#and a bit of hurt comfort | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sp0o0kylights · 8 months

Text

Part One / Part Two

A03

It ain’t much.” Wayne started, half-curious if the sight of his trailer would be the thing to offend Steve’s (so far lacking) born-rich sensibilities.

Of course turning to look at the kid proved he was in his own head about this more than Steve was, because Steve had his eyes closed and looked two seconds away from puking.

Right.

Pain management.

“I’ll get your stuff.” Wayne said as he guided the truck to its usual parking spot.

Steve’s quiet ‘okay’ had him hustling a little bit, and the fact he had to gently guide the kid’s hand off his bag handle told him it was the right choice.

The nailbat could wait in the car for the moment he figured, as he led Harrington in. He’d get it sorted once he’d fished out the pain pills and gotten Steve settled a bit.

"Eds--he's my nephew that I told you about--has the bedroom, so you and I get to share out here." Wayne explained as he loaded Steve up on Tylenol and put a bag of frozen peas in his hand, not bothering to give a tour of the trailer.

It was pretty damn clear which door led to the bathroom and which didn’t, given Ed’s door was wide open.

Steve peeked at the absolute chaos strewn about beyond the doorframe but didn’t say nothing of it.

Didn’t, in fact, even look too long, instead sitting at the table as directed.

Seemed to sink a little into it, leaning an elbow on the cheap wood to help keep his head up.

"The couch is a pull out, but I'll warn you the bar across the middle is nasty. I usually sleep on the cot over there," Wayne nodded to where it was rolled neatly against the opposite wall, "but given the state of you, I'll let ya have your pick."

Steve blinked (or winked, not like Wayne could tell since the peas were pressed against half of his face) finally seeming to perk up a bit. "I can't take your bed."

"I'm not going to fight you for it, I'm just offering." Wayne responded, now focused on trying to locate the bandages in his ancient medical kit.

The one on Steve's hand was falling apart, and he didn't like the look of the injury he could see under it.

Yeah, Wayne was absolutely going to need to make a run to the store.

“Lemme see.” He asked as he finally got what he wanted.

It seemed to take Harrington a minute to process what Wayne wanted, but he finally held out his injured hand, watching as Wayne unwrapped the bandages.

"I'll take the couch." Steve said stubbornly, but Wayne was past it, too busy frowning at the kid's hand.

It took him a moment, once he'd gotten it all off, to properly realize what he was seeing--that the mottled bruising on Steve's wrist was separate from the cut across his palm.

In fact, it looked a hell of a lot like…

Wayne paused, then pretended to fuss with the dirty bandages for a moment while his eyes sought out Steve's other wrist.

Sure enough, matching bruises.

Someone had tied the kid up--and it hadn’t been the feds, because these bruises were partially healed.

Wayne had initially thought of Steve as having been tortured in the same way roving bands of neighborhood kids tortured their peers. The kind of hurt that came when it was an unfair fight; four on one and wielding knives, so you had to take what you were given and pray you didn't get stabbed.

He was not thinking actual, honest to God torture.

Yet here the evidence was, plain as day.

'What the hell went down in that mall.'

Someone as young as Steve shouldn't have been caught up in it, and it made a deep part of Wayne ache for the poor kid across from him.

All this shit, and his parents still couldn't be bothered to come home.Just left him on his own, as if it was another Tuesday.

Did they even know? Wayne wondered as he got to work. Had Steve, or Hopper, or anyone tried to call them about the mallfire? Let them know their son got hurt?

Jim said he hadn’t bothered to reach out regarding the spooks, but that had been a week or so later past the fire.

Wayne couldn’t even imagine it.

Getting a call that Eddie been involved in such a thing would have him off the couch in an instant, and the image that played on the news, the ones all the reporters talked over of a gurney being wheeled out of Starcourt’s on fire front doors…

He’d have been a wreck until he had his kid in his sights.

‘Nothing you can do for that,’ Wayne figured silently, ‘but you can help him now.’

Wayne wasn't exactly an expert when it came to wound care, but like many people who just couldn't afford to go to a doctor he'd gotten by.

Learned a lot of home remedies. Figured out pretty quick when something needed to be seen by an expert and when you could hold off.

Made friends with some of the local nurses on the night shift down at the Red Barn, well enough that a few well baked treats and dishes could sometimes be traded for looking over a potentially broken arm or two.

It had come in handy plenty, given Ed’s ability to attract trouble, but thankfully he’d never managed to hurt himself like this.

He’d never even gotten caught in a bad fight.

A black eye or two sure, but the kid had adapted his “scary” act not too long after Wayne had gotten him, and it seemed to work as intended. It was half the reason Wayne never said anything about it (and hell, even let Eddie take his ancient leather motorcycle jacket.) .

All of that was to say that he could tell Harrington's hand needed cleaning before it could be rebandaged, but didn't appear to need stitches.

Course pouring alcohol all over an injury like this wasn't exactly going to be fun, and he told Steve as such.

"I know." Steve replied, with a grimace. The kid’s injuries seemed to be getting to him, and Wayne anticipated he was going to drop here the second Wayne was done looking him over.

He hoped Harrington could get in a few hours--particularly before Eddie came home.

Wayne gently wiped it clean, noting how well Steve sat given the amount of pain he had to be in.

Tylenol, even given the more than recommended amount he'd given Steve, just wasn't going to cut it.

Not in general, and definitely not for this.

What could help was likely something Eds had, which was yet another conversation Wayne wasn't looking forward to having.

Particularly given that Eds had sworn off selling hard drugs after his last encounter with Hopper, and Wayne knew damn well that had only lasted until the damn kid caught sight of an overdue bill.

Too smart for his own good, Eddie was.

"I can give you something to bite down on, if you like." Wayne said to Steve, getting the alcohol and bandages ready to go.

He got a tight smile in response. "So long as you don't use a needle, I'm good."

And Wayne figured it was just teenager talk--a young man who didn't really know how bad this was going to be, and prepared himself to hold Steve's arm down accordingly so they wouldn't have to do it twice.

"Four." Wayne counted down. "Three. Two."

He poured on two.

Better that than Steve clenching up in anticipation.

Steve hissed, arm jerking, but stilled it under his own power as Wayne began dabbing his hand with some of the medkit’s wipes.

He felt his eyebrow raise as Harrington froze himself in place, breathing in a way that felt practiced.

This, Wayne decided, was not Steve's first rodeo.

"Almost done." He promised softly as he finished wrapping the wound back up, this time in the pattern he'd been shown long ago.

"Thanks." Steve said, blinking rapidly.

The kid's eyes were wet, but he didn't let a tear fall, and that perked Wayne's attention more than anything.

Some men felt they weren't allowed to cry--and pushed the same ideals on their sons.

It wouldn't surprise him any if Richard Harrington was one of them.

"I know you got hit more than just your hands and face kid." Wayne said, after letting Steve have a moment to recover. "You bleeding under that shirt?"

"Not bleeding." Steve murmured, looking more and more like he was struggling to stay upright now that the worst part was over. "I think my hand got the worst of it."

"Do I want to know what happened there?" Wayne asked, keeping his voice calm and non judgemental.

Like they were back to talking sports.

"I fell back into a broken window.” Steve responded, and now that Wayne had seen the kid lie, it was easy to see when he was telling the truth.

"Ouch." Wayne said flatly. Which made that hint of a smile flash across Steve's face.

"I'll cut you a deal. I taped last weekend's game, but haven't had time to watch it yet. I figure you might not have had a chance neither." He sat back, nailing Harrington with a no-nonsense stare. "You let me take a look at what they did to your chest n' back there, and I'll put it on."

Steve just looked at him a little miserably, a beaten dog still hesitant to wag its tail. "I don't think there's anything you can do for it, it's really mostly bruised. Nothing feels broken though."

"You know what broken ribs feel like?" Wayne questioned partially out of curiosity but mostly to make sure.

Teenage boys loved to think themselves immortal after all.

Or at least his did.

"Cracked, but yeah." Steve admitted. "Couldn't finish out the year on the basketball team because of it."

He said it like it didn't hurt, but Wayne knew better.

Boy like Steve?

He'd bet big bills something like basketball was all the kid really had, in terms of positive relationships.

(Except apparently, whatever had made Hopper decide to look after him.)

"I mostly just wanna make sure nothing looks like it's broken or bleeding internally son." Wayne said, then tried to cinch it with some good old guilt tripping. "I'd hate to have to tell Hopper that after all he went through to keep you safe, you up and died on my couch."

"Hey, it might save him some future gray hairs." Steve responded but he looked a little more open to the idea, at least.

It took a bit more coaxing, but Wayne finally got the kid to take his shirt off.

The damage had him whistling out of instinct.

A fucking artist had gone to town on his torso, with bruised of all shades parading around to his left side.

Thankfully most of it didn't hold that deep, dark tone that indicated any kind of bleeding, his back had scratches and road rash, and his shoulder had one long, thin line that looked a hell of a lot like Steve had narrowly avoided getting cut with a knife.

"You got lucky, kid." Wayne told him.

Steve let out a shaky breath. "I know."

He hesitated, then opened his mouth, a question clear on his face.

Which of course, was the exact moment Eddie chose to walk through the door.

"Hey old man, I--Harrington!?"

"Munson?" Steve said, looking just as confused. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here?" Eddie had frozen in their little entryway, so close the door nearly whacked him on the ass as it slammed closed.

Privately, Wayne cursed his nephew's awful timing.

"What are you doing here?" Eddie challenged back, and it was only years of Wayne knowin’ the kid to see he was struggling to decide how he wanted to react.

“Uh…” Steve said, trailing off and looking pointedly at Wayne.

Eddie saw this just as he registered all of Steve’s injuries. “Shit Wayne, did you hit him with your car?”

“Don’t try to be funny, boy.” Wayne warned. There wasn’t much bite there, and Eddie, far too used to him, didn’t take it seriously.

Eddie was glued to the spot, eyes narrowing, “... Did Harrington hit the car with his fuckin’ face? Jesus christ.”

Wayne could tell he was struggling to pull one of his usual little bits, eyes too wide and voice too high.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Eddie.”

“We can take him out back and shoot him, put the poor bastard out of his misery.” Eddie continued, like a runaway train.

All gas, no breaks.

It was a joke but a poor one, and it made Steve straighten out of his sideways slant.

‘Dammit.’ Wayne thought with a sigh.

He needed to stop this now, before the two of them went for each other's throats.

“Since you already know each other I won’t bother with introductions.” Wayne cut in, before Eddie could blow up like a tea kettle--or cause Harrington to do the same. “Steve’s gonna be staying with us for a while.”

That of course, got the reaction Wayne had been hoping to avoid.

Eddie stood stunned for a second, mouth gaping like a fish.

“Why!?” He finally landed on, seeming both at a loss for words, and equally trying not to have a proper meltdown in front of Steve.

Certainly wasn’t for Wayne’s benefit.

"I'm…" Steve glanced at Wayne a second time, "...on vacation?"

It took everything Wayne had in him not to run a hand down his face.

He was going to give Harrington a pass, on account of the head trauma.

"You’re vacationing here.”Eddie’s tone was flat, but seething, like a lit fuse. “In my living room?”

“...Yeah?” He finished poorly tone up-ticking at the end like it was a question. “It’s a--college thing. Supposed to help my applications.”

This time, Wayne did run a hand down his face this time.

God save him from idiot teenagers.

Hands clenched tight, Eddie took an aborted glance to the right before shaking his head hard and scoffing. At least it let Wayne know exactly what his kid was thinking.

To Eddie’s right was the counter where Wayne kept the bills.

Before he realized just how badly Ed’s daddy had messed him up about such things, Wayne hadn’t bothered to hide the bills that were past due. Turns out the kid noticed such things, and worry over money had been the leading factor in more than one of Eddie’s run-ins with Hop.

Clearly, he thought it was the cause of Wayne entertaining this bullshit.

Offense was written in every rigid line of his body, and Wayne knew betrayal wasn’t gonna be far behind.

“What the hell Wayne!” Eddie spat, taking a singular step forward, the accent he tried so hard to hide growing thicker the madder he got. “We’re not a damn experiment--why would you agree to that!?”

He had seconds to salvage this, before Ed’s ran and did something dumb.

“‘Steve’s here cause I owe Hopper a favor.” Wayne answered honestly, standing to put himself between the two. “He reminded me of all the times he’s been good to you, and then he called it in. Now,”

He cut Eddie off before his rant could pick up steam and bowl them all over. “I need you both to listen to me. Steve, I need Eddie to know the basics in order to keep you safe. I’ll only tell him what he needs to hear to understand why that is.”

Steve stared at him for a moment, catching Wayne’s eye as the elder man positioned himself so he could see both boys at once.

“Okay.” Steve said, dropping the hesitant tone for something serious.

Eddie said nothing, crossing his arms tightly over his chest and gripping the edges of his jacket hard enough to leave creases.

Judging that as good enough, Wayne continued. “He’s not here on vacation, Ed’s. Hopper has asked us to house Steve for a bit due to an ongoing situation. It’s a dangerous one, and it’s important you do not tell anyone that Steve is here.”

Eddie’s mouth did the thing it did when he desperately wanted to say something, but Wayne held up a finger in the universal “wait.” position.

“Let me finish.” He warned, and though he caught a hell of a glare for it, Eddie remained silent.

“Right now I need you to trust me, son.” He said softly, and prayed that alone was enough for now. “I don’t do things without a good reason behind it. I know you know that. Let me get Steve settled, and I’ll come talk to you.”

He could go in depth a little more, outside of Harrington’s eyesight. There Eddie would be inclined to drop the parts of his personality he put on blast as a defense mechanism, and ideally, Steve could get the sleep he so desperately needed.

“It’ll be tight, but we’ll all get through this so long as you two keep your heads. “You both got plenty of problems right now on your own, you don’t need to add to it. You understand?”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed dramatically as he sucked in a deep breath.

“Fine.” He snarled, letting air hiss through his clenched teeth. “As long as King Dick here can keep himself out of my shit.”

Steve didn’t rise to the bait--or perhaps, was simply too tired to want to do anything but exit the conversation.

‘Yes Sir.” He said instead, and Wayne didn’t bother correcting him that time. Simply clocked the title as a nervous tick of Steve’s and let himself feel that brief pang of sorrow that he’d caused the kid to backslide a bit trust wise.

No use for it, though.

Not if he wanted peace in his home.

“Good.” Wayne said.

Eddie stormed past, beeling towards his room.

The door closed with an angry slam, the sound echoing throughout the trailer.

Steve reacted like a puppet with its strings cut, letting out his own breath and going right back to slumping sideways.

“Come on kid.” Wayne said quietly. “I think it’s beyond time you got to lay down. Let’s get you a shirt and some blankets.”

Steve didn’t say a word, just managed to get himself up and over to the couch, fumbling for his bag.

“Oh.” He said after a moment, pulling a green sweater from the duffel and blinking dully at it. “Shit--I mean, shoot.” He shot a guilty look to Wayne, like Eddie hadn’t just sworn up a storm in front of them both.

“What’s the matter?” Wayne just asked.

“It’s nothing, I just-- grabbed the wrong bag.” Steve told him earnestly. It was clear the day had taken a hard toll on him, because he was blinking rapidly, fighting away sleep.

A bad sign, given the energy Eddie had just come in with.

It should be taking him longer to feel safe to drop off, and that he was doin’ so anyway was a bad testament to the state of him.

“You need a different one?”

Steve shook his head. “No this is just my grab bag for the Upsi-errrm.” He hummed, before falling silent for a minute.

Wayne let him fish for words at his leisure.

“These are just clothes that I couldn’t get stains out of, kept them as backups.” Steve managed, before beginning the long process of pulling a shirt on.

Wayne almost offered to help, except he knew he’d likely be rejected. It was too soon, the trust between them not there yet.

He almost let the clothing comment go, figured it as just one of those things the brain did when it was injured and run down. The sweater Steve was struggling with was expensive and soft, and Wayne didn’t even see a stain until the poor kid finally finished getting it on.

He nearly froze, for the second time that day, when he did.

On one sleeve, smeared like Steve had wiped his face with it, was a bloodstain.

This one was old, and clearly attempts had been made to get it out.

‘Aw kid.’ He thought, staring at Steve as the kid managed to swing himself up on the couch, looking seconds away from dropping off. ‘What the hell has life done to you.’

It didn’t take long before sleep took him, but Wayne watched over him for a bit longer anyway, working up to what the hell he was going to tell his kid.

Eddie might very well not forgive him for this, but Wayne had a shot now to head things off before they got worse.

He just had to find the right words.

#small town rumors #steddie #pre steddie #wayne pov #outsider pov #wayne munson is a bamf #hey look eddie showed up!#little shit FOUGHT ME and is still fighting me a bit in the next chapter #I need him to quit being an asshole and go into more of that hurt/comfort section of this fic #hurt/comfort #enemies to lovers #sorta #its on a03 noooowstranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #0o0 fanfics #beat to shit steve harrington

2K notes · View notes

myosotisa · 1 year

Text

Eddie walks in on you crying and he is immediately dropping to his knees.

Maybe you'd try to hide it. You don't like to show intense emotion like that, especially not in front of other people. Maybe it's been building for a long time and you just break without warning.

You're sitting at your desk with your face tucked into your shirt, tears streaming, hiccuping gasps, mouth contorted in a silent sob. Willing it to stop, to get back in control, for the sorrow to remove it's claws from your chest and let you breathe again.

Eddie edges the door open with his foot, about to bust in and shower you with affection, but the moment he sees you, hears your small cries, everything stops. He's across the room and to your side in 3 long-legged steps, dropping to his knees with his hands hovering, torn between wanting to grab you and tuck you into him and wanting to respect any space you need.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" His concern just makes you cry harder, hiding further into the neck of your shirt, back bending as you try to curl in on yourself. Eddie's heart breaks, his hands curling into tight fists as he battles his own indecision on what to do. "Baby, please talk to me. Can I hold you? Please."

Despite everything in your brain just wanting to be alone, to suffer in silence, to not show this side of yourself -- your heart wins out. You drop the curtain of cotton hiding your ruddy and wet face from him and reach out like a child. It makes you feel like one. But Eddie doesn't hesitate. He drags you out of your chair and onto the floor with him, tucking as much of yourself into him as he can. Arms wrapped around, thighs under yours, shaggy hair making a new curtain to protect your vulnerability from anyone other than him.

He covers you with warmth and care like a fiberglass blanket over a fracturing fire and it breaks you to pieces. Sorrow for yourself, for how you're feeling, for how hard it is to accept this comfort, for how much it means to you to finally have it now. For how willingly and readily Eddie was prepared to give it.

He holds you as you cry, whispering sweet things into your hairline like, "It's gonna be okay, baby, I've got you. I'm here." Rubs your back in little circles, presses his fingertips tighter when you cry out louder as the waves crash over you. He keeps holding you as your crying starts to die down into little sniffles, as your breathing evens out. He doesn't let go until you start to pull away, and even then it's with reluctance.

The moment he can see your face again he's cupping it in his big palms, eyes searching yours to see if he can find what is hurting you, slay the dragon that made you feel this way. When you just shakily smile, sniffling again, he presses a kiss to each cheek, to each eyelid, to the tip of your runny nose, to the center of your forehead. And then he drags you into his arms again.

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson hurt/comfort #eddie munson blurbs #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #myos ideas #did i write this while sobbing alone at my desk? yes i did #did it make me feel better? maybe a little bit #myo4munson

3K notes · View notes

goldetrash · 10 months

Text

Nightmares (LMK Comic/storyboard/fake screenshots?)

Content warning: Blood, character death, sad monkeys

2K notes · View notes

hairmetal666 · 1 year

Text

Steve and Eddie don't like each other at first. Or, no, that's not quite right. They're still bonded from everything. They're friends, sort of, but they don't spend time together outside the group, have trouble talking one-on-one.

Steve doesn't think about it much. So, he and Eddie won't ever be real friends, okay. He's a little disappointed, but mostly he doesn't understand how he feels about the other guy. He's always anxious when Eddie's around, clumsy and stuttering, infected with Robin's tendency to nervous chatter. It doesn't make sense. It's just Eddie. But that's the thing. It's Eddie and Steve doesn't know how to act around him.

And Eddie? Well, he spends a lot of time avoiding Steve because the fucking cascade of butterflies he gets every time Harrington is around. He knows what it means, knows even he isn't immune to the Harrington charm, but he needs to be. He needs to keep his heart safe. So, he keeps his distance because Steve Harrington is not for him and never will be.

It changes during movie nights. First it's teasing Dustin and Mike, mocking whatever horrible movie the kids put on, and then it's inside jokes, and playful bickering, and evenings with just the two of them drinking beer and sharing joints.

Then it's August. It's too hot everywhere and Steve's parents are home, so they're in Steve's car, driving with no destination, a couple joints in Eddie's jacket pocket and a six-pack in the trunk. They're listening to a mixtape Eddie made Steve, a bunch of metal. Steve still doesn't get it but there are a couple of songs he enjoys. Rainbow in the Dark starts--this is one Steve likes, reminds him of Eddie and not just because it's Dio. Sun filters through foliage and into the car windows, backlighting Eddie's curls like he's some kind of deity, beautiful and ethereal, not part of this world.

Steve starts singing along to the music, can't help himself. His friend throws him a beaming smile, big enough that Steve thinks his heart stops. He smiles back. He and Eddie sing the rest of the song together, and Steve is...he's content. He's happy. He hasn't felt this way since--well fuck--since 1983. Their eyes meet again, gazes linger, warmth pools in Steve's chest and low in his stomach.

Oh. He thinks. That's what this is. It settles something inside him, the knowing.

Time passes, they get closer, share a bed most nights. Doesn't matter where as long as they're together. Sleep better this way, both of them.

They're at the trailer when it happens, sharing a joint, loosely tucked against each other in bed.

"I've never had a friend like you," Eddie says. His eyes stay fixed on the smoke he exhaled. "I know you and Robin are--like, I get it. But you're--for me--"

"Yeah," Steve agrees. He flushes from his chest to forehead. "For me too."

It's enough, they both think. They're standing on the edge of more have been for months, but this? This is good. There's no need to push, to force. They're hurt, Steve thinks. They're healing. And they have time.

Corroded Coffin plays their first show back at the Hideout in December. Steve's never seen Eddie like this, performing. His shirt is cropped and artfully torn, his jeans more rip than pants. He's wearing eyeliner and his hair is wild. And the way he moves, sinuous and sleek, hips thrusting in a tantalizing rhythm as he shreds on the guitar. Steve wants so badly he feels it in his teeth.

He finds Eddie smoking behind the Hideout after the set. His eye are too bright, his smile manic, the adrenaline keying him up to the highest setting of Eddie. Steve knows he matches the energy, can't help it.

Eddie throws himself into Steve's arms, wrapping around him tight enough that no space lingers. The musician presses his face into Steve's neck, nuzzling, lips pressing against his pulse point. They touch always, share a bed and cuddle, but never like this; nothing like this. Steve pulls Eddie closer, and groans at the mutual swivel of their hips.

Eddie's breath comes in panting bursts, and Steve thinks, "here it is, finally, finally," but the door next to them bangs open and they jump apart at the noise.

Their friends and the rest of the Corroded Coffin guys come out, frolicking and shouting, complimenting Eddie on the show. If anyone noticed them embracing, notices the way they both adjust their clothing to hide their matching arousal, they don't say anything.

Steve wakes early the next morning, early enough that Eddie doesn't even stir beside him, hair wild and eyeliner smeared.

He gets out of bed, starts breakfast, chocolate chip pancakes and bacon, Eddie's favorite. He's so intent on cooking that he doesn't hear the other man come up behind him, doesn't realize he's even awake until a warm body presses to his back, long-fingered hands slipping under his t-shirt, tracing the scars on his stomach. He leans into it without a thought. They touch all the time, but they don't touch like this.

"Watcha making, sweetheart?" Eddie whispers.

"Your favorite," Steve answers.

Eddie makes a little sound, almost a whimper, and presses his face to Steve's neck. Steve lifts his chin, leaning into Eddie and offering more. Warm lips press against his jaw, down to the moles on his throat. A moan slips from his lips as he grinds his ass into Eddie's hardness. The other man groans, grabbing at Steve's hips.

Somewhere in the press of their bodies, Steve has the presence of mind to turn. He lifts his hands, cups Eddie's jaw, thumbs caressing the stubbled, scarred skin of his cheeks. "Okay?" He asks. His voice shakes.

Eddie's eyes are wide, shining, and he swallows hard. Steve knows he's overwhelmed, knows that the words won't come. Instead, Eddie nods, and finally finally they kiss.

Steve is flying. His blood soars in his veins, his heart lifts off. It was always supposed to be this. Always supposed to be them.

It was slow. It was easy. It was small jokes, and long looks, and little touches, and singing in cars and best friends and sharing beds.

His heart belonged to Eddie Munson for months. It will belong to him forever.

3K notes · View notes

hajihiko · 11 months

Text

Trust and belief and trust and belief and trust and belief and-

#Hajime hinata #Fuyuhiko kuzuryu #Sdr2 #Super danganronpa 2 #Danganronpa 2 #Danganronpa #Kuzuhina #God I'm so emotions these past days what is happening #Anyway here's comfort! For all the recent hurt hehe sry #Also I got inspired by my OWN art #From being papanorth. Which was specifically like ... different responses to different traumas #And a recent post about being patient and kind vs being passionate and reaffirming #An art #ANYWAY I have feelings and emotions sometimes! It's good times #It's a bit late but im posting anyway while my mood is high #Oh I forgot to include my own thoughts #Fuyuhiko is suspicious and assumes every unexpected touch is hostile. Except... hes learning not to.#Hajime has moments where he goes away for a bit and cant really engage with people. But... hes finding ways to ground himself as himself.

1K notes · View notes

samkerrworshipper · 7 months

Note

Please could you do an imagine with Lucy bronze where the reader is also on the England team and gets injured during a game and Lucy is basically just being really cute and fluffy as well as a little protective 🥰

AHHH

I loved this request sm so here you go!

i feel like this could be followed up with a part 2 to expand on the reader and lucy’s relationship so lmk if you want to see that! also please feel free to keep sending in requests god knows i need inspo rn lol

A shoulder to cry on

Lucy Bronze x Reader

fluff, lil bit of angst, injury, graphic injury, pain, hurt/comfort, 3200 words

blurb: when lucy’s girlfriend goes down in a match how does she deal with it and how does lucy look react

I was too busy watching the ball flying towards goal to see the body flying at me. Too busy focusing on the Australian goalkeeper to acknowledge the knees slowly sliding under my own feet. Too busy focusing on getting my team a goal to give us a chance to stop myself from being floored by the Australian whirlwind, Ellie Carpenter. I went head first into the turf, my body flopping down onto the grass with my head dug into the dirt. My ears were ringing and I was a groaning mess. My whole body hurt and I couldn’t even muster the energy to turn over to access the damage that had been inflicted. All I could feel was gut wrenching pain, from my feet all the way to my hip.

When I was finally turned over I was met with the sight of Ellie and Steph Catley, two Australians that I didn’t want to see right now. I was a screaming, shaking, crying mess. Both women were very clearly taken aback by my emotion. The stadium was a ruckus, and as my teary eyes flashed up I saw my goal being replayed on the big screen, a goal. At least that was something, I’d done something to help us claw our way back. We were 100 days off from the World Cup start though, 100 days. Judging by the amount of pain I was in though that was nowhere near enough time.

As a professional athlete there is always the background fear that you are going to get injured. An overwhelming worry constantly in the back of your head that maybe this time it is going to be your last, maybe the next time you step on the field it might be the last time in a while. As you become a professional, as you start playing for your nation you learn to silence that part of your brain, you can’t afford to live in fear that you are going to get hurt. But watching teammates, friends, people you love get hurt, reinstalls that part of your brain, makes you wonder if maybe you are next, maybe next time it’ll be your turn. That fear though, it’s nothing in comparison to actually getting hurt, nothing in comparison to realising maybe this time it actually is your last.

That was all I could think about as the two Australian women tried to talk to me, tried to communicate with me. The first one of my teammates to rush over was Leah, who shoved both Australians away before crouching down beside me.

“Hey y/n, take a deep breath, the medics are about to get here, you don’t need to worry.”

Leah’s words were like a breath of fresh air, a break from the constant ringing in my ears.

“L-ucy, need Lucy.”

Leah nodded at me, smiling down at my face and nodding. Her hand made it’s way down to my face and wiped away the tears that were falling.

“She’s on her way angel, just stay patient for me, she’s making her way over, just take those deep breaths.”

“Hurts, hurts so fucking bad.”

Leah nodded at me, I watched her eyes creep down my body to my legs and that was how I knew it was bad, because not even Leah could avoid looking.

“I know, I know angel, I am so sorry that I can’t do anything about that. Just keep taking those deep breaths for me.”

I couldn’t help but continue to sob as I waited for someone, anyone to give me some kind of relief. All I could feel was pain and it was clear in Leah’s mannerisms that she didn’t really know how to help me, how was she supposed to help me?

“Y/n, listen to me, take a deep breath, I know you are in pain, the medics are getting here as fast as they can so you just need to take some deep breaths.”

It didn’t help that we were positioned on the opposite side of the field that the medics would be on and it was also a problem that if the umpire hadn’t blown her whistle they wouldn’t be allowed on.

“How bad is it?”

The words left my mouth in between sobs and breaths. Leah clearly didn’t know what to say, she clearly didn’t want to worry me any more but Leah wasn’t a good liar and she had a shit poker face.

“Don’t worry about that, keep your eyes on me. It’s just me and you, kiddo.”

Leah had taken me under her wing long ago, she treated me like her little sister.

I watched her eyes flash up in a panic and before I knew it she was jumping off of her feet and rushing off in the direction behind my head. I couldn’t help but turn my head to watch where she was going. I was still a little bit spaced out so it took me a few seconds to spot her out but once I did I found her rushing towards Ellie, who was sitting a few metres behind me. I couldn’t figure out why she was rushing over until I spotted Lucy approaching, running towards her, a look of absolute anger on her face. Leah was trying to get to her before Lucy inevitably got to Ellie. I watched it unfold as Lucy just made it to Ellie before Leah did, yanking her up by under her armpits.

I didn’t get to see much more, my head was pulled back to being flat on the turf by Millie and Sam Kerr, my ex-teammates from Chelsea.

“Hey y/n/n, the medics are just about to get here, it’s going to be alright.”

Millie’s tone of voice was similar to that of Leah’s, calm, patient, the voice of a captain.

“I need Lucy.”

Lucy was my other half. The love of my life, my everything. I wanted her, I wanted her to be there to hold my hand and to tell me that everything was going to be fine, even if it wasn’t.

“I know, Leah’s sorting her out, she’ll be here in a minute.”

Lucy was insanely protective over me, to a concerning degree. In the past year I’d made the decision to move to Barca, to be with her and it had been great but something I’d learnt from playing alongside her regularly was that she was a little bit too protective over the people she loved. A defender did so much as foul me on the pitch and she did everything in her power to seek some sort of revenge whether it was in the form of physically hurting them or doing anything in her power to get to them.

“I need her Mil, please.”

Millie nodded at me and then looked at Sam, I was in fucking shambles.

“I’ll go get her okay, feel better kid.”

Sam patted me gently on the shoulder before leaving just me and Millie. I was still lying on the pitch, fighting back more tears as I looked up into the sky and just prayed for this to all be over, for the pain to subside and for everything to just dissipate.

The medics were the next people to make it over to us, accompanied by Sarina and our trainer. The game had obviously been stopped for me so they seemed to be in a rush to get me off, with my goal we had a shot at winning now.

“Hi Ms y/l/n, how are you feeling?”

“In pain.”

My answer was flat and the medic let out an empty laugh at my reply.

“Okay, on a scale of 1-10 where would you put yourself at?”

“A 6.”

Sarina snorted at my reply, she knew that I had a high threshold for pain, I’d met her originally when I was playing as a rookie for Chelsea, she’d been the Netherlands coach at time and the coach for a professional team in the Netherlands which she’d tried to recruit me for but I’d turned her down. I’d never have guessed a few years later she would be coaching me on a National level.

“That means its a nine.”

I glared at Sarina, she knew me a little bit too well.

“Okay, this is a penthrox whistle, it should administer immediate pain relief, enough that we should be able to get you on the stretcher and off the pitch.”

I looked at Millie, then at Sarina, then at the Medic, immediately shaking my head.

“I’m walking off.”

All of their faces told me that I was missing something.

“I can’t allow you to do that.”

In all of the chaos, all of the emergence, I hadn’t had the opportunity to even look at the source of my pain.

Before I could say anything more Lucy was crouching down beside my head and I couldn’t have been more grateful to see her. Her hand slid into mine and just her face, her smile, it was enough to make me feel like I wasn’t fighting a fucking battle.

��Luce, can you please tell them to let me walk off the pitch, just let me have that.”

I was fighting back tears and I could tell that Lucy was fighting an internal battle. Her eyes flashed down to my legs and then back to my face and just the split second gasp was enough to tell me that it was bad, really bad. Her hand fell to my face and that was how I knew it was not good and that was when I started sobbing again.

“How bad is it? Stop beating around the bush just tell me.”

All of the people above me looked between each other before the medic spoke,

“Your knee is dislocated, you’ve got some deep lacerations and stud marks in your shins and a piece of your tibia is sticking out of one of them. You are bleeding a lot, we need to get you off the field and to hospital, take the green whistle and we’ll get you off the field as soon as possible.”

Those words hurt, a lot, more than the injury itself. I nodded to the medic, I wasn’t walking off the field with that list of injuries, I was surprised I was still conscious with that comprise of injuries.

“Baby, just take the pain meds, you're in enough pain.”

Lucy’s voice, her convincing was probably the only thing that made me nod my head and let them pass me the inhaler. I got straight to inhaling it, and within the first ten or so inhalation I felt the pain relief start to kick in. It was good, it made me feel almost ten times better. Lucy was there the whole time, whispering sweet nothings into my ear as they medic attended to my legs and Sarina wrapped a blanket around my shivering upper half.

It was about five minutes before I was floating on a pain free drug induced cloud. When that happened they started to transfer me to the stretcher, with the help of Sarina, Lucy, Millie, Leah and the two medics. It was a touchy process, they were very clearly trying to keep the movement of my leg limited. The actual movement of getting me onto the stretcher had me screaming, pain relief or not it hurt insanely and I knew at that moment that my World Cup dreams were pretty much over. I cried the whole way to the ambulance. Lucy and my teammates had to desert me once I made it over to the sideline so they could finish off the game, eventually, along the way I passed out from the mixture of drugs and blood loss, something I was grateful for.

When I started to stir I had a headache but I felt warm. It took me a few seconds before I cracked my eyes, it was dark outside, my room was dark. But not so dark that I couldn’t make out everything around me, the lights from the hallway and machines giving me a steady source of light. The first thing that I saw was that a big percentage of the Lionesses were piled into the room, Georgia, Leah and Keira and piled onto a pull out sofa, Rachel, Millie and Mary sharing the spare cot beside me and a few of the other girls scattered in seats across the room. It was cute, looking at all of my teammates who were clearly gassed from the game but still here. Sarina and Lucy were slumped in the seats immediately to my side. Just as I let my eyes float over to Lucy her own blueish eyes tiredly connecting with my own. A tight lipped smile made its way to her mouth as she acknowledged me.

“Hey baby.”

Her voice was hushed, it was clear she was trying her hardest not to awaken any of our teammates. As she blinked away the sleep she slipped her glasses over her face, locking her eyes properly with me once the frames were slipped over her eyes. Her voice was enough to put more tears in my eyes, I was pretty sure I’d cried enough tears for about six people.

She stood up quietly, letting her hand fall to my face, gently rubbing a circle against my cheek. It was enough to have my lip trembling and my eyes darting across the room. Before I knew it I was a pleading staggering mess.

“Why me? Why now?”

Lucy’s facial expression just broke into a frown and I could feel her worrying from a few centimetres away from me. Before she said anything she pressed her lips to my forehead. I sobbed into her, not really worried about waking up any of our companions.

“I know sweetheart, I know, it’s okay, I’m going to be here for you every step of the way.”

My breaths came out in hiccups and the hospital gown I was in clung to my body with the sweat that I was producing from working myself up.

“How bad is it, did we win?”

My words came out in pieces, it sounded like my Spanish, which was very rough and not very consistent.

“No, but don’t worry about that. They relocated your knee, you had to have surgery on your leg but it’s just a metal plate and some stitches for the lacerations from Carpenter’s boot.”

I honestly felt bad for the Australian defender, she’d had it bad enough with the press for the last while, let alone getting someone else’s blood all over their cleats.

“So my world cup dream is over.”

Lucy let the words hang in the air for a few seconds, it solidified the words in the room.

“Hey, not necessarily. The doctor said that the surgery went really well, that the fracture was pretty minor and that he expects a speedy recovery. You could be back running in 4-6 weeks.”

Even Lucy didn’t sound that optimistic, it was clear she was trying her hardest but she was struggling.

“My fitness will be shot, 4-6 weeks off the pitch pre world cup practically guarantees my spot gone, even if I’m running, in what world would Sarina take the chance of putting me on the pitch.”

Lucy’s brow furrowed, it was hard to catch in the dim light but I managed to with my eyes adjusting to the darkness.

“I won’t have anyone putting my girl down, especially not you. You will be fine. I can’t promise you that you will make it back on the pitch, you will make it to Australia, if it’s the right fit. Maybe it won’t be, maybe that’s fate and I know that’s shit to accept, shit to get the short straw and I am so sorry that you are in that position. If I could switch with you I would. I would do anything for you and you know that, I’ll be here for you everyday, I will give up anything to make this easier for you, I can promise you that. I can promise that I’m here to be whatever you need. You need a shoulder to cry on? I’ve got two. You need someone to listen? I’ve got two working ears and great advice if you want it. You need someone to just be here for you? I will sit with you for as long as you need.”

Lucy’s words hit home for me. She had always been willing to do anything for me, she’d walk to the ends of the earth to do anything for me, she’d made that clear from when we’d first met. I’d been apprehensive from the beginning but she’d fought and fought until I’d given into her and when I had I’d fallen head over heels in love with the woman.

I moved myself over in the bed and patted down next to the space I’d left open beside me. Luc seemed apprehensive to begin with, her eyes darting between my leg and my eyes.

“Please, I just want my girlfriend to hug me, can I have that?”

Lucy bit her lip, she was clearly a little bit nervous about the idea but her slumped shoulders and tired eyes were enough to tell me that she was tired and just as needy as I was. Neither of us slept well without the other, on the rare occasion that we were separated we both struggled with the loss of contact.

“I’m not sure y/n/n, I don’t want to hurt your leg.”

She was so cute when she was nervous, her voice a nervous murmur. I put her worry to rest fairly quickly though, the pain meds were running through my veins and I was equally as tired.

“Luce, my bad leg is on the other side, I just need some contact, I need to feel loved and comfortable and this hospital bed is making that hard, so please, just hug your girlfriend.”

Lucy sighed and nodded at me, she couldn’t deny me, ever, I had her wrapped around my little finger.

“Alright, how about I slide behind you and you can rest against me?”

It took a little bit of push and shove and some wincing and pain on my side but eventually we got Lucy situated behind me, up against the pillows. I was resting comfortably against her chest and stomach, my head resting in her neck. It was everything I’d needed to make me feel a little bit better and once we’d both gotten settled I smiled up at her gratefully. She pressed her lips to my forehead, I swore that I could feel the compassion behind it but maybe that was the morphine speaking.

“I love you.”

She’d smiled down in that goofy way that she did when I gave her a compliment. Lucy was a goofball, it was one of the things that I loved about her. She was always laughing and making people around her laugh, she was just full of good energy and it made me a better person.

“I love you too, my love, always, get some rest. It’s all going to be okay.”

#woso #lionesses #leah williamson #marry me rn #woso community #lucy bronze #lucy bronze x reader #millie bright #sarina wiegman #lionesses x reader #injury #i love some hurt/comfort #little bit sad #we love a supportive girlfriend

512 notes · View notes

pinkcalamawham · 4 months

Text

#trolls #trolls band together #dreamworks #dreamworks animation #fanart #dreamworks trolls #trolls poppy #trolls branch #trolls broppy #broppy #queen poppy #trolls fanart #branch x poppy #my troll art #a lil bit of hurt/comfort on this tuesday morning

327 notes · View notes

ohhyperbola · 17 days

Text

im going to sleep. goodnight.

224 notes · View notes

firstofficerkittycat · 16 days

Text

post naked time kirk knocking on spocks door in the middle of the night like sorry to wake you but we really need to look over this report for tomorrow and when the door closes he touches his face where he hit him and says im sorry and spock says i know and he just collapses into his arms crying and when he can breathe again he says i wish things were different and spocks like they were different once it stands to reason that they will be again and kirk says in our lifetime i hope and then they replicate chinese food and watch the secret life of sherlock holmes

#we may risk it some day mr spock #k/s #spirk #the naked time #the bit where that guys like mr watson...???.?is your glass of tea???and sherlock is like if u want to be picturesque about it #jim gets rly smug and turns to him like ur my glass of tea :) and makes him snort #hurt/comfort #angst

158 notes · View notes

collectivecloseness · 3 months

Text

Eddie Munson getting a bump/bruise/cut on his head that you put a bandaid on, and he’s bumping it into your mouth every fifteen seconds, like a cat, and being the whiniest baby ever. He needs you to kiss his mark now! Every time, every second! Love him! He’s hurt! Help him!

‘Nooooo’ he whines when you are not kissing it/him. It was his own fault he got it, you told him to be careful when he was acting like his usual self, pre-bandaid. You’ve given him some ibuprofen and water, but he’s all cuddled up to you and not going anywhere.

He will straight up look at you offended if you even mention you are getting up, like he will give you the most offended and sometimes bitchy look, for real. How dare you even think about leaving him in his condition right now?

He’ll nuzzle his bandaided head into your mouth tirelessly, so much that no matter where you move your head, or if you’re trying to talk, you’ve got a plaster and Eddie’s boney head and a tonne of curls following your face everywhere, nuzzling right into your lips so you can’t even talk to Eddie about it. You’re smothered easily once again.

There’s no escape from Eddie and his need. You could breathe if you just gave him his kisses like he wanted! Eventually you get too busy pulling hairs out your mouth, while Eddie’s whimpering into your jaw, how you’re just being so horrible to him, whilst still hiding in your face.

Eddie is your stubborn and soft baby but he will just ram his head into your face harder if you say that. When you ask him if his injury hurts so much why is him acting like a horned goat not making him cry in pain, he just grabs your arms and pulls them over himself instead. Not letting you move your arms out of his tight hold whatsoever.

When you stop babying Eddie, or tease him too much, he’s telling you how mean you are to your injured boyfriend, saying don’t you always tell him boys can show their vulnerable side too, and why won’t you use your mouth for less bullying him and more magical healing kissing? Why don’t you love him anymore huh?

He keeps up with this all the way until nighttime, even if it happened in the morning. He’ll be the saddest/most annoying (whatever works) boy all day long so you stay snuggled up with him, looking after your poor injured helpless baby.

Eddie will only fall asleep with you constantly giving kisses around, not on, his very small no longer even hurting mark, swearing that’s the only way he can be lulled to sleep. Blinking those dark brown eyes up at you if you stop, and pouting about how he can’t sleep the pain away if you do that.

And God, Eddie Munson can sell cute.

And that’s just how Eddie dozes off after a long hard day for him, with your arms and legs wrapped around him, his own limbs clinging around yours, and with constant kisses to his injured head until he’s knocked out peacefully in bed snuggled into you, unrelated to his head trauma

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x reader #eddie munson hcs #Eddie Munson thoughts #Eddie Munson fluff #stranger things #Eddie Munson/reader #eddie munson hurt/comfort #I found this draft and spruced it up a bit more but I rly wanna get back into the swing #it’s the actually starting again that’s so hard and in the past 2 months I’ve nearly finished tonnes of fics I’ve just not quite gotten ther #like I’ve got multiple nearly complete fics but I just keep feeling like they’re all missing smth #I think I need to just get over it and post one and then I’ll have kickstarted my brain again maybe lmao

321 notes · View notes

thefreakandthehair · 1 year

Text

weaponized insomnia strikes again, my friends. I wrote this between the hours of 2am-3am so if you see errors, simply ignore. I don't even really know what this is but I just think the idea of Eddie reaching out for Steve is neat. <3

It starts innocently enough— a simple touch of his fingers to Steve’s forearm.

A ghost, a whisper of skin to skin, is all it takes to ignite a fuse that’s been destined to burn since the second Eddie held that bottle to Steve’s throat in a rundown shack. Eddie shouldn’t be surprised that that’s how their story starts, really. What had he expected? Something traditional? Laughable. No, instead, the very tips of his fingers reach for Steve’s arm from the lumpy mattress of his hospital room, surrounded by beeping monitors and sterility, and that’s all it takes.

When he learns how to walk again, it’s Steve on the other end of the room, an encouraging smile plastered across his face and ready to grab his hands to steady him at even the slightest wobble.

When he wakes up screaming, it’s Steve at his bedside before even the nurses. They’re ready with sedatives but Steve rubs his shoulder, traces over the scars on his collarbone to quell the phantom burning, and sure, the medications help but he keeps reaching for Steve first anyways.

When he finally leaves the hospital, flanked by Hopper, Wayne, and Steve to shield him from ignorant townspeople who don’t get the he’s innocent memo, it’s Steve he finds himself reaching for once they’re safely in the backseat of the Hopper’s cruiser.

It only makes sense, then, that it becomes a habit. Outside of the hospital walls, Eddie keeps reaching and Steve’s always there, reliable as a lighthouse guiding ships to shore.

It evolves slowly as the fuse sparks, and sure, Steve’s still the one he reaches for when the anxiety sets in, like the time the old clock chimes in the library as he studies for his GED, but he finds himself with his hands on Steve for less dire reasons, too.

Movie night? Their forearms touch from the cramped quarters of Eddie’s living room, or their thighs line against one another, or Eddie’s arm drapes over the back of the couch so his fingertips graze the soft material of Steve’s Henley.

Smoking in the back of the van? Eddie knows that Steve can light his own joint, he’s seen him do it hundreds of times at this point, but he can’t help the urge to light it for him, letting his fingertips graze the warm skin of Steve’s knuckles in the process.

Lugging the kids to and from the arcade? Steve makes a joke about someone’s attitude (the someone depends on the day, honestly, but Dustin’s emerged as the most frequent offender) and Eddie can’t hold himself back from nudging their shoulders together and watching Steve’s smile grow at the touch. Eddie knows he’s reaching for a reason, but he tamps it down the best he can with his metaphorical Rebooks because it’s Steve. He can’t risk losing his tether, his anchor, by fucking it up with feelings. He can ignore it. It’s fine.

And it is, until one day, Steve reaches for him.

The movie they’d chosen didn’t warn them before showing a brutal slasher scene and Eddie’s skin crawls at the sights and sounds of the victim being torn apart. Every scar on his body feels like it’s on fire but before he can reach, before he can grip Steve’s arm tight enough for his fingernails to leave little crescent moon marks in the summer-baked tan of his flesh, Steve’s hand is on his thigh. Warm, heavy, and grounding, Eddie stares down where their bodies connect.

“Not really feeling this one, let’s do Ferris Bueller again?” Steve stops the VHS and sets it to rewind.

Eddie’s still staring at Steve’s hand on his thigh. Even before it was Steve, Eddie’s always been the one reaching. For friends, for comfort, for companionship. He’s reached with his hands, his heart, his words. Hellfire and Corroded Coffin are both tangible expressions of the depth of his reaching but for all of the ways he’s extended olive branches to those he felt deserving, few have reached back— and the ones who had felt nothing like Steve. Steve touches beyond something his skin, touches something buried deep, perhaps a locked chest to which his fingers hold the lone key.

“You alright?” Steve asks, turning his body slightly to face him and leaving his hand in place.

Eddie finally tears his eyes from his thigh to meet Steve’s gaze. His eyes, green specks and all, watch him with such fondness that it makes him ache. He nods and swallows the lump in his throat.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good. Thanks.” His voice is barely more than a whisper and Steve’s brows knit together, a little wrinkle appearing between them.

“You sure? You look, I dunno, off. Wanna talk?”

It's a loaded question and the facade of it’s fine that Eddie's built up over months shatters like the glass it’s made of.

“You— I— Steve, please don’t let this fuck up our perfectly good friendship, please—” He’s sure that Steve can hear the clattering in his chest but just ignore it, opting instead to move his hand from Eddie’s thigh up to his shoulder. Soft fingers brush his hair away from his face, rub small circles into his skin over his shirt, settle there like a weighted blanket. So many soft touches, so much reaching, and Eddie doesn’t know what to do with any of it.

“Take a breath, man. I’m here. What’s up? Was it the movie? You looked fucking tense, I probably should’ve picked up on it soone—”

“Why? Why should you’ve picked up on it sooner?” Eddie interrupts, turning to face him with wide eyes and hope and terror.

“Uh, because it’s you? I know your tells, Eddie. I do pay attention.” It’s almost indignant, the way Steve phrases it. I know you, I see you, duh? As if it’s not the first time in his life that’s happened.

Eddie thinks he’s going absolutely batshit when he hears himself say, “Steve, I like you.” The fuse that’d been lit creeps down to its final thread and Eddie explodes.

“I like you way more than I should, way more than a friend should like another friend, you know? And, and touching you the way I have been has been enough for me, really, because I’d rather have that than have nothing because those are the obvious two options and I just— fuck, I don’t know why I’m talking or saying any of this but I convinced myself it’d be fine but now you’re touching me and you’re seeing me and I don’t— I don’t know what to do with that?” Eddie stops for a breath and pushes on, talking himself in circles.

Steve watches with the same raised eyebrows and beguiled expression he gives Robin when she rambles, except the drumming of his heart is a dead giveaway that no, this fondness in his chest is not the same. Finally, his own fuse burning out in tandem with Eddie’s, Steve lets his hand travel from its resting place on Eddie’s shoulder to trace his collarbone, the side of his neck, and landing gently against his cheek. Eddie’s mouth snaps closed mid-sentence and he glances down, trying to see his own cheek and the hand that’s thumbing beneath his cheekbone.

Silence is a heavy blanket, wrapping them together in the warmth they’ve created on the oversized couch.

“I’m gonna kiss you, okay?” Steve’s close enough that Eddie can smell the pizza they’d eaten for dinner and feels his breath against his skin. His lips part unconsciously and he nods, the only response he can muster. Steve gently pulls him in and presses their lips together, his other hand gliding across to grip Eddie’s waist while Eddie’s tangle themselves in the front of Steve’s shirt. It’s slow, and it’s patient, and it’s just as wonderfully soft as Eddie’s imagined the many, many times he’s let himself imagine.

Eddie keeps reaching, and Steve reaches back.

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #stranger things #myfic #mostly fluff with a teensy bit of angst hurt/comfort sprinkled on top like parmesan cheese #myblurbs

1K notes · View notes

nburkhardt · 5 months

Text

😇 🎄

With winter coming up that means holidays and that means, he’s going to be alone for a long period of time and truthfully?

He’s not ready.

He’s not ready to be at a house that isn’t a home, that his go-to escapes are busy with their families and traditions.

Busy going away to visit family and enjoying the warm of homes.

Steve’s been dreading this month, not just for the bad memories from the upside down. But because since the age of fourteen, he’s been on his own. Before fourteen, it was being shipped off to grandparents and as a child he loved it.

Holidays with his grandparents was fun and loud, full of life. He’d get new toys, shoes and even a bike! Then his parents decided he was old enough to be alone, that they didn’t need to spend money to ship him off to another state and back.

Now at nineteen, he could technically travel by himself. With his own money even. But every time he thinks of buying a ticket or starting to pack an overnight bag, his hands shake and there’s a whisper about how it’ll all come back the minute he’s gone.

So, he stops and continues to move around a lifeless house and pull a smile on his face around his friends. Lies to their faces about how his family will come by and not to worry about him.

But as he waves Robin off, he realizes maybe he should’ve figured out something else. Because now, now with his soulmate going out of state for the holidays, he’s actually alone now.

Oops my bad, had some thoughts and this popped out 😇

A fluffy and sappy follow up

Permanent tag list under the cut

@spectrum-spectre @itsfreakingbats @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @solliesolesito @navnae @i-less-than-three-you @grimmfitzz @estrellami-1 @cartercaptainofthemoon @strangersteddierthings

#angst #steve harrington #steve needs a hug #stranger things #fic #nburkhardt writes #hurt/no comfort #I’m sorry a little bit #maybe I could write a follow up #if someone asks 😇

224 notes · View notes

vampykween · 5 months

Text

husband!simon x reader except they hate each other and they probably always will :,( i’m in an angsty mood today sorry (but also not sorry it’s my fav) also this is barely proof read so sorry for any errors

“i fucking hate you.”

“yeah, yeah try a little harder love. hit me with something i haven’t heard before.”

“god you’re such an infuriating, egotistical, and moody asshole. sometimes i wake up and want to roll over and smother you with your own damn pillow.”

simon simply quirks an eyebrow at you and his lips turn up in a devilish smirk. “oh really? what’s stopping ya? please put me out of my misery, truly. you think i want to come home to you bitchin’ and moanin’ all the time, huh?”

your husband’s words add fuel to the already raging inferno inside of you. if this were a cartoon steam would be billowing out of your ears. there was very little, besides the fact that simon was far stronger than you, stopping you from throwing your hands around his neck and popping his stupid head clean off his shoulders.

“fuck you. god if i had know you were such a piece of shit, i would’ve never married you.”

“ ya already did, babe. got the proof right upstairs.” at the mention of your kids, you felt some of the fight die down in you. god you swore you wouldn’t be those parents that fought around their kids, made them feel like their home wasn’t a safe environment to be in. now look at you, you can barely stand the sight of your husband sometimes, but you’re so afraid of being alone; so you grin and bear it in front of them, only to slam your bedroom door and rip into each other all night long. sometimes that was also literally, embarrassing as it is to admit, you’re pretty sure you and simon have far more hate sex than any other kind of sex. hell you can’t remember the last time you just wanted the intimacy of being with him.

simon notices your lack of griping and moves from his spot on the couch over to where you’re standing by the archway of the living room. he takes stock of the frustrated tears pooling in your eyes and is suddenly overcome with the urge to comfort you. once upon a time he did love you, really love you. then one day, marriage was harder than you two thought, and work always kept him away, and soon enough getting pregnant wasn’t as easy as the movies made it seem. slowly life took the two of you, chewed you up far past recognition, spit you out and said here you go, have fun un-fucking each other up.

simon pulls you into his arms and your face goes into the familiar spot in the crook of his neck.

you know soon you’ll return to nagging, fighting, screaming, and crying- but for now, in this moment, in your husband's arms, you can pretend everything is okay.

#all hurt but like a tiny bit of comfort #you two are so toxic for each other!!!#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley angst #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley angst #mic writes #toxichusband!ghost #toxichusband!simon

333 notes · View notes

samkerrworshipper · 5 months

Text

bad days | vivianne miedema x beth mead

based off of the recent article they did for the athletic that made my heart swell… basically viv has a bad anxiety day and beth is there for her

warnings: angst, anxiety, hurt/comfort, fluff

Beth’s watching Myle run laps around the kitchen as she trundles around trying to make dinner.

It’s chicken pesto pasta, Viv’s favourite.

Myle somehow managed to get her toy stuck in the opening of a cupboard, tugging with the piece of rope tirelessly, trying to free it from the tight space it’s stuck in.

Beth spectates for a few seconds, before realising that the tiny puppy has absolutely no hope of freeing it, so she leans down and pulls it out of the cupboard door hinge.

The puppy, now with the toy hanging half out of its mouth because of how small her jaw is, continues running around, looping around Beth’s feet as she watches over the pots and pans that are cooking steadily on the stove.

It’s moments like these that make Beth so incredibly grateful for the life that Viv and her have built together, the little mundane domestic moments that are just a part of everyday life, but the routine has wormed its way into Beth’s heart and she couldn’t be happier about it.

Beth flips over the chicken and stirs the pasta, the food is only a few minutes from being done.

It’s as she begins to bring out the plates and cutlery that she realises Myle has disappeared into thin air.

If it was any other time of day, Beth wouldn’t really stress it, the puppy is always causing trouble around the house. But, Myle has very quickly discovered that whenever Beth is in the kitchen she’s making food, and the off chance that she might drop something for the puppy to collect normally means that the puppy doesn’t stray far from her feet, yet alone the kitchen.

Beth’s curious more than anything, a touch worried but not really. Normally when Myle gets stuck somewhere or in something you know about it fairly quickly, the puppy has lungs as strong as a big husky, sometimes she worries for their neighbours when Myle gets antsy in her crate in the middle of the night and starts crying like a newborn baby.

Anyone who says having a puppy is easy, is wrong, obviously Beth wouldn’t compare it to an actual child, but it’s pretty fucking tiring.

“Myle, pup?”

Normally the call of the dogs name would have her running, bounding around any corner or hallway that she was exploring, that’s why Beth’s tinge of worry grows a little bit when she’s not rewarded with the sound of pattering paws or tapping toes.

Beth glances over to the couch, where she’s fairly certain Viv was sitting, not a few minutes ago, looking for her lover and her worry only growing when she realises that the couch, the room she’s standing in is completely empty.

Beth, quicker than she’d care to admit turns off the stove, pouring the pasta into a strainer and moving the chicken onto a chopping board before leaving the kitchen and walking slowly down the hallway, peeking her head into each room.

“Vivi, bubba, where are you?”

Beth makes it past their bedroom, sticking her head into the room and not spotting anything out of the ordinary, the ensuite light is off so she assumes it’s empty.

She keeps moving, the spare room is just as empty as the master bedroom, and so is their office space.

“Viv, liefde, where are you?

Beth makes it past the bathroom, and her worry only seems to grow from it’s spot in the pit of her stomach when she realises it’s just as empty as the rest of the house. It’s as she’s making it to the very end of the hallway, approaching the laundry room that she recognises a little bit of light peeking out from under the door.

“Vivianne, lovey?”

As Beth approaches, she also realises that the door is slightly ajar, so she pokes her head around and instantly becomes a little bit more relaxed when she spots the hunched over form of her girlfriend, little Myle balanced in her arms, cuddled in her sweatshirt and chest.

“Vivi, love, you had me worried.”

Beth is a little bit exasperated, still letting her heart settle from the little spike of anxiety, so it takes her a few seconds of looking at her girlfriend to pick up on the fact that something seems amiss.

“Viv, honey?”

Viv peeks her head out of the shoulder of her hoodie, Myle almost immediately laying licks and kisses all over Viv’s face, Beth gets a good enough look at her though to recognise the tear tracks on her partner's face, and her wobbly lip.

Beth takes a deep breath, before fully stepping into the cramped laundry space, closing the door behind her and sitting down against it.

“Why are we in the laundry room, sweet girl?”

Beth has an inkling of an idea what Viv could be upset about or worked up about, but truthfully she’s in the dark mostly. So she starts with the easier questions, hoping that it’ll give her an idea about why Viv is upset.

“Washing machine, calms me.”

Viv’s words are thready, her laboured breathing and anguished tone an indicator to Beth that this isn’t any minor little breakdown.

“Silly me, I forgot about that. What do you need Vivi?”

Beth knows that this isn’t the time to try and ask Viv about whatever is happening up in her head, it’s a pointless battle, Viv can hardly piece together words, trying to get her to talk about her feelings would be impossible.

“J-just talk to me?”

Beth smiles at Viv, nodding in agreement immediately and leaving no room for Viv to find any doubt.

“Indulge my chatterbox? You know that I’m always happy to do that!”

Beth is peppy, Beth is happy, Beth is kind.

Beth is ready to be anything that Viv needs when she’s struggling.

“Vivi, do you want me to come sit with you? Or do you want some personal space?”

Vivi’s lip ends up in between her front teeth, her brain toying with either option.

Beth sees the doubt, the last thing Viv ever wants to be is needy, especially when she is suffering, so Beth decides to rephrase.

“Vivi, it’s your decision, but I can come sit with you, or you I can stay here, my voice carries.”

Beth keeps her voice light, welcoming, sunny.

She smiles when Viv nods a little bit, her head nodding down at the space beside her.

Beth scootches her ass against the tile floor, until she’s sitting beside Viv, leaning on the washing machine.

Without Beth even initiating contact, Viv’s head is sliding down to the seat of Beth’s thighs, the back of her head resting against Beth like a pillow.

Myle’s tucker under Viv’s hoodie, resting on her chest, the puppy’s little snout peeking out at the collar, fast asleep.

Beth’s hands fall down to Viv’s hair, untying the tight bun gently and beginning to card her fingers through Viv’s hair and scalp, massaging out any tensions or knots.

“Myle peed outside for the first time on command this morning, whilst you were on your walk, should have seen the zoomies that she did after I gave her the reward treat. I swear every single day that dog achieves a new level of energy. Leah and Lia came over for some puppy cuddles as well, I’m pretty sure Le’s on her way to convincing Lia to get them one of their own, I reckon give it a few weeks and Myle’s going to have a little playbuddy.”

Myle had been a rather rash decision, unsurprisingly Beth’s purchase.

Viv was dealing with a setback, whilst Beth was living out all her dreams on the field, and Beth knew that it was getting to her.

Not that Viv would ever be envious or jealous of Beth, never, she was so incredibly proud of her girlfriend and everything she was achieving.

Recovering from a major injury sucked though, and the recovery wasn’t linear or identical for anybody.

So, when an ad showed up for some puppies from the same breeder that her family had gotten Rona from, and Viv had been having a really hard week, Beth had decided to jump the gun and buy her.

Beth was fairly certain it had been one of the best decisions she could make, Viv’s attachment to the dog had been almost immediate, and her general mood had improved massively.

She still had her bad days, everyone did, but the puppy was something to be grateful for everyday, something that didn’t represent soccer, or any of the other things it felt like she kept failing at.

Viv’s breathing is thick and laboured, Beth takes notice but doesn’t bring it up, she decides that if it worsens any more she’ll intervene but otherwise it’s just a practice of making sure that it doesn’t go on for too long.

“Those packages with the new sheets came in, the comfy ones that we checked out in those windows in London. They’re divine, I swear they are the comfiest things I’ve ever felt, I’m sure you’ll love them. I’ve cooked chicken pesto for dinner, for whenever you're ready. It’s technically bath night and my knee is sore from training earlier so if you wanted we could have a bath, and use the special salts that we save for special occasions?”

Beth watches Viv’s face relax a little. When Viv's anxious or stressed she needs routine, she needs to know what’s happening, she needs to be aware of what’s happening around her.

Beth knows from experience, she's learnt how to denominate as much outside stress as possible, it makes it easier to get to the bottom of whatever is happening.

“Vivi, whenever your ready, how about we get off the floor, hmm? Your knee has to be sore sitting down here?”

If Beth could, she would sit on the floor with Viv for hours, just whispering sweet nothings into her ear, but her own knee is starting to get sore, and if Beth’s knee is getting sore, chances are Viv’s is as well.

When Viv’s anxious, she struggles to express her needs and struggles, it’s hard for Beth to know all of the time, but their knees are something they have in common.

“S-sorry, didn’t mean to cause you pain.”

Viv’s voice is quiet, her big deep breaths coming through between every word.

“Nothing to be sorry for my love, just looking out for you, so how about we get up, we can go wherever you’d like.”

It’s sort of a lie when Beth thinks about it, because they obviously can’t go wherever Viv would like, they have to be here, they’re stuck in this house, which sucks, but that’s just their lives.

“Couch and chicken pesto?”

Beth smiles and nods at Viv, a big wide smile, she’d hoped that Viv was feeling well enough to eat, whether the Dutch woman wanted to admit it or not, she got grumpy if she didn’t eat her three meals a day.

Beth stays on the floor with Viv for another minute, soaking up it all before gently pushing Viv’s head out of her lap and standing up, before Viv can object, Beth’s reaching down for her armpits and lifting Viv up and onto her hip.

It’s an awkward exchange between the two of them, Viv is so long and langy, and a lot larger than Beth is. The weight is nowhere near an issue, it’s just Viv’s stature, Beth’s just glad it’s only a 20 metre walk to the couch, where she very gently deposits Viv and Myle, right back to the spot she’d previously occupied.

It’s clear Viv is physically upset when Beth lets go of her, so Beth makes sure to reassure her.

“Viv liefje, I’ll be back in just a minute, just going to go grab our food, why don’t you put something on the tv, hmm?”

Viv just nods at Beth, so she walks back into the kitchen, making sure to keep an eye on Viv as she puts together their dinner in two bowls, putting on a little bit of the goats cheese that Viv loves and then balancing the two bowls in her arms like a waitress before walking back to the couch.

Viv’s already made a space for Beth, right beside her, Beth eases into the spot without any fight, hanging the bowls of food over to Viv so she can open her arms up to her partner.

Viv accepts the sentiment with ease, sliding her body directly into Beth’s.

Beth reaches for the remote, quickly turning on the tv and putting on whatever EPL game that’s on, it’s background noise, an attempt at reminding Viv exactly where she is, exactly how safe she is in the place that they’ve made home.

As soon as the scent of food hits Myle’s nose the dog is worming its way out of Viv’s sweater, dropping down into her lap and sniffing around the bowls.

The dog hasn’t yet found the confidence to take any food from the bowls yet, but Beth’s fairly certain that isn’t far around the corner, the pup is growing more confident as the days go by.

Beth watches Viv, watches as the woman she loves most in the world slowly begins to eat her food, there are moments though, little fractions of time every once in a while where Viv’s eyes wander, out the window into their dark backyard, when these moments come Beth notices Viv’s body tense up, her eyebrows and face going rigid for a few seconds until she snaps out of whatever trance she’s in and goes back to eating.

Beth keeps talking, whether it’s about the food or getting new furniture for their living room. It’s just random conversation, Viv listens attentively.

Viv will complain every single day that Beth talks too much, that she can never get her to shut up, and it’s true, Beth is always talking, but secretly it's one of Viv’s favourite things about Beth.

Because Beth, chatty Beth, happy Beth, can always manage to distract Viv from whatever deep thoughts that are plaguing her mind, the deep anxiety that sometimes feels like has embedded itself in Viv’s chest.

Beth was the first person to genuinely understand what Viv deals with everyday, sure, Lisa helped her, Lisa did whatever she could, but she didn’t fully understand the complete hatred Viv had begun to harbour for her growing career, for the constant pressure that fell on her shoulders.

Beth knew what a bad day looked like, what a bad day could feel like, she knew exactly how hard it was to free yourself from the mental cage that anxiety trapped you in.

“Vivi, honey, I’m going to take the dishes up to the sink, do you think you could take Myle out for me, if you feel up to it?”

Viv blinks a few times, her brain taking a little bit of extra time to process the question, but once she has she’s nodding easily and releasing Beth from their embrace, so her girlfriend is able to stand up and return to the kitchen.

Once Beth has trotted off with the bowls, Viv stands up and walks towards the back door, Myle trailing behind her.

Beth takes her time with the dishes, takes as much time is humanly possible, waiting for Viv to come in.

When she’s fairly certain its been at least five minutes she realises that the dishes are definitely done and that she’s just loitering.

So she moves down into the living room, tidying up any extra clutter and turning off the tv.

Another five minutes go by, and Beth can’t really distract herself anymore, so she slowly walks towards the backdoor, opening it up hesitantly.

She doesn’t spot anything amiss to start, until a second scan of the backyard she spotted who she was looking for, Viv, balled up in one of the patio chairs, staring up at the black nothingness.

“Vivi, liefje, it’s cold out here, can’t have you catching a cold.”

Viv doesn’t flinch, Beth’s voice falling on deaf ears.

“Vivianne, inside, let’s go.”

It’s Beth's slightly stricter and louder tone that seems to catch Viv’s attention, almost immediately Viv is jumping out of the seat, and hurrying towards Beth.

Beth pulls her inside the house, locking the door behind her and turning off the patio light before gently leading Viv down the hallway and into their bedroom.

“Viv, I’m going to go and run the bath, do you want to find some pyjamas for the both of us for when we’re done?”

Viv freezes up, which has Beth pausing.

“Vivi, do you still want a bath? Or do you just want some cuddles?”

Viv nods frantically at the second option and Beth smiles, a big broad smile.

“That’s fine honey, how about I go and get the pjs then and you put Myle down in his crate?”

Viv tenses again, and Beth’s left wondering.

“Can’t he sleep with us?”

Beth snorts, mostly at the hypocrisy Viv is displaying.

Because Viv was the one who had set down the law that before Myle was ever going to even be allowed anywhere near their bed, she had to be crate and bathroom trained.

Beth, originally had been the one to object, absolutely enamoured by the dog and just wanting to have it in her arms every hour of every day.

“Vivi, she’s not toilet trained yet, and I’m not getting dog piss all over new sheets. How about she can fall asleep with you in here, but once you're asleep, I’ll move her?”

Viv nods at the compromise, a little smile gracing her face that makes Beth immediately feel a little bit happier.

“Alright well, unless you want to get changed, how about you hope under the sheets whilst I get dressed?”

Viv nods, already sliding her long and gangly limbs under the covers and relaxing into her side of the bed.

Beth is fairly certain that she takes a maximum of a minute to get changed, throwing her day clothes in the hamper before picking out one of Viv’s old Netherlands hoodies and a pair of Arsenal shorts that could be either of theirs.

A minute, maximum.

Yet, when she does turn around and look back at their bed, she’s met with the sight of Viv, dead asleep, slumped against her pillow.

It’s an adorable sight, and it calms Beth’s anxiety durastically, because like this, with Myle cuddled under the sheets with her, and Viv looking so incredibly stress free, it makes Beth feel so much better, so much less clueless as to whatever is happening with Viv at the moment.

Sure, she knows that there is still other stuff going on in the background, stuff that she’ll try her very hardest to unveil tomorrow, but right now, with Vivi looking more at peace then she has all day, Beth takes the win.

She slips Myle out of Viv’s arms, the puppy just as fast asleep as it’s owner, gently putting the pup down in it’s crate before closing the door and turning back around.

She turns all the lights off in the room, closes the blinds and makes sure that the thermostat is running because Beth knows how easily Viv can get cold when she’s feeling vulnerable.

Then she slips into bed beside her lover, staring at the face of a woman who has endured so much pain and yet lived through every minute of it, flourished in ways that nobody could have ever imagined.

It’s with that in mind that Beth slowly drifts off to sleep, her arms snaking around Viv and Viv’s freezing feet coming up to rub against Beth’s warm legs, searching for warmth and comfort.

#woso #woso community #lionesses #marry me rn #arsenal wfc #vivianne miedema #baby vivi #beth mead #meado #meadema #myle meadema #little bit of fluff #i love some hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #beffy

264 notes · View notes