fucking great experience at all when it came to this.

Kaito had came down with a lot of bad case of colds recently... ever since he was put into a pree school at least. It was normal for kids to get easily sick when they get introduced to a new environment with lots of children in it.

But he swore to all above that sometimes he would even beg to you, ON HIS KNEES EVEN, that if you guys just could home school your son since it was getting him sick like this VERY single time.

But you refused.

At first he was enraged but then you came with a very valid point.

'Kaito needs to interact with more people outside the yakuza... I don't have anything against the precepts, but I think our son deserves to have a normal childhood with actual friends close to his age at least.'

He hated when you were right...

He also wouldn't particularly enjoy that his son got too close with precepts either... he did killed Mimic for teaching Kaito the word 'shit'...

It also didn't help that YOU WERE OUT. You had went along with Chrono to retrieve the medicines the doctor had prescribed on the last visit so now he was basically alone with his kid.

His very dirty and sick kid.

"Good lord..." he growled and stood up from his chair as the boy bounced back and forth... despite being sick, Kaito was still fairly acting like it wasn't a big deal...

"Where is mommy?" The boy as he leaded him to the bathroom to get him cleaned, grab some towels..... and a new pair of gloves.

"Out." He groaned while carefully sliding the shirt off his son and immediately dumping into the basket of clothes ... the smell was almost making him wanting to throw his guts out as well...

"I want mommy... " the boy grumbled "You don't know how to do this..."

"Excuse me?" He breathed out in offense at this kid basically telling him he can't do something right "Get in the shower Kaito. Now."

"No."

This brat....

"Get in there before I make you." He growled and the little boy, already used to his father's attics, just had the audacity to show his tongue at him and turn his back to him.

"You dont how to wash my hair." The four years complained and Chisaki's right eye started to twitch.

"What do you mean by that-"

"Mommy does it better than you."

He groaned... his son was just as stubborn as him and he swore this was karma sended by the old man himself that ALSO was the one that proclaimed he wanted grandkids.

He just took his gloves off and went to grab Kaito's by the waist but the calm and collected kid started to trash around and making a fuss and even yelled when he was put under the water...

He also got splashed as well.... his dress t shirt and black pants now completely soaked.

Kaito when he got sick he acted like it didn't bother him, but he also would get extremely annoyed, clingy and even bossy...

And the fact that the kid also made a fuss to GET OUT of the shower he DIDN'T want to enter at first also started to pick on his damn nerves...

"What did you even ate before you threw up?" He growled while drying the kid who was sniffing for both being sick and crying out earlier about his father taking him out of the water.

"Just some sliced apples... and a chocolate bar uncle Rappa gave me-"

"WHAT?!" He accidentally yelled, immediately feeling like a dick for making his son flinch from the sound..

It reminding him of... her.

"... you can't eat those things when you got problems on your stomach." He said more calmly and drying his son's hair way gentler than usual "It just makes things worse and it ends with you throwing up."

Kaito's (E/c) looked up to his father and nodded, more calm than earlier as Kai sighed... The kid wasn't dumb, he knew when his father was out of patient or just tired... he could even sense it when the yakuza leader was down in the dumb.

Call it whatever you want. But the kid swore it was a talent that only him and his mother could have. The ability to understand Chisaki Kai.

His grandmother always told him that so he believed it.

"Sorry." The kid finally mumbled catching Kai's attention... usually golden cold eyes softening a bit.

"... is fine." He patted his son's head... he resisted the urge to smirk when his son's closed his eyes with a small giggle.

"Hey! I'm back from the- oh." You immediately stopped on your tracks in the living room as soon as you saw Kai, holding his son like a dog, making him take a liquid medicine.

"MOMMY HELP HE IS TRYING TO KILL ME!" the boy whined and immediately got out of his father's death grip to run into you while sobbing a bit...

"He just threw up minutes ago." Kai growled while pointing to the culprit you had just picked up.

"He threw up and you didn't made a fuss out of it?" You teased your husband who only growled at you "I'm shocked."

"No. He was bad at it. See mama?" Kaito pulled a bit his hair "He forced me to take a shower and my hair is now weird... daddy also mentioned he would kill uncle Rappa."

"Listen here you little sh-"

"KAI!"

"He is asleep.." You sighed in relief before closing the door to your son's room and but soon catching your husband unusual expression of... worry? Dread? You couldn't exactly tell.

Apparently sensing your gaze on him he just stayed with his arms crossed over his chest before sighing.

"I don't think is normal for a infant to get constantly sick like this..."

Ah... so that was it.

He was worried. Worried that his son would only get worse on his health, worried that Kaito would be sick like this all of time.

Kai wouldn't ever say that out loud.. he would never express it with words that he was worried or cared for either Kaito or you... his actions though, express it louder how much he actually cared. From offering small acts of service to satisfy your wants and even allow himself to get out of his comfort zone to touch you...to protecting his kid on the playground like a angry wolf protecting his cub only because the kid had pushed Kaito with a bit more strength than usual.

Chisaki could be very bad with emotions... but he had them, and believing it or not, he felt them strongly.

"Is alright... the doctor already told us it's a common cold... Kaito is still young and is still developing his immune system..." You mumbled, offering to touch his arm as a warning to not make him uncomfortable.

He simply sighed, a sign you could touch him as you started to carres his upper arm...

"... is not a very... pleasant sensation to see him... on this state. I mean, not only is a mess and this brat gets even more audacious as usual but..." he stopped himself from talking with a scowl before widening his eyes when you made him turn to kiss his lips.

"I'm worried for our son too. But he is strong, just like his parents." You smiled up at your husband before he scoffed, turning to look back to his son's room. A faint blush present on the tip of his ears.

He didn't liked the feeling of his chest contracting in a painfully way every time when Kaito sobbed a bit that he was feeling weird and went straight to you as a comfort... he despised the idea of possibly getting whatever Kaito had but he also felt that it would hurt less if he got this damn cold rather his first born...

It was a very complicated feeling.

But...

Whenever he spotted his son. Giggling, laughing, running... playing with you, Chrono or Pops... it meant that he was well again... he was indeed health.

So yeah... things like seeing your smile and his son's smile... was worth all the nights without sleep or even the worst feeling of deep worry...

.... he didn't regret it. He would go back in time and agree all over again with you to have that brat he swore he would protect you and with his life.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai #chisaki kai x reader #overhaul #bnha villains #bnha x reader #bnha villains x reader #kai chisaki x reader #zuffer writings #chisaki family au #kaito chisaki

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courtingchaos · 4 months

Text

Commands

Gator Tillman x Fem Reader

Shared Inflicted Pain

Prompt: ‘Gator - I'm thinking of your versions of Gator for this. This ones a bit idk stupid? but I wonder how he'd react to being shoved him down onto snow and getting ridden like hell. Like, I want him to feel good but I also want him to be uncomfortable as hell do you know what I mean? risky, public sex, girl on top but also risking frostbite for the pussy. I need him to suffer for that nut’

A/N: To start with, this is not stupid. This helped me spawn some more plot for later chapters actually so thank you for that. This takes place earlier in the series, just a little one off, but again I’m building the stage as I’m standing on it. Bear with me 😅 ALSO, please please please give me some grace for my terrible German. I’m using dog commands here, running off of a list of them so if I’m wrong or off just let me know.

Warnings: Sex, fighting

18+ NSFW No Minors

He follows whenever you give him that look.

Across the bays or from the front porch it doesn’t matter who’s around, he’s got a gut reaction to it. When you look at him your interest is piqued, no low lidded eyes unfocused to blur the people around you. Theres parts of you that are still something of an enigma to him even after months of this game and he’s not sure when he got so focused on you. It’s not like he’d been dedicated to the cause for Roy, more that he’d been just trying to reach the next raft in his life but in the flat plains of the Midwest he’d found you. Someone interesting and new that made him feel like a stripped wire.

Another trip to the garage with Roy, a silent drive until the truck makes its way up the drive and he squints out of the windshield to the scuffle up ahead. “Looks like your girl is causing an uproar.”

In the mouth of one of the bays a group is pulling at you and a younger man to keep you two apart. Hands pull hard at your coveralls and his hoodie but you win out before him and Gator watches you snatch the front of his sweatshirt. “She isn’t my girl.”

Roy holds up his hand in surrender. “Just a turn of phrase, no harm.” It’s the quiet chuckle that irks Gator the most but he’s tuning out his Uncle while he climbs out of the cab, both eyes stuck on you and what he’s recognized as one of your brothers.

“I told him to fuckin’ leave it!” Your fists curl up tighter and pull your brother in closer. “That’s my shit, not yours, Mark!”

“It’s in the garage!”

“That don’t mean shit!”

He wouldn’t say it felt like slow motion, more that everything else went fuzzy for a second while he watched you rear back. A moment thinking you might headbutt Mark is quickly replaced by honest delight when one fist pulls back with you just to find its home quickly in your brother’s eye. A heavy smack that makes everyone go quiet, blind hands still grasping at him but now to try and keep him on two feet. You’re having none of it though and follow him down to the cement floor with a hand still wound up in his clothes. Held still under you for better aim, Mark barely has enough reaction to get one arm over his face before you rain down punches into whatever part of him you can reach.

“Well I hate to break up this family function.” Roy interrupts but it barely phases your barrage. He watches for a few moments longer before he yells “Hey!”

Everyone snaps to attention except Ty who delves down to pull you off your brother. The scuffle quiets while you try to stalk off into the garage but not before Roy snaps his fingers once at you and points. “You. I need to speak to you and your father.”

Gator tries to decipher something from Roy’s tone but he can’t find the cause for this request. You stare his Uncle down until Ty smacks your arm and nods over to the office, his face screwed up tight. He seems to be the only one here that tries to keep you out of trouble, and the only one you seem to listen to, so you only stall for a second before you make for your father with Roy hot on your heels.

An hour of aimless talk with your eldest younger brother Chris has Gator numb from the monotony. He doesn’t want to talk cars or guns or business with your brothers, he only came along on the off chance he could steal you away for an indeterminate amount of time. A quiet corner, a wordless march to the house and wistfully he thinks about you taking him up to your room finally. He’s seen the mudroom and the long stairs that lead up. He’s even seen the kitchen at this point, a memorable circle around the worn island where you’d stayed just out of reach until you didn’t. Fingers catching your clothing to pull you across the worktop and onto the floor it’s the first time he’d heard you laugh with glee.

“Well where are you goin’?” He asks gruffly while you claw your way across the wood floor. Your laughter echos in the large kitchen and comes from a deep place in your chest while he keeps a hold on your leg. His grip is firm behind your knee and he uses it for leverage to move up your body, his grip switching to your face to squeeze your smile. “Make me chase you and now you’re tryin’ to crawl away.”

You swat at his cheek and manage to get a good hit in, enough to make him pause with a surprised scoff.

“That’s not nice.” The dark tint to his voice doesn’t match the grin on his lips. He watches your eyes widen before you swing your hand again and he pins it over your head before you can make contact. He doesn’t miss the glitter of excitement in your eyes or the quiet moan you try to hold in. “Do I need to show you how to play nice?”

“You don’t want me nice.”

His stomach twists with the knowledge that you’re right and you know it. A feral grin with too many teeth bared make him uneasy in a completely different way.

“Gator!” The snapping fingers next to his head startle him out of his reverie. Chris gives him a confused kind of sneer before he continues talking about his truck and Gator continues his lean back into the wall of the garage. He keeps eyes on the office door with the intent to follow you when you show but 20 minutes turns to 40 and he’s left wondering alone.

The door crashes open as soon as he unlocks his phone though, your boot propping the bottom of the door open for Roy and your Father to walk out.

“In the house?” Roy asks skeptically of your Father, who nods before pointing them both in the direction of the farmhouse.

“It’s where I keep all the important things.”

Gator can hear your eye roll from across the workshop and as soon as their voices fade out into the cold weather he feels you looking at him.

Interest piqued.

Wordlessly he stands to wander outside, waiting to hear the crunch of your footsteps behind him. Keys jingle to announce your appearance before you swipe him with your elbow and nod your head over towards a collection of smaller brick buildings. “Take a walk?”

Something feels off about you today. The normal self determined focus he’s come to expect is gone. You sigh deeply when you start walking but you don’t lead him to the buildings off to the side of the garage, instead walking beside him. Hands shoved into your jacket pockets and face turned down the ground watching your steps.

“You good?” He asks quietly. That part that is wistful and buried deep inside him knows you aren’t, knows your moods now like he’d studied them for a test.

“Nothing you can fix.” You mumble and shoot him a side glance.

“Well I wasn’t asking to fix anything.” Deflecting to save his own hide in the instance this becomes something it shouldn’t.

Your scoff echos in the doorless doorway of the brick building you’ve both walked to. He takes a quick scan of the inside and catches metal bars along the wall in even squares.

“Y’all have dogs?” He raises an eyebrow at you when you walk past him to go in. “I’ve never heard any out here.”

“My mother used to breed Belgian’s.” Your finger thumps dully across the empty kennel doors as you walk down the line of them slowly. He knows your mother is gone but you’ve never brought her up to him. In the before times, that misty timespan where neither of your existed in each others orbits.

He hasn’t told you about his previous life in the desert either. It’s not even a need to know thing, it’s just not something important anymore, but in that other life he’d worked with a few of those dogs. “What kind?”

You turn sharp on your heel when you reach the end of the line, a small smile soft around the edges. “Groenendael’s and Malinois.”

He knows the second one’s mostly. Bundles of dangerous energy when untrained, vicious and precise when held under a strong hand. “Trying to keep people out?”

“Something like that.” That smile turns conspiratorial before it slides right off your face. While you give him your widest range of emotions, typically saved for dark corners, he’s never seen this maudlin shadow cast across your eyes before. “My father used to have guard dogs but after my mother passed he got rid of them.”

“‘Rid of them?’”

You nod and head off around the corner, Gator following close but measured. “Did he kill them?” That would be what your Father would do, at least what Gator would expect of him. Your huff of laughter surprises him though.

“No, too much money. He sold them.” You wave your hand to dismiss the memory. “I miss them, they were good dogs.”

Wistful. He thinks to himself.

It’s quiet in this room, what he assumes was once an office of sorts. A lone rusted filing cabinet and a torn at chair sit in the corner of the otherwise bare room. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes jump around and remember the pocked drywall and the water stained ceiling. He lets you wander out the other doorway that leads to a fenced in patch of land currently covered in untouched snow before he breaks the comfortable silence with an uncomfortable question.

“What’d Roy want?”

A loud sigh that fogs out in front of you. “Oh the usual.”

“Then why’d he need you?” He doesn’t like that Roy has taken a shine to you. More a glare with his distaste so evident but his attention is split to you now too and it makes Gator’s hackles rise.

“You know he isn’t very ‘adept’ with technology.” Your air quotes make him chuckle. “He wanted me to explain something in front of my Father so I wouldn’t lie.” You drop your voice to mimic Roy’s deep gravel before shrugging. “He doesn’t think the world of me yet, don’t you worry your pretty little head over it.”

“My pretty little head?” He takes a few steps towards you to crunch fresh snow under his boots. Your eyes dart across his face and down his body before you start smirking.

“Well, maybe not little.” You close the gap with outstretched hands pulling on his parka. Instincts kick in and he goes for your heavy zipper when you snap at him.

“Fuß!”

A sharp hiss from you that makes his head tick to make sure he heard you right. The look on his face must read for confusion because you giggle lightly and pull him closer.

“That means heel.” Your breath mists between the two of you when you whisper it against his cheek.

“Yeah I know what that means.” Commands he learned in the army from security buddies with their own dogs. He wants to laugh at the comparison here but it’s only in his own head.

“You speak German?”

“Ein bisschen.”

There’s that interest again, that light behind your eyes when he does something you find fascinating. He hates being under inspection but your detailed gaze feels different. He likes when you pay attention to him.

“Do you know…fassen?” Fingers creep up his cheek like the slow spread of his grin and he turns his head quick, snaps his teeth at your wandering fingers to make you jump.

“Aus, Gator!” You grab his face and hold his jaw shut. “Behave.” He’s forced back a step when you kick your foot between his and let your other hand wander to his belt. The nylon slides easily through the buckle, your practiced hand pushing it aside for his button fly.

“Aus.” Said again only this time quieter. He watches you from down his nose and breaths heavy at you in playful defiance. Makes no move to go down even with your hand almost in his pants. You tug downward on his jaw, “Knien.”

He doesn’t know that one but he can sus out the context pretty well. When you leave his waistband alone to ruck up his pullover the cold sting of winter air cuts through his undershirt and helps shut out the rest of the world. He doesn’t move to kneel until you lean in though, lips ghosting over his with a hushed plea.

“Humor me, Gator?”

His knees hit cold ground, wet seeping through the fabric to anchor him. Your grasp softens to tilt his chin up and that piece of himself he’s kept shoved down like a defeated Titian gets purchase for the first time in years. You’re a foil to his rage and chaos with every stroke of your fingertips over stubbled skin. A smile just for him when he follows your direction and the fault inside grows wider until he barely trusts himself to keep his secrets unspoken.

“Bleib.” You take a step back and hold out your hand to placate him. He watches you pull your own zipper down and tug at your own clothes, a nervous energy circling in his chest. That’s his job on a good day and you stand there in the cold with a wisp of a smile. The metal clink of your belt makes his blood rush south while his mouth waters with the need to bite down. When you bend to untie your boots he thinks about rushing you. Pinning you into the snow and making your peals of laughter echo in this stripped out building but he waits, fingers twisting at the pockets on his pants.

Watching you step out of your shoes is worrying but you don’t flinch when you step into snow, eyes boring holes into him. He’s afraid, he’ll admit it to himself out here, that if he catches your gaze he’ll start telling you all manner of stupid things so he keeps his focus on your hands pushing your jeans over your hips and down your thighs until you let them pool on top of your boots.

Just a single step puts you close enough for him to grab, his hand hooking around your thigh the same as your fingers sliding into the hair at the nape of his neck. A firm grip to pull him back and make him finally look at you, your eyes dark and focused.

“Guter Junge.”

His back hits the ground and he grunts when your weight lands on top of him. Hands fall through the new snow beside his head and you hover over him, small clouds of breath evaporating from your open mouth. The heat rolls off you and leaches into him while the cold burns his back where his layers have pushed up. You only get one good roll of your hips before he’s wedging his hand between you to pull your underwear to the side and get ahold of himself to push you down. Almost like a sigh of relief when you sink your hips down flush against him, he’s lost in you now. That calm that settles after your meetings is waiting in the wings and making things quiet for him to focus.

His mouth finds your neck when he pulls you in close, teeth finding the fading mark at the juncture of your shoulder to darken it again. A choked off moan in his ear sets a fire in his belly and he wraps your hair around his fist to hold your head still so he can angle you better.

“Gator-“

He cuts you off with harsh thrust when he gets his feet planted, teeth still dug into your skin when he sets his pace. A long groan from deep in your chest vibrates against his mouth and your hands scrabble for purchase. Cold along his face and in his hair to hold on while he fucks you in the snow. Ice and water get under his collar but you’re warm along the front of him. Breath hot against his ear while you whimper his name, thighs around his hips keeping him insulated from the air.

You mutter curses under your breath while he thinks about you calling him good. Good boy in fact and his cock throbs deep in your heat. If he opened his mouth and let go of you he could ask you to say it again. Say it in German or English or whatever fucking language you wanted. He could whine under you and ask for praise while he rocketed too quickly towards coming.

He feels the drag of your tongue under his ear and his eyes roll, your simplest gestures his favorite things. With his nose buried in your hair he catches a new scent buried under the heat and metal, something soft and floral that drives his curiosity. When he seems to hit just right he can feel you tense above him and he lets go of his own leash to chase his own end.

“You gonna come?” Hushed in his ear it startles him until your hand slides around his neck and gain enough leverage to pull away from his mouth. “Come on Gator.”

The pressure on his throat makes him lightheaded and his pace stutters. The fist in your hair relaxes and he toes the line of oblivion.

“Be good and come for me?” Whispered against his cheek while he tries to nod but your lips graze the corner of his mouth, breath pushed past his lips and he sees black when his eyes slam shut. A groan claws out of his throat that you still hold tight and he grips your thighs to keep you in place while his toes curl painfully in his boots. The cold barely registers in his ringing head, not when you dot the side of his mouth with light kisses that he’s not even sure are real.

You humble him. In the wake of whatever you two have wrought against each other there’s a silence that settles in him. It quiets the rage that simmers just under his skin and the yelling in his head. Unintelligible anger that stems from a spring inside him is stopped whenever you’ve laid hands on him and he feels a creeping uneasiness at the way he craves it. He’d only come along today in the hopes he’d find you. He’d done it in the hopes that you’d let him mark up your neck again and that you’d wrap your fist in his hair and pull until it stung.

“It’s really cold.” He says it into the side of your head still pressed to his shoulder. “You need to put some clothes on.” He doesn’t want to cut the afterglow but he can feel you starting to shiver and he can tell patches of his skin are going numb.

“Afraid your balls are gonna freeze?” Comes mumbled from you before you sit up again and he laughs, still buried inside you.

“Somethin’ like that.” He winces for a number of reasons when you separate, least of which because of the cold. You dust off melting snow and bits of brown grass from your knees before you jump back into your jeans and jam your wet feet into your boots. “Do you need help?”

“Help?”

“Getting back to the house.” It’s the only way he can ask to stay. He won’t ask if you’ll let him help you because he knows you’ll scoff and shove him before disappearing inside. Instead he’ll ask if you want him to walk with you. He stands and gets his pants rebuttoned and tries to tame his hair back down.

“I think I know the way.”

“Fine.” He walks away to hide his bruised ego in the zipping of his own jacket and the readjusting of his belt. It isn’t until he’s back out front that he realizes you haven’t followed him and he can feel the break in this coveted calm of his. Half way to marching back to the truck to wait for Roy in anger when you pop up and tug at his elbow.

“Do you want like a coffee or something?” You ask quietly, your teeth chattering on the last word and he pushes your hands out of the way to finish snapping your coat closed.

“Do you have anything decent?” He can feel you staring again but he’s steadfast in his feigned ignorance while you study him. The pause in the conversation hangs for a moment too long before you sneak your fingers into the crook of his elbow and tug again when you start walking.

“I keep the good stuff in the house.”

#Gator Tillman Fic #Gator Tillman x Reader #Gator Tillman Smut #My Fic #My Work

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handwrittenhello · 11 months

Text

"Dad?" Kira's voice filtered through the mindless haze of Edgin's cursing as he weeded the garden.

"Yeah, hon?" he replied distractedly. The mint was starting to take over, and while its leaves made a nice tea, there was only so much they could harvest at a time. He tried to calculate how much he could rip out without going overboard.

"I want to be a rogue."

Edgin's hands stilled on a clump of roots. He stared at the dirt underneath his fingernails. "Okay," he finally said, hearing himself from a distance.

"What?"

"Okay," he repeated. Thoughts surfaced one after another in his mind. He didn't put words to any of them. You're too young. We don't have to steal to get by anymore. I'm a horrible influence. Your mom would hate me.

"I thought..." She trailed off. "You're not mad?"

Edgin finally looked up. She stood just outside the garden, hovering behind the gate as if to keep a barrier between them. Her hands twisted in the fabric of her dress. It was getting short on her—she'd grown recently.

"Do you want me to be?" he asked mildly. "I don't know what you want me to say, honey." He couldn't say what he actually thought. He'd promised honesty, but...

"It's just... Uncle Forge..." Even now, she still called him that, and Edgin winced every time. A habit of two years was going to be hard to break.

Or, as his mind liked to remind him late at night when he should be sleeping, maybe she didn't want to break it. Maybe she wished he were her dad instead. What good was Edgin, failure of a man, compared to a life in Neverwinter Castle? A life she could never go back to, once he'd come along and stirred up a bunch of shit.

"What about him?" Edgin asked, turning back to the vegetables. As he pulled up carrots he imagined it was Forge's guts he was pulling out.

"I'm not doing it to be like him," she said in a rush. "I don't want to be like him."

Ha, Edgin thought savagely. Shaped in your image my ASS. "Well, good, because he's rotting in prison."

"That's not what I mean!" she said, but she was hiding a smile. "I just meant, I'm not following anyone. It's what I want to do."

"Well, you don't need my permission." As much as he hated it, he'd missed two years of her life; she was nearly grown, now. Another year or so and she'd be old enough to take on an apprenticeship, even though it seemed like yesterday he could fit her tiny swaddled body in the crook of one arm.

"You don't like it." She'd caught him out, and he froze.

Then he brushed the dirt from his hands and stood, his knees cracking loudly in protest. Gods, he was so old. To prove to himself he still could, he hopped over the fence to join her outside the garden.

"You're right, I don't like it. I don't like that you grew up while I wasn't there to see. I don't like that we never had the option of an honest living. I don't like that your mom would hate me for doing this to you." He reached out and pulled her into a hug. "But I like you, no matter what. If you think that becoming a rogue is what's right for you, then do it. Don't ever change yourself just because you think someone will love you better for it."

"That's so sappy," she said, but her face was buried in his shirt and he knew she was hiding tears.

"I'm a bard. It comes with the job description."

"Good thing I'm not becoming a bard then." He broke the hug and pushed her away in mock disgust as she laughed.

"I take it all back, you're a disgrace of a daughter. I'm sending you to bardic college until you learn some respect."

She laughed again, a beautiful sound. He vowed, not for the first time, to do everything in his power to make sure she never stopped.

#dnd hat #dndhat #dnd honor among thieves #honor among thieves #edgin darvis #kira darvis #i have so many ed & kira feels guys PLEASE make me talk about them more #my fic

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bruciemilf · 5 months

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I really love your Bruce writing! I love when you talk about him being a father and how tragic it is ("tears of the father are wept by the son"?? Are you kidding me?? This line made me lay awake at night). And the most recent Bryce snippet? Wow! I love how you use the environment (like the knockoff cigars, oregano...), and how you write their dialogue, and when you write Bruce's uncle's??? Wow, I'm just in love 💕

Saw you recently posting about atsv! Didn't know you watched it! Was wondering if you have an Miguel-centric Headcanons? That's another man I'm unhealthy about

Thank you so much 💞

– @unfortunately-obsessed

THANK YOU!! to this day it’s pretty incomprehensible for me, when I realize, huh… People like my writing? My words? Oh wow oh wow ohwowowowow—

I appreciate you saying so!! Sadly, I severely neglected my blog/fanfics because of my job, but, I started working on a crossover fic between atsv and dc :) I just adore spider bat, so why not?

Also, some Miguel headcanons:

Layla sends Gabriel videos of Miguel falling, tripping, web breaking, etc, just flopping in general. If he annoyed her particularly hard, she’ll send some to Miles

SPEAKING OF MILES??

He picks him up from school when Rio and Jeff can’t make it, mostly for spider business, and the staff assumed they were related bc Miles called him Tio (WHICH IS SO CUTE BTW)

Whenever Miles needs a permission slip for places he knows for a FACT his parents won’t sign —

(because it’s outside New York, — and I actually think it’s super adorable they wanna be around him so much. Ik some see it as overbearing, but when you see so many parents actively hate their kids being around..)

He’ll get Miguel to sign it. But he’s equally as protective as Rio. “Who are you going with, Who’s that? I never met them. Address, phone number, and mother’s maiden name. When are you gonna be back? 2 days? No. “

He eventually signs it because Miles’ puppy eyes, man.

Still celebrated Gabriella’s birthday; He makes her her favorite dessert, buys something she would’ve liked, and lights up a candle for dinner. If he feels particularly alone, he’ll swallow up his hesitation and invite the spider kids over

This man breaths and bleeds work; You can’t think abt your mental illness if you can’t think about anything at all!!!

Obsessed with control; He needs to know every detail, every amount of information available, he has routines and scripts and gets irritated if they’re not followed

I think he actually did pay attention to Miles since he became Spiderman; I think, deep down, he knows HES the original anomaly. But it’s easier to break than fix. Especially when canon is involved.

Can dance like a mf

I know he technically has no favorites since everyone annoys him equally- it’s Mayday.

And Miles, strangely enough. But it’s hard to tell. Miles genuinely thinks this grown ass adult hates his absolute guts and made peace

But Gwen is like omg you asked for a shift change and he didn’t throw a drone at you?

#that’s all I have for now!!! granted I am Thinking abt him and Bruce/bryce #spiderman atsv #asks #miguel o'hara #miles morales #text #text post

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the-broken-truth · 5 months

Text

Yuu - Child of the Great Seven [1]: The Great Seven

Broken: Here are some critical points to remember - if there is anything I forgot o mention or you are confused, please ask me and I shall explain:

Yuu is the biological child of the Great Seven. Their creation involved the combination of the seven powerful magics into a single vessel made of flesh. To ensure a remotely normal life, Yuu was sent to live in a human realm. However, Yuu's parents would occasionally visit the mortal world, and as such, Yuu has knowledge of their true origin.

Yuu has magic, very powerful magic, however they refuse to use it in order to keep their identity hidden and protect the ones they value. In order to suppress their vast magic, Yuu wears a Sealing Stone in a ring they constantly wear; making it seem as if they are magicless. This is why Leona couldn't smell Yuu's Magic; the ring was blocking it.

Yuu has 4 Mothers (The Queen of Hearts, The Sea Witch, The Fairiest Queen, and The Thorn Fairy) & 3 Fathers (The King of Beasts, The Sorcerer of the Sands, and the King of the Underworld).

All of Yuu's Parents are loving & doting but they tend to be very overprotective of their one and only child; the King of Beasts & The Thorn Fairy are the most protective. They also have Human Forms to prevent tearing the fabric of reality by their mere presence.

Yuu shall be referred to by the [They/Them/Their] Pronouns; use your imagination to make the perfect Yuu for this situation.

In this AU - Malleus is related to the Thorn Fairy. The Thorn Fairy is Malleus' Grandmother, thus making Yuu - as the Thorn Fairy's [Son/Daughter] - Malleus' [Aunt/Uncle]. Yeah. I'm going there.

[Night Raven College - Lunchtime - Cafeteria]

[Dorm Wardens: Azul, Riddle, Leona, Malleus, Jamil (Hes a Vice -Dorm Warden & More Familiar with Yuu), and Vil]

[Everything seems to be going smoothly for the Dorm Wardens of Night Raven College, however, everyone seems to notice that the Prefect of The Ramshackle Dorm, Yuu, seems to be on edge and rather nervous about something. The Dorm Wardens decide to speak to Yuu during Lunch and try to get something out of them. While Yuu is looking at their phone while sitting at their favorite table after eating their lunch while Grim munches on Tuna when they find themselves surrounded by the Dorm Wardens.]

Yuu (Locks their phone and places it in their pocket while looking at the Dorm Wardens surrounding their table): Hmmm... Hello.

Malleus (Folding his arms): Child of Man, we have gathered together in order to question you as to why you appear to be so nervous these past few days.

Yuu (Swallows nervously): Nervous? I don't know what you are talking about...

Leona (Points at Yuu with one hand whole the other hand rests on his hip - like the sassy prince he is): Don't even try to spout that crap, Herbivore. You've been zoning out during coverstations, not focusing in class, while neglecting your sleep and eating; two of those things are things people expect from me, but from the Prefect of Ramshackle.

Riddle: As much as I hate to, I agree with Kingscholar. You have ben acting strange and this is very unbecoming of you. As Dorm Warden of Heartslabyul & your friend, I am calling upon the Card of Friendship to force you to spill your guts about what you are hiding or you shall be placed on trial.

Yuu (Exhales): You guys are not going to let this go, are you?

Dorm Wardens + Jamil (In Unison): No, now spill your guts!

Yuu (Inhales through their nose then exhales through their mouth): Alright, I'll tell the truth. The truth is... My Parents are coing to visit me today.

[The Dorm Wardens (+ Jami) look rather confused by Yuu's Words as the Prefect ran their hand through their shot black hair with a deep exhale.]

Malleus: Child of Man, you are aware that your human parents would not be able to travel to our world, correct? How would they come to visit you? Even if it were possible, why would you be so on edge about their visit?

Yuu: Well... I wasn't completely honest about my lineage and where I came from; I am from the Human World, that's where I grew up, however hat is not where I was bor. As for my parents, I' normally happy to see them, but I didn't want them to come here beacuse I didn't want you guys to look at me differenty by knowing who my parents really are.

Vil (Waving his hand dismissively): First Potato, you are worried about nothing. We do not judge people based on their lineage. Besides, you have done so much for Night raen College, what would make you think we would treat you any differently by learning who your parents are?

Yuu: You see, My Parents are really...

[Yuu is cut off by a lightning stike crashes into the ground outside the front of Night rane College and was soon followed by a Lion's Roar so loud that it shook the entire foundation of the college, making the students cower in fear while Yuu hung their head low.]

Malleus (Looks around with shock as the building stops shaking): What in the name of the Thorn Fairy was that?!

Leona: I don't know! Whatever that roar was, it shook the how fucking school; it's stronger than the Kings Roar!

Riddle: It came from in front of the school! We need to investigate! Yuu, remain here where it is safe!

[The Dorm Wardens (+Jamil) run out of the cafeteria to investiagte teh sound of this noise while Yuu slowly gets out of their chair and follows after them at a much slower pace while Grim rides their shoulder.]

Yuu (Thinking): 'Damn it, Guys...'

[The Dorm Wardens (+Jamil) arrived at the front of Night Raen College and their eyes widen at the sight of the strangers standing before them as they instanlty fall to htier hands and kneels, inflicted by the Magic Pressure of the Aura of the Stangers. Standing before them were the Great Seven in Human Form. The Dorm Wardens (+Jamil) are too fearful to speak outright but they are all wondering the same thing: Why are the Great Seven here and what could they want?]

King of Beasts (Standing there with folded arms while glaring at the students before him with a displeased look on his face): They did not answer my call. Just who are these children before us?

Queen of Hearts: They would happen to be the Dorm Wardens of this college - The Leaders of their Respected Houses.

Socerer of the Sands (Points his staff at Jamil): He hails from the House of Scarabia but he doesn't hold the title of House Warden, he is mere a Vice Dorm Warden.

King of Beasts: I care not about them, I came here for one person and they are not here; I'm going to call them again.

Thorn Fairy: King of Beasts, your roar shook the very foundation of this school; what if your second roar were to distablize something and they were to get injured?

King of Beasts (Scoffs): You underestimate and coddle them too much, Thorn Fairy; mere rubble with not injure them. I am calling them again. (Inhales to roar again)

Yuu: No need. (Walking out of the building with on hand on their pocket and a shaking Grim on their shoulder) I heard you the first time and I was on my way here.

Leona (Pushing through his shaking fear): H... Herbivore , what are you doing here?! Get back in the school! It's not safe for you here!

King of Beasts (Looks at Yuu as a smirk appears across his face): There you are... Judgement has come for you! Challenge begins now!

[The Dorm Wardens (+Jamil) watch in horror as the King of Beasts jumps over them and charges at Yuu with his fists reeled back; he was going to attack them!]

Leona: HERBIVORE!

Malleus: CHILD OF MAN!

Riddle: YUU!!!

[The King of Beasts reach Yuu and throws his fist out towards there face, but everyone is shocked to see Yuu dodge his attack. The King of Beast and Yuu seem to dance around each other attacking and doging each others' attack but the Dorm Wardens (+Jamil) are utterly confused; how can a Magicless Student stand up and holding their own against One of the Great Seven?!]

[The bout comes to an end when Yuu manages to punch the King of Beasts in his stomach with great strength, knocking the wind out of his lungs before jumping in air to reach his head.]

Yuu: What did I say about subltety?! (Roundhouse kicks the King of Beasts in his head)

[Everyone watches as the King of Beasts goes flying across the field before crashing into the fountain, shattering it into pieces.]

Thorn Fairy (Walks over to Yuu as they look at the King of Beasts in the destroyed fountain): Well done, My Dear. It's good to see that you have not nelgected your training.

Yuu (Dusting off their clothes): Thank you, Mother.

Dorm Wardens (+Jamil): MOTHER?!

King of the Underworld (Smiles): Yuu, aren't you going to introduce us to your friends? It would seem that you haven't told them about us and they looked rather confused as to what just happened.

Yuu (Sctaching the back of their head with a nervous blush on their face): I guess I have no choice in the matter now. (Looks at the Dorm Wardens while gesturing to the Great Seven): Friends, I would like for you to meet my parents: The Great Seven.

Dorm Wardens (+Jamil): WHAT?!

[END]

#twisted wonderland #the great seven #yuu has magic #the great seven au #dorm wardens

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leiawritesstories · 2 months

Text

A Door Opened

written for @throneofglassmicrofics using the prompt "Rain"

word count: 965

warnings: negative thoughts, some angst, hurt/comfort

enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As if the universe truly hated her guts, the moment Elide stepped out of the office building, she was faced with a spring downpour. These passing showers were typical of Perranth, usually lasting anywhere from three to thirty minutes before they blew through. With a deep, exhausted sigh, she pulled her old umbrella out of her bag, opened it up, and prayed to Anneith that the busted old thing would last until she was home.

She was a block away from her apartment building when a gust of wind flipped the useless piece of junk inside out, thoroughly drenching her.

Elide ducked her head and trudged onwards to her building, thankful that the pouring rain obscured the tears dripping slowly down her cheeks, hiding her soul-deep exhaustion. She pushed open the doors and stepped into the mercifully warm lobby, taking a few minutes in the coatroom to wring out her blouse and skirt as best as she could and shake the excess rain off of her short boots. Her old ankle injury throbbed, screaming for her to kick off her shoes and elevate it, but she had five flights of stairs ahead of her before she could do that.

At the top of the last flight of stairs, Elide stopped, head drooping as she braced herself on the stairwell door, her whole body protesting with aches. There were days when she cursed her uncle for inflicting the injury, when she raged against Vernon--who was long since dead--for crippling her both literally and figuratively through his vile, poisonous words. The only reason she'd been hired at the marketing firm she worked at was because her few good friends had worked tirelessly to dismantle the lies Vernon had spread.

After a long moment, she pushed open the stairwell door and trudged, sodden, down the hallway to her door. She pulled her keys out of her bag and pushed the right one into the lock, wriggling it around and around. Her door was notoriously finicky, and it often took several tries before the key clicked.

Today, though, nothing worked.

Defeated after what felt like an eternity of trying to wrangle her key into the godsdamned lock, Elide slumped to the floor in front of her door, past caring who happened to see her sad, crumpled figure, and let the hot tears drip down her cheeks.

Days like these were the worst--they had a way of letting in the dark thoughts that she kept locked up at all times. When her mental guard was this weakened, it became so easy for all the years of her uncle's insinuations to slip in and wheedle sweet poison in her ears, in her heart.

Maybe he was right.

Across the hallway, a door opened, the soft swish of wood against carpet brushing faintly across Elide's hearing. Heavy footsteps crossed the hall, pausing directly in front of her, and a broad shadow descended across her as the inhumanly tall man from across the hall crouched down in front of her.

"Li?" Lorcan Salvaterre's deep rumble poked through the thick fog of her thoughts, its familiarity like a breath of sunlight amid a rainstorm. Ever since she'd moved into this building just over a year ago, she'd had a sort of casual friendship with the solitary, brooding man, a kind of mutual partnership where they would bring each other little things on bad days.

She couldn't find the strength to lift her head. "Go away."

"Nope." Carefully, Lorcan reached out and tucked the fallen hair away from her face. "Come to my place, Li."

"Don't need your pity," she muttered.

He glanced from her slumped position to her locked door. "It's not pity, it's just what friends do. C'mon. I'm not gonna let you stay out here all night."

"Make me."

"Fine." Effortlessly, Lorcan hoisted both her and her bag into his arms and carried her across the hallway, into his apartment. He set her down on the kitchen counter, knelt down, and tugged her boots off, being extra gentle with her bad ankle.

Elide hissed as she flexed her ankle. "It's fine, I just need ice." She waved off his concern. "Gods, Lor, I'm dripping all over your counter."

"Not a problem." He went over to his freezer and returned with an ice pack. "Here. Wanna dry off in the bathroom?"

"I...I don't have a change of clothes." Her voice wobbled.

"Li, you've left so many sweat sets at my place that I practically have your whole closet." Lorcan braced his arms on either side of her, lowering his head to eye level with her. "I'm not gonna pretend to know what's going on, but you've clearly had a shit day, and I want to make it better."

Drawn to his comfort, the side that he rarely showed, Elide leaned forwards, her wet head dropping against Lorcan's shoulder. "I just want to sleep."

His arms wound around her, enveloping her in warmth. "And I want you in dry clothes first, okay?"

"Okay." She relaxed into his hold as he carried her to the bathroom, where a short stack of fresh towels and a neatly folded sweat set of hers waited on the countertop.

She emerged shortly later, dry and in clean clothes with her hair in a braid, to the enticing smell of Lorcan cooking dinner. Too tired to eat, she just went to the sofa and bundled herself into a blanket, curling into the small cocoon of warmth. He finished up cooking and padded over to the sofa, lying down and tugging her into his arms, her body curled against his beneath the blankets.

He didn't say anything, but the barely-there kiss on her forehead and the familiar comfort of his hand on her back said everything.

I am here for you.

~~~

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