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#5+1 fic
metalhoops · 1 year
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The Five Times Eddie Wondered Who His Soulmate Was  and the One Time He Didn’t Have To
1. 
The worst thing about knowing your soulmate was in trouble was understanding there was nothing you could do about it. 
As a whole, Eddie thought the concept of soulmates was bullshit. He thought all that fate and destiny crap was a scam to sell the idea of monogamy or co-dependence. If people were too busy fretting over when they’d meet ‘their person’, they’d forget that actual shit was going on in the world. Who had the time to care about systemic oppression when they were busy trying to work out if the cute girl across the corridor was their one true love? 
That being said, sometimes Eddie got curious about who they were. Not many people found their soulmates. It wasn’t as obvious as you’d think. When they were in pain, you would feel it. Two people could live across the world from one another, feeling each scraped knee and broken wrist but never meet. Hell, you could live across the street from someone and unless you were there to watch them get hurt and feel the same old pang of shared pain, you’d never know. 
It wasn’t like Eddie had never felt his soulmate before that day. They’d twisted an ankle when Eddie was twelve and sprained a wrist when he was fourteen, but he’d felt no pain from them so strong as when he was sitting in detention during his junior year. 
He was counting down the minutes left until he could get out of the high school, hell hole when a sharp and sudden pain flooded his jaw. He gritted his teeth and cradled it with his palm, feeling as though the wind was knocked out of his body. Eddie knew what being punched in the face felt like, and that was it. Just when the ache started to fade, another thud of pain to his cheek made his vision swim. From there, Eddie held his breath, waiting for the pain to end. He rested his head on his desk and felt his heart in his throat as the blows kept coming. 
He missed Mrs Click telling him to go home, too busy gripping the desk for dear life, his fingernails digging into the poorly carved desk graffiti, slicing a line through ‘RB 4 TT.’ He was elated when the pain finally stopped. 
Eddie kept his head down the whole walk home, trying to tell himself soulmates were bullshit, and that he didn’t care about his, but his thoughts kept returning to visions of them. He hoped they were okay. 
Eddie never wanted to know who his soulmate was until that moment. They’d had a hell of a day and Eddie wanted to be there with them, tell them he knew what it was like. He wanted to hold their head in his lap and tell them everything was going to be okay, that if it were up to him, no one would hurt them like that again, but he couldn’t. For all he knew, they could be a hundred miles away. 
2.
The next time it happened, Eddie was at home alone in the trailer. Uncle Wayne was working a night shift, and he was watching a horror movie marathon on the T.V. It was shaping up to be a good night, with him curled up on the couch watching a schlocky creature feature when he felt all the air knocked out of his lungs. 
For a moment, he was worried something horrible was happening to him. When Jeff had appendicitis, he’d reported the same kind of pain. Eddie rolled up the hem of his shirt, watching a black-blue bruise bloom and fade in the span of a second. Sometimes, if the pain was great enough, you’d get what they called an ‘echo’ of the injury. It only lasted a moment, invisible ink fading on pale paper. 
The pain had been so strong that Eddie hadn’t been able to tell if it was theirs or his. From there, it got worse. He felt a sharp pang crash over his head, then another series of blows to the face. It was always the goddamn face.
When it was over, Eddie was left feeling lightheaded. The sensation faded quickly, but he knew his other half would be stuck with the ache for the rest of the night, if not longer. 
There was a lot of conjecture when it came to soulmates. It was hard to conduct scientific studies on something based entirely on sensation, and any research that had been done was less than ethical. All the same, for the rest of the night, Eddie curled his arms around himself, holding his body in the hopes his person could feel it, that he could give them some comfort. 
“I hope you’re okay,” he whispered, burrowing his face into the crook of his elbow. 
Back at school, Eddie floated through the halls feeling less than himself as thoughts of his person swirled. The school was abuzz with rumours of a fight between Billy Hargrove and the former king of Hawkins High, Steve Harrington. Eddie couldn’t care less about some pissing contest for the highest rung on the social ladder, as he still felt the echoed ache of his soulmate’s pain throughout the day. 
He ditched gym, opting to hide beneath the bleachers and smoke. To his surprise, he wasn’t the only one with the idea. When he arrived, he found the overthrown king sitting cross-legged, cradling his still-bruised jaw. Eddie wasn’t a fan of the jocks, but they were the biggest contributor to his wallet, so he tried to play civil with them. Plus, Eddie wasn’t one to kick someone when they were down, and boy was Steve down. He sat beside the man, examined his face, and thought for a fleeting second. Maybe he was the one, but that was crazy talk. The Freak and the King. In what world? 
“You look like you’ve had better days,” Eddie noted. 
“I’ve had worse,” Steve replied. Eddie had a pit in his stomach. 
The two lapsed into silence, hiding out until the bell sounded for the end of gym. Eddie gave the boy a half-hearted salute as he stood.
“Hey, Steve?” Eddie spoke before he left.
“You okay?”
Steve gave Eddie the ghost of a smile, all charm drowned out by Steve’s two black eyes. 
“I will be.” 
3.
Eddie had been worried about his soulmate before, but he’d never thought he’d lose them until the summer vacation after his failed attempt at senior year. He and the rest of Corroded Coffin had just finished their set at The Hideout. Eddie and the boys were carrying their instruments back to the van when the feeling hit. 
He fell to the asphalt. The whole scene sounded all the more dramatic as the hi-hat he’d been holding fell with him. He really wished his soulmate would learn to keep their head down and stay out of trouble because this was getting ridiculous. He got ready to hunker down and wait it out, having gotten morbidly used to their annual beatings. Only this time the pain didn’t stop. 
He was hit with wave after wave of agony. This time, it wasn’t just the face. He felt blows to his jaw, his stomach, and his side. He also felt a sharp spike of pain in his hand, as though someone was trying to peel his nails from his skin.
He could hear his friends around him, desperately trying to get something coherent out of Eddie, trying to work out if it was soulmate bullshit or if the guy was having an aneurysm. By the way he was acting, either seemed possible. When the pain subsided, Eddie felt foggy, like he was going through the worst goddamn high of his life. The neon signs of The Hideout and the street lamps danced before his eyes. Hundreds of little halos clouded his vision. He couldn’t think straight. 
He managed to prop himself up against the wheel of the van and pulled his knees to his chest. He knotted his hands in his long hair and tugged, trying to remind himself what his own pain felt like, though stopped when he realised he’d also be hurting them. That was the last thing they needed. 
“You okay?” He heard Gareth ask when the world came swimming back into focus. Eddie shook his head. Far from it.  
“Are they okay? Are they... alive?” Eddie hadn’t let himself entertain that idea until it was brought up. 
He felt the last flush of colour drain from his face. He could still feel them, but there was something wrong with the connection. Maybe he was dying. Eddie couldn’t help but think of his soulmate as ‘he’. He just knew. 
Eddie kept trying to tell himself he didn’t care about them, but the fact that he could die without Eddie ever having met him made his heart ache. People thought the reason you felt your person’s pain was to protect them, to know when something was wrong. Eddie had done a bang-up job at that. 
“For now, but it’s weird. I don’t... I don’t know how much longer-,” Eddie didn’t let himself finish. 
The rest of the band suddenly took on a sombre mood. Jeff and Grant finished packing up the van while Gareth offered to drive. The boys stayed at Eddie’s trailer for the rest of the night, holding their breaths and waiting for the other shoe to drop. 
Eventually, Eddie dropped off to sleep and when he awoke hours later, he was relieved to realise he hurt all over. He was still alive, still waiting for Eddie to find him and god did Eddie want to. 
His uncle came home at the crack of dawn and let out an elongated sigh of relief at seeing Eddie and his band of merry men curled up together on the living room carpet. Wayne greeted Eddie with a tight hug that still hurt like hell.
“I was worried something happened to you,” His uncle stated in his gravelled tone.
“Why would something have happened to me?” Eddie asked, perplexed. 
“The mall burnt down last night. I was worried you were close by.” 
Eddie shook his head and let his uncle hold him as his mind ticked away. He wondered if it was possible his soulmate was in Hawkins. Eddie wasn’t sure he believed in coincidence.   
4.
Eddie started seeing spots during his lunchtime speech. By the end of his rant, the room had started to tilt. He felt unsure on his feet as he clambered from the top of the jock table to scamper back to the hellfire group. He must look worse for wear because he noticed one of his new recruits watching him.
“Eddie, you good?” Dustin questioned, sounding further away than he should. The lights in the cafeteria were too bright and his head was killing him. 
He felt close to throwing up and wondered where the pain had come from before realising the familiar distance from the sensation. It wasn’t his pain. Eddie didn’t want Henderson to butt into his love life any more than he already did, so he gave the kid a tight-lipped smile that more closely resembled a grimace. This wasn’t the first time he’d felt this sensation from his soulmate, but they were growing more frequent.  
Again, sweetheart? Eddie thought, knowing it was the second migraine that week. 
“Migraine,” Eddie hissed through gritted teeth. He could feel his band members' eyes on him. They knew exactly who the ache belonged to. 
To Eddie’s surprise, Dustin passed him a cool glass of water and barked orders at Mike, getting the kid to remove the ugly Hawaiian over shirt, before throwing it over Eddie’s head, blocking out the light. It wasn’t Eddie’s pain, so it didn’t help but he could appreciate the sentiment. 
“Did they teach you first aid at science camp, Henderson?” Eddie guessed offhandedly. 
“Nah. Steve gets migraines all the time. Helps to know how to deal with them.”
Eddie would never understand how a kid like Dustin came to know Steve Harrington, let alone worship the ground the guy walked on. Usually, Dustin had such good taste.  
“Eddie’s soulmate gets them too,” Gareth spoke unhelpfully. 
Even without looking, Eddie knew he was shooting him a shit-eating grin, knowing the rest of the afternoon Henderson would ask him about his soulmate. Just because the kid found Suzie, he thought the whole world deserved to find their one true love. Instead, Dustin came out with the most bullshit statement Eddie had ever heard. 
“Maybe Steve’s your soulmate.” 
Yeah, right. On what planet would that happen? 
5.
With everything that had happened to Eddie in the past few days, he hadn’t had time to think about his soulmate. He’d watched Chrissy die before his eyes, learnt the existence of another dimension and was walking through said dimension after witnessing Steve Harrington take a bite out of a demon bat’s tail. It’d been a weird ass day.  
He wished he’d been like Robin and Nancy, able to jump in and rescue Steve on a whim, but as Steve disappeared beneath the black water of Lover’s Lake, he’d felt his throat close and his lungs ache for air. It wasn’t a good time for a panic attack. Nevertheless, he’d managed to get his ass in gear and follow the rest of the group down into Watergate. 
He’d dropped back to walk with Steve and found himself complimenting the man. Steve was nothing like he imagined. He was not only kind, but as Dustin had put it, a total badass. 
Once the adrenaline faded, Eddie found himself lifting the hem of his shirt, examining his side. He felt a dull throb of pain. It’d be his luck to bleed out without noticing, but he found there was nothing there. 
“You good?” Steve asked.
Eddie couldn’t help but let his gaze settle on Steve’s bleeding side. He held his breath. He thought about pushing his hand against Steve’s wound, hurting him more just to check, but Eddie couldn’t hurt Steve. Not now. Especially if he was who Eddie thought he might be. 
“Yeah, I’m fine. You okay?” Eddie asked, gesturing to Steve’s side. The boy nodded.
“I’m fine, just a scratch. Can hardly feel a thing.” 
If Steve was his soulmate, he was full of shit. If Steve was his soulmate when everything blew over, they had a few things to talk about.
+1
Something was very wrong. Vecna was going down in a blaze of flame when Steve’s body started to ache. He felt the familiar sting of interdimensional bat fangs digging into dermis flesh. Robin and Nancy were cheering, wrapping their arms around Steve, whooping, hollering and panting while Steve was busy feeling like he was being torn apart. 
He was pulling away from the girls and turning on his heels before he had the chance to explain, running from the Creel House to the trailer park as fast as his feet could carry him. There was only one person this pain could belong to. 
Steve had spent his whole life searching for his soulmate, desperate to know who they were, and he’d been under his nose the whole time. The fact that Steve’s soulmate was a boy hadn’t surprised him as much as it should. That’d been a crisis bubbling away in the background of his brain since he’d gone to his first swim meet. He’d seen a boy in tight swim trunks, with tan skin and felt the familiar heart-pounding, crush he’d experienced on pretty girls he’d passed in the school hallways. 
By the time he got to Eddie, he’d hardly been able to fight through the pain surging through their connection. Dustin was wailing, holding Eddie in the wake of a bat graveyard. He looked up in alarm at Steve’s figure, noticing his pale skin and sweat-slicked brow. 
“Harrington?” Eddie’s weak voice came from Dustin’s lap. 
Steve was busy removing his clothes, trying to stop the bleeding. Dustin didn’t need to show him where the man was hurt, he could feel it. 
“I really must have got some brownie points in the end,” Eddie murmured. 
Both boys hissed as Steve shoved his shirt into a wound at Eddie’s side. That was when Dustin appeared to catch on, his eyes swelling wide as they darted between the two boys. 
“What’re you talking about, Munson?” Steve asked, trying to keep the guy talking. 
“Must’ve got into heaven after all,” He hummed, his deep brown eyes gazing beyond Steve at the distant red sky. 
“Hey. No. None of that. You aren’t in heaven because you’re not dying,” Steve hissed, using what little strength he had left to lift Eddie’s body. 
“Gotta be in heaven, if you’re here,” Eddie spoke, giving Steve a lopsided grin. Steve felt Eddie’s pain beginning to fade and panicked, not ready to let things end before they’d even had the chance to begin. 
He hoisted Eddie up through the portal and waited to do the same with Dustin. It wasn’t long before the distant sound of sirens once more surrounded the Munson trailer and Steve found himself passing out from the pain as red-blue lights swallowed the world whole. 
Eddie woke in pain, his whole body humming with a familiar dull ache that was unarguably his. It took time for him to make sense of the scene. He was in the hospital. Steve was slumped over at the far edge of the room, sleeping in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his head thrown back and his mouth agape. Eddie’s eyes trailed to his bedside, where he met Dustin’s. 
“Holy shit, you’re awake,” the boy gasped, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. 
Eddie cringed as he felt a rush of pain swarm through his body. He must have gasped, because Steve sprung to life, waking with a start as his eyes trailed from Dustin to Eddie. Steve’s eyes were a storm of quiet conflict, punctuated by deep purple bruises. 
“Eddie,” Steve breathed, standing to hover beside the bed, unsure of what to do next. 
He was surprised Steve was there at all. He wouldn’t say the two were close. Though Steve had probably found some way of twisting Eddie getting hurt into some fault of his, ever the damn hero. 
“Thought I was a goner for a second there,” Eddie admitted, trying to shake some of the strange tension from the room.
“If Steve hadn’t gotten there in time, you would’ve been,” Dustin spoke. Eddie watched as the boy’s hands trembled. He leaned over, fighting through the pain to ruffle the kid’s hair. Steve’s shoulders hunched over, doubling into himself. 
“I’ll get the nurse. Your uncle left for his nightshift, but he should be back in a few,” Dustin muttered as he made a beeline for the exit. It seemed strange the boy was extracting himself from the scene.
Henderson called over his shoulder. “I told you so.” 
And just like that, Eddie knew. 
He looked up at Steve with wide-eyed alarm, only to find his look mirrored.
“How’d you know we were in trouble?” Eddie asked, though thought he knew the answer. 
“After we killed Vecna, I felt... I could feel you. I knew you were hurt,” Steve explained. 
“How’d you know it was me?” Eddie pushed.
“Thought it was too much of a coincidence that it felt like my soulmate was getting eaten alive by giant bats. I’d call it an educated guess.” 
Eddie gritted his teeth and nodded. Surely, as far as soulmates went, he hadn’t been what Steve imagined. 
“I’m sorry,” Steve said, surprising Eddie. 
“For what?”
“Not being the person you wanted me to be, I guess,” Steve spoke so candidly, it made pain and panic swell in his throat. How could Steve think Eddie was disappointed that he was his soulmate?
“I’m not disappointed, Stevie. Why would I be disappointed?” 
“You had to have known,” Steve reasoned. 
Eddie didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious, but it sounded like Steve had been overthinking every second of it. 
“You give me more credit than I deserve. I didn’t know it was you, sweetheart. Cross my heart,” Eddie admitted, surprised at how quickly the term of endearment he’d used for his soulmate slipped off his tongue when talking to Steve. 
He hadn’t worked out shit. He’d had hunches, as though his heart knew, but the logical part of his brain kept overriding it. In what world were he and Steve perfect for each other?
Eddie threw caution to the wind as he saw the genuine look of affection and excitement painting its way across Steve’s face. He looked hopeful. Eddie cringed, sitting up and trying to lean closer to Steve.
“Come here before I hurt the both of us,” Eddie grumbled.
Steve shuffled closer to Eddie’s bed, crouching down, so the two were at eye level. Eddie wanted to kiss the boy so damn bad, and Steve was sending him all the signs that he should, but there was something he had to do first. He took Steve’s face between his hands, running a thumb over the purple bruises beneath his eyes.
“No more playing hero, okay?” 
Steve nudged his face into the palm of Eddie’s hand and nodded, letting out a weak chuckle. 
“I think I can agree to that.” 
Eddie crushed their lips together and despite the pain, it felt like everything was right in the world. 
3K notes · View notes
kelly-thesecond · 11 months
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We need more fanfics where Arthur is just a complete Sapiosexual (attraction towards intelligence and/or education) towards Merlin.
Merlin was one of the most intelligent characters in the show and he needs more credit in that aspect.
Maybe Merlin just showing skills that are either associated with nobility or just general intelligence.
And Arthur being absolutely appalled that Merlin is a great strategist and/or speaks more than one language or dialect, and/or that he's become a great physician. (This would be great for a 5+1 fanfic).
And apparently he's extremely attracted to it.
Anyone is completely free to use this idea.
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forever-rogue · 11 months
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Kind of a big ask…but I am a sucker for 5+1 fics. Are you able to write something from Joel’s perspective about the five times he almost kisses reader and the time he finally does?
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AN | I’ve never done one of these before and I hope it’s okay! It was so fun to write! 🥰 
Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader
Warnings | Language
Word Count | 3.7k
Masterlist | Joel, Main
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
The First Time
The first time Joel almost kissed you happened to be the same night he finally met you. Yeah, it wasn’t exactly anything you had bargained for. 
You’d been drinking for a little while with your girlfriends and he’d walked into the bar and a few beers with his brother Tommy. He was new to Jackson, you knew that much, but also devilish and ridiculously handsome. 
But it definitely wasn’t love at first sight…the complete opposite honestly. He’d caught your eye right away as you had his. You’d met him and seen him in passing but - unfortunately - it hac never been more than that. 
“Hey,” it was liquid courage talking…it had to be. Normally you wouldn’t be so bold and brash. In your previous life you wouldn't have dreamed of doing this.
Joel looked at you and raised an eyebrow, making a small sound of acknowledgment before turning back to Tommy. The younger Miller, meanwhile, gave you a sweet smile and greeting. He was always kind….unlike his brother apparently. 
But in your wine-tipsy state you weren't talking no for an answer, "I said hello, Joel Miller. You're not going to say anything?"
"Hello," his lips pulled into a line as he looked you over. You couldn't tell if he hated you or wanted to devour you, "is there anything else I can do for you?"
And oh. There was just a hint of a southern drawl behind his words and you decided that you very much liked him. But that was probably just the alcohol talking. Right? Right.
"Oh, there's a few things I can think of," you said softly as you attempted to wink at him, "being less of a dick would be a start."
Tommy snorted in amusement as Joel glowered at him.
"Alright," Joel shook his head before sighing heavily. He wrapped his fingers around your wrist before gently pulling away from the table, "I think it's time for you to get home. You've had enough to drink."
“I’ve barely had anything,” you beamed at him, cheeks warm and eyes wistful, “I can handle another drink! Oh wait - dance with me!”
“I am not letting you have another drink or dancing,” he hated to admit that you were adorable even when you were tipsy, “you’re going home.”
“Only if you come with me,” you were definitely going to hate yourself in the morning when this all came back to you. 
“I am taking you home,” he agreed, looking towards your friends and gesturing that he was taking you out of the bar. They seemed to understand what was going on, wicked little smiles on their faces, “but I am not staying.”
“You’re so boring,” and yet you were following his lead, at his side like a puppy.
“And you’re not sober,” he reminded you, following your instructions to get back to your place. You fell into silence, studying each bit of him, wanting to get to know him as best as possible. You were home much more quickly than you would have liked. He turned to you and appraised you for a moment, “are you okay to get inside?”
“Yes,” your answer came out as a whisper as you looked at him with wide, soft eyes. You noticed the way his breath hitched in his throat and his hand twitched at his side. What was invisible to you was the inner turmoil that had surfaced within him as you looked at him, “Joel?”
He remained silent for a moment before bringing his hand to your face and brushing his knuckles along your cheek. You gasped lightly in surprise at the tender gesture but remained silent otherwise. It took everything within yourself not to lean into his touch. Your entire body was calling out for his touch and there was nothing you desired more than to kiss him. 
And if you weren’t mistaken, you were sure that he wanted to kiss you as well. He leaned in ever so slightly and you prepared yourself for it but then - he pulled back. 
“I can’t,” you weren’t sure if he wasn’t talking to himself or to you. You already missed the warm touch of his hand, “you’re not sober. And I’m not…I can’t.”
You swallowed thickly but nodded nonetheless taking a step closer to your front door. You offered a weak little smile in return and before disappearing inside. You watched him through the peephole; it was a while before he left.
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
The Second Time
The second time Joel Miller kissed you was after you were injured on patrol. 
It was a few months after he’d moved to Jackson and established a life for himself and Ellie. And ended up in a close knit friendship with you; not that you were complaining. You were just as drawn to him as he was you. 
You’d been out on patrol with Matthew when it happened. It wasn’t even anything horrible and the way you’d gotten injured was…self-inflicted. Basically you’d rolled and twisted your ankle and scraped up your knee as you tried to follow a bunny you’d seen. Yeah, alright, even saying it out loud like that made it sound terrible.
You’d seen the cute bunny and couldn’t help yourself. It wasn’t like there was anything else happening and Matthew was boring company - when he wasn’t trying to get in your pants - so you took the opportunity to see the bunny. But you’d slipped and list your footing and took a tumble you hadn’t quite expected. 
The look on Joel’s face when you had returned seemed like he was ready to commit murder to anyone who had done this to you. Oh, he was gonna love hearing that it was your fault.
“What happened?” he sounded so upset that it almost made your heart ache. He stopped in front of you, hands finding your face as he looked you over, “you’re bleeding. You’re hurt.”
“I-I didn’t,” you found it hard to focus on anything as you looked into those big brown eyes of his, “nothing happened…”
His gaze shifted to your swollen ankle and bloody knee.
“Okay nothing that anyone else did to me happened,” you laughed nervously, hoping to alleviate his worry, “I, ugh, itrippedandfell.”
“Pardon?”
“Joel, fuck,” you groaned lightly, “I saw a bunny and got off my horse and tripped and fell.”
And…now he was laughing. You pouted at him and that caused him to try and hold down his giggles. But at the same time…it felt good to see him relax and not lose his mind over you. 
“You are…” he trailed off as he tenderly wiped some dirt off your face. But when he was done he didn’t move his hand away. Instead he leaned in closely and you were positive that this was the time he was going to kiss. The tension had been building up for some time now and you kept wondering when it was going to break, “something else.”
“So are you,” you didn’t back away but the megawatt smile on his face was worth it. And if you leaned in even the slightest bit more, you could have kissed him. Your lips would have brushed up against his, “Joel Miller.”
And you wanted to kiss him and you wanted him to kiss you. To want to kiss you. Every fiber of your being was humming with energy. And just when you thought he was about to do it, slowly crouched down to look at your leg. 
“We need to get this cleaned up,” his voice sounded thick as you almost sighed in exasperation, “and get your ankle elevated and iced.”
“Yeah,” were you bad at reading the signs or was he just avoiding it all together, “good idea.”
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
The Third Time
The third time that Joel Miller almost kissed you was when you were in his house, helping him take of a very sick Ellie. You loved the kid as much as you had fallen for the man himself, and you would have done anything for either of them. 
You were in the kitchen, throwing together some soup and singing along to the record you had playing. It was simple moments like this that made life feel so utterly normal and wonderful; moments that made life worth fighting for. 
“Hey,” his voice was soft as he tried not to startle you. As soon as you heard him you turned around and gave him that smile that had started to make him turn into jelly.
“Hey,” you tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, “how’s Ellie Bean doing?”
“Feeling a little better,” he said and you related slightly, “she’s still a little warm but she’s sleeping now.”
“Good,” you continued chopping some vegetables for the soup you were putting together, “hopefully she’ll have an appetite when she wakes up. I’m making soup…obviously.”
“It smells delicious,” he admitted as he looked over your shoulder and into the pot. You stilled momentarily as you felt him behind you, his warmth and delicious smell overwhelming your senses.
"Family recipe," you tried to keep calm, "my grandma used to make it whenever anyone got sick. She always claimed it cured you right away."
"Did it?" There was a bemused little smile on his face as he leaned against the counter. He stole a piece of carrot and popped it into his mouth to which you playfully huffed.
"No," you grinned, "but no one ever told her that. And it's still delicious. Wanna help me make some bread?"
"Whatever you want, I am at your disposal," he winked and you wanted to perish a little bit, "just have to say the word."
It turned out that Joel wasn't too bad of a helper at all. He listened to your instructions with rapt attention and then delivered on making delicious bread. It was so easy and fun with him that it had your heart yearning for this bit of domesticity all the time.
"I have something to ask you," Joel took the bread out of the oven and set it down to cool. Your heart skipped a few beats before you nodded at him to go on. First he walked over to the record player and switched it to a different record, "dance with me?"
Well. Joel Miller asking you to dance definitely wasn't on your bingo card. But you weren't about to turn him down either.
"Yes," you whispered as he came back over to you, holding out his hand. You offered him yours in return and he wasted no time in taking it and pulling you into his arms. 
You almost instantly decided that his arms might have been your favorite place in the world. His touch was gentle as the two of you stayed to the music and you laid your head on his shoulder, allowing yourself to be lulled by the steady beating of his heart.
"Joel?" After a while you whispered his name and he pulled back, watching you with curious eyes. You swallowed the lump in your throat, all words suddenly lost.
Joel seemed to know what you were saying and leaned in closely, so close to kissing you once again. You were ready to jump for joy because surely this was the time he actually did it. 
You closed your eyes and waited and just when you thought he was about to do it, "hey! Whatever you're making smells delicious."
Both of you groaned slightly when you looked over and saw a very tired but happy looking Ellie in the doorway, bundled in a large blanket. 
"Hey Ellie Bean," you tried to make the disappointment in your voice at yet again not getting by him, "its good to see you up. We made some soup and bread. Hope you're hungry!"
"Starving," she grinned; unfortunately Joel felt the same way. As did you.
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
The Fourth Time
The fourth time Joel Miller almost kissed you was the same night he became your savior. 
You'd gone out with your girlfriends and had some drinks. You weren't drunk, that was never your style, but it was evident that you'd had a few drinks. But you were with your friends and dancing and having a good time.
You felt safe and everything seemed fine. Joel was even in another part of the bar, out with a few with a few of the guys, unbeknownst to you. 
It wasn't that he was keeping an eye on you but…for his own sanity he was keeping a bit of an eye on you. He just wanted to know you were safe, especially when your guard might have been a little lower than normal.
And he was glad that he had. Because as he watched you dance with your friends he saw the man walk over to you. Joel stayed back for a moment to see if maybe you knew him or something. But when he leaned in and you almost instantly recoiled, a frown on your features, he knew something was wrong.
Joel wasn't about to let that happen. He was on his feet and storming over almost immediately and was grabbing the man's collar to pull him away. Anyone could have sensed what was going on. The relief on your face was palpable as you looked back at Joel. He gave you a nod before dragging the man outside. 
"What the fuck did you think you were doing in there?" His voice was low and dangerous as the man shook with nerves. He knew exactly who Joel was, "answer me!"
"N-nothing-"
"I don't believe you," Joel whispered, "and I don't think you do either. Don't ever do that again. And don't ever let me see you again."
"Sorry! I didn't know she was your girl-"
"It doesn't matter if she is or isn't," oh yeah, he was angry now, "don't ever do that to any woman - anyone - ever again."
"I said I was sorry-" and the next thing you heard was the sound of a loud cracking sound followed by some pathetic whimpering.
"Sorry isn't good enough," Joel pushed the man away and he stumbled backwards, clutching at his face, "don't let me see you again."
He ran away without another word, leaving you staring wordlessly at Joel. You couldn't deny that while your heart was racing with anxious nerves, you were feeling a type of way at how protective he was.
"You shouldn't be out here," he slowly turned around, a worried expression on his face. You could see that his hand seemed to be bothering him, "did he do anything?"
"He didn't get a chance to," you whispered as you stepped closer to him, the tension thick but the anticipation so delicious, "thank you."
"You weren't supposed to see that either," he kept his eyes on yours as if he expected you to say something yes. To yell at him or…anything, "I probably shouldn't have done that."
"You did that for me," it wasn't a question, a simple statement instead. He swallowed thickly before nodding. You were in front of him now and reached for his hand, gingerly examining the bruising that was blossoming across his knuckles, "oh. You're hurt."
"It's nothing-"
"It's not nothing," you brushed your thumb across the back of his hand as you looked at him with soft eyes. You were going to be the death of him, he was sure of it, "let me take care of you. Please?"
His breath hitched and he looked at you in wonder. How did he get so lucky as to win your affections? Something so good and pure shouldn't have to deal with something so broken. But he wasn't broken. Not to you.
Joel took his injured hand and lifted it up, putting on your face as he brushed his thumb over your cheek. Your lips pulled into a small smile as you inched closer, every part of you screaming for him to finally kiss you. 
He leaned in too - he wanted this.
And then you heard the sound of your name being called by your girlfriends as they stumbled out of the bar to make sure you were okay. The two of you pulled apart quickly, looking at each other like children that had been caught being naughty. 
You cleared your throat before pointing over your shoulder, "I, umm…I should go."
"Yes," he agreed softly.
"Put some ice on your hand, okay? I'll come by in the morning to take a look at it."
"You don't have to-"
"It wasn’t a question, Miller," you grinned, "it's a statement. So - see you in the morning."
"See you in the morning, sweetheart."
Once again so close, but so far.
-─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
The Fifth Time
The fifth time Joel Miller almost kissed you, he was positive it would happen. The universe could only keep pulling you apart for so long, right? Eventually it would have to give…or so he hoped.
It was your birthday and what better time to have a little kiss, right? The man had it all planned out. Like he was going to kiss you and put his heart out to you. Yes, it was scary and daunting and in some ways he would have rather dealt with clickers but he was going to do it. You were worth the risk.
So he planned this whole party for you; a big bash filled with lots of food, silly party games, and lots of friends. It was the biggest birthday party you'd ever had and it was never something you'd imagined having again.
But Joel wanted to celebrate you and make sure you knew how loved you were. It had been a complete surprise when Ellie had lured you to their home under the guise of needing help with schoolwork. You'd fallen for it easily but the shocked look on your face as you walked through the door had been worth it. Your eyes always seemed to find Joel and it was like there was no one else, only the two of you.
It took a while for the two of you to make your way to each other, but you finally managed to get a moment alone outside.
"Thank you for all of this," you tried to blink back the tears of emotion that had welled up, "this was so sweet of you."
"It was nothing," he tried to play it off as you just smiled at him. You reached up and brushed a few rogue curls off his forehead. The gesture was enough to make him practically vibrate with energy, "happy birthday, sweetheart."
The two of you looked at each other wordlessly, an unspoken understanding flowing between the two of you. This time, everything else be damned, you were going to kiss him. 
Joel gently cradled your face in his hands and leaned in. You could feel his warm breath fanning across your face, his lips almost touching yours-
"Hey!" Joel audibly groaned as Tommy poked his head out of the house, "let's do cake now!"
Joel audibly groaned, cursing under his breath at his younger brother. He pulled back and you looked at him sheepishly before shrugging. You quickly ducked inside before he could say anything else. You really just wanted to kiss him too.
Joel ran a hand over his tired face. Maybe the universe was trying to tell him something. But either way - universe be damned. He was going to kiss someday.
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
And Finally
When Joel Miller finally - finally - kissed you, you'd all but given up on anything happening between the two of you. Part of you, the very disappointed part of you, thought that the universe might just want you to be friends.
But then it happened.
It was at a wedding in the spring. At first you'd thought it was odd when people were still having weddings in this day and age. Then you realized why people did it - it was a sense of normalcy, of life going on, and was still something special.
So there you were, celebrating Anna and Nathan's wedding. And you were having fun, despite what you'd initially thought. You'd gone with Joel and Ellie, and it was definitely not a date…despite how much you wanted it to be.
You were on the dance floor with some of your girlfriends when the beautiful bride decided to toss the bouquet. Antiquated tradition? Yes. Still tons of fun? Also yes.
The only surprising thing was when you caught the pretty flowers, easily and effortlessly. You made a small sound of surprise and when you looked up you immediately caught Joel's eye. Because of course you did. Of course.
Joel's expression turned incredulous as a smile tugged up the corner of his mouth. Your face turned so warm that you forced yourself to look away. 
Eventually the excitement died down and you stepped outside for a breath of fresh air. It wasn't long before you heard his telltale footsteps making their way over to you. 
You turned around and smiled softly at him. He looked ridiculously handsome and it only served to make your heart ache, but in a happy way, "hi."
"Hi," he smiled back at you. And then it happened - finally! 
He took your face in his large, soft hands and didn't hesitate to kiss you. It took you a moment to catch up with what was happening but when you did, you kissed him right back, settling your hands on his hips.
Kissing Joel Miller felt so natural and easy; like you'd been doing this for years. You hoped you'd be doing it for many years to come.
Joel only pulled away, reluctantly still, when you both needed a moment to breathe. You looked at each for a moment before sharing a soft giggle. 
"Finally," you beamed at him and he practically melted, "had to wait long enough for that."
"I hope it was worth it," he touched your cheek tenderly.
"Absolutely."
"Good," and then he kissed you again, "because I plan on doing that a lot more."
"I hope that means forever," and yeah. You were kinda, sorta, definitely in love with him.
"Forever is perfect."
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will you marry me?
5 times remus has asked you to marry him and 1 extra.
tags: remus lupin x f!reader,, fluff,, angst,, no mention of the word y/n,, childhood friends to lovers,, mutual pining,, character death
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first time at 5 years old;
your eldest sister was off to marry in spring and so naturally the whole house was buzzing with excitement and terror. and you, like any impressionable child, felt the tingles of something exciting happening before your very eyes.
lulu, your best ultimate mate as you so graciously dubbed him, felt this energy too.
or at least the many flowers and coloured envelopes scattered on the table, seem to ring some alarms for him.
“this table is too small,” he frowns, stopping his pretend chopping of the leaves, and looking longingly at the dinner table, filled with scattered wedding paraphernalia.
you shrugged, ponytail swishing as you move around him.
“we have to make room, my sister is to be mary.” you confidently repeated what your mum said to you in the morning. when you had whined at the lack of play space.
now you’re humming like it’s obvious, why you were given a child’s table and now have to play kitchen with one pot instead of four because of the lack of space. the confident pretence of a child to show they’re mature enough not to complain.
“why does she have to be mary?” he asks, his shoulder bumping into you, “i thought she likes her name hilda?”
you scoff, clearly lulu does not know of the way of being mary. so naturally, you being older (by a few months) needs to teach him. or else, however is he going to be a proper grown up?
“because she wants to be a wife. so she has to be mary first.”
“a wife?” he asks intrigued, “like mummy and daddy?”
you laugh, patting his head, “only mummies can be a wife, silly. daddies are hus-butts.” you stood straighter, having this conversation with your mum before. “mother says, you have to love first and then be a mary. so you can play with them even after dinner and eat chocolates and make children.”
he seems to perk up even more, looking at you. his eyes as usual, gleaming with obvious awe, “to make children? with what?”
you pout, having no answer.
you haven’t asked your mum this question yet. too busy thinking of how many mary’s there are in your town.
still, you try to think of an answer.
you don’t want to let lulu down, you are after all his only hope for knowing things.
luckily, you’ve overheard this one conversation last week, your sister moving after she becomes mary so they can begin making a family.
you raise your head, hand on your hip and your other pointed as if in a lecture.
you said in your most confident voice. “you enter specific rooms in the house, and always make sure it’s locked. and then you wait until you can come out with children. but you must only do this if you love them. that is the ultimate rule. or else it won’t work.”
“wow,” he breathed, he clenched his fists then, looking utmost determined. before screaming in glee and confidence, the only way a naive child could. “then let’s make children! be mary and then we can play all night!”
you clicked your tongue, disappointed he hadn’t comprehended. “but you should love me first.”
his cheeks heated pink, indignant, “but i do. i love you a whole lot! and i wanna play here all the time.”
you shook your head, grim. “we can’t.” sounding so heartbroken, as much as any five year old could sound.
because you’ve already asked your mum if you could make children with lulu and she said, you’re only suppose to do that if you’re a grown up in love.
you asked, what’s the difference? you were plenty grown. 5 is one hand after all.
and your sister said to you, amusement lacing her words, a grown up to take care of you and cherish you. someone able to help you and grow with you.
you look at lulu. his thin arms and his lack of knowledge.
certainly not a grown up. not a proper man who can be with you, at all.
“i don’t love you, so we can’t.” you say this huffing, now turning completely to your make shift pot and stirring the water and leaves.
lulu cried loud that day, wailing like a little kid.
and nodding to yourself knowing you’ve made the right choice. he is so not a grown up. even if his pinched face made you feel queasy.
your mum rushing over and asking what was wrong. when you told her, she laughed out loud, and hugged you both, brushing remus’ hair out of his tear streaked face.
and you wonder what was so funny when he looked so sad.
second time at 11 years old;
remy was horrified.
you realize this as he stares at you in a crazed panic. and as always, it was up to you to be strong.
“what do you mean by that?” puffing your chest out and stood to cover remy from potter.
“didn’t you know? kissing makes girls pregnant.” he whispered, loudly in the empty halls, scandalized as he went to look at your stomach as if it will inflate this instant.
you fight the urge to cover that area with your robes. willing yourself to be brave for the both of you.
“surely… that isn’t true.”
potter scoffs, offended to have been doubted, “yes it is, i heard a prefect say so.”
you feel remy grab the back of your robes in panic. the reference enough to persuade him. you almost roll your eyes, but instead sighed to calm yourself down.
“i ought to tell you lot to be careful.” potter looked at the both of you meaningfully, and inhaling sharply as a flash of embarrassment burns into your brain.
you weren’t able to will the heat of your cheeks to dissipate, before it showed on your cheeks. your face and neck warmed red. mortified that potter knows the secret kiss shared between you and your friend, currently pulling at your robes.
it was both of your first kiss, deciding to just get it all over with, so you both can know what was so special about it.
it wasn’t much.
it felt soft, and quick.
nothing at all sparkling or romantic, like others said.
“alert your parents immediately, else you might be kicked out. and i’ve grown quite fond of the two of you, you know.” potter nodded at you, looking as if he pitied you both before crossing his arms as he strutted away.
you look at remy fully now. he was standing too close and still holding unto your robes like a lifeline.
“did you really have to tell potter of all people what we did?” you scoff, crossing your arms and tapping your feet like how your mother used to do it when she was cross with something.
he seemed to shrink into himself more, “i’m sorry, he said he saw it, and pestered me into confessing.” he bit his lips to bleed. “i didn’t know you were gonna be in trouble.” he sniffled.
and you immediately cooled, reaching forward and pulling at his chin to stop his assault and softly rubbing at his bleeding lips with your robes with another click of your tongue.
“it’s fine, he already saw, nothing else we can do.”
“so, what are we going to do now?” he asked softly, he looked at you, eyes filling with worry and sadness. “what if you are? we’ll get in trouble, won’t we?”
you bring down your arm now, before breathing out deeply.
you try to think of why it wouldn’t be true, but the tone of his voice was making you worry endlessly too.
even though you know it wasn’t all true, because your sister kissed her husband plenty of times in the house and they don’t have kids.
and you were about to point that out to him. to reassure your ever warm, too soft friend, that james potter was full of it and to relax.
but remy stood straighter, his cold hands gripping yours tightly, so much that it hurts. now standing a bit taller than you. pink lips pulled into a straight line and eyes looking straight at you. soft brown eyes no longer holding any worry, instead with resolute determination.
“marry me,” he said, “i promise to look after our children and work.” he nodded at you, as if urging you to say yes. to trust him.
a look entirely different from what you remembered from way before, yet feeling all the same regardless.
the reason of proposal was ridiculous in of itself that you couldn’t help but laugh.
“i’m not pregnant you dolt, pregnancy doesn’t work that way. i assure you.” rolling your eyes in amusement. “so don’t you go proposing like some weirdo.”
he stopped for a second, as if startled as he kept looking at you. before leaving a shaky sigh, head hanging low.
“okay,” his lips in a wobbly smile, looking weird. “good.”
third time at 17 years old;
sirius had managed to sneak in a case of firewhisky in one winning after-party in the common room.
it was safe to assume that everyone was positively sloshed. if judging from the slurring exclaims from james and a red face peter barely able to stand and sirius laughing maniacally at something marlene has said to him.
and remus being the self-appointed responsible one, had taken it upon himself to maintain sobriety the entire night. to look after the three of them in the aftermath.
resolutely sitting next to you the whole night, engaging in a missed conversation about gossip and literature.
“still feeling confident you can handle these three blokes up in your room?”
he grimaced, already rubbing his temples, probably from regret and the james’ incessant off-key singing. “i don’t really have much of a choice now, do i?”
you laugh easy, “with the way james is attempting to strip, i think not. you did volunteer, taking responsibility and what not.”
he sighed rather audibly, over the soft music of the party that was already dying down. most of the attendees already settling into their respective rooms.
and you look at remus, slumped into the chair, and laugh to yourself.
still so helpless, you think. you guess you had to step up again. pick up the slack a little bit.
you try to trick yourself into thinking you were tired and miffed about it, but you find you quite like feeling needed. especially by remus.
whom of which seems to be way into being responsible now and being a proper grown up. one that follows curfew and plans his day.
he barely looks at you for help anymore.
he always has an answer to questions now.
as the boys depend on him for being the responsible one in their little foursome.
off to late night adventures and pranks. no longer the crying, awe struck, nervous kid you grew up knowing. makes you feel kind of sad.
“alright then,” you exhaled, “i’ll lend you a hand for dealing with the demons.” you stood up whilst downing your drink, a sweet concoction by dorcas.
he looks up at you, eyes looking bloodshot and tired. he softly shook his head, “you don’t have to.”
you frown, clicking your tongue and placing a hand on each of your hips. “i said i’ll do it, so i’m going to. now stand up and let’s go.”
he looked at you just a second longer and sighs looking away, a soft smile etched on lips before looking at you again. looking won over.
standing up, dusting the invisible dirt on his trousers and nodding.
he towers over you now, seemingly out of no where.
you realize this as your neck strain looking up at him. as you gather the rowdy, intoxicated boys back to the dorms.
something sirius was extremely grateful for and the others echoed.
“thanks for— for taking care of me darling,” sirius breathed hot into your face before pecking you on the cheek.
“yes, you’re very welcome,” you hummed amused, tucking his covers into his sides, making sure he couldn’t move out of bed.
sirius giggles, “it feels like being tucked in by a mum,” before looking at you serious, eyes wide and looking more sober than he actually was, as if realizing something.
“you’re the mum in the group!” he exclaimed.
“im the what?”
james overhears this and exclaims his agreements.
“oh you are! you’re the perfect mum size!” james said.
you turn to him, “and what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask hotly.
“you’re very caring and mum-like, and you scold like a mum too, sometimes you even talk like one,” peter mumbled.
you look at remus, giving you an amused look, lips stretching like close to laughing.
“this is going to be the last time i’m helping you lot, if you call me mum one more time.” you threatened lightly.
sirius hums loud like he doesn’t believe you, “it’s not all bad, not like you’re gonna be a single-mum. remus is gonna be the dad after all.” he said like he was so sure.
and james, of ourse, echoed his agreements.
“obviously,” james tutted from his bed, tucked in tight by remus.
“yesh,” peter slurred, “he looks like—remus looks like he knows how to read maps.” he breathes out, like on a verge of sleeping.
james gasps, “he does! remus is a map reading dad, nothing has made more sense than this moment right here. you are meant to hold a map in your hands remus, you’re a daddy compass.”
remus looks perturbed, eyebrows scrunched and lips into a tight frown. he shakes his head then, before closing each of their curtains, not even bothering to justify james’ quip. “night lads,”
“night dad,” sirius teased from his bed, before shuddering excessively, “never thought i’d say that again.”
you snort out a laugh before you could help it. “good night everyone.”
you look at remus, and see him gesture to come outside.
quietly walking out of their room and closing the door behind you.
“come, i’ll walk you out.” grabbing your hand softly and pulling you down the corridor to the stairs. dropping his hold just as quick as if he hadn’t meant to hold it in the first place.
“sorry about the lads, the lack of filter is unfortunately not the effect of alcohol but is just them naturally.”
you chuckle softly, rubbing your tingling palms on the side of your skirt.
as if you didn’t know that already. those three have already been a staple into your everyday life for majority of the year. they, quite frankly, grow on you like some persistent vine on a house.
“it’s fine, it was quite tame compared to the usual rubbish they spew most of the time.”
remus looks at you, barely able to hide the smirk emerging from his lips.
“don’t tell me you liked them calling you mum?” the teasing lilt in his voice impossible to miss.
you lightly push on his shoulders. “don’t be disgusting, being called their mum is weird enough. and you implying i like it just makes it even weirder.”
“well imagine being called daddy compass by one of your mates, it’s gonna be hard looking at james tomorrow morning i’ll tell you that.”
you laugh excessively loud at this, before covering your mouth sheepish as you remember the time.
you look over at him, up and down as if assessing, “but you do look like a dad who knows how to read maps. wears khakis all the time and has a moustache.”
he rolls his eyes at you, as you grin in mirth, “well does that mean you’ll do me the honours of marrying me to avoid the life of a single parent to three demon boys?”
you laugh, shaking your head, “not exactly selling your case to me, are you?”
“won’t you reconsider though?” he moans, like he’s pained but you see the glint in his eyes even in the dark dorm room stairs. “it is after all for the children.”
you know he’s joking, hardly a night of partying counts as anything like a proper proposal.
but your brain can’t help but supply the thought that he looked quite fuller now. arms looking sturdier, and harder. he is acting more responsibly, all the professors trust him.
he was almost like a proper grown up now.
and you remember the echo of the ultimate rule in your childhood.
you shake your head, and an easy smile spread on your lips. stopping at the stairs for your dorms, “over my dead body,”
and he laughs, the sound echoing in the trashed common room, “well alright, good night, beautiful.”
“good night remus.”
fourth time at 19 years old;
you knew james was serious about lily when you lot had graduated from hogwarts. but you didn’t know the extent of the seriousness until he said this after one of the order meetings.
“i’m going to ask lily to marry me.”
james had said this with such conviction, so sure and full of affection. you can’t help but feel awed.
he suddenly seemed mature. not like the doofus you’ve come to know and consider a confidant through these trying times.
but a proper adult, one who does taxes and knows how to set up an appointment for medical check ups and fights in wars.
james suddenly feeling very far away from you.
you feel remus shift, his leg pressing into yours. you look at him to see what he wanted, but saw he was just looking at james, eyes set hard.
you shook yourself out of your stupor. standing up abruptly, not meaning to leave the familiar press of remus’ leg against your thigh.
“that’s—that’s great news james, i would have never guessed you—oh you’re all grown up!” you wrap your arms around his shoulders, and him wrapping his around your middle with a giddy smile.
“thank you, mum.” he laughs, the on going joke still running strong. you squeeze him extra tight and pinching his arm for extra measure. before pulling away. “i never thought you had it in you to propose. i’d have half a mind to propose to lily on your behalf.”
he laughs, a bashful blush resting on his cheeks. “i figured, why wait, you know? tomorrow isn’t promised, and—i think spending every moment together is we all can do. i don’t want to die with regrets. i love her.”
you breathed in deep.
sirius coming forward too and slapping james in the back before giving his own congratulations and then peter and then remus too.
you were happy for them both, truly, having found one another even in these difficult times was awe-inspiring.
and then you start to wretchedly wonder if you could have that too. if only the circumstances were a bit different. would you have been given enough time to find another? enough to love? enough to marry?
you find your gaze sliding to remus, how strained his smile looked and wonder if he’s thinking the same.
he looked back at you, as he always does, and smiles gently. less strained now. like he was resigned.
you try to imagine if the circumstances were a bit different and he would find someone to love. someone to marry.
you feel your navel, coil in a bundle of nerves. a tension in your neck making you almost irate.
he gestured for you to follow him out.
like being compelled and weak, you follow without a question.
the night air was chilly, and feeling some sort of static on your skin, like building an unnerving suspense.
remus just sat and gestured for you to sit beside him.
the seat was cold, and you sat rigid like ice.
it’s been a while since you’ve last sat with remus like this. the order keeping all your hours occupied, mission after mission. surviving by the skin of your teeth.
all the world has gone fucked now, it didn’t feel quite real some time—like some sort of veil has just been pulled over your head making you see things clearer for the horrors awaiting your fates.
and in your mind loud with noise and worry, you almost didn’t hear him.
“why don’t we do it?”
“what?” you turn to him, hoping his face show an inkling, a clue as to what he had said.
he looked at you then, eyes still so warm even with the atrocities he’s faced and eyes still so bright in the night. a twinkling light reflecting in his eyes making him look younger. prettier.
“why don’t we get married?”
you lean back slightly in shock, “what?” you repeated, because you didn’t understand. this came so suddenly, words weirdly familiar but the intent wildly different than from all the others you’ve heard before.
you looked at his eyes. searching, still, for a clue or something that might make sense because what?
he laughs, the warm, soft sounding one you can barely hear. but it was just the two of you outside and it was quiet and you were sitting so close, so you hear it—loud and clear. the sound making you feel warm. “is that so crazy?”
he looked like a boy, happy and hopeful. his leg was pressing into your thighs again. the pressure grounding you.
his hands fidgeting deep within his pockets.
“i think we work well enough.” he added, with a small smile.
you feel something in your heart stutter, “work well enough,” you repeated. “glad to know i reach your standards for a bride, sir lupin.” you almost scoff. masking the bitter simmer of disappointment of his reason. and the coiling nerves still tightly wound in your navel, feeling heavy, making it harder to breathe.
he shrugs, “well you know, a lot of applicants have been killing themselves to be chosen. i reckon you ought to feel honoured.” he grinned over to you, still joking.
you rolled your eyes, “of course,”
“yeah?” he perked up, suddenly sitting straighter, his knees bumping into yours in his haste to look at you properly. “you want to?” he seemed shocked, overtly so, that it makes you laugh. a heat blooming on your face at his apparent willingness to marry you before shaking your head to avoid any confusion.
“no to the proposal but yes, that it is indeed an honour.”
he deflates, “ah,” he said softly, before laughing like he was embarrassed. “i just—i kept thinking what james said, about tomorrow not being promised—and, i, well i thought—“ he clears his throat before continuing. “i thought i might see what the fuss was about,”
you nodded, “‘m afraid marriage isn’t so simple. you have to love one another for a start.” you added somewhat bitterly, looking away.
“so you keep reminding me,” he says, laughing awkwardly.
fifth time at 38 years old;
you feel as if your life was reaching a crescendo.
the night glooming, brooding like the sky knows to colour it of fear and nerves.
it was going to come down to tonight, so it seems. whether we win or we lose. the end or the beginning. all those families we’ve lost and the families we’ve created. all our hopes and dreams sacrificed into this one night.
“you feeling alright?” remus asked to your left.
the glooming sky somehow illuminating his face all the same.
“as alright as anyone can be when facing a dark wizard.” you smirked, shrugging.
he laughs, still sounding so warm and soft.
you feel his fingers brush yours. you had half a mind to remind him to get ready and hold his wand tight.
you notice how keeps forgetting to do that. opting to hold unto you, just like he did before when he was a child from another time.
he only offers a closed lipped smile, looking at you the same way he has always looked at you. his stare the most familiar thing, it might as well be a part of you.
“i love you.” he breathed. and your heart hammered, your world tilting on its axis. shifting the very fabric of your universe.
and he looked relieved like he couldn’t wait to hold unto it any longer. and then he repeated it. more sure. louder. affectionate. looking straight into you. his brilliant, soft, warm eyes so full.
you wonder when did his gaze start to look at you like that?
and then you see;
his eyes looking as it did when he was five, shining with obvious awe.
his eyes when he was eleven, with resolute determination.
eyes when he was seventeen, glinting with mirth in the dark crevices of the dorms.
the look he gave you when he was nineteen, looking so boyishly happy and hopeful.
and now as he’s thirty-eight, looking at you with so much love, and longing, and pain, and joy.
“when this is all over,” he breathe, “will you marry me?”
so much time has passed by now that you had once thought it was too late for you. too late with him. something you always thought but could never have.
he was now undeniably a man. arms littered with scars and unwavering confidence as he looks at you. but his eyes still glimmer and twinkle all the same.
the undeniable rampage in your chest, your eyes searching for an answer or a clue for what he’s thinking.
“i love you,” he repeats, and gazing at you with that familiar eyes of his.
and you laugh because you found your answer. so you’ll give him his.
“yes.”
extra;
the battle was brutal, bodies piled on top of one another. those too young to know what they even fought for. those for their own ideals. and those caught in cross fires.
but it was over. and the good guys won.
but with so many lost, people thought, how could i possibly cheer?
but there was this type of solace when you’re gone. there was no more pain. all those gone can only do one thing, to let go. at least that’s what harry thinks.
staring down at the family he could’ve had.
your limp cold hand holding remus’ equally cold ones.
he wonders if someone intertwined your hands, or if you simply died holding on to each other. never to let go.
he realized it didn’t really matter. you were both gone. forever, but together.
he thinks of the comforting hugs you’ve given him in the short time you’ve spent with him, and the many stories remus told. and in this fierce pain he wonders if you ever saw the shiny, glinting ring in remus’ dresser hidden away ever since he was eighteen.
3K notes · View notes
mrsjellymunson · 3 months
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S.A.N.T.A. BABY
[A.KA. Stupid And Nasty Tinsel-Related Activities]
A Festive 5+1 Eddie Munson Fic
Summary: 5+1. Five times reader embarrasses herself in front of Eddie, and one time she doesn’t.
Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader
WC: ~10.5k (oops)
CW: 🔞 18+ MDNI!, SMUT, NSFW. Strangers to sort-of-enemies to lovers. Drinking, smoking, Eddie and reader call each other nicknames, loads of embarrassing situations, swearing, suggestive language, implied birth control, description of and discussion about a sex toy, flagrant and unnecessary use of the number 69, reader has a tattoo but it’s not essential to the story so you can ignore it if you want, bondage fantasy involving fairy lights, lap riding/dry humping, Eddie has tattoos and intimate piercings, fingering, unprotected p-in-v (always wrap it irl!), aftercare, fluff, the Upside Down hasn’t happened. I imagine reader & Eddie to be mid-late 20s and it might be the 90s, but hopefully I left it ambiguous enough that you can choose. I tried to keep reader’s appearance neutral, though I’m still new at this and I may have missed things - let me know if you spot anything (likewise typos or missed tags, etc). The elf outfit in the pic is for costume illustration only and does not indicate reader’s ethnicity or appearance.
A/N: Written for @bettyfrommars’ & @allthingsjoeq’s festive prompt party (thank you, guys!); I decided to smoosh five prompts 6, 8, 12, 14 & 15 together to create… whateverthehellthismutantthingis 😆 It’s my first 5+1, and my first festive fic, please let me know how I did! 🎄 I’ve taken artistic license with the format - if I’ve understood it, it’s way too long for a standard 5+1, and I don’t think they usually have 4+k of unnecessary smut at the end (‘What do you mean, Kittie? Smut is always necessary!’). I couldn’t bring myself to cut it because I’m a deviant and to paraphrase the song, it’s my fic and I’ll add what I want to 😂 Enjoy! 🥂🍷🎁
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Christmas was never your favourite time of year. You suppose that your early Christmasses were probably happy, but once your parents split and family politics came into play, the season just became less enjoyable all round. These days your mom and stepdad tended to use the extended break to visit your brother in California, and this year will be the third in a row that you’ve been left to your own devices. Not that you couldn’t go with them, but you just felt a little out of place and in the way, him with his scrapbook-perfect family and kids, you with your alternative interests and a dress sense that your stepdad once described as, “Far too much black for a family dinner. We’re not the Addams Family, you know”.
This year, though, you were optimistic. It’s your first year away at college in Indianapolis, and your roommate, Robin, who you get on outrageously well with, has invited you to spend the holidays not too far away in her home town, Hawkins.
Plus, Robin has taken it upon herself to, in her words, ‘“Christmas Carol the shit out of you”, after you’d told her about your disdain for the holiday season and that Santa stood for ‘Stupid And Nasty Tinsel-related Activities’. She’d declared that this year you’d have the “Best. Christmas. EVERRR!”, and she’s making good on it, despite the promise being made months ago when you were both soaked in tequila at the end of orientation week.
It’s going fairly well so far. You’ve met a couple of Robin’s friends, a nice girl called Nancy and Robin’s ex Vickie, and together you’ve had a shopping trip, a lunch out and a girls’ night in. You’re optimistic that the rest of her friends will be just as friendly and welcoming. Next on the ‘Best Christmas Ever’ agenda? Seeing a local band at a local bar…
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“Honestly, they’re, like, really, really good!”
“Really, Robs? This band that your friends started in high school are so good that they’re still playing dive bars in their home town?”
The bar is dingy and grubby, but it’s packed, Robin insisting it’s because the band is great, but you suspect it has more to do with the cheap beer prices.
You’re not averse to live entertainment, you just prefer places with a bit more space. More ambience, less… sweat? Ambiguous stickiness??
Half a beer in, you make the excuse that you need some air, not admitting you’re actually hoping to find someone to bum a cigarette off outside, feeling your most recent attempt at quitting is already on seriously shaky ground.
There’s already a couple of guys around the side of the building when you exit the front door, one in a torn flannel and another, his back to you, in a heavier-looking jacket.
You recognise Flannel as the bartender, a lanky, but not unattractive, somewhat worried-looking guy with a grungy haircut and ripped Clash t-shirt, who’s just finishing his cigarette and flicking it to the floor. As he leaves to go back inside he offers a cheery half-salute to his smoking partner and a, “See you inside, dude.” You assume the other guy must be a regular, and from the subtle glimpses you get as he flicks his ash, he’s about halfway through his cigarette.
Whilst he’s not looking you sneakily take in the view (your excuse being that you are a tourist here, after all). He’s tall, dressed all in black, with broad shoulders draped in worn-in black leather, long dark curls falling about them. You can’t determine the exact colour in the poor lighting of the bar’s neon sign, but they look shiny and well cared for, rather than lank and grimy like so many of your college buddies seem to think is the fashionable way to do it these days (ugh).
Trailing your eyes down his back, you see the hem of his jacket half-obscures a black leather belt that’s just visible sitting on his slim hips. It’s studded with silver rivets and adorned with a variety of draping silver chains that jingle at the slightest movement.
Well-fitting, dark black jeans cover his legs, and a scruffy pair of heavy black combat boots complete the look. They're unlaced at the top and casually flare out, his jeans crumpling, effortlessly stylishly, in the tops.
The belt chains catch your attention again as he shifts from one foot to the other, making them swing, drawing your eyes to the seat of his jeans and showcasing a cute, tight, rounded pair of butto-oh! He’s turning around! Shit, shit, okay, be cool, and definitely don’t look like you were just checking out his ass…
He looks at you with surprise, he obviously hadn’t heard you come out. He’s taken slightly aback, but manages to greet you with a quick, “Hey.”
You reply, eloquently, “Hey.”
Smooth.
Leather Jacket gets out his lighter.
“You, uh, smokin’?”
“I was kinda hoping to bum one, actually. I’m supposed to be quitting, but you know how it is when you get around bars and booze.”
You shrug a little, suddenly feeling sheepish, and more than a little selfish when you realise your presumption.
“Oh yeah, I sure do. Think I’ve tried quitting about, what, five times now?”
He chuckles a little, shaking a stick out of the packet he retrieves from inside his jacket, offering it to you.
“You need a light?”
“Oh, uh, yeah, thanks.”
He leans in to spark his lighter, and you’re briefly engulfed by the scent of him. Old leather, hints of a musky, spicy cologne, whiskey, clean sweat, and, of course, cigarette smoke. It feels like a warm hug, but something else too, something more primal, enticing.
You notice his hands as he holds his lighter close to your face. They’re big, strong-looking and veined, his fingers adorned with chunky silver rings that glint and twinkle in the faint neon glow.
It all catches you off guard. You pull back quickly once your cigarette is lit, not ready to explore that kind of sensation right now.
He’s turned sideways to you again, leaning his back against the side wall of the bar. He smirks in your direction, a dimple popping in the cheek nearest to you, and you feel a little heat rise up your neck.
His gaze flows over your form, taking you in from top to bottom. Is he checking you out?
“I, uh, I like your boots.” He nods down towards your feet, flicking a little ash from his cigarette off to the side furthest from you.
You automatically glance down, like some kind of idiot who didn’t dress themselves less than an hour ago.
Sheesh, way to make an impression on the locals…
“Oh, thanks!”
You smile, genuinely pleased. You’re wearing your favourite pair, laced and buckled black leather New Rocks with a chunky, steel-coloured metal heel. You know the style doesn’t have universal appeal, which is of course part of the reason you love them, but it’s nice to have your taste appreciated by someone as cu- erm, as friendly as he is.
“I haven’t seen you around here before. You new in town or sumthin’?”
“Yeah, kinda passing through, I guess. I’m just here for the holidays, hookin’ up with a friend.”
He nods in acknowledgment, curls bouncing softly around his face.
You continue, “Apparently I’ve been promised the ‘best Christmas ever’, and they think they’re going to achieve that by bringing me to this divey bar to see some schoolfriend in a lame-ass metal cover band. I mean, god, no offence, but this town is hardly Seattle. I can’t imagine they’re gonna be Nirvana-quality, right?”
The guy snorts through his nose and then genuinely laughs. “Yeah, they probably are shit. Towns like this are full of wannabe rockstars straight outta high school, y’know?” You don’t notice how his lips purse as he suppresses a grin, as he continues, “Singers are the worst, always such assholes. Second only to guitarists, of course.”
You answer with an enthusiastic, “I know, right?!”, thinking back to the musicians you’ve dated since high school and how they were all convinced they were destined to be the next Eddie Van Halen or Steven Tyler. Thinking of a couple of guys in particular as you take a drag of your cigarette, as you exhale you mutter, “Christ, guitarists really are the pits.”
He snorts, smiling again, then drops his finished cigarette to the ground, crushing it out with the sole of his heavy boot. “At least with all their equipment and shit it makes them easy to spot.”
You gift him a smile and a small nod. “Yeah, I guess it does.”
“I’m heading back inside. Maybe I’ll see you later?” He quirks an eyebrow at his last comment.
“Yeah, maybe.” As he moves to open the door you add, ”Hey, thanks for the smoke!”
He turns back to you, his distractingly broad grin now fully on display, half-shouting back as he moves through the doorway into the bustling interior, “No problem, all you have to do is ask. I’ll see you later, Boots!”
You finish your smoke and get inside just in time to get to your seat, a tall stool opposite Robin around a high table, your back to the stage, as the band start up.
There’s a few complicated beats from the drums as the guy behind them warms up, and the bass and rhythm guitars thrum a few notes, garnering whistles and cheers from the crowd.
You wait for the cliché of the singer coming up to the mic and introducing the band, but what you actually hear is a low, self-assured, somewhat recognisable voice, that’s both commanding and sultry, that drawls, “You know who we are.”
Suddenly there’s a burst of impressive guitar work and drums, and the crowd erupts as the room is saturated with the opening chords to Black Sabbath’s ‘War Pigs’.
You’re impressed, and intrigued. This isn’t the ‘dodgy 80’s covers schoolkid band’ you were expecting. These guys sound… accomplished.
You turn on your stool, and notice a subtly familiar form at the mic. Less bulky as he’s no longer wearing the leather jacket, a ripped band tee now showing off his pale arms and clavicles, and black ink that you can’t make out adorning solid biceps and veined forearms. Guitar in hand, confident, brash, cute. Chains dangling from a studded belt, silver rings glinting, hair flying as he flicks his head, commanding the stage, readying himself to sing the first lines…
Oh shit…
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The band’s cover of ‘War Pigs’ is faster than the original, and they give it their own twist, making it heavier and grittier. After the (irritatingly brilliant) guitar solo Leather Jacket Band Guy even throws in a few lines from Deck The Halls, the audience going wild, and joining in enthusiastically when the ‘Oh Lord yeah’ is replaced with a ‘Fa-la-la’.
The rest of their set is a mix of covers and originals, all in a similar, heavy style, and as they finish to a rapturous throng you realise, flustered, that you couldn’t tear your eyes from the stage the whole time. Robin totally notices. You even let her get in a cheery, “Told ya so!”, as you reluctantly admit they weren’t completely terrible.
You spot the frontman (singer and guitarist, cue internal facepalm) jump down off the low stage, and you feel a little uneasy as you see him start heading in your direction.
You’re at peak embarrassment and can’t bear the thought of having to face him after what you said outside. You hadn’t even heard them play and you dissed the fuck out of them, him specifically. What makes it worse is that they were actually really good. The last thing you need is to have that thrown back in your face, in front of Robin, by their cocky lead guy.
Suddenly you want Spontaneous Human Combustion to be a real thing, turn you to ash so your only presence would be scuffed up on those heavy, unlaced combat boots, going unnoticed and carried out on everyone’s soles into the chilly night. But science and physics are apparently not willing to defy themselves for you this evening. Bastards.
Quickly, you get off your stool, mumbling something about needing the bathroom, and head off in a random direction, in your haste to escape not even asking where it is.
You chance a glance over one shoulder. Oh god, he’s heading straight for you…
As you stumble about in the crowd, you notice a free seat next to a guy at the bar. You hardly register that his coiffed hair and polo shirt don’t quite fit the vibe of the place, so desperate are you to build an alternative narrative that doesn’t involve the guy whose band you just dissed coming to talk to you. You’d said you were visiting a friend, he’s not to know it wasn’t a boyfriend, right? If he sees you with someone he’ll back off and leave you alone, right?? Surely he wouldn’t confront you with a potential Defending Your Honour™️ fight on the table. Right???
So, that’s the plan.
A really good, foolproof one? Um, no. But Band Guy is moving through the crowd, and you’ve gotta do something, fast.
You reach the bar.
“Hey, could you do me a favour real quick? A creepy guy’s been hitting on me, and I need to give him the message that I’m not interested. If I buy you a drink, will you act like you’re my boyfriend for, like, the next 30 seconds?”
He turns to you, and you notice his features. Golden skin, chiselled jaw, stunning hazel eyes, hair to rival the hottest supermodels’, a scattering of moles that look like constellations. Goddamn, he’s pretty. What is it with this bar? Is everyone inside it cute? Why have you never been to Hawkins before??
You give him a pleading look, and tentatively hold out one hand towards where his is resting on his thigh, hoping he’ll take it.
“Well, for a sweet thing like you, how could I say no to that tempting double offer?”
He smiles then, full and beaming, and you almost slip off your stool. A warm palm comes to cup over yours, and you manage to blurt out an order to the barman, saying, “Two of whatever he’s having.”
Just then, Band Guy reaches you. You do your best to swoon at Polo Shirt as your drinks get delivered, lifting yours and clinking it against his with a, “Hey, sweetheart, thanks for bringing me here”.
“Oh, I didn’t realise you were here with someone tonight.”
“Yeah, this is the friend I was telling you about. We’re spending the holidays together. Isn’t that right, sweets?”
Band Guy purses his lips, you hope in consternation, but it’s whatever, you just want him to leave you alone to stew in your mortification.
He backs up half a step, saying, “Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it then.”
Success!
Just as you think your devious plan has worked, Band Guy turns to Polo Shirt, slaps his open palm against his shoulder a couple of times, and saunters off, with a, “Nice to see you, Steve-o. Just checkin’ you're wanting a lift back in the van with the guys, like usual?”
Oh. Oh god. They know each other?!
He turns away, smirking back briefly in your direction to fling a casual, “I’ll see you around, Boots”, before continuing his path to the other end of the bar. You see him greet Flannel with a high five followed by a bro handshake, the latter making exaggerated air guitar movements and clearly congratulating him on a great performance.
If cringing caused bodily trauma you’d be in the ER by now, most likely on life support. What are the chances of embarrassing yourself all to hell in front of a cute guy you’ve only just met, twice in one night?
Also, wait, you totally didn’t just admit that you find him cute. Nope. No siree. Nah. Niet. Definitely not.
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Stupid Robin convinced you to take this stupid job in the stupid mall and now you’re stuck here smiling this stupid smile at all the stupid local kids in this stupid elf costume.
Stupid striped tights, stupid short skirt, stupid tight green tunic, stupid fluffy collar.
And yeah, okay, stupid self-induced hangover from stupid drinks last night thanks to stupid Robin’s stupid friends. Actually, they were all really nice, especially ‘Steve-o’ and the barman, Jonathon, neither of whom mentioned your embarrassing faux pas with Band Guy, which makes them total heroes in your book. Plus, Band Guy mercifully gave you a wide berth for the rest of the night by doing Band Stuff™️, so that was a win too.
At least the dress code for this gig stated ‘black footwear’, so you could wear your own boots. You’d never admit it out loud, but you think the combination of the red and white striped tights with your chunky, alternative boots actually looks kinda cute. It’s just as well, because you’d packed light (you and Robin joking that so long as you had your ”Pills and panties” you were good to go), and hadn’t brought any alternatives.
You’ve been at this for a couple of days already, beaming artificially at the kids as you try to corral them into some semblance of an organised line, and handing out stickers and treat bags for the ones who’ve seen Santa, putting your best singsong voice on as you ask for what feels like the millionth time, “So, what did you ask Santa for?”, and, “Have you been good this year?”
Your face has begun to ache with the effort of all the smiling, although the cheery mall Santa (a big, friendly guy called John? Jack?) takes up most of the slack, with a voice deep and gravelly enough to control even the worst-behaved little shits. You hope his day job uses it, it would be a shame for a voice like that to go to waste. He should probably be in sports, or acting, or law enforcement or something.
You can’t deny the money is coming in handy though. It’s reliably supporting your holiday booze habit, and you’ve even treated yourself to a couple of Christmas treats, some silver skull jewellery from a surprisingly well-stocked accessory shop, and something more, um, personal from the ‘specialist interest’ shop you’d found hidden away at the back of the mall’s upper level. The nice lady who worked there, Karen, even kindly offered to drop off your purchase at your staff locker later today.
You’re on the later shift, so Santa’s already here, and as you make your way out to the grotto area (which is essentially just a few old stage props surrounded by a few giant polystyrene candy canes; you surmise this might be one of the first years they’ve done this) you’re greeted by a predictable, “Ho ho ho!”. But today it’s a different voice than usual. Still deep, still booming, but not the one you’re used to.
As you round the glittery candy cane on the corner, the deep baritone gives way to a much higher, cheekier pitch.
“Ho, ho- hoooooly shiiit, I’d recognise those boots anywhere!”
Oh no… It can’t be…
“Heeey, Boots! I didn’t know you’d be one of my little helpers today!”
Even behind the fake beard you can see the smugness spread across his face.
You stop in your tracks, hands coming up to your face in a vain attempt to shield your embarrassed self from the impending, and, you’ll admit, completely justified, teasing.
Realising you can’t hide from it, you huff out a breath and amble over to him. He looks way too comfortable sitting on that ornate throne, like he’s used to such a position, somehow…
As you move closer you see that even beneath the tacky acrylic costuming, he still looks cute (damn him). He’s foregone the white wig and opted to display his own locks, chestnut curls cascading over his shoulders, and the white faux fur of his hat and beard create a subtle frame around his eyes. You observe their colour properly for the first time, and even in the harsh fluorescent lights of the mall they look like swirling pools of liquid cacao, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen anything quite like them before. They’re fixed on you as you walk to him.
You plonk down on a fabric-covered hay bale next to the throne. There’s no line of kids waiting as yet, and you’re relieved you can get this next part done without too much of an audience. Deep breath, pull off the bandaid, or whatever that stupid phrase is.
“Listen, about last night. I’m really sorry. I not only stole your smokes but also dissed your band before I’d even heard you, and that wasn’t cool. And that thing with Steve at the bar? God, you must think I’m such a loser. And, I know you probably couldn’t give two pebbly shits about what I think right now, but you guys are actually really good.”
He turns to you, looking down his nose and through his lashes at you.
“Hey, don’t sweat it, sweets. I did kinda bait you into that first part. And at the bar? That was… creative. I actually thought it was pretty funny.” Smirking, nodding and turning his face to the front again, he continues, “And for the record, we do play other places, not just this so-not-Seattle town.”
You risk a glance at him. The Santa suit is obviously too big for him, the collar wide enough to show off his pale throat for a moment before he turns back to you and the comically-fluffy beard obscures it again. You can see the outline of his taut, muscular thighs under the loose faux velvet of his pants, and his boots (those boots) are worn just like they were last night, unlaced at the top, casually stylish, the red fabric pooling around the calf and ankle. And to finish it off, there’s what appears to be a large throw cushion stuffed down his front.
It turns out he’s covering for (Jim!) Hopper, who’s apparently the local police chief (nailed it) and has been called out to check on some weird occurrences at an old research facility on the other side of town.
Band Guy Santa continues, sarcastically, “Pfft. Providing the town of Hawkins with security and safety instead of performing the frankly, essential, public service of dicking about in a Santa suit. Inconsiderate, right?”
“Yeah, totally”, you giggle.
“The organisers heard from Hop that I was somewhat… theatrical, so they asked me to fill in.”
You remember how theatrical he looked whilst on stage, and you feel your throat heat up, hoping he won’t notice you subtly pulling at your collar with a finger, or see the perspiration appearing on your décolletage.
“So, you may wreak your revenge now, sweetheart. I’m not exactly in a position to defend my sartorial choices right now, am I?”, he says as he gestures to himself, sweeping a palm up and down his garb. “Gimme your worst.”
You’d feel pretty bad if you laid into him now, not only considering your own current garb but especially with what you’d said last night outside the bar. However, he is giving you an opportunity to even the score for his manipulation, and it would be a shame not to take it. You decide upon a combination of cheekiness and diplomacy. (And not flirty. Definitely not flirty.)
“I dunno, that beard covers most of your face, which obviously does you some favours. But don’t do yourself down, you look… good in red.”
He swallows as you stand to move away from him, and you hardly realise that you’ve rendered him speechless, as you joke, poking at the obvious cushion by his middle,
“Although, I’m totally not buying this padding, you know,”
Suddenly a party of schoolchildren appears from nowhere, and before they get between you and you get too far away to hear, he stammers out, “Uh, I’m Eddie, by the way.”
You half-yell your own name back, adding with a smile,
“It’s nice to meet you. Have fun today, Santa.”
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It’s late afternoon and Santa Eddie is on his regulation break. You’re doing your best to herd the over-sugared, post-school crowd into some kind of order, when Mrs Santa (a lovely lady called Claudia) calls your name and says you can go on your break now too, if you want, and to please tell Santa that he needs to get back here and start doling out Christmas wishes.
You jump at the chance for even just a few minutes away from the diminutive hoards (though you could listen to Erica, one kid you do like, diss commercialism and the ethics of lying to kids en masse all afternoon), and make your way to the locker room.
Eddie’s still there, sitting on the central bench, beard pulled down under his chin, and he appears to be holding a package in his hands, though from the look on his face you don’t think it was one he was expecting. As you move closer and peer into the box, you spy the contents, and a bright red, glittery shape becomes visible.
Oh god, no. No-no-noooo…
It’s the order you placed from the shop at the back of the mall, but Karen’s obviously dropped it off next to the wrong locker - Eddie’s is number 69 and yours is 96.
It’s a dildo (of course it is). A Christmas-themed, flexible, long, thick, glittery, red dildo, with a gold lamé ribbon tied artfully around the base.
Eddie’s face is a picture of surprise as he turns to look up at you, eyes and mouth wide and eyebrows practically disappearing into his hairline. He’s holding the packaging, your name visible on the wrapping, nixing any hope you’d had of feigning innocence and pretending you knew nothing about it.
“Uh, I think this is yours. I’m so sorry. I-it was left by my locker and I opened it assuming it was for me, and then I saw your name on it, but by then it was too late…”
He sees you slump down into the bench a few feet away from him, face in your hands. You don’t know him well, but you decide to let him get whatever he wants to say out of his system rather than potentially make everything worse by trying to get him to shut the hell up.
His tone is mocking, but not exactly mean, as he continues,
“It’s a pretty one, really. Y’know, festive. I admire your choice of aesthetics and commitment to the season.
But you know, Boots, if you wanted to feel special inside this Christmas, all you had to do was ask.
Wait, do you also have an Easter-themed one? Is it a rabbit?”
He’s turned to face you now, far too pleased with himself for that final quip. Arrogant bastard.
The tears come in a wave, and you fold in on yourself, trying to hide your face even more. The heat in your cheeks feels about the same temperature as the colour of that fucking dildo.
“Hey, hey. I was only kidding.” He scootches closer to you on the bench. ”Look, there’s nothing wrong with it. Everyone deserves pleasure, it’s healthy. And I get it, Boots, it can be hard for girls to find a guy who actually knows what the fuck they’re doing. And, maybe you don’t even want or need a guy, you just want some special time by yourself, right?”
There’s a short pause, like he could be considering his next choice of words.
“And anyway, I actually think it’s kinda hot…”
This surprises you. You’ve never met any guy who didn’t take the presence of your toy collection as a personal insult.
You risk a glance in his direction, hoping your wet and stinging eyes don’t look as red as they feel. “You really think so?”
“Oh yeah”, he responds, crossing his legs as subtly as he can, shielding his lap. “The one you chose? It’s… sophisticated. The glitter gives it a real nice touch. And,” he drops his voice a little, continuing in an almost-whisper, “I’d love to see what you do with it.” He clears his throat and looks away, finding a convenient patch of plain wall to focus his gaze upon.
Confused, upset, and unable to fathom exactly what’s going on (is this just banter? Or is he flirting? Wait, does he like you??) you grab the box from him and move to stuff it in your locker. Trying to hide the crack in your voice, you call over your shoulder, “Claudia says your break’s over and to get your jolly ass back out there, pronto.”
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Oh shit… shitshitSHIT…
Stupid collar, stupid faux fur, stupid cheap zips! Goddammit!
You’re at your locker - the one that should’ve secretly contained your special Xmas gift to yourself - trying to get out of your stupid elf costume, but the zip won’t budge. The top of it is enmeshed amongst the stupid faux fur of your collar, and your frustrated, unsighted and fumbling ministrations appear to be making it worse.
You need help. An empathic soul to come to your aid and diligently untangle you from this costuming hell. But there’s only one other person here, and, even though your last encounter ended better than it could have, he’s still the last person you want to see right now.
Why tonight? Of all nights? How could this happen on the one night where the literal only person left in the entire fucking building is him??
You can only assume you’re on the real Santa’s shit list. Were you really that naughty this year?
Your brain rewards you with a brief, but telling, synopsis of your year so far: smoking blunts behind the library with Robin during study breaks, skinny dipping in a freezing lake on a dare, all that tequila, that brief foray in the back of a Camaro with that guy (Bobby? Billy?). Okay, you were no saint, but this? Come on…
Dejectedly, you drop your chin to your chest and let out a frustrated huff.
Looking miserable, and literally dragging your heels, you shuffle back out to the grotto, steeling yourself for whatever mocking banter Eddie will subject you to this time.
He’s leisurely rearranging the grotto area, and fiddling with the fairy lights behind.
“Hey, Boots. What’re you still doing here?”
Still not looking up, and flicking your eyes everywhere but in his direction, you mumble,
“I, uh, I need your help.”
“What is it? C’mon, you can tell me. We’re quite intimately acquainted now, wouldn’t you say?“
You can hear the smirk in his voice and you want to slap it right off his face. Your response comes out in a rush.
“MyzipisstuckandIcan’tgetoutofthisfuckingcostume, okay?”
“Well, honestly, if you want me to undress you, all you have to do is ask…”
There’s annoyance in your voice as you spit out, “For fuck’s sake Eddie, are you gonna help me or not?”
“Of course, Boots, I’m just messin’ with ya.” His voice drops to an almost-rumble as he instructs, “Turn around for me, yeah?”
His voice is commanding, yet soft and velvety. Parts of your brain turn to marshmallow, and you consider that you’d do almost anything he asked, if he asked you like that.
You do as he requests, your back facing him. You tilt your head down slightly, allowing him better access to the top of the zip, inadvertently also exposing the back of your neck.
He exhales (is it a bit shaky?), and you feel the heat of his breath on your nape, the sensation raising goosebumps along your spine and worrying your legs a little. It’s all you can do to not drop to your knees right there and then. You let out a tiny gasp and try to cover it with a deep swallow.
Eddie works gently on the collar of your garment, fiddling with the fur and disentangling what he can. As he works you continue to feel his breath on your neck, and you wonder if he has any idea what it’s doing to you.
Seemingly satisfied he won’t make it any worse than it already is, Eddie grasps the tag with his fingertips and places the palm of his other hand on your shoulder blade, the heat of it radiating through you so intensely that you have to scrunch your eyes closed and try to ground yourself.
With a quiet, “You ready?”, Eddie begins to slowly lower the zip.
It dislodges under his delicate touch, and although the zip is now completely free-moving he continues to pull it downwards ever so slowly. You feel another frisson of excitement, and even though you could at this stage probably quite easily take over and get out of the garment yourself, you don’t move away.
As the opening reaches your shoulder blades, you feel something else. It’s featherlight, barely there, but you think you can feel the knuckle of one of Eddie’s bent fingers brushing the skin of your back as he pulls the zipper slowly downwards.
Part of you thinks you should be freaked, after all an almost-complete stranger is touching you without your consent, but somehow it doesn’t feel weird. It feels… nice. Safe. Right.
The lower the zip goes the more of Eddie’s breath you feel on your back, and as the sides separate the edges of the colourful tattoo on your shoulder blade become visible.
Eddie's breath stutters at the sight, and as his knuckle passes over your bra strap and connects again with your lower spine you abruptly shake yourself out of your reverie.
Clutching the front of your tunic to your body, you move quickly away from him, stumbling back towards the locker room and mumbling, “I’ll take it from here. Thanks Eddie, you’re a lifesaver.”
Plonking yourself down on the bench in front of your open locker, you take a few deep breaths, trying to centre yourself before you get changed and wondering how on earth you’re going to be able to face him again tomorrow, the (yes, you’ll admit it now) hottest Santa you’ve ever seen...
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Back in your own clothes (black, wide-gauge fishnets, an old tee from a punk band that no longer exists, and a flared black skirt - much better) you’re about to scurry out with your head down when you hear muffled grunts and groans from the main floor. What on earth is going on out there?
You amble back out to the grotto area, trying to appear nonchalant and like this is your usual route out of the building.
You see Eddie’s combat boots sticking out from behind a pile of fake snowballs. They seem to be twitching.
You move closer until you can see his entire form. He’s lying on his back, immobile, completely tangled in fairy lights. You can’t help but start to giggle, not least because for the first time since meeting him it’s he who’s the one in a compromising position.
He’s struggling, likely making it worse, and he starts as he sees you, barking out, “Oh god, Boots, you scared me! Well, laugh it up, fuzzball, I guess it’s your turn to rag on me now.”
“What on earth happened? Are you hurt?”
“I said I’d help rearrange these lights, so I was up that ladder, moving them around, when the rung gave way. The lights were the only thing I could grab for when I span, fell, and, well, here we are!”
He gives you a broad but sarcastic grin, realising the absurdity of his predicament, trying to spread out his palms in a jazz hands kind of illustration but only managing to do it with one, the other trapped at his belt line by a string of dazzling pink lights.
“Um, you need a hand?”
“Uh, yes please.”
You take a moment to appraise the situation. You see the broken ladder, the tangled piles of lights, scuffed-up fake grass and unruly piles of snowballs.
As for Eddie, he seems unharmed, if a little bruised in the ego (and, perhaps, the elbows). He’s still wearing the Santa suit. Well, most of it. He still has on the hat for some reason, and the trousers, but he’s discarded the beard and jacket, presumably for reasons of temperature regulation or ease of movement, and his ‘belly’ cushion is nowhere to be seen.
And his top half? Well, his top half is now adorned only in a tight, white tank top.
You swallow as you take in his torso. He looked good on stage that night at the bar, but you never really got to see him this close up. Or this well lit.
His skin is almost as pale as the fake snow that litters the area, but there’s a creaminess to it that just makes him look, well, edible is the only word you can think of. Apart from ’lickable’. Yep, that would work too…
He’s solid, well defined, but he’s not stocky. You imagine that years of carrying amps and band equipment around has toned his muscles rather than bulked them.
And the tattoos… Oh. God.
You’ve always had a thing for people with alternative tastes, but this guy takes the cake. Swirling black ink in a variety of designs and styles covers his pecs and biceps, with smaller but no less elaborate designs adorning his forearms.
You notice a subtle glint under the colourful strings of lights that enwrap him, and spot that one of his nipples is pierced, the ring of metal just barely visible through the taut fabric.
Your eyes drift to his hands (those same hands that entranced you that first night), and although there’s no rings tonight (you guess ‘Badass Santa’ wasn’t the version on the mall’s wish list) his hands are no less attractive, still strong-looking and veiny, and you spot a number of small finger tats that you hadn’t been aware of before.
His position and the fact that he’s still struggling mean his abs are tensed, with his forearms are in front of him, making them, and his shoulders, really pop.
Jeezus.
Your thighs clench and you feel a heat bloom in your core.
He notices you staring, and for a moment seems to revel in it, but eventually breaks you out of your trance, asking, “You gonna help me get out of this, or what?”
“Yeah. Yeah, of course, um, lemme just…”
You decide to start at his feet, reasoning that’s where the tangles are the least bad, and at least if his feet are free he’ll be able to sit up.
That decision has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you’d like to see him sitting, bound, tied up for you, naked…
Shit. Fuck. Concentrate…
Eventually you free him from the majority of his confines, your fingertips and the backs of your hands brushing his skin and the fabric of his clothes occasionally. As he’s able to sit up, his hair tickles you as you work, his scent invades you all over again, and the two of you share glances and timid little chuckles as you move around him, both aware that you’re closer than you’ve been before.
Eventually he’s completely freed, and as he stands and steps out of the final loop of lights he flops exhaustedly backwards into his golden throne, eyeing the pile of entangled lights and running a hand over his face, mumbling, “Shit, there’s no hope for them tonight. I’ll deal with it all in the morning.”
You stand to the side of the throne, wanting to check he’s ok, and in a bold move that you weren’t expecting he lifts one arm and takes the tips of your first two fingers in his, gently raising your hand in a silent instruction to come closer.
Mirroring your earlier comment, he says, “Thanks, Boots. You’re a real lifesaver”, adding, with a hand against his forehead, “I would’ve been here all night, could’ve starved to death. They'd've found my mummified remains in the morning.”
You find yourself stepping towards him, and with your free hand try to give his pec a playful slap, murmuring, “You’re so dramatic. No, wait, theatrical!”
The slap fails though, as he rapidly brings his other hand up to the back of yours, trapping your palm against his chest. You can feel the heat of his skin, the slight sheen of sweat just noticeable as your fingertips breach the low neckline of his top, the heavy thud of his heartbeat.
You don’t realise how close you’ve become, and you gasp as your knees touch the side of his. He gently grabs the hand that’s on his chest and pulls it to his side, and to stop yourself from toppling forwards you have to step around him, ending up standing astride his legs.
Your eyes lock, and something changes. For a long moment neither of you move, and you feel your breathing rate speed up.
Not breaking eye contact, Eddie slowly moves your arm up to his shoulder, and you find yourself climbing onto the throne with him, straddling his thighs.
He breaks out that low, rumbling voice again, as he murmurs,
“That’s it, Boots, come sit on Santa’s lap.”
As you lower down onto him, you feel the heat of his thighs through your thin tights, and then the contrast of the chill of your metal-coated heels against the backs of yours.
You also feel something bloom in the pit of your stomach. And further down. A warmth, heat, need.
Eddie moves one hand to hold the back of your waist, pulling you gently, moving you further up his lap towards him.
You feel the unmistakable bulge of his arousal between your thighs, and as he moves you closer you gasp as you feel it nudge your mound.
You look at each other for another long moment, aware that this is very new territory. His eyes flick between your eyes and your lips, as he asks, quietly, “Is- is this okay?”
It’s all too much and simultaneously not enough. You definitely weren’t expecting any of this, but at the same time you find yourself desperately nodding, needing more of him, of Eddie.
You answer by slowly rolling your hips lightly against him, your lips parting slightly.
The few layers of fabric between you aren’t enough to dull the sensation of his cock pushing against your centre, and you feel it gradually pressing between your folds, your growing slick making the movements easier.
Suddenly, his bulge nudges your sensitive bud.
You gasp again at the sensation, making Eddie exhale a long low, warm breath over your torso, before he speaks again.
“Boots, can I kiss you?”
You take a breath, considering how this could all go. You could walk away now (albeit with shaky legs and damp thighs) and leave any possible awkwardness or complicated entanglement in favour of a simple, uncomplicated holiday with your friend.
But then you look into his eyes again, as his hips gently buck and nudge you once more, and your decision is made.
Breathing out, you reply,
“Fuck yeah, Santa.”
Wearing a soft, sly smile, he gently brings one hand to the back of your head, bringing you to him as he moves forwards, chocolate eyes roaming your face, scanning your eyes and lips.
Noses bumping and lips millimetres apart, he pauses for a moment before closing the gap, pressing his soft, plush lips to yours. They feel divine, soft and velvety, and this close you can smell everything him now, with the subtle addition of something faintly minty.
You kiss him back, and then you both press forward harder, parting your lips at the same moment, the tips of your tongues touching and dancing before sliding past each other and deepening the kiss, your teeth bumping gently and hot breaths mingling.
It’s wet, hot and needy, your hands grasping his shoulders, and his arms pulling you closer to him.
The rolling of your hips gradually becomes stronger and more forceful, and he bucks harder up into you. You need more. Breaking the kiss for air, you take a couple of lungfuls, toying with the drawstring on his red pants before asking, bold and more than a little cheeky,
“How are you feeling? Still entangled? Do you need a hand getting out of these, too?”
“Yeah, fuck, I’m feeling very… entrapped, kinda claustrophobic. Might be in shock from such a traumatic experience. I might need to loosen my clothing a bit, y’know, for medical reasons.”
You give him a smirk, and untie the cords. Raising up on your knees slightly, you slide your thumbs hands into the waistband of those and his fitted, black boxers (fuck, is there anything about this guy that isn’t sexy?). He quickly takes the hint, lifting his hips off of the throne and allowing you to move his garments down to his thighs.
As you work his member gets caught on the elastic of his boxers, and as it releases from the fabric it springs back onto his abdomen with an audible slap. You can’t help but look, and you’re not disappointed. It’s pleasantly, but not overly, big, thick and veiny, curved slightly and with a large flared head. The tip is shiny and pinky-red, and as you stare it twitches away from his body and a tiny bead of precum leaks from the tip. You’re surprised, but also delighted, to spot a shining pair of steel balls decorating a frenum piercing, and that there’s a few pretty dot and line work tattoos near the base.
It’s beautiful. You want to tell him so, but he grabs you and pulls you in for another deep, passionate kiss, his length trapped between your bodies, hot and pulsing.
You melt into the kiss, tongues slipping and sliding, lips rubbing, noses smooshed against each other and enjoying it for as long as you can both do without air.
Needing another deep inhale, and also wanting to get your hands on his delightful cock, you sit up again, slipping one hand between you and grasping at his length. Eddie hisses, then moans,
“Oh, Boots, you’re gonna fucking kill me.”
You enjoy the feeling of him in your hand for a few moments, relishing the heat and hardness, before you position the palm of your hand behind his cock and push your centre towards him again, trapping his length between your hand and belly.
More thrusts of his hips moves him between you, your slightly adjusted position now pressing him firmly between your clothed folds, his cock dragging the fabric across your clit. You can’t help but let out a high whine, and you feel his cock twitch again.
“Too much fabric. Wanna feel you.”
His voice is gruff, desperate, wanting.
You lean back a little, resting one hand on the arm of the throne, keeping your other hand wrapped around his cock. You’re not sure you ever want to let it go.
His hands move from your ass to your thighs, running over them and squeezing. When he reaches the part exposed by your lifted skirt he growls, feeling the skin of your hips and belly through the mesh of your tights.
Suddenly, his chin dips and he gives you an almost evil grin. His eyes remain connected with yours as the tip of his tongue peeks out of the corner of his mouth as he pushes some of his fingertips through the holes, grabs tightly and pulls.
You freeze as the sound of snapping fabric echoes around the grotto, cool air now gracing your belly and inner thighs. You gasp, not only at his actions but because you packed light and don’t have any other tights with you. But as Eddie’s thumbs trace up to the crease of your thighs, dangerously close to your heated core, all thoughts of packing and capsule wardrobes are erased. You want, no, need him to touch you.
With a smirk, you say, “Please touch me, Santa. I promise I’ve been such a good girl this year.”
His jaw goes slack and he looks at you in awe. You notice how black his eyes have become, the beautiful chocolate hues all but obscured.
He flicks his gaze to your core, black satin panties with lace edging fully on display. He runs one thumb pad up your very centre, feeling the smooth, silky fabric, your heat, the dampness that’s already apparent.
“Christ, baby, is this all for me?”
“All for you, Santa. I’m pretty sure you’ve been a bad boy this year, but you deserve a treat anyway.”
His eyes flick to yours again briefly, his lips curling into a lascivious smirk, before returning to the beautiful display between your legs. He hooks his thumb around one lace edge and, much more gently than he handled your tights, moves the soaked satin to one side.
With a tenderness and reverence that you’ve never experienced before, Eddie parts your folds with his thumb and runs it delicately from your wet lips all the way up to your clit. His eyes are fixed there, jaw slack, and you genuinely think he might drool.
As he connects with your sensitive bud you keen above him, eyes closing and head rolling back.
“That’s the spot, huh?”
You come back to look at him, and manage to breathe out, with a lilting giggle, “Fuck, yes.”
He moves his thumb in a small circle, and your mouth falls open in an O, your brows furrowing slightly.
“You want me to keep going, Boots? All you have to do is ask…”
You’re lost, gone, away in space, and you don’t have the capacity to chide him for his cheek. All you can manage is a breathy, “Please Eddie, please keep going.”
His thumb speeds up slightly and he gradually and gently increases the pressure, and you can feel the coil in your belly tightening already. Fuck, he’s good at this.
Your hand remains clamped around his dick, squeezing it occasionally, his hips rutting up into your fist at a leisurely pace as he watches you fall apart on his lap.
He moves his other hand from where it’s been resting on your hip, and, widening his thighs slightly to create space beneath you, brings the tips of his index and middle fingers to your hole. You’re sopping wet and swollen, lips almost sucking him in just from the slightest touch.
He looks to your face again as he asks, “Is this okay?”
You manage a rapid, shallow head nod and a, “M-hm”, and he slowly plunges two fingers into you, scissoring them and generating a low groan from you, which in turn causes a harsher snap from his hips.
“Jeezus, Boots, you make the most delicious sounds, wish I could record them, listen to them on a loop. Fucking hell.”
“Maybe you can, you’re a musician after a-all…”
That’s the last thing you can say for a while, the combination of Eddie’s smirk, his talented fingers pumping in and out of you, his glorious thumb movements, the feel of his cock in your hand and his hips bucking beneath you all conspire to bring you to your peak.
You grip the arm of the throne hard, nails denting the pile on the velvety fabric. Your eyes close and your vision goes black before becoming a thousand tiny fairy lights, a firework igniting in your core and spreading throughout your body in the most delicious waves as you spasm around Eddie’s fingers.
You don’t notice you’ve been groaning until your senses return, and you feel a slight roughness in your throat. Eddie continues his movements, though slower, and helps you ride out your aftershocks as you pant on his lap.
Only when you start to twitch in discomfort does he remove his thumb from your clit. He slowly pulls his fingers from inside you, and to your surprise brings them up to his lips, pushing them fully inside his mouth and sucking greedily, closing his eyes and humming at your taste. Popping them out with a wet smack, he says,
“My god, Boots. You taste better than sugar cookies and cotton candy combined.”
Your arms feel suddenly weak, and you flop forwards, forehead on Eddie’s collarbone. You feel his warm, broad palm on your back, rubbing gently, soothing you.
“Y’okay there, sweetheart?”
You manage a little squeak, and mumble a tiny, “Mmph, yeaaah…”, as he chuckles lightly.
After a few moments you sit up a little, gazing into Eddie’s blown chocolate eyes through an endorphin haze, and you notice your cheeks are tense, in what must be, given Eddie’s somewhat lovesick expression, a goofy smile.
You realise you’re still holding on to his dick, and give it an experimental squeeze, to test whether your muscles are responding to signals from your brain (yeah, that’s definitely the only reason…). Eddie’s hips buck up, and you sneak a look down to see more precum leaking from the tip. You gather some with your thumb, circling it gently over his slit.
Eddie inhales with a hiss. His strong arm around your back goes to pull you in for another kiss, as his other hand reaches up to the hat atop his head, pulling it off and discarding it amongst the tangled fairy lights.
You move towards him for a deep kiss, releasing the grip on his member and running your hands around his (surprisingly muscular and delicious) neck and into the hair at the base of his skull, tangling your fingers into the curls and tugging gently, earning you another moan.
Shifting your hips along his thighs, you press your soaking folds against Eddie’s turgid cock, and the combination of sensations causes Eddie to break the kiss and emit a loud, low groan. His arms tighten around your torso and he moves his warm mouth down your jaw and neck with wet kisses, then lightly bites the top of your shoulder.
You sigh, knowing what you want.
“You ever fuck an elf, Santa?”
Eddies still mouthing at your collarbone as he mutters into your warm skin,
“Goddammit, you’re incredible.”
You move backwards slightly and Eddie takes the opportunity to reach behind him, grabbing the back of his tank top and dragging it off, dropping it carelessly to the side of the throne to join the lights and his hat.
Fuck, his chest is glorious too.
Bringing a little of your lower lip between your teeth, you run your palms down his solid torso. You want the opportunity to play with that nipple ring and examine each and every one of his tattoos, but right now there are more pressing desires on your mind.
He lets out a shaky breath as you brush his abs with your fingertips, shift your position and line up his swollen head with your eagerly awaiting hole.
“You sure about this, Boots?”
You look up at him, at his blown dark eyes and pink, kiss-bitten, shiny lips, and quirk an eyebrow as you run your fingers into his hair and murmur, “Oh yeah, Eddie. I want you to make me feel… special inside.”
He gasps as you angle your hips and sink down, pushing the head of his cock inside of you, gradually taking his thick length.
He kisses your lips once more, humming, as you acclimatise to his girth, then grins lasciviously as he thrusts his hips upwards, filling you completely. You’re close enough that the moans you let out mingle together and your breaths become shared, eyes locked and mouths agape.
You roll your hips, sliding Eddie’s length in and out of you at a gentle pace. You can feel every ridge and vein as he enters and pulls out, and you’re sure you can feel his frenum piercing dragging against your walls.
You can tell he’s holding back, consciously stilling his own hips and allowing you to set the pace. But this doesn’t last long.
Voice gravelly and ragged with lust, Eddie mumbles,
“Shit, baby, I gotta move. I wanna fuck you so bad, Boots. You gonna let me fuck you?”
Mouth close to his ear, you breathe out a small, “Please”.
It’s all he needs.
Grabbing your ass and squeezing hard but not harshly, Eddie pulls you down onto him as he thrusts up from below. His pace is ruthless as he lifts and drops you, matching his rhythm as he grunts and mumbles incoherent curses. You can’t make out much, but you do hear,
“Fuck, baby, you feel so divine, taking me so well, Jeezus Christ.”
Fuck, he feels amazing.
You remember his cock tattoos, and imagine how they might look, shiny and covered with your slick, disappearing in and out of your glossy lips.
This image, combined with a particularly hard snap of Eddie’s hips causing him to angle slightly differently and start to nudge that special place inside of you, causes you to let out a loud gasp, and your mouth drops open as you try to form a sentence.
“Oh fuck Eddie, I’m- I’m…”
“You gonna cum all over Santa, pretty girl?”
He continues thrusting at that delicious angle and you feel your legs start to tremble.
“Fuck! Y-yes, ye-ess!”
Heat building in your core, you just about hear Eddie mumbling,
“Shit, you’re squeezin’ me so tight, I’m not gonna last much longer. Where do you want…?”
Before he can even finish you’re blurting out,
“Inside me Eddie, please.”
You bounce on Eddie’s lap as his thrusts become deeper, faster, and then harsher and less rhythmic. You grind down onto his pelvis, your clit rubbing against his pubic bone and his thick, dark pubic hair, as his cock continues to bully your most sensitive spot.
Suddenly your muscles tense, thighs clamping around him, your forehead pressing hard into his, as his hips slam up into you. You let out a low whine as you peak again, vision blackening, all your muscles tensing as your walls clench around him.
Eddie follows almost immediately, thrusting harshly upwards and pulling your hips down onto him, and you feel rushes of warmth as he groans and empties himself inside your fluttering cunt.
There’s quiet for a moment, and all you can hear is your panting breaths and the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears.
You sit in silence for a few minutes, foreheads feasting against each other, heartbeats slowing and breathing becoming more regular.
Breathlessly, and without full clarity, you sit up slightly and mumble “Fuck, Eddie, that was…”
Eddie chews a little on the inside of his lower lip, and with the widest, sexiest smile you’ve ever seen, replies softly,
“Merry Christmas, Boots.”
After a few moments spent pecking kisses on various parts of your face, making you giggle, Eddie eventually helps you to lift off his slowly softening cock. He leans over to retrieve his discarded tank top and uses it to help clean the mess you both made between your legs.
You unpeel yourselves from the golden throne, feeling sure the heels of your boots have left marks in your ass, and he aids your passage back to the locker room on wobbly legs, helping you wash and making sure you’re ok.
As you gather your things he changes into his street clothes. They’re not dissimilar to last night, though he’s foregone the chain belt and has chosen a somewhat more fully intact shirt, and he watches you as he slings on his leather jacket.
Almost ready, you look down forlornly at your gaping tights, the hole barely covered by the hem of your skirt. Eddie chuckles, and tries to lighten your hosiery-related mood.
“Perhaps I could buy you a new pair? Maybe at lunch tomorrow we could go visit your favourite shop, and you could pick out something nice?”
The image of Santa and one of his elves nonchalantly browsing the displays in a sex shop amuses you greatly, and you tell him so, but he insists he would totally do it, if you wanted to.
There’s a pause as you retrieve your coat and go to put it on, and as you do he adds,
“Well, I’d call it a Christmas gift, but… I’d actually prefer to get you something a little nicer. If you’re around. And you’d let me, of course.”
You’re surprised by Eddie’s unexpected tenderness, and the implication that he might want to continue… whateverthisis. You don’t want to presume anything, but there’s certainly a little tingle in your belly at the thought.
You reply, sardonically, “Sure, I guess. So long as it’s not red and glittery, I think I've had enough things like that to last me for a little while.”
You both snort-laugh at this.
As you start to walk together to the staff exit at the back of the mall, Eddie offers to take your bag so you can fasten your coat and put on your hat and gloves.
Trying to sound casual, he asks, “Sooo, how’re you gettin’ back to Robin’s?”
“I was gonna take the bus, like usual.”
Eddie looks at you sideways, slightly bashful.
“Could I, maybe, give you a ride? We can stop at Benny’s on the way, if you’re hungry. It's a diner”, he clarifies, remembering that you’re not from around here.
Your tummy flips, and not just from the thought of a milkshake and fries.
“Yeah, sure, I’d like that.”
Eddie smiles that wide smile again, and you see his cheeks turn a little pink. It’s odd, him being all shy and self-conscious after what you two have just done, but somehow it’s also incredibly endearing.
As he walks you through the parking lot, still carrying your bag and toying with a stray piece of tinsel that he found in his pocket, he says,
“Y’know, I’d still really like to see what you do with that Christmas dildo.”
Thinking back to how he looked all tangled up, you smirk back at him as you think of how you’d quite like a redo of him tied up for you.
As you reach his van, you lean against the passenger door and coyly look at him.
“Well, maybe I could show you. Could we, maybe, do something after work tomorrow?”
With the sweetest dimpled smile you think you’ve ever seen, Eddie cocks his head to one side and lifts a hand to run the tip of one forefinger along your jawline, as he replies in that low rumble,
“Oh, Boots, you should know by now. All you have to do is ask.”
🎄You may not yet be completely sold on the whole idea of The Holidays™️, but you’ll have to admit to Robin that this might well be the start of your Best. Christmas. Ever.🎄
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Thanks so much for reading! ILY 🥰
Please support your content creators by not only liking but also commenting and reblogging - it’s so important. If you liked this there’s a good chance others will too, and comments and reblogs are the only way posts get seen. Consider it a Christmas gift to your writers and followers 😍🎅🏼 Thank you, and Happy Holidays, however you celebrate!
Resources: Proof that Deck The Halls can be sung to the tune of War Pigs (and vice versa), plus the ‘Fa la la’ 😊🎄
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157 notes · View notes
hopelesslyromanticgay · 11 months
Note
How about Tara and R grew very close, kissed here and there but then Tara friendzones R. R distances herself and only then Tara realizes that she wants more than friendship
We're Gonna Make It Work
5 times Tara and Y/N shared meaningless kisses + one time they actually meant it. Or: A quick 5 + 1 fic!
Disclaimer: certain themes in this story I don't have tons of experience with, so sorry if not everything's accurate. EX: I definitely haven't been to a college party lmao.
Tara and I met on our first day in college. Freshmen year in college is intimidating enough. Freshmen Year in a big city like New York is terrifying.
We bonded quickly, and soon enough I was spending tons of time with her friend group. I even introduced my roommate, Anika to my new friend, Mindy, and now the two are happily dating. It seems I've seamlessly assimilated into their group.
I've always thought she was extremely beautiful. I really don't want to risk the friendship I've worked so hard to build with her. At the same time, I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to try.
The first time we kissed it was an accident. That's all it was. An accident.
She was blackout drunk at a party. Mindy and Anika had disappeared into some room. Chad was doing shots in the kitchen. Ethan was at his dorm, doing homework like the "quirky" pick me he is.
So many people crowded the building, dancing terribly to awful music, drunk on cheap booze. The frat house reeked of liquor and the distinct scent of marijuana.
Not to say I wasn't drunk too, though. Just less drunk than everyone else in the group. There was a slight wobble in my step as I walked from the kitchen to the living room, wanting to sit for a split second.
Tara had a three round winning streak at beer pong against some guy I'd never seen before. In the corner of my eye, I could see her downing a cup every 45 seconds or so. Maybe if the alcohol hadn't clouded my judgement, I would have been smart enough to get her away from that sooner.
It wasn't until I saw her wobbling towards the steps with he guy she had just been competing with that I sprang into action.
In retrospect, can see why people call booze liquid courage. Man, if I were sober, there would have been no way I would do what I did next.
"Hey, Tara, your boyfriend's looking for you," I grabbed her away from the clearly less drunk man in front of me. He reached out and grabbed her other arm, "she'll be fine."
"Her boyfriend is a football recruit," I lied, "he'll beat the shit out of your weak ass."
"What?" she slurred, unable to comprehend what I'm saying.
"I said, your boyfriend's here, let's go find him," I repeated, dragging her away from the situation.
"Why did you do thattttt," she whined once we're out of ear shot.
"He was taking advantage of you, you'll thank me in the morning," I told her, "you're a mess, let's get you home."
Luckily, her apartment wasn't far, because I was practically carrying her down the street. She flutters in and out of consciousness, making her balance even less stable.
The elevator ride was painfully quiet, what even is there to say. I opened the apartment door, guiding the barely conscious Tara inside. Immediately, I saw Sam, sitting in the kitchen. Waiting for us.
"Where were you?" she interrogated, "I was scared out of my mind."
"Hey, Sam, she's pretty fucked up right now, maybe you should wait for her to sober up. I'm gonna get her to sleep, okay?" She nods, angrily. I can tell she isn't happy about this.
I walkedvTara down to her room, setting her down on the bed.
"Goodnight, Tara," I smiled, helping her take off her shoes and pulling the blankets up over her.
"Night Night, pretty girl," she pulled my face down for a quick kiss.
What the fuck is happening? I could taste the burning liquor on her lips. She's gonna have one hell of a headache in the morning. I quickly break away, I can't do this while she's drunk.
The second time we kiss, she's actually sober.
It's a silly situation, really.
We're at Rockefeller center, shopping for clothes on sale. They put up the ice rink for the winter. Even though it's technically November, I guess New York doesn't care about technical seasons though.
Tara and I stroll down the pavement, warm coffee in our hands. She's very cute all bundled up in her winter gear. A beanie compresses her bangs, and her winter coat looks nearly suffocating yet not nearly arm enough for a New York winter.
"Fuck," she mumbles, looking behind us.
"What's wrong?" I ask, concerned.
"I need you to kiss me, right now," she commands.
"Damn, at least take me out to dinner first," I laugh awkardly.
"Y/N, shut up and do it, I'll explain later," she pleads. I happily oblige her, allowing her lips to make their way to mine. She caresses my cheek through her gloved hands, and I find myself lost in a daze. She's good at this. Her hands slide down my face to wrap themselves around my neck and she slowly breaks the kiss. A part of me wished it would never end.
"So you wanna tell me what that was about?" I raise an eyebrow.
"Creepy ex, wanted to make sure he didn't think he had a shot," she explains. My face falls. Such an amazing experience, ruined by the context.
"I'm sorry, Tar," I pull her closer to me, wrapping my arms around her.
We kiss for a third time a month later.
"Hi," I smile, walking through the apartment door, "why'd you call?"
"I don't know, I'm just bored I guess," she shrugs.
"Okay," I say. To be honest, I needed something to do with my afternoon, and who better to spend it with.
We decide to put on a movie, Clueless. I found some popcorn in the cabinet, so I decided to microwave some up.
I place the metal bowl between us on the couch. I think if I'm much closer to her I might try to kiss her again.
"So, what have you been doing these past few weeks?" she asks.
"The usual," I respond, "homework, my job, and sleeping. And you?"
"Yeah, just homework," she purses her lips, trying to think.
God what I would give to feel those soft warm lips again.
"No, I've also been reading some weird ass Stephen King book about a guy going crazy."
"So pretty much every Stephen King book?" I ask.
"Not true!" she playfully shoves me, "IT is about multiple people going crazy. The Dark Half is about someone who thinks he's crazy, but also knows he's not. There's lots of non insanity related ones too."
"Nerd," I playfully tease her.
"Shut up," she laughs.
"Make me?" I tease her more.
"Nope, sorry, you gotta earn that," she teases back.
I open a beer for each of us, "It's happy hour somewhere."
"It's 4:30, so we're not doing terribly," she reminds me.
"We're great at this," I joke.
"So great at this."
We go back to the movie, it's such a classic. Other than the ending, it's a perfect movie.
She smiles a priceless smile when Cher assumes Tai doesn't know seven multiplied by seven.
"This girl! I swear, she was a perfect casting for Tatum in Stab!"
"You have a great smile," I muse aloud, quickly regretting it. Damn it. Why did I say that?
"Thank you," I can see a blush creeping up her cheeks as she starts to smile even wider.
The movie seems to fade out of view as does everything else except us. The popcorn bowl is quickly discarded and her lips crash onto mine, kissing with a desperation so strong it's almost aggressive. I immediately reciprocate the kiss, leaning forward to get closer to her.
"If we do this," she pants in between kisses, "there's no strings attached."
I nod in agreement.
We fall into a routine of kissing or hooking up no strings attached. I know friend with benefits never works. Especially if you already have feelings for that person but god, she's irresistible.
There's two notable times after that afternoon when it feels different.
The first time, she's coming out of a rough therapy session.
"Hello, this is Y/N L/N," I answer the phone.
"Hey, Y/N, it's Tara," I can hear her voice crack.
"Hey Tara, what's up?" I ask.
"C-can you come over?" she says, trying to sound nonchalant about it. I see right through her facade.
"On my way, stay safe, pretty girl," I rush to the subway, trying to catch the first train I can to her side of the city.
I practically tear down the door to get into the apartment, there's nothing to do but make a beeline for Tara's room.
"Hey Tar, I'm here," I quietly announce.
She bolts up and wraps herself around me in a near suffocating hug. Her tears soak their way through my shirt, and I caress her hair comfortingly.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask.
"No," she shakes her head.
"Can I do anything at all to help?"
"You can distract me," she winks. I nod, a little unsure of what to do.
Is this really the right time to hook up with her? Like she should be in a place of emotional stability to properly consent, right?
"Y/N, I know your like panicking about the morals, but please. Just do it. I need it. Please?" she widens her eyes pleadingly. How can I say no to that?
The next time of note is also the last time.
I've become unhappy with this whole "friends with benefits thing." I know, it was stupid of me to agree to it in the first place. And don't get me wrong, I've had tons of fun. So much fun. But there's limits to our situation.
I want to be able to tell her how I feel, I want strings attached. I want to take her out on dates, and hold her hand in front of our friends.
It's a freezing cold Thursday, I'm so tired. I forgot my textbooks at Tara's apartment after our "study" session last night, so i had to take a subway back to get them, which made me late the the only lecture I was interested in. Damn it.
I had thirty minutes to kill until my next class, so here I am, in the school courtyard, thinking about Tara.
Do I love her? Yes.
Does she love me? I don't know.
Will telling her I need to be more than just friends with benefits risk everything? Yes.
Speak of the devil and she shall appear, because right as I'm thinking about this, I see a short brunette making a beeline towards me. I think this means we need to discuss this.
"Hey there, tiny Carpenter," I tease her.
"Shut up!" she gets on the tips of her toes to pat my head.
"Do you wanna come over tonight?" I ask, "Anika and Mindy are having a date night?" I figure then would be a good time to tell her.
The rest of the day goes by in a blur and just a few hours later, I hear Tara's familiar voice at my door.
I take a deep breath, "Hey Tar, can we talk? I ask.
"What's up?" she asks.
"I feel like this isn't working," I admit, it's pretty obvious almost immediately what I'm talking about.
"O-oh," she stammers, "why?"
Oh god this is so awkward, like what are you supposed to say, yeah no I'm in love with you.
"I.... cuz friends with benefits never works out when there's feelings involved," I word vomit.
"Oh...."
"Yeah...."
We sit in an awkward silence.
"Tara, please say something," I say quietly.
"I'm so sorry, I can't do this anymore," she gets up and leaves, but I'm frozen in my seat. Unable to move.
I don't see Tara except in a few classes for at least a month. Though it could have been longer or shorter. Not like I want to see her though.
The days begin to blend together in a big lengthy mess.
I barely turn my assignments in, and the best grade I've gotten was a low C.
I go to parties more often than before. Hooking up with strangers, drinking myself to a blackout and being hungover as hell in the morning.
Anika's voiced her concern for me, but I find it so hard to listen.
I'm just numb.
I don't think I ever felt anything before I met Tara, and I don't think I'll feel anything again without her.
And to think of all the times we've kissed, made out and hooked up. Did those mean anything to her? She barely meets my gaze in class.
We haven't talked at all.
Lying down in my bed, I stare at the ceiling, out of the corner of my eye, I can see the date on the calendar.
March 7. It's been four months since our kiss at Rockefeller. I guess I should just forget about that though.
I hear a quiet knocking on my door, "come in, Anika.
The door slowly creaks open and in steps Tara.
"Hey," she says quietly. I scramble up to my feet, preparing to tell her to get out.
"Before you scream at me and tell me to go away, just let me talk?"
I nod wondering why can I never say no to her. I gesture for her to sit next to me.
"Look, I fucked up," she admits, "friends with benefits almost never works out. And I'm so so sorry. I didn't realize fucking it up would mean hurting you. I really thought about what you said."
"What did I say?" I asked.
"That what we had wasn't working," she says.
"And what have you decided?"
"It wasn't," she reassured me, "but it could."
I'm totally taken aback, "If you think I want to be 'just a friend that you sometimes fuck,' you're crazy, Tara."
"No, I mean a real relationship," she blurts.
"Huh?"
"Y/N, I have feelings for you!" she exasperatedly exclaims.
"Y-you do?" I ask incredulously.
"Yeah, I do," I see a blush creep up her cheeks.
"Well I like you too," I smile. She starts to get closer to me, but I stop her, "Look, give me a week to turn around my mental wellbeing, and I'll take you out on a date. I want to do this, but I want to do it right."
"Take your time," she smiles back, "see ya on Saturday for this 'date' you wanna take me on."
She winks, gets up, and leaves the dorm, blowing me a kiss on the way out.
We're gonna make this work.
574 notes · View notes
proxima-writes · 1 year
Text
change your mind
Pairing: Eddie Munson/Reader
Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)
Word Count: 6,575
Read on AO3
Summary:
Five times Eddie Munson asks you to marry him, and the one time you say yes.
Author’s Note: This is meant to be read after “nothing else matters”, but can be read as a stand alone.
Additional tags: rockstar Eddie Munson, high school sweethearts, marriage proposal, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, pet names, semi-public sex, idiots in love
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— 1 —
It’s the summer of 1984 when you first really meet Eddie Munson.
Sure, you’ve seen him around school. You’ve heard his cafeteria monologues. You’ve even seen him and his band perform at the talent show. But he’s always been just beyond your orbit. The crowd you hang out with the most in school, while not the most popular kids by any means, didn’t typically leave much opportunity for getting to know the leather wearing metal head.
You’re in your backyard, reading a book under the porch light. After a long, hot day at the pool working as a lifeguard, the mild chill of the summer evening is a welcome reprieve. When you look out over the yard, dots of light come and go as fireflies flit about the grass.
It’s perfect.
That is, until you hear a scrambling noise near your fence line, followed by a loud thump and a pained groan. Startled, you jump from your seat and tug open the screen door to the house, reaching in and grabbing the shotgun your dad keeps there.
Gun held in both hands, just like your dad taught you, you tiptoe out into the yard to investigate.
You spot the source of the noise quickly. A lump in the grass, barely illuminated by the light of the moon and your distant porch lights. The lump shifts, rolling over and you catch a glimpse of curly brown hair and pale skin.
When he finally opens his eyes and notices you standing there, gun aimed at him, he scrambles to his knees and holds his hands up, brown eyes wide in panic as he says, “Hey, hey, hey, let’s put the gun down, yeah?”
You roll your eyes, flicking the safety back on and setting it down. “Care to explain why you’re in my yard, then? You gave me a heart attack, Eddie!”
“Hopper caught me spray painting the old mill down the road. Had to lose him somehow.” He stands, brushing the grass off of his black jeans. He eyes you curiously. “You know my name?”
“We go to school together. Of course I know your name.”
“Ah, my infamy precedes me.”
“It’s not infamy, it's your loud mouth in the cafeteria yelling about how ABBA is an affront to music.” You cross your arms over your chest. “Dancing Queen is a good song.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, princess, did I personally offend you?” He asks, voice teasing. “Bet if you listened to the lyrical mastermind that is Ozzy, you would forget all about ABBA.”
“I think Paranoid was better than Master of Reality, ” you reply.
“Marry me,” he says, making you laugh. His eyes crinkle in the corners as he smiles at you, and not for the first time, you think, Huh, Eddie Munson is kinda cute.
“Not a chance, Munson.”
— 2 —
In the fall of 1984, you began your junior year. It had started out just the same as any other year - new classes, same faces. But one face in the crowd caught your eye more regularly.
And you caught his right back.
Sometimes, when you were spacing out during lunch listening to your friends talk about their weekend plans, your eyes would seek out that head of messy curls. And sometimes, you would find that he was already staring back at you.
And that distraction is what leads to him standing from his table without looking and slamming straight into Jason Carver, his lunch tray spilling the Wednesday Spaghetti special all over his precious letterman jacket.
“Watch where you’re going, freak,” Jason shouts, shoving Eddie by the shoulders.
Eddie, being the little shit that he is, just smiles. “Oh, my sincerest apologies, King Jason,” he replies with a sarcastic little bow. “Baking soda should take care of those stains.”
You can practically see the steam coming out of Jason’s ears. Eddie turns to leave, eyes finding yours again, but Jason reaches out and grabs his shoulder, turning him back to face him and throwing a fist right into his jaw.
You’re out of your seat before you can even think about it. Kids crowd around the two boys, chanting their encouragement to fight. Eddie stands back up, ducking another punch from Jason.
You shove your way through the crowd, planting yourself in front of Eddie just as Jason throws another swing that narrowly misses you. “Cut it out,” you shout above the noise.
“Move,” Jason demands, an angry gaze still fixed on Eddie. “What, you need a girl to defend you, Munson?”
And that comment pisses you off. Your dad didn’t spend hours every weekend when you were a young girl teaching you how to throw a punch for no reason. Your arm winds back, fingers curled tight in a fist that you let fly right into his nose. He stumbles back, hands flying to his face and coming away covered in blood.
“Holy shit,” Eddie says behind you. “That was awesome.”
Principal Higgins charges through the crowd. He takes in Jason’s bloody face, and turns to you and Eddie. “Detention. This afternoon.”
You open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off with a hand and a sigh of your name. “I will deal with you two later. Mr. Carver needs to see the nurse.” With that, he leads the school golden boy out of the cafeteria by the arm.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Eddie says. You turn to face him as the students disperse back to their seats. You can feel their uncertain glances bouncing off your back.
“Yeah, well. Jason’s a dick,” you mutter. You don’t give him a chance to reply, heading back to your table to grab your backpack and head to class before the bell rings.
___
After an hour of staring at a chalkboard in silence, Mr. Clark, the hefty P.E. teacher with the shiny bald spot, finally dismisses you and Eddie from the classroom.
You’re out of your seat like a rocket and halfway down the hall before you hear Eddie’s voice call out behind you.
When you turn to face him, he’s grinning ear to ear. You can’t imagine why - you’d just spent an hour being tortured by silence. He holds a hand out, and you look down at the twisted piece of straw wrapper pinched between his fingers in confusion.
“Marry me?” Eddie asks, reminding you of the night that he’d fallen into your backyard and asked the same question.
With a laugh, you take the ring and slip it onto your ring finger. “Not a chance, Munson,” you say with a wink, turning on your heel to leave.
“I’ll change your mind!” He calls out after you.
— 3 —
It’s February in 1985 when Eddie Munson first asks you out.
He’s been leaving you notes in your locker every week for the last few months. Sometimes it's an actual note, his messy handwriting detailing some crazy story he’d come up with for his Dungeons and Dragons club, or asking you a series of questions that you’d reply to with a note of your own, slipped into his locker in between classes.
Other times, it's a drawing. While his handwriting leaves a lot to be desired, his artistry is impressive. One such drawing was a vase of sunflowers, which you had off-handedly mentioned as your favorite. You’d stuck that one to your locker door with a matching magnet the same day.
One day, however, you approach your locker at the end of the day to find a crumpled brown paper bag stuck to the metal door with duct tape. Opening it, you find a cassette tape in a plastic cover, the track list scribbled in familiar handwriting.
It takes you all of three seconds to realize most of the songs are off of Black Sabbath’s Paranoid album, which makes you smile like a fool.
Later, in the privacy of your room, you play the songs on a low enough volume to not wake your dad, sitting near your speaker to catch the lyrics. It’s a little after 11 p.m. when you hear a tap at your window.
You push the curtain aside and jump slightly in surprise when Eddie’s grinning face stares back from the other side of the glass. You lift the window open to whisper, “What are you doing here?”
“Come on, I got something to show you,” he says, his whole body moving with barely contained excitement. “But we gotta go, like, now.”
“Eddie, it’s almost midnight,” you say by way of protest.
“Exactly, come on, we don’t have a lot of time.” He leans through your open window, looking you head to toe. “Put on a sweater and get your shoes on.”
Confused, but intrigued, you do as he says. He helps you through the window before you slowly close it, careful not to make too much noise. You follow him to his van that he’s parked a little ways down from your house.
“Where are we going?” You ask, stepping quickly to keep up with his longer strides. He opens the passenger door for you, shutting it as you sit in the seat without responding. His van smells like weed and cigarette smoke, but not overwhelmingly. It’s almost comforting.
He turns the van on, pulling away from the curb and heading north, towards the dense woods surrounding Hawkins. He’s got the radio turned low, a Metallica sound filling the silence around you. His fingers tap to the beat on the steering wheel, but he doesn’t say anything.
You drive like that for a while, heading further out from Hawkins to where the town gives way to dense forest and the inky black sky lights up with more stars than you get to see back at home. Eddie pulls off to the side of the road, near a field that borders the roadway before it disappears into towering pine.
He hops out of the van and runs around the hood to open your door, holding a hand out to you. It’s so dark you can barely see anything as you drop down from the passenger seat, clinging to his hand. He brings you to the back and opens the van doors, revealing a pile of blankets that you hadn’t noticed during the drive.
He turns to you, a hand running through his hair as he says, “There’s a meteor shower tonight. It starts in-,” he checks his watch, “-thirty minutes. I thought, maybe, we could…watch it. I got us some Red Vines, too.”
You blink rapidly, your brain trying to catch up. “A meteor shower?”
“Yeah. Heard about it on the radio. This should be a pretty clear place to watch it,” he says. “You said your favorite book is The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy because you like the idea of traveling through space. I don’t have a starship, so the meteor shower is the compromise.”
“I can’t believe you remember I said that,” you tell him. You’d mentioned it off-handedly in one of your replies to his notes.
“I remember everything you tell me,” he replies easily, shrugging like it's no big deal.
“This is….so sweet, Eddie,” you tell him honestly. He lets out a breath, like he’d been nervous about how you would respond. You can’t imagine why.
Doesn’t he know you’ve been halfway in love with him since pointing a shotgun at him for interrupting your reading?
He grins, bright and happy before hopping up into the pile of blankets and situating himself. He pulls out the aforementioned bag of Red Vines and pats the space beside him. You clamber up into the spot, sitting cross legged with your knee touching his and sending sparks across your skin at the contact.
He holds a bright red rope out to you and you take it happily, munching on it as you stare up at the sky. A streak of lights moves in your periphery and you jump in excitement. “I think I saw one!”
Your eyes are glued to the sky as the intermittent streaks of meteors slash through the darkness, but Eddie watches you instead.
He pulls another Red Vine from the pack, tying it in a knot with a small loop at the end.
“Marry me?” He asks, holding the makeshift ring out to you.
“Not a chance, Munson,” you reply, making him laugh. You bite the candy from his fingers with a grin.
“I’ll change your mind,” he promises for the second time.
— 4 —
It’s the summer of 1986. You’ve graduated high school and Eddie finally has as well, by the skin of his teeth and maybe with a little help from you on his homework.
College wasn’t really in your cards financially, so you’re working at The Hideout as a bartender on the weekends and at a record store throughout the week. Eddie, on the other hand, has been focusing on making music for Corroded Coffin between shifts at the factory where his Uncle Wayne also works. You still live with your dad, but you don’t mind it. He gives you enough privacy and is often away on construction jobs around the state for long periods of time.
On one such occasion, blessed with an empty house, you ask Eddie to come stay with you.
You’ve been dating since he took you to watch the meteor shower. It’s your first relationship, your first boyfriend, your first everything, really. Eddie is sweet, attentive, caring, and hasn’t once pressured you into anything you’re not yet ready for.
But tonight, you’re ready. You are so, so ready.
The pizza has already been delivered. You’ve rented Back to the Future for the third time, which means neither of you would be missing out if you happened to be busy with…other activities. You’ve got a box of condoms stashed in the couch cushions, just in case.
There’s a knock at your door and you swipe your sweaty palms on the fabric of your dress, the cute red sundress that’s been known to make Eddie’s brain short circuit.
You pull the door open to Eddie’s smiling face. “Sorry I’m late, sweetheart. I got that wine you like. Don’t know how it’s going to pair with pizza.” He leans forward to kiss you, a soft peck to your lips in greeting that already lights up your nerves.
“Thanks,” you say, taking the bottle from him. You move aside to let him in, shutting the door behind you. He turns, slipping an arm around your waist and tugging you until you're pressed tightly to him.
“This dress,” he murmurs, running his nose along your neck, nipping at the juncture of your shoulder. “This dress drives me crazy.”
You hold back the whimper of need lodged in your throat as he peppers you with little kisses, fingers curling against your ribs. He pulls away before it gets too far, just as he always does, and you mourn the loss.
You follow him to the kitchen and set the wine next to the pizza box. “Do you want anything to drink?”
“Your dad got any beer?” He asks, taking a seat at the table and flipping the box open. “Oh, pineapple!”
You grab a beer from the fridge for him and a glass for the wine. As you’re walking past, Eddie grabs your hand and gives it a little tug, guiding you until you’re sitting on his lap.
“You okay?” He asks, one hand on your back and the other just above your knee, his calloused fingers lightly gripping the bare skin of your thigh.
“Huh?”
“I asked if you’re okay. You’re acting a little funny.” His brow furrows in concern as he searches your face. “Do you not want me to stay over anymore?”
“No! I mean, yes! Yes, I want you to stay.” You take a breath. “Do you want to eat the pizza in the living room? We can start the movie.”
He regards you for a moment longer before shrugging and saying, “Sure. Lead the way.”
He grabs the pizza box while you get plates. In the living room, you press play on the VCR before taking a seat beside Eddie, leaving a few inches between your bodies out of nervousness, hoping he doesn’t notice.
But he does.
He frowns at the space before glancing at you, while you resolutely stare into the pizza box like it holds all the answers in the universe.
Look, the fact of the matter is, Eddie is more experienced than you and the knowledge of that leaves you torn. On one hand, you’re glad to (hopefully) be going into this with someone who knows what he’s doing so that you’re not just fumbling in the dark.
On the other hand, you’re scared to death he’s going to think you’re some boring virgin. You don’t think he would. It would be wildly out of character for him to be cruel like that. But there’s still a tiny part of your stupid brain telling you otherwise.
And you know he’s into some heavy stuff. You’ve snooped through his room before, found the copies of Heavy Metal magazine that featured women bound, gagged, blindfolded. Bent over with red hand prints blooming on their asses. Knelt on the ground in front of some faceless man, doe eyed expressions tilted up in submission. Seeing all of it had made you squirm, skin going hot at the thought of Eddie doing any number of those things to you.
Until you remembered that you’ve never even had sex yet and can’t possibly live up to that sort of expectation. You stare blankly at the TV as you have your internal struggle, the images of Doc and Matt McFly on their wacky adventure not even registering as you bite into your pizza.
“Alright,” Eddie says, snatching the pizza out of your hands and tossing it back into the box sitting on the coffee table.
“Hey!” You protest, gaping at him. He lifts you by the waist until you’re in his lap for the second time that night, legs spread on either side of him. It’s not an unfamiliar position - you’ve had plenty of heated make out sessions sitting just like this. The edges of his belt buckle press into your belly as he grips your hips.
“Come on, spill it. What’s the matter?” He asks, face serious as his brown eyes search yours. His fingers inch up, digging into your ribs, making you giggle and squirm over him. “What’s got you so tense, baby?”
Rather than answer, you grip his face in your palms and tug his lips to yours. He’s soft at first, tentative like he’s unsure this is the right course of action to take when he’d been trying to get to the bottom of why you were acting weird. But he’s only human, after all, and when your lips part to allow his tongue to tangle with yours, his reservations fly out the window.
You’ve kissed boys before, but it’s never been like this. Never been all consuming, like you can feel him with every cell of your being. You shift in his lap, pressing as close as possible. Eddie’s hands land on your hips, stilling your movement as he pants against you.
“Christ, you gotta slow down,” he bites out, teeth gritted. His eyes are dark and half-lidded with lust, a look you’ve seen only in flashes before one of you pulled back for a breath.
“I don’t want to slow down anymore,” you whisper.
His eyes go comically wide. “Are you sure?”
In response, you grip the hem of your dress, pulling it over your head and dropping it to the floor behind you. You fight the urge to cover yourself, feeling more exposed than you ever have as his gaze roams your body, taking in your breasts in a simple cotton bra and the high cut panties to match.
“Ed—“
Your voice cuts off in a yelp as Eddie flips you onto your back on the couch cushions, his body wedged between your thighs as he looks down on you with a smirk. He licks his lips as he trails a hand from your neck, between the valley of your chest, over your tummy. Your muscles clench and you feel the pinch of goosebumps in the wake of his fingers.
“Sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs, voice deeper than you’ve ever heard. He plants a kiss to the spot near your ear that’s extra sensitive. “How’d I get so lucky, huh? Pretty thing,” he coos. Your eyes go wide and your mouth goes dry at his words, and you try to lift your hips for some friction to relieve the pressure building between your legs.
He continues to plant kisses down your neck, nipping the thin skin with his teeth. The pain makes you bite out a labored curse that makes him chuckle.
“Tell me what you want, princess,” he says. “I’ll give you everything your sweet little brain can come up with.”
“I want…I want you to touch me.”
“I'm already doing that. Try again.” One of his hands slides under your back, nimble fingers popping the hook of your bra. “And be very specific.”
Your cheeks burn as he gazes at you expectantly. “I want you…to touch me down there.”
“Oh? Here?” He runs his thumb over your clit, the sudden sensation making you cry out. “You want me to touch your pretty pussy?”
You feel like you’re in danger of spontaneously combusting with how hot you feel all over. All you can do is nod vigorously as Eddie curls his hands into the waist of your panties and tugs them down and off your legs.
“Hold your legs up for me,” Eddie says, grabbing your hands and positioning them beneath your knees. “Let me get a good look at you.”
He leans back, down exactly that, staring down at your exposed body with reverence. You try to close your legs, but his hands on your thighs stop you as he makes a disapproving noise with his tongue.
“Good girls do as they’re told, princess. You wanna be a good girl for me right?” He asks, tone condescending in a way that makes a new wave of lust wash over you. With a whimper, you nod in reply. “Words,” he demands.
“Y-yeah. I wanna be a good girl,” you whisper.
“You wanna be my good girl,” he clarifies.
“I wanna be your good girl.”
“Christ.” He leans forward, grasping your face in his hand and kissing you senseless. He pulls away all too quickly, planting frantic kisses to your neck, shoving your bra out of the way to palm your tits, alternating between circling one hardened nipple with his thumb or his tongue. Your back arches and you squirm beneath him.
“You’re a little sensitive, aren’t you?” He asks, that mean tone back in his words.
He doesn’t wait for your reply as he moves on, those lips trailing down your tummy until they’re nipping and kissing at your inner thighs. He brings his thumbs to your wet heat, using them to spread you open before dragging his tongue through your folds.
“Eddie!”
“Fuck ,” he groans, tongue circling your clit in a maddening rhythm. He alternates between the sensitive nub and dipping the tip of his tongue into your entrance.
You’re pretty sure you’re having an out of body experience. His mouth feels so good, pulling every drop of pleasure possible from your body. All the blood rushes from your head and you writhe beneath him in desperation.
There’s a firm pressure at your slick hole and your eyes pop open, your head lifting from the couch to watch as he slides one finger into you until his ring is biting against your hot flesh. Your mouth drops open and his eyes lift to yours, his face damn near unrecognizable as he thrusts the digit in and out of you.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he bites out. “I’m going to add another finger, and you’re gonna come all over my hand and my face before I give you my cock.”
“Oh my god,” you say, the words breathless and needy as he slips another finger in, the stretch a slight burn that subsides quickly. His fingers curl and drag against something that makes you cry out. And when you do, he smirks, lowering his face to tongue your clit in tandem with the thrust of his hand.
You come with a shout, the noises of his hand lewd and wet as he works you through it. Your hands slip from your legs, unable to hold up the dead weight of them as you shake beneath him.
Eddie leans back, standing from the couch and scrambling out of his clothes in a way that would be comical if your brain wasn’t turned to mush. But as he tugs his pants down his thighs, your brain suddenly catches up with the program and you drink in the sight of him greedily.
The lines of compact muscle, the contrast of his tattoos against his pale skin, the light dusting of hair at the top of his chest and the matching trail that leads to…
Holy shit.
His cock is hard, an angry red at the head that looks almost painful. You have nothing to compare him to besides your own fingers but you know damn well that he’s thick and long enough to make you nervous.
He joins you on the couch, one knee planted to the cushions between your legs. He fists his length, giving it a leisurely pump as he stares down at your boneless body.
“There’s, uh, condoms. Behind the cushion,” you tell him, the words making you blush for what feels like the millionth time that evening.
“Oh? Did my sweet, innocent little princess prepare for this? Did my little slut want my cock so bad tonight?” He asks. Your eyes go wide and a moan claws up your throat. “Ah, she likes that, huh?”
You nod vigorously. He reaches a hand behind the back cushions, fishing for the box. He pulls a foil package out of the box and tears it open. “Eyes on me,” he says as he rolls the latex over his cock.
He plants a palm beside your head, his other hand gripping his cock and guiding it until the head is positioned at your weeping entrance. “This might hurt a little, baby. You gotta tell me if it’s too much.”
“Okay. I trust you.”
His eyes go soft. With a sweet kiss to your lips, a juxtaposition to the man who’d just called you a little slut. He presses forward, the blunt head of him slipping inside you with little resistance.
There’s a bite of pressure as he moves forward, your body giving way to the intrusion with a slight sting that subsides a delicious fullness. He pauses once his hips are flush to yours, a hand coming up to brush across your forehead, moving the sweat slick strands of hair from your face.
“You okay?” He asks. You nod, tilting your chin up for a kiss. He indulges you, smiling into it in a way that makes your heart flutter.
Eddie holds himself like that for a while, kissing you and letting you adjust. When the burn subsides and you’re just left with a slight ache and a new sensation of fullness, you shift your hips slightly under him.
He draws back slightly, the drag of his cock making you gasp and all the breath leaving your lungs as he drives back in. He sets a pace of short, hard thrusts that have you digging your nails into his back, dragging them down and leaving blooming red trails in the skin.
“That’s it, sweetheart, you mark me up however you want,” Eddie grunts. His thrusts become longer, deeper, more of a roll of his hips than a pound. A hand circles your throat, the grip gentle as his fingers press into the sides. “Sweet little angel, gripping my cock so tight.”
“Oh god,” you cry. Eddie leans back, the angle growing deeper. He brings his other hand to your lips, three of his fingers slipping inside your mouth. You run your tongue over the familiar calluses and he groans low in his throat.
Those spit slick fingers leave your mouth and he circles them over your clit roughly. “I want this little cunt to give me everything.”
With a whimper, the tightening of your belly releases in a wave, surprising you with its ferocity. The sensation is so unlike any of the times you’ve spent in the dark, your own hands exploring your body.
Eddie thrusts a few more times, his tempo stuttering as he chases his own release. He stills against you, hips pressed tightly to yours as he moans your name.
He pulls out of you, twisting to the side so that he’s lying sandwiched between your body and the couch so as not to crush you. He throws an arm over your waist, burying his head against your neck with a satisfied sigh.
“You sure know how to show a lady a good time, Munson,” you say. He laughs against your cooling skin.
“Would show you a good time for the rest of our lives if you’ll marry me,” he replies.
You huff out a little laugh before saying, “Not a chance.”
“I’ll change your mind.”
And not for the first time, you realize he’s right.
— 5 —
It’s the summer of 1990, and Corroded Coffin has a top hit on the radio and their first big gig out on the road tonight in Chicago.
You’re backstage at the venue, sitting in the green room and watching Eddie pace nervously. He looks especially fuckable, to the point you’re having trouble concentrating on his anxious monologue.
Denim battle vest, the same one that’s served him since high school, draped over his bare shoulders and exposing the muscle of his biceps and tantalizing peeks of his abs and chest. His hair is the longest it’s been but still the messy curls you love to run your hands through. He’s applied a smudge of eyeliner around his eyes, making his brown eyes larger and more hypnotizing.
Dear god, you’re going to combust.
“Are you even listening?” He asks, stopping dead in his tracks with his hands on his hips.
You smirk at him. “Not really. I already know you’re worrying about nothing. I’m just thinking about how fast I can make you come before you go on stage.”
His mouth drops open in surprise, but his eyes go dark. “Get in the bathroom. Now.”
You hop up from the ratty couch, sliding your hand over his stomach as you pass and throwing him a wink. He follows in behind you, shutting the door forcefully and flipping the lock.
His hand wraps around the back of your neck, tangling in your hair and pulling you into a bruising kiss. On a breath he murmurs, “I love you.”
“Love you more, Munson.”
“Now get on your fucking knees.”
You drop like a rock, the linoleum cold against your knees, the fabric of your fishnets uncomfortable ywhere it presses against your skin. Eddie unbuttons his fly, pulling his hardening cock from the confines of his jeans. He grips the bottom of your jaw in one hand and growls out, “Open your mouth.”
You do as you’re told, sticking your tongue out and waiting for him to slide his length into your waiting mouth. He taps the tip against your tongue, teasing you, before he slips it past your lips and into the wet heat.
“That’s it, baby,” Eddie whispers. “Just like that.”
You let Eddie set the pace he needs, both of his hands digging into your hair in a tight hold as he uses your mouth. You’ve got spit leaking out of the corners of your lips and your eyes are watering from the lack of air, but you just look up at him through your lashes and moan.
“Christ, you have no idea, no idea , what you do to me, princess,” he groans, his head dropping back, hips moving faster but more shallowly.
There’s a hard knock at the door and the band’s new manager, Steven, calls through the flimsy wood, “You better get your ass out here, Munson, you’re on in five.”
But Eddie just keeps going, ignoring the man that holds the power to make or break his career in his hands, growling out, “Eyes on me.”
Your lashes are sticky with tears and mascara as you look up and watch him unravel, the ecstasy running across his features making your core clench. His release hits the back of your throat and you swallow around him.
When he’s done, he pulls you up by the hair, gripping your chin and hauling you into a rough kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth even as it tastes of him.
He pulls away, his thumbs swiping beneath your eyes to clean up the black streaks left by your mascara. “Marry me?” Eddie asks, and you smile at him.
Another knock sounds at the door. “Alright, lovebirds. Two minutes.”
“You better get out there and knock ‘em dead, Eds,” you murmur, leaning your forehead against his.
“Just for you,” he tells you with a wink, pulling back to right himself in his pants. He flips the lock on the door and pulls it open, the dark bathroom flooding with light.
The rest of the guys are crowded in the green room and Steve looks at Eddie and rolls his eyes. “Finally. Alright, boys, let’s show ‘em what you’ve got.”
He leads them out of the room and to the stage and you trail behind, finding a spot stage right to watch from the wings. Your face hurts from smiling so hard, watching the same boys who used to play in a garage playing on a stage in front of a crowd screaming along with them, for them.
“You’ve been an amazing crowd, Chicago!” Eddie screams into the mic. The answering roar is deafening. “We’ve got one more song and it’s a brand new one.”
A melody you don’t recognize fills the concert hall. The intro is heavy on Eddie and Jeff’s guitars and as Eddie begins to sing, Frankie and Gareth join in.
I'll be your dream, I'll be your wish, I'll be your fantasy
I'll be your hope, I'll be your love, be everything that you need
I love you more with every breath truly, madly, deeply do
I will be strong, I will be faithful 'cause I'm counting on
A new beginnin'
A reason for livin'
A deeper meaning, yeah
Eddie’s face is tilted in your direction as he sings, eyes finding yours as he starts in on the chorus.
I wanna stand with you on a mountain
I wanna bathe with you in the sea
I wanna lay like this forever
Until the sky falls down on me
You smile at him, your eyes stinging at the emotion welling in them.
And when the stars are shining brightly in the velvet sky
I'll make a wish, send it to heaven and make you want to cry
The tears of joy for all the pleasure and the certainty
That we're surrounded by the comfort and protection
Of the highest powers
In lonely hours
The tears devour you
And devour you they do.
— +1 —
Eddie’s got one hand on the wheel and the other in the pocket of his leather jacket, fingers running along the sharp corners of the box he's hidden away in there.
You’re beside him in the passenger seat, practically bouncing in excitement. It’s 1991, one year to the day of the release of Corroded Coffin’s first hit record. They’ve been on one tour already, but he’s home for a three month stretch and now that you’re both in a good place financially, you’re looking at houses to buy to get out of the little two bedroom apartment you’d been renting.
“This is so exciting,” you say for the hundredth time. And for the hundredth time, Eddie grins at you. “Our first house!”
“I feel like we did this backwards. Should we have bought a house before buying a dive bar? Is that the normal order?” You’d used a portion of your savings to buy The Hideout from Hank, who finally retired to Florida content in the knowledge that the bar was in the safe hands of the girl he’d begrudgingly hired fresh out of high school and couldn’t shake himself loose from.
You smack him in the arm. “Shut up. Who cares. You’ve always done things your own way. Why stop now?”
“You’re right.” He grabs your hand, planting a kiss to your knuckles.
“I hope this one is nice,” you comment, staring out the window. Eddie smiles to himself.
He’d picked this one to go see. In fact, he’s already been to it and immediately placed an offer on it. You think you’re meeting up with a realtor, but the keys dangle from his key ring already.
Eddie pulls up to the little three bedroom, two bathroom ranch situated about five miles north of The Hideout. The lots are large, the homes bordered in the back by thick woods. The one he’s purchased is a deep navy blue with a bright red door and he watches your eyes take it in.
“Oh, it’s adorable,” you say wistfully. You jump from the passenger seat, looking around. “Where’s the realtor? You told him noon, didn’t you?”
“Oh, we don’t need a realtor,” Eddie says. You tilt your head at him, brow furrowed. “I bought it.”
“You bought it?”
“Yep.”
“You bought a house?”
“Yep.”
“You bought this house?”
“Sure did.” He holds the key up to you. “Go ahead.”
You snatch it from his hand and run up the front walk, shouldering your way in. Eddie trails it behind you and watches as you run from room to room, your smile growing bigger and brighter with each pass.
“This closet!” He hears you shout from the master bedroom. “It’s bigger than our bedroom at the apartment!”
He chuckles as he goes to the living room and stands in the center, lowering himself to one knee and pulling the ring box from his pocket. He settles in to wait for you to find him.
It doesn’t take long. You tear into the room, speaking a mile a minute about how you want to decorate, but you stop short when you see him there.
Eddie swallows nervously. He’s asked you to marry him since the first time he’s met you, and you’d always told him, “Not a chance.”
Over time, the exchange became more synonymous with any other couple saying “I love you” and “I love you, too”, just with your own flair.
But now, he means it. And he lifts the lid of the box to show the plain silver band sitting in the velvet. “Hey, princess. You ready to change your mind?”
You rush towards him, throwing your arms around his neck and toppling the two of you to the ground in a heap. You grab his face, kissing him deeply.
“That a yes?” He asks when you break apart, breathless and panting.
“It’s most definitely a yes, Munson.” You grin at him as he lifts your left hand and slips the ring onto it.
Right where it belongs.
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chicgeekgirl89 · 26 days
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Rating: T Characters: Carlos Reyes and T.K. Strand Summary: In the early days of their budding relationship, T.K. and Carlos discover some of each other's more adorable characteristics. Or, five times T.K. learns adorable things about Carlos and one time Carlos learns something adorable about T.K. A/N: Thanks to @bluenet13 for the title help on this one. It's been on the back burner for a while and it was time for it to fly free. Also working on a reverse 5+1 companion for it, so keep your eyes open for that...someday... Tagging: This is more than seven sentences, but please accept it anyway. Thanks to @strandnreyes, @bonheur-cafe, @carlos-in-glasses, @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut, @ladytessa74, and @lemonlyman-dotcom. Tagging @liminalmemories21, @welcometololaland, @carlos-tk, @louis-ii-reyes-strand, @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad, and anyone else who would like to share your Seven Sentence Sunday! Read on AO3
Glasses
T.K. is brushing his teeth in Carlos’ bathroom. Usually his daily oral hygiene wouldn’t be a notable event, but today it feels monumental. Because it’s Carlos’ bathroom. And T.K. is brushing his teeth. Because he’s staying over. Because they’re together. Like really together. Officially. 
He smiles goofily at his reflection in the mirror, his mouth still full of white paste and toothbrush. He’s happy. Really, truly, deeply happy.
He opens up Carlos’ medicine cabinet one handed as he continues brushing away and realizes that while he remembered to bring a razor he did not remember to bring shaving cream. “Hey babe,” he calls around his mouthful as he turns around and pokes his head back into the bedroom, “can I borrow—“
His eyes find Carlos on the bed and he immediately chokes on his toothpaste and has to rush back to the sink to spit it out. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before turning and marching back through the open doorway. 
Carlos looks at him, amusement on his face. “You okay over there?”
“Since when do you wear glasses?”
Because he is. Carlos is sitting in his bed, shirtless, hair soft and wildly curly after his shower, a paperback in his hands, and a pair of glasses on his face. Glasses that T.K. has definitely never seen before in his life. Glasses that are kind of knocking the wind out of him.
“Since the fourth grade?” Carlos says. 
“But I’ve never…you’ve never worn them when I’ve been here.”
“I haven’t?” Carlos scrunches up his nose in thought and it makes him even more freaking adorable. “Are you sure?”
“I think I would remember my boyfriend morphing into Clark fucking Kent,” T.K. retorts.
Carlos chuckles. “I only wear them at night when my contacts start bothering me.”
“You should wear them more often.” The words are out of T.K.’s mouth before he even realizes it. He feels wildly out of control of himself right now and who could blame him? His already incredibly fucking hot boyfriend now looks like an incredibly fucking hot librarian and it is making T.K. think some very, VERY dirty thoughts.
Carlos raises his eyebrows. “Why?” A slow, lazy, self-satisfied smile spreads across his  face. “You think they’re sexy?”
“God yes.”
T.K. is across the room in two seconds flat, scrambling onto the bed and pulling Carlos’ face to his for a bruising kiss. Carlos immediately drops his book and responds in kind, mouth open and inviting as his hands grip T.K.’s hips and pull him close. “You called me your boyfriend,” he says when they finally break apart for air.
“I did,” T.K. says, diving back in for another taste of Carlos in glasses. It’s completely different than regular Carlos. It’s nerdy. And hot. He loves it.
“You’ve never called me your boyfriend before,” Carlos says breathlessly, grinning so wide it’s like the sun has come out. “I like it.”
T.K. grins back at him. “Me too.”
Socks
“Oh my god,” Carlos says as T.K. collapses onto his chest and presses kisses into his sweat sticky skin. “How does it just keep getting better?”
“Because we’re amazing,” T.K. mumbles against his pecs, his eyes already heavy with sleep. “So. Freaking. Amazing.”
He takes a few breaths and feels his body relaxing as sleep pulls him down. He snuggles deeper into Carlos’ chest, eyes drifting shut. He’s nearly out when he feels Carlos shift beneath him.
“Where are you going?” he asks, tightening his hold on Carlos’ torso to keep him from moving.
“I’ll be right back. I just need to put some socks on,” Carlos says, pressing a kiss to his hair. 
T.K.’s eyes pop back open and he props himself up to look at Carlos’ face. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I’m going to put some socks on,” Carlos repeats.
Things still aren’t computing in T.K.’s brain. “…why?” he finally asks slowly.
“Because if we’re going to sleep I need to wear socks.”
He was looking for clarity, but now he’s even more confused. “I don’t understand.”
“What is there to understand? I’m putting socks on to go to bed,” Carlos says, looking equally as confused.
“But…why?”
“Because otherwise I might catch a cold,” Carlos says with a laugh, gently pushing T.K. off so he can get to his feet.
T.K. blinks a couple times trying to get his bearings and then rolls over, sitting up with the sheet wrapped around his waist. “That is not how colds work. Like not even close.”
Carlos returns and sits on the bed to pull his socks on. “I know that,” he says.
“And yet you’re still putting the socks on,” T.K. says.
“My mom always made us wear socks to bed when we were kids.”
“Is she coming over?” T.K. asks incredulously.
“No.”
“Then why are you wearing them?!”
“Because she always made us!”
T.K. takes a breath. “Let me get this straight. You are going to get into this bed with me, fully naked, except for socks that you’re going to wear because your mom made you do it when you were seven?”
Carlos pauses. “Well when you say it like that it sounds stupid.”
“Your words, not mine.”
“I just like it okay? I’ve done it forever. I can’t sleep without them,” Carlos says defensively as he slides back into bed beside T.K. “Is this some kind of a dealbreaker for you?”
“Nope,” T.K. says. “Just trying to understand. If wearing socks to bed is what does it for you, then by all means wear the socks.”
“Thank you,” Carlos says, giving him a peck on the lips and turning out the light before pulling T.K. close and snuggling in to go to sleep.
T.K. gets comfortable and closes his eyes, but he can’t stop the thoughts running through his mind in the dark and quiet of the room. He sits up and turns the light back on. “I really need you to tell me that you understand that you can’t catch a cold from not wearing socks though.”
Romance
T.K. loves being in Carlos’ condo without him. He likes it better when Carlos is around obviously. But he feels so special that Carlos has given him a key and invited him to share his space. It means he trusts T.K. enough to let him be here alone where it’s peaceful and calm, unlike his dad’s house which somehow feels crowded even though there are only two of them there most of the time.
Carlos’ place feels more like home than anywhere else has in a long time.
He takes his shoes off when he arrives and dutifully puts them away, then grabs a mineral water and a yogurt out of the fridge before collapsing onto Carlos’ couch. “Ouch,” he says with a frown as something pokes into his back from behind the throw pillow.
He reaches behind him and pulls out a book. It’s not unusual to find books around the condo, Carlos is a big reader, but the brightly colored cover on this one makes T.K. pause and raise his eyebrows. The Spanish Love Deception is the title and when he flips it over to read the back he learns that Catalina Martín is in desperate need of a date for her sister’s wedding and her mortal enemy at work seems to be her only option.
He’s rifling through the pages when the door opens and Carlos walks in. “Hey,” he says, smiling as his eyes meet T.K.’s. “When did you get in?”
“Like fifteen minutes ago,” T.K. tells him as Carlos slips off his shoes and then comes over to press a kiss to his lips. “I found this behind the throw pillow.”
He holds up the romance novel and Carlos takes it from him. “Francesca must have left it here,” he says, referring to his sister. “Looks like her kind of book. I’ll text her and let her know you found it it.”
T.K. doesn’t think about it again for a couple of weeks until one night when his dad cancels their dinner plans and he spontaneously heads to Carlos’ instead. “Hey, it’s me!” he calls as he pushes the door open.
“T.K.?” Carlos appears at the top of the stairs, one hand behind his back, looking a little frazzled. “I thought you were going to dinner with your dad.”
“He bailed,” T.K. says, adjusting his overnight bag on his shoulder as he takes the stairs two at a time, giving Carlos a peck on his lips when he reaches him. “You okay?” he asks, taking in the weird expression on his boyfriend’s face.
“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Carlos says, even as a minor amount of panic is flickering through his eyes. “I just didn’t know you were coming.”
T.K. looks him up and down. “Do you have some other guy in your bedroom?”
“What?! No!” Carlos says quickly.
“Were you watching porn?”
“Of course not!” Carlos says, but there’s a deep blush rising up in his cheeks. 
“What’s behind your back?” T.K. reaches for him, but Carlos steps away out of his reach.
“It’s nothing,” he says.
T.K. raises his eyebrows in amusement. “You know you are so freaking bad at lying, right?”
“Can we just drop it?” Carlos asks, desperation creeping into his voice.
T.K. takes a step forward so that Carlos is forced to back into the wall and then reaches around him and plucks the hidden object from his fingers. It’s another book, the cover bright blue with the title The American Roommate Experiment on the front. T.K. recognizes the name of the author as the same one from the book he found behind the couch cushions and his eyebrows rise. “Oh. You were reading porn.”
“It’s not porn,” Carlos says. “It’s a book.”
“Are you telling me there’s no sex in this book?”
“I…don’t know yet,” Carlos says, dropping his eyes. “I haven’t gotten that far.”
Delight is spiraling through T.K. as he fully realizes what’s going on. “That was your book a couple weeks ago. Not your sister’s.” He can feel his eyes start to sparkle with mischief. “You like smutty romance novels.”
“I don’t like them because they’re smutty,” Carlos says quickly. “I like them because…I like them.”
“You like them because you’re a big old softy romantic,” T.K. says, poking him gently in the chest. “Do you watch Hallmark Christmas movies too?”
The silence that follows tells him all he needs to know. “You do,” T.K. says happily. He could not be more thrilled about this new discovery.
“I grew up with four sisters,” Carlos defends himself.
“Please tell me you read Fifty Shades.”
“I would never,” Carlos scoffs. “Those books are not an accurate depiction of the BDSM community.”
“Oh my god you’re adorable,” T.K. tells him. 
“No, I’m, no don’t call me that,” Carlos says, clearly embarrassed.
“You are,” T.K. tells him, wrapping his arms around Carlos’ waist. “You are the most adorable boyfriend the world has ever seen.”
“Are you going to let this go, or is this something you’re going to talk about forever?” Carlos asks.
“Mmm definitely the second thing,” T.K. says as Carlos sighs with long suffering. “Now how about you take me to your bedroom and teach me some of the things you’ve learned from these books?”
Scaredy Cat
Sharing new things with each other has become a complete delight for T.K. So when he finds out that Carlos has never seen a single one of the Halloween movies, he declares the need for a marathon during the month of October and immediately goes over to his dad’s to dig out his DVD’s. No way is he dealing with ads breaking up the masterpiece that is Michael Myers. 
He’s popped popcorn, pulled out all the throw blankets, and even gone so far as to make up a bloody looking mocktail to really get them in the spirit of the movies. Now he’s just eagerly awaiting Carlos who has gone out to fetch their pizza.
He’s pulling down plates from the cupboard (Carlos refuses to eat pizza straight out of the box like they’re “college frat bros”) when the door opens and his boyfriend returns, pizza in hand. 
“Perfect timing!” T.K. says, eagerly taking the box from him and handing him the gory looking cocktail in return. 
“Oh, wow,” Carlos says. “This is…something.”
“I found a recipe online,” T.K. tells him excitedly as he dishes out pizza slices onto plates. “I thought they would be fun!”
“So creative,” Carlos says, poking at the gummy eyeballs that T.K. ordered online and added for extra pizzazz.
“Okay,” T.K. says as they settle onto the couch, his excitement at an eleven. “So, John Carpenter and Debra Hill wrote this in like ten days, which is crazy, and Carpenter got paid ten thousand dollars to write, direct, and score it. They built a cinematic masterpiece, the go-to film for horror, and they did it in ten days for ten thousand dollars. Can you even believe that?”
“Sure can’t,” Carlos says with a shake of his head. 
“We’re starting with the original Halloween,” T.K. tells him as he flicks on the television. “1963, Michael Myers versus a bunch of teenage girls. We’ll skip a few in the middle, Halloween: Resurrection isn’t worth anybody’s time, and while Halloween: The Curse of Michael Myers does feature a young, fresh faced Paul Rudd, it has too many flaws to be worth watching.”
“So we’re skipping two out of…”
“Thirteen,” T.K. tells him.
“I guess I should have taken the month off of work,” Carlos tells him, sending him an odd, tense sort of smile.
Come to think of it, Carlos’ whole body feels a little tense too. If T.K. didn’t know any better, he’d think Carlos was nervous. But he chalks it up to worry over getting pizza grease on the couch and hits play as he snuggles into his boyfriend’s side.
They’re still snuggled together as Michael takes a knife to his teenage sister and T.K. doesn’t miss the way Carlos stiffens even further over the bloody scene. Or the way he seems to get more and more tense as the movie progresses. “You want another drink?” T.K. asks after Michael murders the Wallace’s dog.
Carlos shakes his head, his lips pressed together in a firm line, eyes a little wider than normal as he stares at the screen. He gasps audibly when Michael appears in Annie’s car and when T.K. looks down he finds that Carlos is gripping the edge of the couch cushions so hard that his knuckles are going white. 
By the time Michael starts going after Laurie, Carlos’ breathing has gone rapid and T.K. carefully slips his fingers under the edge of his sleeve to find his pulse racing. Not a surprise given the contents of the movie, but Carlos’ face has gone almost white and and he’s sitting so rigidly T.K. is afraid all of his muscles are going to lock up. 
“Carlos,” he says quietly, but Carlos doesn’t respond, eyes glued to the screen, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows hard.
“Carlos, are you okay?” T.K. asks again, reaching for the remote.
He’s too late. Michael appears out of nowhere and Carlos jumps to his feet with a shout, hands going to his hips as he paces a couple agitated steps back and forth. 
T.K. finally gets his finger on the button to pause the movie. “Carlos, hey, look at me,” T.K. says, feeling legitimately concerned.
“No I—it’s fine. I’m fine,” Carlos says, hand making chopping motions as if he’s trying to convince himself as much as T.K. “Go ahead, turn it back on. I’ll just um, I’m just going to—“
“You’re shaking like a leaf,” T.K. says.
“No I’m—it’s good,” Carlos says even as a car honks outside and he flinches violently.
“It’s not fine,” T.K. says. “You hate it. Let’s watch something else.”
“We can finish—“
“Carlos, you look like you think Michael is coming after you personally. We’re not watching anymore,” T.K. says with a chuckle, using the remote to flip over to live TV, Bobby Flay declaring loudly that he will not be beaten at his own culinary game this time.
“Thank you,” Carlos sighs, collapsing back into the couch.
“When were you going to tell me you hate horror movies?” T.K. asks.
“Never,” Carlos says, running a hand through his hair. “You were so excited and I thought maybe it would be okay.”
“But?”
“I begged my parents to let me watch It with my sisters when I was ten. I didn’t sleep for like a month after that and ever since…” he shivers, “I just don’t get why people like them.”
“It’s pretty cute you know,” T.K. says with a fond smile. “My big tough police officer being scared of horror movies.”
“Cute or pathetic?” Carlos says with a roll of his eyes, finally starting to look like himself again now that it’s vegetables being chopped up instead of people.
“Cute,” T.K. tells him definitively, pulling him close. “Now come here. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”
Paparazzi
The radio is blaring when T.K. walks in from his shift, so loud that for a second he thinks he’s walked into the wrong condo. A quick glance around reveals that no, this is indeed Carlos’ place, although there’s no sign of Carlos anywhere, and it takes him another moment to realize the music is actually coming from upstairs.
He climbs the staircase, the music getting louder with each step and by the time he’s reached the top it’s changed from something in Spanish to Lady Gaga and is blasting so loudly that it feels like he’s at a live performance rather than in his boyfriend’s bedroom.
That’s when he finally hears the singing. Not Gaga herself, although she’s hard to ignore. No. Someone is belting out the lyrics from behind the bathroom door, slightly out of tune, but with the most passion T.K. has ever heard.
He opens the door quietly, the sound intensifying as the spray of the shower joins the fray. 
“I’M YOUR BIGGEST FAN, I’LL FOLLOW YOU UNTIL YOU LOVE ME! PAPA-PAPARAZZI!” Carlos bellows from behind the semi-frosted glass of the shower door.
T.K. crosses his arms and leans against the wall, a grin on his face as he watches the blurry silhouette of his naked boyfriend scrubbing away at his hair while he sings along. He makes it through the rest of the chorus and another verse before he turns around and lets out a yell. “Jesus Christ!”
The water turns off immediately followed quickly by the music as T.K. laughs. Carlos opens the shower door, poking his sopping wet head out. “What the hell? How long have you been standing there?” he says, clearly torn between fury and embarrassment.
“Long enough,” T.K. says, handing him a towel before returning to his position against the wall, watching appreciatively as Carlos pulls it around his waist and steps out, water glistening on his skin.
“You realize that’s really fucking creepy, right?” Carlos asks as he double checks that his towel is secure.
“I can’t believe you didn’t invite me to the concert,” T.K. says fully aware that he is smirking and enjoying every second of watching Carlos squirm.
“Yeah, well, there’s a reason for that,” Carlos says, looking down at the floor, his cheeks flushed from more than the heat of his shower.
“Do you always sing in the shower?”
“No.” But he doesn’t meet T.K.’s gaze when he says it.
“Yes,” T.K. says gleefully. “Why don’t you ever sing when I’m here?”
“Because some things are better left in private,” Carlos tells him with a glower.
“Babe, come on,” T.K. says, taking a step forward and putting his hands on Carlos’ hips just above where the towel is sitting. “I love knowing stuff like this about you. It makes me feel like you’re mine. I get to see these little parts of Carlos Reyes that other people don’t.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Unless you also put on performances in the precinct showers.”
“Definitely not,” Carlos scoffs. His hands come up to rest on T.K.’s biceps. “You really don’t think it’s weird? I know I’m not a good singer.”
T.K. kisses the tip of his nose. “It doesn’t matter. It makes you happy. And that’s all I care about.”
+ 1: Ticklish
Waking up with T.K. had been his dream for months, but he wasn’t completely surprised when it turned out not to be a reality. It turns out T.K. doesn’t wake up with anyone. In fact he barely wakes up at all. He has to be dragged out of bed and plied with coffee and a shower before he’s even remotely functional. 
When questioned about how he can wake up and immediately go to work when the alarm bells go off at the fire station, T.K. looks at him like he’s crazy and says, “That’s different.”
So Carlos contents himself with waking up beside T.K., pressing a kiss to whatever part of him is poking out from under the blankets, and then greeting him more officially when he finally stumbles out of bed usually an hour or two after Carlos.
He’s just finished his workout when he hears T.K.’s alarm going off followed quickly by a muffled thud as T.K. predictably sends his phone flying to floor in his attempts to turn it off.
Carlos smiles and wipes a towel across his forehead before stowing away his weights and jogging back upstairs. T.K. is buried under the blankets, only the top of his head poking out. “Morning,” Carlos says softly, bending over to kiss his forehead.
T.K. reaches up and catches his arm, tugging him downward. “Come back to bed,” he mumbles. 
“I’m all sweaty,” Carlos says with a laugh. “I need to go take a shower.”
“No staaay,” T.K. groans, tugging more insistently.
Carlos rolls his eyes but he concedes, sitting down on the mattress and pulling the blanket down enough to reveal T.K.’s face. “Are you going to get up?”
“It’s our day off,” T.K. tells him, eyes still tightly shut.
“It is.” Carlos leans closer, a fond smile on his face. “And if you don’t get up soon it will be over.”
He pokes T.K. in the ribs good-naturedly and immediately receives a sharp backhand across the face. “Ow!” he yells, rearing back and clutching his nose. “T.K. what the fuck?!”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” T.K. yelps, and Carlos can feel him scrambling to get upright in the tangle of their sheets. “Oh my god! Are you okay? Let me see!”
He reaches for Carlos’ face, but Carlos pulls back. His nose feels like it’s been smashed into a thousand pieces, but he rubs at it experimentally and it seems to be intact. Another check shows no blood on his fingers, so he’s probably all right, but damn. It hurts. “What the hell was that for?” he asks grouchily, sending T.K. a glare.
T.K. looks sheepishly down at the sheets. “Um, well, I might be just a little bit ticklish?”
Carlos blinks at him. “No you’re not.”
T.K.’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Yes I am?”
“T.K. we’ve been together for like four months. I would know if you were ticklish.” He knows T.K.’s body intimately. Where he can touch to make him moan, to make him gasp, to make him arch his back. If T.K. were ticklish, it would have been revealed long before now. 
“It’s just that one spot on the left side of my ribs,” T.K. tells him. “If your hands start to go there I just take them and move them somewhere else. You’ve never noticed?”
Huh. Carlos sits with that for a second replaying as many of their sexual encounters as he can remember. “I guess…I guess not. Why did you hit me though?” he asks with a frown.
“Ah.” T.K. blushes. “I always move your hands because I can get a little…violent when I get tickled. It’s kind of a panic response.”
“And instead of telling me this you just waited for me to discover it by accident and nearly broke my nose in the process?”
“I kind of forgot honestly. It’s just become a habit to move your hands,” T.K. tells him.
Carlos snorts out a laugh. “Oh my god.”
“Oh my god what?” T.K. asks warily.
“Oh my god…that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Carlos says, full on laughing now. 
T.K.’s face breaks into a smile and runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “It is kind of dumb.”
Carlos leans forward and cups his chin, pulling him in for a real kiss. “You’re cute,” he says. “You and your ridiculous ticklish spot.”
“You’re cute too,” T.K. says, then wrinkles his nose. “But you kind of stink.”
“Oh I do?”
“Yeah you do.”
Carlos wraps his arms around T.K. while he yells in protest, holding him tightly as they fall onto the mattress together. It’s disgustingly adorable. And Carlos wouldn’t trade it for the world.  
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5 + 1
Top Gun: Maverick - Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x f!pilot reader (callsign: Fallbeil)
4.4k || 5 times Bob remembers your little quirks and habits, and 1 time you remember his. 
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Genre: Fluff, crushing, love confessions
CW: mentions of drinking, swearing
Author’s Note: Bob is such an acts of service kind of person - I can feel it deep in my soul. Also, I thought the idea of him ending up with someone who has a scary ass callsign like Guillotine (which is Fallbeil in German) despite him being a cinnamon roll would be the funniest thing in the world. || cross-posted on ao3
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The first time you noticed something was because Hangman had that stupid ass look on his face again. That same one he always had, the only one he had in all honesty. The one that, recently, only ever seemed to be directed at you and that pissed you off most of all. 
“What?” He asked, but the smirk pulling his lips back into the stupid, smug fucking smile told you clearly: he knew exactly what.
“Leave her alone, Bagman. I’m not in the mood today,” Rooster said, and you could tell he meant it. HIs voice sounded surprisingly tired considering mornings were his prime time of existence. Maverick insisted on calling these meetings earlier and earlier, chinking away at everyone's stability, and it was proving to be too much for even the earliest of risers. 
Hangman scoffed, pressing his hand to his chest, and feigning offense. “Why am I always the bad guy? What if today was the day Fallbeil finally snapped and did something to me instead?” 
You rolled your eyes. “If I snapped, you wouldn’t be holding a conversation with me. Your head wouldn’t even be attached to your body.” 
“Living up to your name as always, doll.” 
Rooster slid into one of the empty chairs at the conference table, slapping down a notebook, and turned to look at you. “I’ll punch him if you want.” 
“I’m perfectly capable of throwing my own punches, thank you.” The look on Rooster’s face said he didn’t trust you not to take it too far. 
“And coffee mugs.” Hangman glanced over his shoulder; eyes trained on the spot where a cracked, open travel cup lay open. Opened and spilled, everywhere. “Which I managed to dodge.” 
“Try to dodge my-” but your insult was cut short by Rooster saying, “Coffee? You hate coffee.” 
You set your lips in a thin, embarrassed line. “He told me that it was tea.” 
“And you believed him?” Rooster snorted. 
You slunk back into your chair, crossing your arms with a pout. “It’s early! I’m basically the walking dead right now, birdbrain.” 
As with every mission of this sheer level of importance, your anxiety had been too great to let you sleep. Usually Bob or Phoenix or Rooster, the early risers of the group, would be up to go for a job or hit the gym with you. You were up well before all of them today and had taken it upon yourself to go for a run, shower, and be painfully early to this briefing. You had hoped Bob would be the first one there, he typically was, but the universe was out to get you because instead of those sweet, doe eyes behind some thick-lensed glasses all you got was a stupid pair of lips messing with a toothpick. 
“Don’t be too hard on, Rooster.” Phoenix called out, walking into the hangar with Fanboy, Payback, and Coyote in tow. “I already smoked him during our run this morning. He’s fragile.” 
Before Rooster could get all up in arms or Hangman could jump on a moment of vulnerability, Maverick walked in. He had his way to the head of the table while everyone else found their seats. “Good morning, everyone.” Tired, disjointed voices repeated the sentiment, pulling a smile onto Mav’s face. “I see we’re all ready for a busy day. What do you say we get started?” 
“Sorry, I’m late, sir!” Bob’s voice comes from behind you. “I couldn’t find the kettle.” 
Kettle, you thought to yourself, but Maverick just waved for him to sit down and continued talking. Before Bob headed over to the only open seat, by Hangman of all people, he placed a small cup of tea in front of you without a word. In your favorite mug, too. You brought it up to your lips to taste it… and it was perfect. Exactly the way you liked it. 
‘Thank you,’ you mouthed at him after he sat down. Bob just nodded and focused his attention on Maverick. You did the same, not even registering that he didn’t have a cup of anything for himself. 
The second time you noticed something nice Bob did for you was during poker night. Fanboy and Payback had decided tempting fate and coming out the other side had bonded you all for life. A point any of you could hardly disagree with. That mission was not something any of you were supposed to come back from. So, the idea of a movie night had been tossed around, but Payback always tried to guess the endings and Hangman tried to outdo the one-liners and Rooster just had to know if he knew that actor from another movie - needless to say, movie nights were shelved very fast. 
Then the idea of bar hopping came about, followed by karaoke night, followed by trivia night. Each of which ended up in all of you spending too much money on booze and drunkenly embarrassing yourselves with horrible vocals or blatantly wrong answers to obscure history questions. You all settled on the idea of a game night. It seemed to work well enough. A ‘family’ dinner followed by a board game. Except for the fact that Payback instead of placing bets no matter if it was CandyLand or Monopoly, which Coyote would double, and Hangman would triple. Leaving you all spending just as much money as you had at the bar. 
It was Bob who brought up the idea of having poker nights. Something with betting already designed into it so that none of you had to worry about emptying your bank accounts at the end of the night. That was the problem with setting elite competitors against one another, they never knew when to quit. 
You’d all been kept relatively close to TOPGUN, usually stationed a few hours away max. Months where distance wasn’t a problem, you all tried to meet once a week. If one of you weren’t stateside, then once a month worked just fine. Six months into poker nights so far and you’d been able to have at least one every month. Every time the list of things to bring shifted down a person, so that each time a new person would be in charge of chips or appetizers or the main entree, etc. It was a system that worked with military precision. 
Until the one time it didn’t. 
Bob was the last through the door of Payback’s small apartment. At least, it looked small with so many people crammed in there. “Here, I got special plates this time.” He raised them high above his head like a prize. Large, sturdy, and compartmentalized. Like the trays you’d get in the mess hall or for a school lunch. 
The statement caused immediate uproar.
“I was on plates and napkins!” Coyote said around a mouthful of sour cream and onion chips, brought by yours truly. And Hangman started making comments about how if no one was going to follow the list, then he wasn’t going to either. 
“You weren’t in charge of plates, Bob!” Fanboy tried his best not to get too worked up over it. He had created a spreadsheet of everyone’s responsibilities. Verifying everyone knew their roles was his main role in making sure this whole operation ran smoothly. “Please tell me you still brought dessert.” 
“I’ve got dessert. My grandma came out this weekend and made a peach cobbler.” 
The mention of his grandma’s baking ensured the pitchforks and torches were put away, for now. That woman had godly skills in the kitchen. You would gladly sit down and eat an entire cobbler of hers by yourself in one sitting.
Coyote, still hurt by his duty being impeded on, asked, “So then what are the plates for?” 
“Fallbeil doesn’t like when her food touches,” Bob said as though it were the most common knowledge in the world. “You guys always insist on getting plates that are way too small.” 
He set down the plates on the counter, followed by the pie, and went to take off his shoes and didn’t bring anything like that up again for the rest of the night. 
The third time you noticed something nice that Bob did for you was a day he had to leave early. A helicopter was coming to pick him and Phoenix up to take them overseas. Just for a few days, or so said those in charge, and you knew how easily a few days could change to a few weeks to a few months. 
The thought of possibly not seeing them for a while aggravated you. It meant being stuck on a ship hundreds of miles from the nearest shore without your two best friends. You’d known what you were signing up for when you first started. The military liked to keep their secrets. At any moment you could be swept away for a mission, but it still felt unfair when you woke up only to realize that your wingwoman and her WSO are replaced by strangers.
Back soon, take care. 
Not signed but the handwriting was so obviously Bob. Cursive with careful, purposeful loops. Hangman tried to tear him apart for taking so much care in his notes during the pre-briefs before the uranium mission. The insults died out fast once everyone realized he had chicken scratch for handwriting. Funny how spreading a rumor Hangman deserved the callsign Rooster over Bradley could put him in his place so quickly. 
Back soon, take care.
You stared at the sticky note, so carefully pressed against the outside of your locker. It was easy to imagine the conversation among him and Phoenix. 
“I’m leaving her a note.” 
“She’ll be fine, Bob. We’ve got to go.” 
“Four words.” 
He’d gotten into the habit of leaving sticky note updates in between lengthy letters. They held more emotion than an email or text, and you found that you liked it more than digital words on a screen. You could trace your fingers over each letter. Pretend as though he were pressed up in the seat next to you like when you’d go to the Hard Deck on a busy night and everyone would shove together in a few booths. A closeness you’d found yourself longing for in all moments spent together despite there being no reason for the two of you to share an armchair in the common room. 
You had crushes before. A few relationships littered your history of schooling, but you, like many others who had graduated from TOPGUN, assumed the sky was to be your first and only love. And then Bob showed up with his quiet, gentle ways and your heart would soar every time he walked into a room. There were days you went without talking, but you could count on some kind of a note to be waiting for you on your door or waiting for you on the control of your jet. 
Reminders that he was thinking of you. The way a best friend would. Surely. That’s all it had to be. No sense in constructing something out of nothing. Something that could wreck this perfect routine the two of you had created in one another’s lives. 
You peeled the sticky note off the front of your locker to place inside, out of harm's way. Your finger traced each letter. It was likely he and Phoenix were off somewhere with Coyote or Rooster or Hangman doing something far more dangerous than the intelligence patrol you’d been assigned to. As you swung open your locker, you wished you’d had enough sense to write him a letter before he’d left. Something reminding him and Phoenix to be safe, but you hadn’t known he was leaving. You hadn’t even let the thought cross your mind.
“Oh, Bob,” you sighed. 
A smile tugs its way onto your face. He’d left a mug in your locker. Not filled with tea this time, but with pens and highlighters and all your favorite stationary to use on your paperwork. You usually had a pencil case with you filled with pens that flowed smoothly and didn’t smudge or highlighters that didn’t bleed through the page.
He must have packed extra in his bag in case you’d forgotten that pencil case, which you had. But that wasn’t the best part. Somehow he’d managed to keep a rose alive and blooming to stick amongst the stationary. For, what it seemed to you, the sole purpose of making you smile. 
The fourth time you noticed something nice that Bob did for you was at Coyote’s birthday cookout. You were running late. Very late. More late than you’d ever been in your whole life to a point that you would have turned around if you could have, but you had been stuck on a highway without an exit for miles on end. The need to pee had never been stronger. 
Stuck in the literal sense. Construction fed into traffic fed into cars stopping for no reason at all fed into fender benders fed into your frustration. “Please just move!” You shouted at the trail of brake lights in front of you. All you had to do was make it to the next exit two miles away. 
But no one met your frustrated request. Instead, the standstill continued. You were destined to never arrive at this party. It had been weeks since you’d seen everyone together in one spot. Poker night had been postponed to tomorrow. Bound to be a dismal affair of hangovers and stale chips left out in bowls overnight. A slice of heaven on earth. Though, you would say that for just about anything if it meant being released from a fucking prison of a car. 
Your phone went off. The distinct sound of big band music filling your car. Bob’s ringtone. 
“Where are you?” His voice came through the other line at the same moment you shouted, “I want to rip my head off!” 
An amused chuckle filled your car which only caused you to fume further. “I’m serious, Robert. This two-hour drive has become four- maybe five. I lost count when I had to come to a full and complete stop for the three millionth time today. It would be so much easier if Coyote had a runway in his backyard. Then I could just fly there-”
“Fallbeil,” Bob cut in, “are you almost here?” 
“I’m a mile from my exit. I should be there in twenty. If I’m allowed to take my foot off the brake for more than a few seconds.” You let out a loud groan. “I’m going to stop at a gas station because I think my bladder might explode. So expect me in thirty actually-” 
Bob laughed and spoke once more, saving you from yet another breathless tangent. “I’m excited to see you.” 
You smiled to yourself. Grinning at the stopped cars in front of you like an idiot. “Yeah?” 
“Have I ever not been?” 
“I’m excited to see you too.” You could envision Bob’s own shy grin. No, you couldn’t hear the sounds of the party going on around him. He had closed himself off alone in a room to talk to you, which would mean the smile would be big and beaming. “Coyote enjoying himself?” 
“I think he might have cried when Natasha put on the birthday playlist she made for him.” 
“She’s good at that.” 
“Good?” Bob laughed. “She’s elite at it.” Then, after a moment of comfortable silence fell over the two of you he said, “Want me to stay on the phone until you show up?”  
If it were a normal poker night, you would have jumped on the offer. Phone calls with Bob had become a staple in that routine in one another’s lives. Letters and notes were not nearly enough to tide the two of you over. But today was a special occasion. 
“No,” you told him. “I’ll be there soon.” He deserved to go enjoy the party. Not be tied up in a phone call where you were bound to blow your lid if the car in front of you did not speed up. 
“Be careful. Drive safe.” The line clicked. 
Be careful, you turned the words over in your head wondering what they would sound like punctuated with a kiss every morning when you headed out the door. 
You turned down Coyote’s street, knowing exactly what you’d find. Cars taking every spot. Coyote was the most popular out of the crew. Charming personality, willingness to help everyone so much as passing by, and good looks. The combination needed for a party of the century. 
And the shouts of excitement that flowed from his backyard told you just that was happening. Without you, and it would continue to go on without you if you couldn’t find an open spot to park. Bob waited at the end of Coyote’s packed driveway, hands stuffed into his jeans. A surprising amount of muscle strained beneath the button up shirt he wore to every part. More cars shoved onto the asphalt and spilled over onto the lawn.
Bob waved, waited patiently for you to park the car in the middle of the street, and then came around to the driver's side of the car. “Hey,” he said as he popped open your door. “How was the drive?” 
You shot him a look. One that immediately set that bright, beautiful smile on his face. “Funny.” 
“Here, get out.” 
“What?”
“Get out. Go inside and say hi.” He leaned over to unbuckle you and the scent of his cologne tickled your nose. “I have a plate of food for you in the oven, on low so it stays warm. There’s one in the fridge too with the cold stuff.” 
“Bob-” 
“They’re all separated.” He waved you out of the car, grabbing your hand to help, and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “I’m glad you’re here, Fallbeil.” 
You saw him again ten minutes later because he had to park two blocks away and walk back. 
The fifth time you really noticed Bob going out of his way for you was a few months into the two of you moving in together. Solely as roommates, two best friends making the most of a perfect situation. Rent was going up, you had an extra room, and Bob had just gotten hired as an instructor at TOPGUN. The timing couldn’t have been better. 
In truth, nothing could be better. The two of you fit perfectly into each other’s lives. Bob with his early habits. Having tea on the table for you alongside the crossword section of the newspaper he insisted on reading every morning. The hardest word always filled in as a starting point. He’d saved you the frustration of straining your mind over a word you couldn’t have dreamed up in the wildest corners of your imagination. 
The preference over sticky notes as communication over texts still remained the same. Left on the mirror in your shared bathroom always signed with “be careful” or “take care.” Sometimes there is nothing of importance to say, but Bob would write those two words anyway as a reminder. 
You’d leave voicemails if it was something that needed your immediate attention - talking on the phone to Bob became a bright spot in your week. You tried your hardest to leave them only for emergencies but hearing his voice every day had spoiled you. Sometimes your mind would lock on something you would absolutely have to tell him. Then you would find yourself pulling out your phone, typing in his number, and putting it away with a great sigh. You had planes to fly, he had students to teach, and the torture of being apart for a few hours each day made returning home to him all the sweeter. Returning home to movie nights or long walks on the beach or stories of students who remind Bob of each member of the Dagger Crew. 
Phoenix would crash often when she got called back to TOPGUN, and Bradley hung around often enough seeing that Mav and Penny had made their lives here. Everyone cycled through at some point. Even Hangman had a welcome place on your couch if he ever needed it. 
There was one night Jake had spent the night. Out of the blue and completely inconvenient as was the case with Hangman, but he offered to cook dinner while the two of you were at work and you came home to a good meal and surprisingly good company. What a sight to see the three of you laughing at a small table. 
You hadn’t minded Hangman staying over. Though he did scare the shit out of you when he knocked on your door and let himself into your room to talk. “You know he likes you,” he had said, perched on the corner of your bed with that same stupid ass look on his face that meant trouble. “I think he might even be in love with you.” 
“Bagman-” 
“Hey, I come in here to tell you some life-altering news and you start with insulting me.” Hangman had let out a low whistle. “Think about it, Fallbeil.” 
“What if it ruins everything? We’re doing so well.” 
“What if it changes everything for the better?” 
You hadn’t expected those words to play in your head as often as they did when Hangman finally left. It had been weeks since you’d last seen him. Poker night was tonight. He was hosting, and you had a feeling he was going to corner you with all sorts of questions as to if you’d made a move on Bob yet. A foolish notion. Bob might not be a skittish dog, but making a move on him still might cause spontaneous combustion. You were just trying to figure out which one of you it would be. 
What could be the right time to tell your best friend and roommate that you loved him? That you have always wanted to be more? 
You thought it over as you wiped sleep from your eyes and made your way into the bathroom. Bob had left earlier than usual this morning. It was a test day for the students and he was nothing if not prepared. Likely that kind, painfully chirpy teacher in the early hours of the day. 
There was a sticky note on the mirror. As expected. Longer than usual. Unexpected. 
Took your car this morning. Saw you needed an oil change. Be home late, then he can head to Bagman’s. Hope that’s okay. My keys are on the counter. Be safe. Love you.
You traced those last two words with the tip of your finger. It was the first time he’d added those two words. 
And they fit so naturally on the note. Like they always belonged there.
The one time (the first time) you realized you were going out of your way to do things because you loved Robert Floyd when you went into the mall with a head full of ideas to get for Rooster’s birthday and came out twenty minutes later with one thing. One thing not for Rooster. 
A model plane for Bob. Before he’d gotten so overwhelmed with his responsibilities at TOPGUN to cease having many hobbies, he’d built model planes. It’s what had gotten him into a love of planes. At least, that’s what he had told you one night at the Hard Deck, when the two of you were shoved up against one another. 
Growing up in a small midwestern farm town didn’t give him many chances growing up to be around planes, but he’d watch the ones that flew over crops with rapt interest. He memorized flight patterns, sat alongside fields, and watched them every chance he got. Then, in the late nights where he only had his imagination to keep him company, Bob built model planes and memorized their histories.
“I’ve always wanted to be around planes.” He had slurred the words a bit back then. One too many sips of beer between handfuls of peanuts. “I kept them around me as much as I could.” 
You hadn’t been able to figure out how crop planes became fighter jets in his history, but more stories came out as the two of you moved in together. Dismissive comments about school bullies. Talks about how he knew he wasn’t the strongest, but had always felt the need to prove himself. It seemed to fit into this idea people created of him - always a bit behind the rest. You respected him for sticking to what people told him he couldn’t do and making a name for himself in spite of it all. 
And you loved that he trusted you enough to bring you in on those hobbies of his. Building fighter jets in the low light of desk lamps and night lights. Reminding you of the purpose of each piece. Telling the history of each plane. But your favorite part of all was when the two of you would build a jet you were flying and he would include all your statistics, everything you’ve accomplished, and, when you caught him in rare form, things Bob imagined you would do that would etch your name into the very fabric of history. 
“Did you get a present for Bradley?” He asked, hearing the click of the door behind you. There was a rag thrown over his shoulder. Bob turned to face you with a smile. In the midst of cooking, glasses slightly fogged from whatever it was he was cooking, and your heart couldn’t take it. 
“N-no,” you said, tripping up on your words. “I, um, I forgot.” 
“But on the phone you said you couldn’t wait to show me what you got?” He tilted his head, watching as you kicked off your shoes, and placed your shopping bag on the table. “I hope you’re not trying to sign your name onto my gift, Fallbeil. I spent three months finding a vintage record of ‘Great Balls of Fire’ for him.” 
You smiled at his thoughtfulness. “No, Robert, I will not steal credit for your gift. He’ll know it’s from you anyway.” You took a deep, shaky breath. “I got something for you instead.” 
Bob’s brows scrunched in confusion. “Me, but it’s Bradley’s birthday?” 
You pulled the model F-18 from the bag and held it out towards him. Your hands shook slightly. Silly considering the two of you were always going out of your way to do things for each other. Plates and oil changes and parking cars. Small things. Nothing as momentous as a declaration of pure understanding of one another. 
He said your name with a softness you’d never heard before. As though he were praying. 
“I love you.” You said it at the same time as him. And the words fell so naturally from both your lips. Like they always belonged there.
===
ask and you shall receive (taglist): @whoeverineedtobe​ @dhwanishah09​
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best-fanfic-trope · 11 months
Text
Round 1: Hanahaki Disease vs. 5 + 1
Hanahaki:
Typically, flowers grow in a person's lungs if they experience unrequited love, and this usually requires treatment or removal surgery if the love remains unrequited, though variations on this concept can be made!
5 + 1
typically of the format "5 times ___ happened, and 1 time ____ happened instead", this is a short and fun format that can lead to some great fics
(read fics that people submitted)
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gremlin-bot · 1 year
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Growth of Trial and Error
So, I lied about this being put on the back burner apparently. It feels so good to post this after working on it for like two months. I hope y'all enjoy this 5 + 1 fic that was bate read by the wonderful @half-dead-ham !!! This fic also connects my other fics in my 'Petals and Arrays of The Dead and Those Yet To Be' series.
AO3 Link: here
—------ 1
Danny and Tim have been dating for a little over a month and a half. In that time they have tried to have a date night once every week… It ends up once every two weeks with random visits for a cuddle date. Danny blames the Observants and Gotham rogues for being bitches. There's only so many times that the restaurant they have reservations at somehow gets hit in an attack before they just give up on restaurants all together.
This is one of those cuddle dates. Danny was laying with his eyes closed on Tim's couch with a star pattern blanket wrapped around him. He's waiting for Tim to get back to back with popcorn so they can watch the Knives Out movies. Why would Tim want to watch murder mysteries when he literally helps solve crime as his nightly activities Danny would never get, that being said he had no room to talk. He himself often fights ghosts for fun now. It's good stress relief from royal duties. 
Speaking of royal duties, Danny was sick of paperwork and meetings. Being Ghost King was one almost useless meeting after another with even more useless paperwork to go with each one. He swears, if the Observants ask for another meeting about making more court trials he will find a way to revive them from never being alive and end them himself. All that doesn't matter at the moment because he has a tired boyfriend to cuddle, once he stops taking so long in the kitchen.
Danny opens his eyes to see Tim with a small loving smile on his face. One that Danny can't help but return.
"Aww, it's almost like you got flowers in your lungs for me again!" Danny teases 
"Hey! You have no room to talk, Mr. Blood Blossoms!" Tim's blush only gets worse with Danny's light laughter.
"Yeah, yeah and I'll never live that down." Tim rolls his eyes at the pun. Why did he have to bring another person who likes puns into his life, wasn't Dick enough? Danny lifts one side of the blanket.
"Come on sweetheart, get in here." Now how can Tim say no to that? He sets down the popcorn and the veggie tray Bruce insisted they have. Tim dives into Danny and settles in for a good old murder mystery.
They get half way through the first movie when things go wrong. 
"God these guys are assholes, you'd think that after hearing one person getting excluded they would worry about the possibility of it happening to themselves!" Danny says, grabbing a handful of popcorn from its bowl.
"I hate that I've met people like this at galas." Tim groans. 
"I hope they crash and burn. Marta deserves the inheritance at this point." Danny ends his point by popping pieces of popcorn in his mouth.
As the scene on screen changes, so does the one in Tim's living room. Danny really can't have a nice day off.
A ripping sound is hard over the cacophony of the TV. A portal to the Infinite Realms appears next to it, effectively ruining their cuddle date night. As the Observant floats out into the living room, Danny can't help but feel like he is forgetting something. 
…Oh, oh no. 
Danny realized what he forgot to tell Tim.
He is the ghost king and Tim has no fucking clue.
Oh Ancients, Tim is going to kill him a second time. That's a future Danny problem, present Danny has to handle an Observant with an uninformed vigilante boyfriend laying on top of him. 
Tim has yet to move as he is in his civvies but Danny can feel him tensing. In an attempt at comfort and making sure Tim stays in place, Danny squeezes Tim to his chest and lets out soft rumbling from his core. A signal to the other that everything will be okay, he still doesn't relax.
The Observant was impatiently waiting for Danny's acknowledgement. It doesn't wait long, not because Danny answered but because it ran out of the little bit of patience it had in the first place. The mutual disdain the Observants and Danny hold for each other is great, but Danny will always commit more than the Observants. So yes, Danny could make this easier for himself and Tim, but no. He has principals!
"King Phantom, us Observants wish to schedule a meeting with you regarding the court-'' the eyeball in a sad imagination of jello didn't get to finish its request. It got cut off by Danny's sigh.
"If it's about the same thing as before, no. As stated in the Court Acts section 12a, you can't give out Court hearings without proper approval by an Ancient and myself. Nor can a trial proceed without a pre-approved Ancient or ghost of similar position from outside the Observant branch." Danny's blank stare fixed itself on the unwanted goo encased eyeball, daring it to rebuttal.
"Yes, of course King Phantom. I will tell the others." The Observant grits out. Its goo flesh scrunching in a poor imitation of a disgruntled face. It rips open a portal to the Infinite Realms and leaves without further pestering.
Danny lifts his arm. He can hear Tim's mind trying to piece together what happened. 
"Hey, Tim? Beloved? Are you good?" Danny is starting to think that this might have broken his boyfriend. It's been a good 30 seconds since The Observant left and Tim hasn't moved. Maybe he's rebooting? As Danny is pondering the mental state of the man he's supposed to be cuddling, said man decided to roll off of him landing in a crouch.
Tim looks Danny in the eyes and says with all his heart, "What the fuck, Danny?!" 
Oh Danny might be a little fucked.
—--------
Tim is going to kill and revive his boyfriend for a second time, if he doesn't explain right now.
"So, I may have forgotten to tell you something important." Danny placates.
"Oh! What gave it away? The probable high powered ghost that portaled into my living room and broke the TV in the middle of our date, or the fact you responded to them with higher authority!" Tim's sass is amplified by the TV blinking to life and giving a static scream. 
Danny breathes in through clenched teeth, face slightly scrunched. It was adorable, making it hard for Tim to stay upset. "I'm sorry Tim. I didn't mean to keep anything from you, I just forgot you didn't know already and I just don't talk about it by default. You know I'm not used to not being around my parents and they don't know about any of-" 
"Danny, hun, you're starting to ramble. I know how it is with your parents but please explain now.”
“Sorry, I’ll start at the beginning. So, you know how I told you how I became a teen hero after my half-death.”
“Yeah…” Tim switches from crouching to sitting on the floor, eyes squinting at Danny with suspicion. He doesn’t like where this is going.
“So, there was this one time my town was pulled into the infinite realms by the old ghost king. So I had to fight him. I won in the end but, Oh the consequences of these actions."
"Oh no."Tim said quietly, reeling at the possibilities of what the downfall of a king could be.
"Fun fact, the right to the throne is earned through trial by combat. It would have been fine if not for the Realms showing affection for me. You can't argue with the semi-sentient realm between realms," Danny sighed.
“Semi-sentient in what way??! How did it show affection for you?? What do you mean it would have been fine??" What exactly was Danny involved with? Tim thought it was just ghost wrangling. He knew he should have tried harder to contact Constantine about ghosts. Doesn't matter at the moment, nothing could have prepared him for this.
"I don't know how but the Infinite Realms are just like that. It might have to do with the fact that it's where all the dead end up, so technically all lands of the dead, but I just work there." Danny shrugged, all too used to the Infinite Realms' brand of being.
"Danny, Alnilam, my dearest boyfriend, I mean this with my entire heart and soul, what the fuck?" Tim lets his head slump into Danny's arm. He was done for the day and the next two after that. He just wants to watch some murder mysteries with Danny and deal with the Ghost King shit later. It was the first day off of both Wayne Enterprises and any major case he’s had in weeks. 
The TV's static increased in volume for a moment before setting down, as if mocking him. He side eyes the TV.
"Sweetheart, if you stop glaring at the TV and give me like 5 minutes, I can fix it." Danny lightly chuckled. 
"Fine, I want to see if I'm right about what is actually going on." Tim knows who did it, he's just waiting to be proven right.
"Hey! Don't spoil it!! Not everyone is a smartass." Danny sheds the blanket as he stands, "Are you going to join me on the couch when I'm done, or are you brooding?"
"Yet here you are calling me a smartass." Tim rolled his eyes. Switching from the floor to the couch and stealing Danny's blanket in the process. He's allowed to be a bit petty. It's what he deserves after this ordeal and the ones to come when they talk in depth, but that's for later. Right now, he gets to go back to watching murder mysteries with his boyfriend.
—------- 2
Danny woke up the next day with Tim's head on his chest and a crick in his neck. That's what he gets for falling asleep during cuddle night. Carefully, he reaches for his phone, trying his best to not wake up Tim. Ancients knows how much that boy needs sleep. 
Checking the time Danny sighs. He has a meeting with the Ancients in half an hour. Looks like he will have to wake him up… or turn intangible and let him be. Danny debates for a minute before deciding fuck it. He makes himself intangible slowly, eventually Tim is laying on the couch still peacefully asleep. 
He carefully floats out of Tim's space and onto the floor. Turning tangible turns into a problem, as Danny apparently can't watch where he pops into existence. His foot ends up in his water bottle. Losing his balance he falls and hits the floor hard, this of course wakes up Tim.
"Danny, what are you doing?" Tim groggily asks.
"Trying not to wake you up while I leave for a meeting. As you can see, I failed." Danny says from the floor, not having moved yet. "I'm just going to transform right here on the floor in shame" 
"Transform?" Tim blinked, adjusting so he could fully look at Danny.
"Yeah, so I can get to the meeting on time... Wait. Tim, did you forget that I can transform?" Danny sits up, making eye contact with Tim.
"No I didn't forget, you never told me!"
"I told you the night we started dating," Danny laughs.
"Okay maybe I forgot, but it's not my fault," Tim counters.
"Oh, and how is that?" Danny teases.
"Well someone told me that he was getting severely injured by the Blood Blossoms that were in his lungs. So, forgive me for missing some details!"  
"Okay, okay, you win. I did go to my ghost doctor after, you know.”
"Good. Don't you have a meeting to get to?"
"Oh shit! Close your eyes, my transformation is a bit bright." Danny shoots up and transforms in the process. Grabbing his things around the room he almost missed Tim's reaction. If it wasn't for Tim's gasp. 
Danny turns to face Tim, his face is flushed as his eyes take in Danny's ghost form. Danny's growing smirk just makes Tim's blush darker.
"See something you like?" Danny teases, his smirk growing wicked.
"Shut up and go to your meeting!!" Tim throws a throw pillow at Danny, only for Danny to turn intangible. He didn't even have the decency to dodge.
"I'm going now, goodbye sweetheart." Danny rips open a portal with his claws, diving through just as he hears Tim's goodbye.
—---------- 3
It took two weeks for Tim to succumb to the need for information. Danny should have expected this from one of the world's greatest detectives, but the call he received at 4:16am was still a jarring surprise. He almost fell out of bed trying to answer his phone. Tim is lucky that he wasn't asleep yet. 
After a slight struggle, Danny finally answered the call "Tim, sweetheart, what could you need at this fine 4am?"
"Are you technically a god? Because according to this glowing book I got my hands on-" Tim sounds like he's been on a research binge for an unhealthy amount of time.
"Please tell me you didn't use your vigilante status to steal a book about the Infinite Realms from the Justice League's magic team or whatever they’re called."
"I may have but anyway- wait." Tim stopped mid sentence, like he was reviewing information. Danny has no clue what it could be, but he did know that it would make the conversion complicated. "I didn't tell you I was a vigilante. How did you figure it out?"
"You don't change your voice at all when ordering coffee as Red Robin." Danny says flatly. 
"That's fair and also explains why you were okay with me canceling dates last minute. I should invest in a voice changer or something."
"I think you'll be fine, sweetheart. I have a habit of remembering voices of people I’m crushing on, and heightened hearing makes that a little easier."
"If you say so… I'm still gonna look into it." Danny can hear Tim's typing pick up. At this rate the both of them won't be going to sleep anytime soon. 
"I'm not going to ask how long you've been awake, but for your own health and mine please stop researching and get some rest. Even the dead are asleep right now." Danny pleads. He knows that they both have things to do later in the day, and Danny doesn't want to fall asleep during his classes.
Tim sighs, "Fine, but after your class tomorrow can you actually answer all my questions?"
"Yes, Hun. Now get away from the computer and go to bed." Danny lightly chuckled.
"I’m going, I'm going." Danny can hear the eye roll in Tim's voice. "Night Danny, sweet dreams." 
"Goodnight Tim." Danny smiled as the call ended. Glad that he could get his workaholic boyfriend to go to bed, he relaxes back into his own bed and lets sleep take him.
—------- 4 
Tim was on the fire escape connected to Danny's apartment. Hoping to break in and set up his notebooks and other things he collected in his research into the Ghost King and by association the Infinite Realms. Unfortunately for him Danny's last class ended early, as can be seen as Danny entering his own apartment the same time Tim crawls through the window. Tim knows he looks like a kid caught red-handed faking a nonexistent Uncle, Danny's deadpan stare didn't make it better. 
"Hey, Danny…" Tim drawls as one of his notebooks falls from his grip to the floor.
"Tim, you could have used the door like a normal person." Danny sighed as he set his bag down. Tim took this time to set up on the floor with his notes spread on the coffee table. "Notebooks? That's not usually your style?"
"Yeah, I would have done my usual spreadsheets and docs but apparently Infinite Realms information crashes any and all tech. So, it's old school for now."
"Oh! Yeah, I forgot about that. I can fix that problem for you while we talk, just give me your tablet, or would you prefer your laptop?"
"Tablet please. Would you mind explaining what you're doing to it while fixing it?" Tim was ecstatic, he loved watching Danny work on his inventions. The methodical way Danny assembled work is a wonderful contrast to how they were made; chaotic and from almost nothing.
Danny's smile was absolutely smitten when he turned back to Tim with his tools. "Of course sweetheart. What do you have to ask me?"
"Okay, so I have a lot, so this is going to take a while." Tim starts as he opens a fresh notebook, pen at the ready.
It was hours of revelations and notebook after notebook. Danny was patient and explained everything the best he could. Tim was pretty sure Danny would ask for his notes after this with how thorough he's being. He honestly wouldn't be this thorough unless it was for a case, but Danny can't remember to tell anyone anything important for the life (death) of him.
"Yeah, parts of the Realms are just kinda ocean-like randomly, so if you visit we have to watch out for that." Danny explained with little fanfare.
"Why are the Infinite Realms like this?" Tim groans emphatically.
"I don't know, man. I just accept and deal with it," Danny replies with a shrug.
"Speaking of things you deal with, you can get summoned, right?"
"Yeah, I can ignore them, technically, but it's like a ringing that keeps getting louder and more annoying till I answer it."
"Huh, interesting. So, does that mean it can be used as an excuse to get out of meetings?" Tim asks with mischief lacing his words
"I… holy shit, I think it can!!!" Tim can see the excitement spread across Danny's face at the realization.
"We are trying it for our next cuddle night, if what is in this book is correct." Tim hands Danny the book he took from Justice League Dark. It's open to a summoning array with instructions underneath it.
"Oh, this is wrong. The array itself is good but the instructions on placement and gifts are either wrong or too vague."
"Oh? I should tell JLD, then." 
"Nah, don't. It'll keep me from getting summoned, plus they can always ask you if they need to summon me. Seeing that I'm giving you the correct one."
"Fair, but you better give me all the materials for it then."
"Tim, if it's you summoning me all you need is a small offering and a drop of your blood." Tim looks at Danny in confusion. Danny shakes his head in amusement. "The closer I am to a person, the less required to summon me. At some point all you need is the array and a bit of your blood."
"Oh, that's pretty smart and seems like a perfect way to cause trouble for others" a sly smile spills onto his face, thinking about all the possibilities this could bring.
"Oh, yeah! The amount of times Sam has summoned me at galas is too many to count." Danny's grin is unnaturally wide, with too sharp canines that make Tim swoon as Danny launches into a story of gala shenanigans.
—----- 5
Danny was curled around Tim in his ghost form, acting as an ice pack for his boyfriend's sore ribs. The idiot was overtaxing himself on patrol and took one too many hits. Danny doesn't mind some ghostly cuddling, but he would like it if Tim looked after himself more.
Tim relaxes into Danny more as he types away on his computer. Danny glances at Tim's screen to see that he is looking into the effects the Infinite Realms has on the mortal realm. Which would be sweet if he wasn't using it as a distraction from being banned from current cases.
"Tim, you're supposed to be resting. You know, off the laptop?" Danny lifts his head from Tim's shoulder to actually look at him in the eyes. 
Tim sighed, not stopping his typing. "This is resting, I'm barely even hacking into the government." 
"Why are you like this?"
"The trauma,” he replied sarcastically. “But anyway, it looks like the government was doing experiments at one point but stopped." Tim hummed as the clicking of the keyboard picked up speed.
“Oh, that’s just the Ghost Investigation Ward.” Danny lets his head drop to his boyfriend’s shoulder, closing his eyes. Tim’s typing only quickened with time and the new information given to him.
“Danny, why are there files about their multiple attempted captures of you, and different files detailing experiment plans that involve vivisecting you‽” Tim was no longer relaxed against Danny’s body.
“I thought they deleted those.” Danny srutines the screen, looking for anything to tell him what has happened to the plans. There in the top right corner is what he was looking for. “Sweetheart, the plans have been defunct, like we worked out when they were getting their shit together.”
“They hunted you for sport,” Tim’s unimpressed stare bore into the side of Danny’s head.
“They got better… morally.Not at the hunting thing,” Danny sighed. “Look, before senior year Tucker, Sam, and I spent the whole summer essentially reforming them. It took a lot of effort but they are ethical now, and even helped fix the shit they wrecked. I promise you they aren't a problem anymore.” Danny pleads.
“Fine.” Tim relents for a moment. "How did you even get them to reform? From what I've read they were pretty biased." 
Danny's carefree smile turns sharp. "Blackmail and aggressively shoving evidence to prove them wrong in their faces."
Tim lets out a fond huff as he rolled his eyes, as if he hasn't done worse as Robin. Tim finally lets himself relax, body goes limp against the cold form wrapped around him. A yawn escapes as he feels the pull of sleep cling to him.
“Tired enough to sleep now?” Amusement colored Danny’s voice.
Tim closes his laptop and sets it on a part of the couch not occupied. “Yeah, carry me to bed?” 
Danny chuckled as he gently picked up the injured boy and floated them to Tim's bed.
—----- +1
When Tim walked into Danny's apartment he didn't expect to see him putting what was probably Lazarus water into small vials. It looked like he had been doing this for a while. There were several different bags full of the glowing vials with the one he was filling now being one of the last.
"Danny, what are you doing?" Tim asked the dark haired boy, already expecting what the answer might be.
"Remember how I'd said I would look into the Lazarus pits for Jason?" Danny replies as he reaches for more empty vials. Tim hums and moves the vials closer to him. “Turns out to do that I need a shit ton of samples for Frostbite, so here we are.”
Tim sets his things down and settles into helping his boyfriend. "How was dealing with the League of assassins?"
"It was fine. They didn’t notice me, surprisingly.” Danny shrugs, putting more filled vials away.
“I wouldn’t say it was surprising they don’t know about ghosts.” Tim points out.
“Fair. I had a look around, they have a lot of interesting things in their base.”
“Oh, did you take anything besides the lazarus water?” Tim wonders what caught Danny’s attention. From what he remembers it could be just about anything from swords to priceless pieces of art.
“No, but I did see what I’m pretty sure was a spleen in a jar!” Danny’s smile grew almost inhumanly big. “Tim, get this! It was fucking labeled! Labeled!” Danny’s excitement is clear in his voice. Tim couldn’t completely focus on it. He only knows of one spleen that was removed under the care of the league. 
“What was it labeled?” Tim asked, nervousness creeping into his voice. Please don’t be his spleen.
Danny’s giggling was barely contained as he answered, “Ra's al Ghul’s emotional support spleen. Outsourced from RR.”
“HE PICKLED MY SPLEEN!!” Tim shouts, startling Danny into almost dropping the vial in his hand. 
Danny looks at Tim in confusion for a solid five seconds before Tim saw a look of realization bloom on his face. “Oh Ancients, RR stands for Red Robin. What the fuck!  Wait, you’re missing your spleen! How did your spleen end up there??” Danny’s distress only rises as Tim doesn't answer him.
“So. I may have forgotten to tell you something.” Tim says as his clearly innocent smile wobbles with hidden laughter.
“You think so‽” sarcasm dripping from Danny’s voice. “Ancients Tim! Is this how you felt with me?”
“Yes. Suffer.” Tim didn’t mean for this to happen but he will take this happy coincidence for everything it has.
----------- Tag List
@kyrianclawraith , @alice-hazelwood , @phoenixdemonqueen , @may-rbi , @mimilikey , @undead-essence
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Text
5+1 five times someone noticed Steve Harrington liking men and the one time everyone noticed he loved one
1 Steve
Steve never really put much thought into who he was attracted to. Girls were easy he didn’t even have to try for them to be all over him, really it’s just a matter of convenience.
Nancy was like that at first, all flustered and flirty. But he could tell it was all some sort of act even if she didn’t know it. He was proven correct after Nancy’s whole “bullshit” stunt on Halloween. Steve really couldn’t even blame her, he knew he was bullshit.
Going after girls only girls because it was convenient? That sure seems like bullshit to him. So, he began to actually acknowledge things. Like how no other guys on the swim team seemed to admire each other’s physiques or how Tommy never seemed to understand Carol’s constant ramblings about how hot Mel Gibson is.
Steve always knew he just began to actually act on it, ya know, occasionally.
2 Erica
The first to notice was surprisingly Erica Sinclair. Well, maybe not so surprisingly considering she seemed to make it her goal for the summer to have his complete and undivided attention. Seeing as he was the only thing between her and 4x her weight in ice cream.
“Hey Nerd what could possibly be more interesting to you, a costumer service employee, than me, a costumer?”
Without looking at her Steve spoke, “You’ve come in everyday for the past 3 weeks and have only bought 1 single scoop in total. He however,” Steve pointedly looked at a guy in his early 20’s licking a drop of melted ice cream up his hand and back to his cone, “seems to be very content with his purchase.”
Erica huffed “barf me out, if I wanted to see some narbo make goo goo eyes I would’ve just stayed home with Lukie and Max.” With that Erica made her way out of the shop in hopes of getting more free samples from Hot Sam’s pretzels.
2.5 Robin (sort of)
Robin didn’t really get Steve Harrington. First he showed up to work on Robin’s first day with that hideous sailor’s costume on before introducing himself to her as if they weren’t in the same class an entire year and romantic rivals. He acted kind enough despite his near constant complaining.
There was also those damn kids that Robin couldn’t comprehend belonged to Steve. They had the guy wrapped around their little fingers, it was honestly kinda pathetic -maybe she should make another board. He was always giving them his company provided scoops they were allowed during breaks.
“Need to stay in shape; no high school athletics anymore. Plus those kids are skinny as twigs,” he’d brush her off.
At first Robin thought it was just the kids he was giving his free ice cream to but then she’d notice how he missed the payment of a couple of guys around their age that had come in.
“Hey Dingus! You forgot to charge them, I’ve seen you do that twice now!” Robin was annoyed if Steve kept doing that they’d both get written up.
“Don’t worry, that was my ice cream mark out,” Steve said offhandedly.
That made Robin stop, those didn’t look like any of the guys in King Steve’s posse of friends. “Why’d you give them your mark out? Do you know them?” Robin’s curiosity beat out her annoyance at the older teen in front of her.
“Nope! Let’s just say I’m hoping for a good tip,” Steve tossed out as he winked and walked into the back room.
This idiot most people tipped at least a dollar even when they had to pay… whatever it’s his mark out.
3.5 Dustin
Say what you may about Dustin Henderson but he was a scientist at heart. So, when he began to notice things about one of his favorite people he decided he needed to test his theory.
“So, uh, Steve,” Dustin threw out while he and Steve were listening to music in the older man’s family room. Steve was jogging on his fathers treadmill as Dustin wrote his letter to send to Suzie in the mail.
Steve gave an uninterested ‘mmhm’ in response.
“Will’s been complaining about how all the party has girlfriends but him-”
“You go easy on him middle school’s hard enough without a bunch of dickwad friends and relationship drama-”
“High school, Steve, we start high school in the fall. No more middle school baby shit for us!”
“Yeah yeah whatever just lay off Will. Not everyone is interested in romance so young,” Steve finally finished once their bickering stoped.
Dustin scoffed, “No that’s just Mike, he’s the only one being weird about it. But anyway that’s exactly what I was about to ask! When did you start showing romantic interest?” Dustin preened himself on his subtlety.
Steve looked surprised at that, “Oh! Well I guess I really started liking people romantically in 6th grade. I mean I had my first girlfriend in 7th grade,” he snorted, “if you could even call it that, we just held hands at recess and gave messages through friends…”
Dustin tuned the other out. ‘People’ damn that was a bust alright new approach.
“Yeah yeah uh huh sooo, Steve? Which Star Wars character do you think is the hottest?” Dustin asked thinking back to the film he’d watched the night prior.
The treadmill stopped as Steve sighed and turned to face Dustin, “dude I keep telling you I’m not going to watch your geeky movie.”
“How dare you! Star Wars is a cinematic masterpiece! I-” stay on track Dustin don’t jeopardize the experiment, “whatever who do you think is the hottest actor from one of your lame rom-coms then?” Okay, so much for subtlety.
Steve raised an eyebrow at that -oh no he noticed- he walked over and plopped down on the floor next to Dustin, “Alright, what’s going on why are you acting weird?”
“What? I’m not acting weird? I just,” another unconvinced look, “Ugh fine. I’ve just started to notice how you aren’t only flirty with… with just girls anymore… Which is totally fine! Cool! Awesome even! I just, I wanted to find out if I was… right? I don’t know, now I sound like an asshole.”
Dustin isn’t sure if it’s a good sign or a bad sign when Steve began to laugh. His laughter died down after a couple seconds, “you’re a strange kid, you know that? But to prove- confirm your hypothesis or whatever. Yes I like men, and women, both I like both,” Steve stammered. “You’re actually the first one I’ve said that to.”
Dustin grinned twisting to hug Steve from where he was sat beside him. A thought just occurred to the almost high schooler, “ This means double the potential set ups.” This sentiment was met with a groan and a plead of not needing that.
4.5 Mike
Mike Wheeler has been told he’s at that ‘difficult’ age in puberty -gross- where he’s mad about everything. Well if you ask him it’s pretty freaking easy to be mad at everything including how his mom sold his bike at a yard sale because, “You’re too big for it now Michael you can barely ride it. This money is going towards a new one you’ll just have to save up.”
Hence why he’s waiting for his ride who’s currently working in a too cold, too bright shop, with an annoying smile on his face talking to some long haired weirdo with like 8 different chains hanging off his pants and a black bandana sticking out of his back right pocket. A weirdo that’s been here for over an hour making Steve stay late. “Steve! We were supposed to be out of here 12 minutes ago! Hurry up!” Mike yelled tapping his watch as though Steve could see it from across the store.
“Hold your shit Wheeler we’ll be out in a minute,” Steve yelled back earning a bark of laughter from the weirdo. Mike heard Steve start to finish up speaking with the- costumer? Actually, Mike doesn’t think he ever saw that guy even order anything.
Feeling curious Mike meandered towards them trying to catch the end of their conversation.
“-my house or yours tonight?”
“Wayne has tonight off so he’s gonna be hogging up the trailer soooo”
“Yeah yeah my place just remember no blasting music in my neighborhood the Inslee’s are already this close to calling the cops”
“Oh yeah, and heaven knows what we’ll be up to when they arrive-”
“Shut up! Alright I gotta go see you in a couple hours Ed!”
With that Steve and Mike exited the Scoops Ahoy walking through the food court and out the mall towards Steve’s Beamer where it sat in the mall parking lot. The two settled in, Steve making sure Mike had his seatbelt on before pulling out. From the passengers seat Mike eyed Steve trying to decipher what he had heard the two older men in the mall talking about.
Giving in Mike gave an annoyed huff admitting he was actually interested in something to do with Steve Harrington. “Who was that guy and how often do you have sleepovers?” he asked.
This was met with shifty eyes and a soft laugh from the older teen, “who? Eddie? The guy from the mall? He’s no one, just a friend,” there was a strange tinge of guilt in his voice.
“You shouldn’t do that.” Mike said firmly staring out at the road in front of them.
This made Steve confused turning to look at Mike before redirecting them back to the road, “do what?”
This made Mike even more pissed. “Lead people on. You and I both know you like girls, you’ve dated girls, you dated Nancy! Did you not care about her? Did you not love her? I know you broke up or whatever, but she definitely loved you once, I can’t believe you faked the whole thing!” Mike had tears welling in his eyes.
The car came to a slow as Steve pulled over to the side of the road, “woaah hey man I did- I did love your sister. Sometimes I think a little more than she loved me. I was never lying about what I felt for her.” Mike sniffled. “And yes, I do like girls always have, still do. But, I think you may have noticed,” Steve attempted to joke, “I’m also of the uh, male persuasion? Ugh that sounds gross. Men I like men too.”
Steve expected some backlash after the start of this conversation and was surprised when he was met with Mike’s odd look of clarity. “You- you can like both?” The younger boy asked. Steve hadn’t heard him sound so small since he saw him take care of an unconscious Will during their last run in with monsters.
“Yeah, you can like both.”
5 Robin (yes again)
Okay so Steve Harrington wasn’t that bad. In fact he was kind of cool. And not like popular, eggs cars and makes out with chicks under the bleachers cool. But genuinely a cool dude that basically saved her life, well, with the help of a couple children.
Maybe it was the drugs, maybe it was the probable head trauma, maybe it was even the thrill of actually escaping a secret Russian base but Robin felt like she could tell this guy anything. Which probably wasn’t great considering her… situation.
The two teenagers were sitting in the bathroom heads hanging over toilet bowl rims. They were joking around but the girl knew she didn’t want to be asked any heavy or revealing questions not when she didn’t have complete control of her mind so instead she asked Steve.
“Have you… ever been in love” she’d asked after some thought. This should be easy enough for him, he’s known for his prowess with the ladies.
She received a small cackle from the stall next to her. “Yeah a couple of times. Nancy Wheeler my first love I went insane for that girl, first semester senior year,” Steve made a gun motion shooting into his heart, “honestly I’m glad I had what I had with Nancy and also glad that it ended? If it hadn’t I would’ve never been with who I’m with today, the person I think I want to spend the rest of my life with,” Robin could tell there was a smile of his face when he’d said that.
Wow Robin really hadn’t expected that confession, she was honestly a bit worried he might admit to liking her. Who would’ve thought Steve Harrington tied down. “How’d you know?” Robin asked she’d never been able to think that strongly about anyone not even Tammy who she’s had a year long major crush on.
Steve sighed, “I don’t know… He just makes me feel happy and excited whenever I’m near him.”
Robin’s breath hitched when she noticed the pronouns he’d used, okay she definitely wasn’t supposed to be told this, he wasn’t in the right state of mind, neither was she. And yet, she couldn’t stop him; it felt so good to hear about someone like her actually being happy and finding love even if it was surprisingly Steve Harrington.
“He’s a lot different than everyone else I’ve dated, but he’s also different from everybody else in general so I guess that makes sense. He’s dramatic and weird, and impossible to look away from. I still can’t even believe he likes me back.”
Hearing Steve talk about his boyfriend gave Robin the confidence to tell him about Tammy much to his great judgment which they joked about until Dustin and Erica barged into their little sanctuary of a bathroom.
+1 Everyone
If you ask anyone, that day after Vecna was defeated the whole party piled into their meeting place at the hospital. They wouldn’t tell you the first thing they noticed was a limping Dustin crying silently as though he could no longer make sound from screaming so loudly. It wasn’t Robin walking through the door with a broken guitar in her arms. It wasn’t even the boy bleeding out, unconscious, clothes ripped to shreds.
No, they’d tell you they’d noticed Steve Harrington sobbing as he yelled for ‘someone anyone please help him please my Eddie please help him somebody Eddie please Eddie’. He held Eddie Munson in his arms as he ran through the hospital begging them to save his Eddie.
Eddie was taken into surgery immediately and nobody could think of what to say to Steve. He was hunched over in a small waiting chair right outside Eddie’s operating room.
It was Joyce Byers freshly off a death helicopter from Russia that kneeled down in front of the boy. She held his hands in hers as she said, “he’ll be okay. He knows your out here waiting for him. He won’t leave you.”
With that Steve slumped forward onto her as he began to sob.
Eddie came out of his first surgery a couple hours later but the doctors informed he was likely going to be in unconscious for at least a week. Steve stayed with Eddie and his uncle in the hospital everyday refusing to leave. The kids filtered in and out checking on Eddie and Max a few rooms down. Without fail Steve had his chair pulled up right next to Eddie’s bed just watching him.
Dustin talked to Eddie, a lot, so did Robin. Eddie probably liked that, both Wayne and Steve didn’t talk much. Preferred to sit in silence watching for any sign that the comatose boy was improving.
The day Eddie did wake up most of the party was there including Nancy, Jonathan, some guy from California, the youngest Sinclair -Lucas didn’t want to leave Max alone- a couple Russians, his uncle and his boyfriend. When Eddie slowly opened his eyes he looked towards Steve sitting directly to his left.
“Hey Stevie, I tried to be a hero. Sorry,” his vocals were strangled from lack of use.
“You should be sorry! You are such an idiot! God I love you, never do that again.” Steve then pulled Eddie into a searing kiss in front of everyone. Not that anyone was surprised.
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weewootruck · 11 days
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Seven Sentence Sunday
Tagged by: @underwater-ninja-13 @wikiangela @daffi-990 @bekkachaos and @spotsandsocks
This fic is currently just over 7k words and I've only got a few more scenes to add to it before it's done 🥰
They stand in silence for a long moment. Long enough that Eddie is about to take the silence as his answer. “I didn’t want to screw things up,” Buck huffs a humourless laugh as he takes a seat at the table, “But I guess I made a mess of things anyway.” Eddie crosses his arms over his chest, nodding slightly as he remembers how it stung when Buck kissed him then fled in the middle of the night after he told him Natalia and him had broken up. He remembers feeling humiliated when it turned out the kiss at the bar was just a favour to lose that girl's attention. But he also remembers how loved he felt after he got hurt and Buck was there to take care of him, and the domesticity when they talked about wanting to expand their family together. “I’m not exactly known for having successful relationships,” Buck continues. “Everyone leaves in the end. And I can’t lose you too, Eddie. You and Chris mean so much to me.”
No pressure tags: @monsterrae1, @loserdiaz, @hippolotamus, @exhuastedpigeon, @underwater-ninja-13 , @princessfbi , @eddiebabygirldiaz , @spaceprincessem , @steadfastsaturnsrings, @honestlydarkprincess, @thewolvesof1998, @diazsdimples, @fortheloveofbuddie and anyone else who wants to join 🩵
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canuck-eh · 1 year
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A Wicked Game
(It's on Ao3 if that's more your thing - A Wicked Game by Canuckeh)
5 times Aaron and you develop feelings for one another... and the one time you actually admit it.
Warning: It's very fluffy and it's also full of smut.
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader
Reader is a teacher, shorter than Aaron and late 20s. Aaron is mid 40s. Jack exists but Haley is already dead.
NSFW MINORS DNI -- 18+
Read here 👇🏻
What a wicked game to play
What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you
I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you
Strange what desire will make foolish people do
The world was on fire and no one could save me but you
I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you
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non-cannon · 1 month
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For some reason, the first thoughts my brain gave me when I got up at stupid early in the morning today was a 5+1 fic idea: 5 times a dog didn't lead Link to treasure and one time it did. And the +1 time is it leading him to Zelda. And this is not during some calamity or what not, this is pure fluff during either the pre-calamity era, the time between BotW and TotK or post TotK.
Also if someone else wants to write this feel free. I really probably won't ever bother.
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brokecherry · 9 months
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made this quick in honor of ‘imagine being loved by me’ finally being up !!
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