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#cuddling must be a nightmare in this weather..

thefrogdalorian · 23 hours

Text

Downpour

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: Leading a solitary, nomadic existence for much of his life means that Din Djarin has never cuddled up to someone he loves during a rainstorm. Until one night in his cabin on Nevarro, when unseasonably poor weather introduces him to one of life’s simple pleasures.

Word Count: 1k ✯ Rating: General ✯ Content Warnings: One suggestive line, Din having nightmares mentioned ✯ Author's Note: I miss the Razor Crest but daydreaming about domestic fluff in the cabin on Nevarro scratches an itch in my brain in all the best ways. I really want to cuddle with Din Djarin during a rainstorm. Is it too much to ask?! Thanks to @decembermidnight for betaing this one for me!! 🩷

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

The roof of the cabin on Nevarro has never felt like the most sturdy part of the modest-sized dwelling you share with your riduur. Especially not in the middle of an unseasonably fierce rainstorm, the severity of which has you groggily blinking awake in the pitch blackness.

Your immediate concern is for the mischievous child you tucked in just across the hallway shortly after sunset. You hope that the rain has not disturbed him and that he remains bundled in blankets, surrounded in his crib by the mountain of plushies which have been either bought for him by you and Din or gifted to him by the various people throughout the galaxy who cannot resist how charming he is.

Mercifully, your sensitive ears do not detect any wails. So, with Grogu seemingly still sleeping soundly, you turn your attention to his father. When you do not hear Din’s soft snores beside you, you vocalise your concern.

“Din, are you awake?” you mumble without turning around to face him.

Din shuffles towards you and wraps his arms around your waist. With a wordless response, he squeezes you tightly. You realise that Din is drawing comfort from your presence. Your heart grows heavy as you realise he must be alarmed by the rainstorm.

“Are you scared of the rain, my big scary Mandalorian?” you question. It is an attempt to lighten the mood, without fussing over him too much. You know how much such playful teasing gets underneath his skin.

“I’m not scared,” Din huffs.

You turn over, raising your eyebrows at him questioningly.

In the darkness, you can barely make out his handsome features. There is a soft light from the hallway, and you can faintly see his brown eyes sparkling slightly, even in the low light.

The lack of light is not an issue. You have mapped every inch of Din's face with your fingers and lips well enough to know that he will be furrowing his brow at you, exposing the wrinkle above the bridge of his nose that you love to gently trace with your fingertips whenever it becomes pronounced in times of stress.

You reach up to touch the lines of his face, as though you can ease all of his worries with just your touch, “What would all those bounties you once collected think if they could see you now?” you muse.

Din guffaws.

“Imagine if everyone you struck fear into the hearts of with merely your presence could see you now? Maybe they would feel silly for ever being so scared of a man who is scared of a little rainstorm…”

“Riduur…” Din warns, voice deep and firm.

He can excuse the teasing about the past. You have held him through enough bouts of sobbing in this very bunk after the visions which haunt him in slumber have torn him from sleep to earn the privilege of lightly teasing him. When nightmarish sights of his past sins overwhelmed him, you were always there, dutifully picking up his pieces.

But Din Djarin will never accept a charge of cowardice.

You know he is not seriously scared. Din is no coward. And he knows that you would never seriously lay such a charge at his door.

“You know I’m only teasing you, handsome,” you say with a wink you hope he can see.

You realise that Din has never lived somewhere for long enough to hear the rain pattering on the roof. His covert cloistered in the caves of Concordia. The Razor Crest was home but never docked in one place long enough for it to truly function as such.

The fact that until now, Din has been denied the simple pleasure of listening to a rainstorm in the arms of one you love is yet another detail of his life which brings you anguish.

“I think it’s very sweet, actually," you whisper, hoping he knows you meant no malice, "It's our first proper rainstorm in this cabin," you add, ensuring that he knows you understand this is new for him.

Despite how much Din's past makes your heart ache, you will not wallow in pity for him. Instead, it strengthens your resolve to make sure Din is loved every moment of the eternity he has vowed to spend with you.

You lean in for a gentle kiss, “Roll over and let me hold you, my love,” you whisper against his plush lips.

Din sighs and then leans in to kiss you again before he complies. A touch so slow and sweet, so different to the frenzied way his lips claimed yours hours before. Satisfied, he agrees to your proposal, flipping over with a grunt.

You position yourself so your chest is flush with his firm back, placing a kiss on the centre of his back, between his broad shoulders. Din sighs in contentment. You smile, relieved you can comfort him like this. It is a privilege unique to you out of everyone in the galaxy.

You slip your hands underneath the soft cotton shirt he wears to bed and absentmindedly trace circles onto the warm expanse of his stomach. His body is firm beneath your fingers thanks to his muscular physique; but there is a hint of softness there, which increases each year as he ages.

You do not mind one bit. It only makes his body better suited to cuddles.

This warrior who once terrified everyone is now a little softer at the edges, his toughness gradually eroded by the love he feels for his son and you, his riduur.

"Thank you," Din sleepily mumbles before he drifts off again, no longer disturbed by the thudding of the rain against the roof.

Fierce independence borne out of trauma had meant that Din had never previously known the simple pleasure of listening to rainfall pattering against the roof. It was a new reverberation, one initially alien and alarming to his highly attuned senses.

Fortunately, Din was not afraid for long. Now, he has you to hold him through the storm. There is no more fear or anxiety as he cuddles with you, his riduur, while the sound continues outside.

You whisper, "I love you, Din," before sleep's comforting embrace takes you too and you join Din somewhere peaceful. Far away from the downpour.

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slytherinshua · 2 months

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I'LL TAKE CARE OF YOU

genre. fluff. sick fic. warnings. reader is sick (fever, headache, nausea). food mention (soup). pairing. sungchan x fem!reader. wc. 754. request. requested by anon: currently dying atm... would live for sungchan taking care of me rn :( a/n. just me continuing to write sungchan as the most boyfriend material™️ to ever exist. also i swear im gonna be finishing those event drabbles soon i'm just sidetracking skdjks help.

“You need to eat, baby.” Sungchan coaxed, holding up a spoonful of soup for you.

“Don‘t want it.” You mumbled in response, close to tears at just the thought of eating anything.

You had felt nauseous almost all day, accompanied with a raging headache and a rising fever. Sungchan had dropped everything to come take care of you as soon as he heard you were feeling under the weather. You appreciated that you didn’t have to be alone in your misery, but you wished that your boyfriend would yield to your suggestion of just sleeping all day instead of taking medicine and food.

“It’s good for you. Come on, Y/n, please? Don’t make me have to do the airplane.” He held the bowl a little closer to you, hoping that the smell of fresh hot soup would persuade you. It did almost the opposite.

“Eating anything right now sounds like a nightmare, Sungie. Especially this soup…” You wrinkled your nose, trying not to breathe in any more of the aroma that on a normal day would make you salivate. Being sick was the worst.

Sungchan seemed to finally give up on the soup, placing the bowl and spoon down on the bedside table and slumping back to the side of the bed. He reached out for your hand, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles. Just the small gesture made you infinitely more sleepy than you already were. You would’ve just succumbed to the tiredness if Sungchan hadn’t opened his mouth to say something.

“You have to eat later, though. Okay? I can make you something else if you really hate the soup, but your body still needs nutrients.” He frowned at how exhausted you looked, even though you had done nothing but sleep and watch shows for the past day.

“I’ll try.” You closed your eyes again, considering the conversation done for now. You weren’t sure what Sungchan would do now. He had offered to cuddle with you many times, but you had outright refused each time he brought it up. You’d feel even worse if you got him sick, so you were trying to limit your contact as much as you could.

Plus, from prior experience, you knew Sungchan had the worst cases of man colds known to the universe. Taking care of him when he was sick was listening to him whine and complain 24/7. No matter how much you loved him— even when you had to take care of him— you would always prefer healthy Sungchan.

“You must be cold sleeping by yourself.” The words came almost as a whisper, and much closer to your ear than you anticipated. You were too tired to open your eyes again, but you could feel that Sungchan had gotten on the bed with you, laying behind you to spoon you, one hand on your waist pulling you closer to him.

“Go away, I don’t want you to catch it.” You said meekly. You and Sungchan both knew you wouldn’t fight for him to leave in your state, though.

“I want to nap with you. I’ll keep you warm.” He said softly. He shifted even closer to you so that he could plant a kiss on your shoulder. You could hear him giggle slightly and feel his warm breath hit your skin.

It felt nice. Even though your body probably felt hot to the touch, you had been freezing under 2 blankets all day. Nothing quite kept you as warm as Sungchan. His bordering on giant height and broad shoulders served their purpose in keeping you embraced completely; like your own personal heater in boyfriend form.

“You’ll get sick…” You mumbled one last time when you felt Sungchan start to press more kisses to your skin. You knew it would accomplish nothing. He was as stubborn as you were, and if it came down to it, he had at least 10 times the physical strength that you did, especially when sick.

“I don’t care.” He muttered, his kisses steadily trailing up towards your forehead. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, silently willing your headache to go away.

You were sure that there was no real way that his kisses could actually relieve the ache in your head, yet in your half-asleep state, you felt as if the pain almost completely went away the second his soft lips came in contact with your burning skin. With the comfort of Sungchan next to you, slipping away to your dreams felt easier than breathing.

↳ riize taglist: @eternalgyu,, @kangtaehyunzzz,, @weird-bookworm,, @haecien,, @seolboba,, @cyberpunksunwoo,, @cosmicwintr,, @chiiyuuvv,, @evalevaeva,, @lecheugo

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pixiesfz · 4 months

Note

can u do reader x leah williamson where reader has a nightmare? xx

OFCOURSE I CAN! I’ve been having these weird dreams lately so I’m gonna play on that so this should be fun for me.

plot: y/n keeps on having these series of dreams and Leah tries to help her out

warning: nightmares, mentions of stabbing and killing idk, I’m writing this on my phone.

You woke away with a jolt as you caught your breath “again?” You whispered to yourself as you took in your surroundings.

You were at Leah’s and you hadn’t told her about your dreams yet but you thought they would go away if you were in her hands.

Maybe all those romance books you read were lies.

You took your time getting out of the bed, you didn’t want to wake up Leah and you tip toed your way out of the bedroom and into the kitchen where you poured yourself a cup of water.

You sat on the couch with your now empty glass as you cuddled yourself. You could never sleep after a nightmare it was something you never grew out of.

But these nightmares lately weren’t very scary as such but you woke up so scared as if it was real.

“Y/n?” Leah’s voice filled the room as you looked behind to see your girlfriends blonde hair enter “I’m here” you said and you saw her walk into the room, her hair up but her bangs were fallen out, she looked beautiful and you smiled at the site.

“What you doing out here? She asked and you looked down “just had a weird dream is all” you shrugged “was it a nightmare?” she asked, now sitting down next to you.

“Sort of” you explained “but it’s just different” you said and she perked her head up “different how?” she asked and you shook your head “it doesn’t really matter it’s stupid anyways”

Leah put her hand on your hand which sat on your thigh “hey nothings stupid about a dream” she said and stroked your hand “well then it’s silly” you shrugged and she smiled “if the dream is big enough to take you out of my bed then it must be serious”

You smiled at her slightly dirty joke before leaning into her embrace and cuddling her side “can we talk about it in the morning?” You asked and she nodded “of course” she smiled and kissed your head “so you wanna sleep here?” her breath now fanning over your ear as you grew more comfortable on top of her.

You nodded with no words as your tiredness took over you and Leah smiled “okay”.

When you woke up you had to remind yourself of the night before and then you thought about the dream.

Leah deserved to know about it, you guys were getting serious and your sleepovers were slowly turning permanent.

“Leah?” You croaked out and she slid her hand through your strands of hair “yeah baby?” She asked “I’m ready to talk about the dream” you said and you felt her body nod.

“It starts out fine, I’m with you and the dogs and then I might be at work with the news crew and filming another weather show-“

You felt Leah softly laugh and you turned to her in a grin “don’t laugh this is my dream” you said and she nodded “sorry I still just find it funny that I bagged a weather girl” “shut up!”

“Okay then continue” Leah smiled and you sat on your elbows with Leah under you “like I said it starts early with me doing normal day things and then once I get home there’s always someone there with me, they have a mask on and their either trying to kill me or take something for me, at first it was scary but now I just wake up with my heart racing and shortness of breath almost as if-“

“You were in the dream” Leah finished for you and you nodded “yeah” you said and Leah smiled “I read something like this once” she said and you rolled your eyes “Leah buzzfeed does not mean actual facts” you laughed and she pointed at you “I actually learned this from a book actually.

“Oh yes your reading phase” you smiled and she now rolled her eyes “Like I was saying” she said and you smiled, looking up at your girlfriend “it could maybe be a warning”

“I’m going to be killed?” You asked and she crossed her head

“No, maybe you will get betrayed by someone that could explain the mask that this ‘person’ always has on that could resemble a person you are close with” you nodded at her words “or it couldn’t be” she said quickly.

“Or it could just be a vivid dream?” You asked and she nodded “some dreams just come for no reason” she explained “maybe your doing something in your daily life that you want to stop” she said “you did say they’re sometimes trying to take something”

“Yeah but” “No buts” she cut you off with a smile “If you have the dream again, wake me” she told you “but-“ “what did I just say about buts” and this time you laughed.

“Maybe he’s trying to take my house” you smiled and Leah smirked “What would you do if he took your house “Well I would stay with my girlfriend, she’s beautiful” you listed “she has these bangs that she complains about but I love and she also is the captain of the women’s England team how interesting-“

You were cut off with Leah’s lips on yours and you smiled into the kiss.

“Y/n” Leah said as she pulled away “yes?” You asked “Do you want to move in with me?” She smiled and your smirk grew “well of course” You said “but I would have to let my girlfriend know”

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strawberryya · 5 months

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rainy nights

pairing: seungkwan x reader

synopsis: Is your fiancé ready to weather the storm if your worst nightmares were to be revealed? Maybe it's just the frigid weather seeping inside, unfurling all the anxieties you've locked away, or perhaps there's more to it.

word count: 4.6k

genre/cw: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship, fighting, cheating allegations, mentions of food and alcohol, a lot of insecurities in relationship

rating: sfw

a/n: autumn angst coming your way!! This is for the svthub fall-ing collab which u should check out for all the cozy fall vibes that are needed during these cold and dark months 🫶

network tagging: @svthub @cultofdionysusnet @k-labels @kvanity-main

You came home to find a sleepy Seungkwan, nodding off in front of a movie he seemed to have barely begun watching. Your fiance has been working hard these past few weeks. With his newest show airing and promoting things left and right every day, you knew how exhausted he must feel. He answered your greeting with a drowsy hello as you stepped into your shared flat. The living room looked so warm even without any sun shining through the windows, the darkness outside seemingly unable to get inside through the glass panes. Quickly shaking off your outerwear you immediately ran over to Seungkwan, and the warmth he and the blankets offered you.

“Long day?”

Seungkwan nodded in response, smiling a little as you buried yourself on the other end of the couch. It was chilly outside, and you were cold to the bone after walking home. Seungkwan jumped at your cold feet snuggling against him in search of warmth, “My god, how are you so cold?!”

“I didn’t realize it would be that cold outside today, so I wore my cute shoes…” you cried out, earning a sympathetic, but chastising look from Seungkwan.

Shaking his head, he told you what you already knew. “It’s fall, how could you not think it would be cold outside? What if you catch a cold?”

“I know, I’m the one freezing because of it…” You frowned and cuddled into the blankets even more.

Your fiance only hummed in response, having accepted your cold limbs resting against him and slowly but surely warming up. He looked very pretty tonight, his dark hair messily falling over his forehead. He had showered and changed into comfy clothes right away after coming home. You had meant to do the same, but the sting of getting into a hot shower right away after being in the freezing cold did not feel like a good idea once you had gotten inside. Cuddling was definitely the better option. And spending some time like this with Seungkwan was honestly exactly what you needed right now. It had been a while since you had been able to talk or spend time together since the both of you were working until late way too often. Resulting in the both of you being too tired to do much other than cuddle a bit or simply fall asleep.

“Did you have dinner?” you asked, patting his leg to get his attention. He was close to falling asleep again, the movie apparently not interesting enough to keep him awake for the hour that was left. “Mm, we had a team dinner,” Seungkwan mumbled.

“Ah, the entire crew? Where did you go? Did you eat something tasty?” you asked excitedly. Usually, Seungkwan would bring you take-away of whatever food he had eaten when going out, and you would of course do the same if you found it tasty. It was a little tradition you had created over the years. Since you both had a hard time going out to restaurants for actual dates during your busy weeks, it was easier to bring it home and share the experience once you were both home. With Seungkwan, even doggy bags had become something romantic to you.

“It was okay, the autumn-style stew they had was pretty good though, there's some in the fridge for you if you haven’t eaten yet,” he said and let the corners of his lips curl when he heard you exited shout, he loved making you happy through small things like these. “It was me, Eunji, and a few crew people since we were the only ones left when we stopped filming today. It was pretty fun, but I think I should’ve drank a bit less since I’m supposed to film tomorrow too…” he added, making your excitement dissolve as quickly as it had appeared.

You would’ve reassured him that it would be fine, he would do his best as usual even if he was slightly hughover. But all you could hear was her name. Eunji… Seungkwans university girlfriend. The model-looking actress who was working on the same show as Seungkwan this time. She was his first true love. She is gorgeous, kind, and worst of all: you even find her likable.

You aren’t a jealous person, you never have been. But when it came to her… you couldn’t help but feel inferior. It was hard to speak about that with Seungkwan, he wouldn’t see it how you do.

With a forced smile, in case his drowsy eyelids weren’t covering his sight as much as you thought, you pretended to be okay with what he had told you.

“Eunji… It’s been a while since you worked together.”

With a slow hum, Seungkwan agreed. It wasn’t often the two got to work together on shows nowadays. It had been more frequent right after university, their past relationship hidden from the public as a close friendship, and both of their careers within the acting industry taking off. This was also around the same time he had first met you…

“She says hi, by the way.”

“Oh, well, tell her I said hi back next time then…”

Seungkwan had stopped resting his head on his hand, instead letting his head fall back on the pillows leaned against the armrest. Warm light from the kitchen was lighting up his soft features, making your heart flutter when you thought about how someone like him had fallen for you. And then you felt that familiar, sinking feeling that bubbled up from within and whispered in your ear: maybe your love for him isn’t enough to keep him.

He held your heart in his hands, and you stood powerless beside him. Still waiting to see what he would do with it in the end. If he decided to win back Eunji’s heart, what would he need yours for?

You bit the nail of your thumb, shoulders tensing up as you watched your fiance nodding off yet again. Knowing would be better than not knowing, right? It would be less painful if you could see it coming. You were engaged, but if you didn’t get married before he broke your heart it would be easier for the both of you, wouldn’t it?

His lips sat in a perfect pout, pretty cheekbones making him a vision to look at, and still, you felt like he wasn’t truly yours to look at like this. Did he still think about what could’ve been with Eunji?

You couldn’t help but recall an autumn night much like this one at the beginning of your relationship. Back then you had stayed up talking late into the night. Both of you were tired, but not ready to put the threads of your conversation to rest just yet. You had told him about thoughts you had never shared with a partner before, things only your best friends knew about, things that were so deep-rooted within your thoughts that they affected your entire person. Insecurities, convictions, and the silly plans you saw in your future. He had understood you, at least you were convinced he had. You wanted to think that he still did.

Back then, when the leaves were turning copper, and golden sunshine tainted your relationship he had told you about Eunji. The girl he wasn’t sure he would ever fully get over – his first true love.

You had listened and felt like you understood what he had meant back then. You had your past relationships as well, with your fair share of guys you thought you would never get over until you had. She was just like that, time erases all, you were so convinced of that back then.

Now, you felt differently. During the years since that first autumn, you had fallen deeper in love with him than you had ever been with anyone before. You had realized that he was your first true love. And you weren’t his.

He was fast asleep on the couch next to you. You should let it all go, cuddle up next to him, and deal with your emotions after some sleep. But should do and do are very different things. Instead, you buffed Seungkwan’s leg yet again, his eyelids sliding open to look at you. “Mh?”

“Am I your rebound?” you asked softly, tears stuck in your throat.

Your question seemed to catch him off guard. It took a while for the words to register in his tired brain. “What do you mean by that? I don’t even know what the fuck you want me to answer to that.” He barked out as he squinted at you.

His tone was snappier than you had expected. All of your worst fears about your relationship swarmed your thoughts, and his tone made you feel like he had something to defend. Like your words had rung true, that you were just a rebound, even though he hadn’t said it straight up.

“I mean what I said, am I your rebound? Do you still think about her?”

“Have you lost it? I can’t mention Eunji to you without you getting jealous about it?” Seungkwan had stopped trying to adjust his tired eyes to watch your expression, too tired and tipsy to take your questions seriously. It wasn’t the first time you had become overly worried about the smallest thing. He didn’t pay it too much mind and usually made sure you got some peace of mind. But tonight he didn’t want to be the one to calm your mind – he wanted to sleep.

“Can’t we do this tomorrow instead? My head hurts.”

The tears your body was too tired to hold back came welling out, staining your cheeks. You knew it was stupid, but it wasn’t too far-fetched. People went back to their exes all the time! What made someone as amazing as Seungkwan want to stay with you instead of be with someone who was both a whole lot prettier than you and also famous in the same industry as him? She probably understood him better than you, maybe he was her true love as well. You kept making yourself more and more riled up, the longer Seungkwan kept his eyes closed, his arm now covering his tired eyes.

“Why can’t you just tell me that you miss her? I know you do.”

Seungkwan sighed, he was getting annoyed with you now, you felt it. “You don’t know what I'm feeling. Why are you trying to start a fight?”

“I’m not trying to start a fight! I just want you to be honest with me! We don’t talk anymore and I just want to spend some time with you, and I know I can’t blame you for that, but I just… You don’t even seem to notice how much more time you spend with your ex compared to me, your freaking fiancee! So I just want to know now, before it’s too late if you even want to be with me.”

You were sobbing, desperation, anxiety, and weeks of exhaustion all washing over you at once. It was all too much, and you just wanted him to comfort you.

“Please, just stop overthinking, I really don’t know where you got all that from… let’s just go to bed and we can try and fix all that tomorrow. I can’t deal with this right now.”

“Deal?” You sobbed. “Am I something you have to deal with? Why are you being mean? I just want to know who you even love…”

“My god, what the fuck are you talking about? I’m so tired, I really cannot do this right now.” Seungkwan groaned, throwing the blankets off his body and walking off towards the bedroom. You didn’t say anything when he slammed the bathroom door a bit too harshly, quiet rage simmering inside of you. He seemed like he would be okay even if you were to walk out right at that moment, he didn’t even seem to care about your tears or your feelings one bit. Would he have cared if you were Eunji?

“Fine!” You yelled towards the closed doors separating you from your fiancé. “I won’t bother you then!”

Quickly you shoved your feet back into your shoes, throwing your jacket on, and slamming the door behind you when you left. It was childish, you knew it was. You wiped at your tears, the wind helping you dry off a little, and the cold making you question if you shouldn’t go back instead.

But going back wouldn’t solve anything. Staying away for now was best for everyone. You needed time to cool off, time to somehow talk yourself down, and reason with your anxieties enough to go back without crying and asking stupid questions again.

You could call someone, sleep somewhere else, and try again tomorrow night after work. Before you could even finish making up a plan like that you realized that you had left your phone at home. You hadn’t brought anything but the few things already in your jacket pockets. Under a streetlamp you checked what you had: gum wrappers, a spare charger, and your wallet. At least that would be useful…

You weren’t sure you wanted to talk about it yet anyhow, and it was too late to barge into someone’s place unannounced. Nevertheless, you would need to find someplace warm soon, the autumn wind blowing up golden leaves around you was already biting at your skin. You decided running to the bus stop and heading further into the city would be the best idea right now, hoping to find some restaurant that would stay open even this late on a weekday. The cold had almost made you forget about why you had even gone out, but the wound of his distant words was still fresh, and your heart ached even as you ran towards the bus.

Seungkwan heard the door slamming shut behind you, it echoed through the house.

“Where are they even going?” he grumbled to himself.

He could’ve gone after you, but he wasn’t ready to face you yet, he couldn’t stop being mad about the whole conversation. He wanted to fall asleep. He wanted to forget that you had doubted him, that you had cried because of him. To Seungkwan it wasn’t even a possibility that he would ever get back together with Eunji, she was a part of his past, and now a colleague. Nothing more. He thought you knew that.

It was impossible to stop thinking about the way you had sounded so hurt, so painfully weak while you asked who you were to him. The annoyance and anger over how you had started a fight over nothing was slowly but surely morphing into worry the longer he thought about it.

His head throbbed as he tossed and turned in bed. He still hadn’t been able to fall asleep, his mind and body too busy trying to listen to the door opening, and the faint sound of your footsteps on the wooden floor. It was always easier to fall asleep when you were beside him. For hours he tried to get his mind to let go and give him some rest before you would come home and he would try and make things right.

He wasn’t blameless, after all. If you thought he was able to do something like that he was partially responsible, he thought as he stared into the darkness surrounding him. Should he try calling you? If he knew where you were, even if you didn’t come back home tonight, maybe he could get some sleep and apologize for his response. He had been tired, but he knew he couldn’t blame that entirely. You were tired too. It had been a long week, and he didn’t even welcome you home like he wanted to.

Picking up his phone he was started by the bright blue light that hit his sleepy eyes. He dialed your number, hoping that you would at least pick up.

The beeps as he waited for you to pick up sounded throughout the empty bedroom, but a faint buzzing sound traveling from somewhere further away was distinguishable after a while. Were you still home? Had you never left? He ran up before he could think twice about what to say if you were sitting out there after all this time.

You weren’t there though, your phone ringing alone on the counter where you had left it along with your house keys and bag. “Shit, she ran out without bringing anything?”

Seungkwan’s hand brushed through his hair, head hurting as he felt the anxious thoughts about where you could have gone and if you were safe and warm arise in his mind. What if you were outside freezing in the cold, refusing to come home because of him and his mean response? He thought about running out to find you again. But it had been hours since you left. There was no way he would be able to find you wandering the streets at this hour. He pulled open the front door, the chilly autumn breeze giving him goosebumps. The leaves were wet and stuck to the shining asphalt outside. Rain drizzled and the wind forced the tiny drops inside. He quickly shut the door again, leaving it unlocked in case you came back without him noticing. You didn’t have your keys after all.

Now he felt even worse. Had he done enough to reassure you that he was as madly in love with you as he felt he was? What had made you doubt him? When would you come back? It was overwhelming, his mind spun, and he had no control over himself anymore.

Seungkwan decided that it was best to not spiral too far before he knew that you were safe. He called everyone he could think of. Your parents, your best friends, and even some acquaintances who lived close by. Only a few picked up, it was past midnight on a workweek after all. The few who did were more confused than anything. Nobody had seen or heard from you, and why was he calling this late at night looking for you? Had something happened? He didn’t know how to answer the questions they all asked. Once he knew that you weren’t there he simply hurried to apologize for disturbing you so late before hanging up and trying the next person.

But you weren’t anywhere. Nobody had seen you. Nobody had heard from you. Which wasn’t strange, since you had left your phone behind. Seungkwan held his face in his palms, staring at his list of contacts, there was nowhere else you could’ve gone. He had called everyone he could think of. You might have been with one of the people who hadn’t picked up, of course. He tried to tell himself that you were safe and warm, asleep at a friend’s house. He imagined your tears dried, and your resting figure under a blanket. Safe from the storm that was continuing to pick up outside.

“She’s ok, I know she is,” Seungkwan mumbled to himself, hands rubbing against his features, legs unable to stay still where he sat at the kitchen counter. Hoping that someone would call back and tell him that he could relax for even a couple of hours.

He slanted over to the couch. Once again he tried sleeping but woke up every twenty minutes, the weakest sounds of wind outside waking him where he lay, your next to his on the coffee table. It had been left behind just like he had. You had just fucking left. And now you were somewhere out in the cold or at some friend’s house seething about what a dick he was. And he was. But couldn’t you have stayed at home and let him know how much of a dick he had been instead of leaving him all alone?

As he dozed off he could hear your laughter, he remembered it so clearly he almost thought you had come home. It wasn’t real, he could recall the day when you had been laughing just like that. A couple of years ago, on an autumn day much like today, you had moved in together, into this house. You had been so excited, and he had never felt so fond of someone as he had that day. Seungkwan had always wondered what it would feel to fall in love with someone over and over again, but with you, he had found out. Every day he found a new thing about you that drove him mad. The way you pouted, when you sang in the shower, how you would kiss him goodbye even if he was sleepy and had morning breath. It all made his heart beat an extra beat, and always put a smile on his lips. You had rolled out the carpet beneath the couch he was on right now together. You had been adamant about making sure that he got two dozen kisses before you got up from the floor to continue unpacking, leaving him chuckling on the new carpet, looking up after you as you made the house into your home.

He had been so happy back then, and you had a magic about you that could make him happy still.

And somehow, he had made you doubt how much he loved you. He didn’t know how, but recalling your tears as he ignored your worries last night made his heartache. A silent tear fell from his eye, waking him from his sleepless dreams.

That first night when you had begun living your lives together in this house you had baked an apple pie. You said that the house needed to be told that someone was being loved inside of it again. Apparently, a house found out that love was present through the scent of freshly baked pies. It had made him laugh back then, but he had loved that pie. The memory gave him an idea.

Because, if he wasn’t going to get any sleep, he might as well do something other than sit around worrying all night.

It took him a while to follow the recipe in your favorite cookbook, he wanted to get everything just right. Carefully peeled apples, sliced and covered in butter, sugar, some flour, and a lot of cinnamon were placed gently in a pan. He had some trouble getting teh dough perfect, but after a second try, he managed to cover the filling with a thin layer of what soon became a flaky crust, a heart visible from the tiny cuts on top decorating it.

He stared at the pie from across the kitchen floor the entire time it baked. A hundred different ways to apologize, argue back, and confess his undying love swirling around in his mind until the buzzer went off.

When the pie stood on the rack to cool off, and the oven was turned off, Seungkwan sank down on the floor yet again. His back was against the cupboards, and his eyelids were heavy with sleepiness. He let it wash over him this time, knocking him out swiftly, and leaving him sleeping sitting up where he was.

The rain had soaked your hair on the short run from to and from the bus. The restaurant had closed, and one of the servers had gently woken you up from your agitated sleep. You had been a bit embarrassed about having fallen asleep and leaned against your table like that, apologizing for being a nuisance to the staff while quickly paying and running out into the rainy night.

You wanted to go home and sleep in your bed, next to Seungkwan. There hadn’t been much of a choice at that point. It was in the early hours of the morning, and the last shop had closed for the night. Home was the only place for you right now.

The door blew open faster than you had intended for it to, the wind grabbing ahold of it as you tried to escape the cold rain. Inside it was warm, and a sweet scent filled the space, confusing you more than anything had that night. You dropped your wet jacket on a chair, mind trying to tell you to go dry off your hair, but feet dragging you towards the kitchen, too curious about what could’ve created the delicious smell of apples, cinnamon, and buttery dough.

In the dim light from the kitchen counter lights, you found Seungkwan. Asleep on the kitchen floor, with tear-stained cheeks, and flour on his clothes and in his hair. You didn’t know how he had been able to make such a mess. You had only been gone a couple of hours.

He made you afraid of everything that could take him away from you, and yet you couldn’t help but love him.

You looked at the picture-perfect pie on the counter and knew you would never be able to leave him. He was your person, he had been your person since the day you had first met during that rainy fall, and he would continue to be your person until the day you were no longer on this earth.

You bent down to him, brushing away some flour from his soft cheek. Reddened eyes blinked back at you, seemingly not quite sure if they were awake or still off in dreamland. Seungkwan’s arms wrapped around you quickly once he knew with certainty that you had come back for real. You embraced him back, tears welling in the corners of your eyes. You pulled back from him, whispering “I’m sorry,” and getting an equally apologetic look back from your fiancé.

”I have been yours for years, please believe me when I tell you that I can’t imagine a future where you are not the only person I love.” He whispered, wiping away a water drop from the side of your face gently. You nodded, you did believe him, most days. But you felt like you needed to explain yourself, explain why you couldn’t escape your doubts about how long you would get to keep him to yourself.

”I wouldn’t be able to do the same.”

”What?” Seungkwan’s thumb stopped moving on your cheek, confusion visible on his face.

You took a deep breath. ”I wouldn’t be able to move on with someone else if we broke up, because you’re my first true love… and she’s yours. So how can I believe you?”

He fell silent. He remembered the words he had used that first autumn with you. ”My first true love.” Had you been hung up on Eunji all these years simply because of those words? He had thought you were only jealous of her or didn’t trust him enough. But it was his fault, to begin with-

He hadn’t reassured you enough, he saw that now.

”Eunji was my first love, that’s true.” He nodded slowly. When his warm hands slid up to hold your cold cheeks you could smell cinnamon on his skin. ”But I want you to be my last true love.”

Tears fell from your eyes, ”Couldn’t you have said that earlier?” You sobbed out, ”I drank way too much for a work night…”

This made Seungkwan chuckle. His forehead pressed against yours as you both cried silent tears on the kitchen floor. ”I thought you knew.”

You hugged him tighter, folding yourself into his warmth and his overwhelming love. ”I’ll make sure to tell you every single day from now on,” he whispered before pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

Reblogging and commenting is highly appreciated!! Hearing what you thought is what makes writing and being here overall so much fun! Ty and ily 💕

#kwritersworldnet #seventeen angst #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #seungkwan #seungkwan x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen #svt #svt x reader #svt fluff #svt angst #svt imagines #svt scenarios

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pacifymebby · 1 year

Text

Peaky Blinders Masterlist

🌛🌼🌜Add Yourself to my Taglist Here🌛🌼🌜

Multi Chapter

🌛🌸🌜 Trouble 🌛🌸🌜

Shelby Sister! Modern balletcore au

Chapters

🌛🌸🌜trouble AU🌛🌸🌜

Snow On the Beach ft Heaven Lavey/Shelby

Love In A Haunted House Part ll

Headcannons

🌿 To date them

🌾 To tell them you’re pregnant

🐿️ To be shy around them

🐻 To be married to them

🍀 To be comforted by them when a pet dies

🌼 To be their nurse and cheerleader

🥀 To be an actress they fall in love with

🦦 To be cared for by them when you’re drunk

🦔 To be bold and answer them back

🦊 To be a mafia princess they fall in love with

🌸 To be protected by them when your ex returns

🍂 To be cared for by them when you’re wounded

☘️ To try to leave them (dark!) (yandere)

🐿️ To give/ receive head

🦊You’re the secret enemy and they find out you’ve been using them

🍀To be emotionally distant and have chip away at you

🐻 Modern AU / to beat them at monopoly

🌼 When their enemy threatens you

🕊️ To Make Them Broody At Christmas

☘️ You get Kidnapped

❤️ Dancing with the Peaky Boys

🔪 You thought they were going to die

🕊️ You give them an Ugly Sweater (Christmas!)

🔪 NSFW Their Usually Shy Lover Fucks Like a Porn Star

🍒 You have a fear of blood

🍂 Reader who mis-speaks/ gets the wrong vibe in conversations (how they support you)

🐻 Reader has abandonment issues

🐰 When you tease them all day they... (nsfw)

🦇 With Spooky/Gothic reader

🌙 When they get jealous

🕊️ Reader has a terminal illness

❤️ Coming out to them

🍎They take care of you when you're sick

💔 They comfort you after a break up (wattpad link for now as the post is lost in Tumblr void)

🔪 You die in their arms

🐀 Selective mute reader

🐻 Modern AU! Animal Crossing

🥃 How they respond when your drink is spiked

🦢 With a lover who sings

🦊 How they cuddle + you're on your period

🍒 NSFW (The Girls)

🍀 Arranged Marriage (they find out you have a child)

🌛 You leave your underwear in their office NSFW

🔪 You have a nightmare

🥀 You cry when people shout at you

🐻 What they're like as dads

🔪 dark! How they deal with your childhood best friend

🥧 you're a baker always bringing them treats

🌼 You're just really excited to see them

🐻 Christmas Eve

🥀 Christmas Day

Tommy Shelby

🌿 The Waves

You were a nurse in the war, now you’re a Shelby secretary (ptsd, dissociation, hurt/comfort)

🌿 NSFW Alphabet

🌿 Too Close Too Heaven

After watching John die you fled the family but now he's found you Tommy wants to help. (PTSD, grief, character death, hurt/comfort)

Alfie Solomons

🐻 NSFW Alphabet

🐻 Cuddle Fucking (plotless smut)

🐻 All Things Must Pass

Alfie comforts reader through a ptsd episode

🐻 Afraid of Everyone

You get attacked and Alfie comes to your rescue, cuddles you whilst you have a big cry

Arthur Shelby

🍂 Fear of Thunder

Neither of you like the storm outside (hurt/comfort)

🍂 NSFW Alphabet

🍂 A Walk With His Daughter

🍂 Snowman

John Shelby

🌼 (requests open)

Bonnie Gold

🍀 Center of Gravity, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Bonnie finds out you can’t swim.

🍀NSFW alphabet

🍀NSFW headcannons

🍀Sleep The Clock Around

Bonnie helps you get some desperately needed rest

🍀Cinnamon girl

Hurt/Comfort, you and Bonnie have been kissing in secret for too long.

🍀 Angels

Fluffy nsfw if that makes sense? Cosy bath after one of Bonnie's fights.

🍀 Stormy Weather

nsfw inspired by that one horny bonnie anon <3

Isaiah Jesus

🐀 (requests open)

Michael Gray

☘️ nsfw alphabet

Ada Shelby

🦔 Bout des doigts

Smut but cosy

Aberama Gold

🦦 Blackberries

Age gap! Angst?

Random Wee Bits

☘️ Who has a secret sub side 🦔 Who Factory Reset Fucks ☘️ aftercare talk Alfie, Bonnie idk?

#Peaky blinders imagines #Peaky Blinders x reader #Peaky Blinders headcannons #Pacifymebby peaky blinders

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abibliophobiaa · 1 year

Text

Begin Again: Chapter Three

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

(23k+ words; eddie munson x afab!reader; sunshine!reader x grumpy!eddie vibes)

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

Warnings: Vignette style (sorta); Eddie’s post S4 trauma; panic attacks; nightmares; family member loss; grief; alcohol use; nightmares; suicidal ideation; mild smut in later chapters so 18+; additional warnings to be added.

AO3 | MASTER LIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

Fall, 1988

It’s funny, you think, as those first leaves fall outside your bedroom window with the changing weather.

This feeling of shedding the old and making room for the new. Going away for a season, with hopes of something special ahead.

It’s this expectancy, this wonder, in trusting in the unknown.

It’s the dizzying free fall, the twirling, fluttering comedown.

It’s the flicker of color, the splashes of light in a heart, the things that make it warm.

It’s like the stars that fell over Hawkins as summer slipped away slowly like a bottle of wine to be savored.

It’s the time shifting through an hourglass, always moving, always in motion, fingers coming up to catch before they’re gone too soon.

In six months you’ve created a strand of memories.

A reel of moments that have made your eyes crinkle and cheeks hurt, have made your stomach burn from laughter. You’ve cried and you’ve rejoiced and yearned.

They’re moments captured in the photos sitting on the bedside table you picked up with Eddie only a week ago, now littered with photos of the people that make you wonder if home isn’t really a place at all—but instead those you surround yourself with.

Your chosen family to stand beside you in the good, bad, and the ugly.

Your grandfather’s face smiles up at you from the frame it’s safely kept within. Your decision becomes easier every day.

Nothing really changed initially after that night at the movies.

When The Lost Boys credits rolled along the scene, and you lifted your head from where it was tucked against Eddie’s chest, neither of you acknowledged the closeness in proximity between the two of you.

Robin and Steve seemed none the wiser to what occurred either, both too wrapped up in talking about the movie as they closed the back doors behind them and Eddie opened the passenger side door for you to get in. If his hand lingered a little longer within your own, you say nothing of it, chalking it up to the hour or so you spent cuddling him. A touch of skin against skin seems a little silly when you have that reality to now consider. This…intrigue between the two of you that you supposed started at the fair. Maybe even sooner, when painting your bedroom.

You weren’t very certain, but all you knew in that moment, as his eyes clashed with yours in the night, was that something shifted.

Irrevocably so.

There was a line of where you two stood before, and there was a line for what would come after, and neither of you dared to venture there—at least until now.

The ride home was spent in that murky questioning. The will they, won’t they every couple must eventually face. Steve and Robin filled the open air with conversation, but it did little to quell the tension wrapped around the atmosphere. The way Eddie’s ringed fingers curled around the steering wheel, how his eyes shifted to yours every so often. As if he were expecting you to be gone—as if he wondered if you were even real at all.

Steve and Robin were eventually dropped off and Eddie drove you back to your apartment, keys jangling as he tugged them free from the ignition. You didn’t expect him to walk you to your door, and yet again he’d surprised you these weeks. You also didn’t expect him to tug off his leather jacket and drape it over your shoulders, making sure it was pulled around your body enough to block out the chill in the air.

From the man who used to speak single word sentences to you months ago, to the man who now held your hand at the fair, showed you the constellations in the sky, and curled you close to his body to keep you from the cold.

“This is my stop,” you whispered at the bottom of your stairs, tipping your head to the door. Your fingers toyed with the zipper on his jacket, eyes glancing down to your sandaled feet. “I had fun tonight.”

“Me too,” he said, brushing at your shoulder with the back of his hand. At your confusion, he held out his closed palm and lifted it in front of your face. He opened his palm and there sat a tiny lightning bug, tail end flashing like a strobe light in the night. “My mom used to say lightning bugs were these little lights shining bravely in the dark, there to remind us we all have a light within us. I think she really only told me that so I wouldn’t get scared.”

“And now?” you asked, watching those wings as they fluttered and it took to the skies, trailing high above Eddie’s wavy head of hair.

“I’m still scared,” he admitted softly, glancing up at the sky. You followed his gaze, watching as other lightning bugs flickered and pulsated in the air, a pattern only they understood, reaching out to one another in the night. Calling to one another, being light for one another. “But at least it’s not all dark now.”

Suddenly he was looking at you, and you felt that light reflected back at you within his eyes.

The wind tickled at your thighs, ruffled the ends of your dress, pushed you nearer to him. Your fingers trailed along the inside of his jacket once more, the scent of leather, cigarette smoke and his after shave just inches from your nose and comforting in the sense they all reminded you of him. So it pained you to pull it free from your shoulders, placing it into his awaiting palm, before crossing your hands behind your back, swaying awkwardly on the balls of your feet.

“I should, uh, probably head to bed,” you said, glancing up at his face. He was unreadable. All placid features, rested mouth, unfurrowed brows. Calm, undoubtedly so, and it warmed your heart to see his soul in such a state of rest. “Goodnight, Eddie.”

He nodded. A slow movement cut short when his arms opened and curled around you. Before that, hugs had been initiated by you only, and rarely to respect his carefully laid out boundaries. But now, like this, within the cradle of his arms with your face pressed into his chest, you let out the deepest sigh. Your fingers worked around his back and slid into the middle of his shirt, pressing into the fabric there, pushing him closer to you. He sighed, his breath fanning around your shoulder, face pressed right against your cheek.

It was one of your few hugs with Eddie, but you know they had already become your favorites. The way he cradled the back of your head and kept you close, pushed himself tight against you so you could feel his harder edges against your softer ones—the warmth of him seeping into your skin, blocking out the cold.

Safe.

He made you feel safe.

Untouched from the rest of the world, just like that very moment.

“Goodnight,” he whispered against the side of your head, pulling back enough that you could see the outside light from your front doorstep reflected within his gaze.

So you bid him goodbye with another hug, and the sound of your shoes as they walked up your steps. You glanced down at him, his form still there as you slipped your key into the lock and opened, fingers curled around the doorknob.

Then, and only then, as you flicked on your apartment lights and the room was basked in light, did he raise his hand and slip away with your heart thumping in your chest, and mind wondering what any of this meant.

“You need to tell her to stop,” El laughs, her smile beaming as Eddie slips in the front door and arches a brow at the sight of you standing behind the front counter, bent low over a mug. “She’s been going at it for over an hour now.”

“It’s looking more like a ghost the more times you try,” Will says sadly, glancing down at your sad attempt at latte art. “I also don’t think I can drink anymore coffee.”

“Me neither,” El gripes, patting her abdomen.

“What’s going on here?” Eddie muses, leaning over the counter to get a look at what exactly you’ve been up to.

“She’s trying to make a pumpkin since it’s October first,” El explains.

“Only, she’s really good at making leaves…and not so much the pumpkins,” Will says, and you huff out a whine. “Sorry, boss.”

You glance down at the mug and grimace at the swirling blob that’s smiling up at you. It’s…more like a ghost just as Will suggests, a circular foam blob with a trail at the end. You add two little eyes and an open mouth and slide it across the counter to show Eddie.

His eyes meet yours and then shift to your drink, a hum of approval spilling from his lips. “It looks…well, it’s not a pumpkin.” He’s humoring you, and it reminds you of those early days in your relationship when you would write jokes and facts on his cups.

You still do even now, just to make him smile.

At your frown, he continues, “It looks nice though. Really. I mean it.”

“Will you try it?” you ask. You know it’s not his normal choice for coffee preferences, but it makes your face hurt from grinning so hard when he nods his head once and lifts it to his lips. “There's vanilla powder in it. So…it’s got a little bit of the sweetness you like.”

He takes a cautious sip for dramatic effect, mouth hovering over the lip, inhaling the vanilla and espresso before he drags his tongue over the foam and makes your chest burst with a giggle. Your laugh makes him laugh and he’s suddenly got foam on his upper lip, the kids awkwardly looking on as you quickly pass him a napkin that he dabs against his face.

“It’s good,” he says brightly.

“You didn’t even try it.”

He takes a sip for real this time, waiting a moment with his eyes on a point far away at a distant wall. “So, not my usual, but you can definitely tell it’s made with love.”

And that’s enough for you, because you think about what you told him in your apartment, about wanting to uphold your grandfather’s legacy, and you feel your insides churn with the honey richness of the words he’s given you.

The purpose within them is not missed.

He catches your lips as you mouth ‘thank you,’ and shift about behind the counter to go make his actual coffee for the day. When you whirl back around, he’s there with a broad smile and his money at the ready. The kids choose that moment to make themselves scarce, your hands moving about as Eddie regards you carefully, dimples full on display today.

“You still want to go get that tattoo?” he asks you, and nervousness pools in your belly once more at the prospect.

You mentioned to him in passing after your movie night that you thought you might want to get some sort of piece to commemorate what you’ve done so far in coming to Hawkins and reopening the shop. Had even spent the time to ruminate about what exactly you wanted to do a bunch, when you glanced at Eddie’s tattoos and suddenly it became all that much more clear to you.

“I’m nervous,” you admit, handing him his change that he immediately tosses into the kids college fund jar (as he always does). “I want to…I just don’t know what to expect, or what it’ll feel like, or—”

“I’ll be there,” he reminds you. “I’ll talk to you the whole time to keep your mind off of it. You might even get sick of me, that’s how much I’ll be talking.”

“I could never get sick of you,” you tell him, wrinkling your nose up at him.

“I hope not, sweetheart,” he says, a little forlorn. You open your mouth to question the sudden change in demeanor when the door jingles and Max walks in, ready to start her shift. When her eyes lift and meet Eddie’s frame, she pauses, not moving any further into the room. “Hey Max—can I talk to you for a second?”

“Eddie, if it’s about school, Wayne already talked to me and I’m—”

“Privately,” he says, tipping his head over his shoulder to glance back your way. “I’ll see you later, right?”

The two of them step outside and you watch as you hand customers their drinks in piping hot cups. Max crosses her arms over her chest and tilts her head to the side, obstinate as Eddie talks to her. There’s a hardness to his posture, his head angled down toward her as he speaks, one hand waving in frustration beside him.

You’ve never seen them angry with one another—not in the months you’ve been friends with the group. They’ve always been that of close friends in your vicinity, or even comparable to that of siblings, though you know neither of them has any. But it’s clear now in the way her head jolts as she talks back to him, clearly upset by whatever he’s just said, and his hand comes up to cuff her around the back of her skull and pull her into a reluctant hug.

He’s pulling back a moment later, tapping his fist gently against her chin and wiggling her head slightly, making her laugh and smile through the clearly evident tears brewing in her eyes. And then she’s hugging him again, longer this time, her freckled face pushed tight against his chest.

He holds her tighter still.

“I’d like a medium coffee, milk two sugars, please,” your customer requests, and you’re back to reality, hand curling tight around their money they must have handed to you as you found yourself caught up in the happenings of the duo outside.

“S-sure,” you say.

When you glance up, Max is rushing inside tying her apron around her waist and Eddie’s gone.

Wonder what that’s all about?

It’s quiet that day in the cemetery.

Then again, it always is.

You brush your newly placed flowers in the vase at the base of your father’s gravestone, fingers trailing across the stone slab where his name is written in a blocky font. Your fingers drop to the date of his birth, across the epitaph, and the date of his death. The wind drifts along the hood of your jacket, rustles the fabric against your back, the leaves on the ground around you. You pick one up and twirl the stem around between your thumb and forefinger, eyes squinting as you open your mouth to speak.

“I’ve really been thinking about staying,” you say into the atmosphere, and the silence is broken. You tilt your head up to the sky momentarily, wondering if he hears you even now where he is. You believe he has to. “Had a conversation with a friend of mine recently. Wonder if you’ve ever met him…his name is Eddie Munson. He’s…well, he’s quiet, but he’s kind. He’s been opening up more, though. All his friends tell me so. But he asked me why I picked Hawkins, and if I was thinking about staying. And you know what—up until recently that idea scared me. Like really and truly terrified me. But I know how much you loved it here, how you stayed here even when it got hard, and I think about all the memories I had of you while growing up…and I start to think that maybe it’s worth it. Maybe it’ll be nice to slow down. I feel like I can picture you laughing at me, in that way you always did, where your head would shake and you’d say ‘oh, girlie.’”

You brush your sleeve against your eye, collecting the tear you refuse to let fall. “All this time, I’ve thought home was a place. I think that’s why I always move around; I never could figure that out. What makes home home, you know? But I’ve got these friends and they’re wonderful and warm and bright, and they’ve started to feel like that for me. I look forward to the end of my day when I can just see them, get to know them, and be an active participant in their lives. I haven’t had that before, but I think back to how everyone in town used to see you and wave when we’d go on our walks, and I’ve started to think that I want that. To plant myself and finally just …grow in one place. What do you think about that, gramps?”

You pause, dropping your gaze back down to his grave stone. You can still picture his face even now, the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, the sound of his laughter, the tone of his voice. You can picture the sticky fondness of his kiss upon your forehead, as he croons how proud he is of you, tells you how much he loves you, that you’re his ‘girlie.’

The wind tickles your cheek. A gentle hum that trickles on by, ruffles the ends of your hair.

“I think so, too,” you tell him, standing to your feet. You adjust the flowers once more and make sure they’re in place, stepping back to make sure they’re just right and say, “I’ll see you soon, okay. Love you so much.”

You’re about to head back to your car when you see Max sitting in the distance, body between two gravestones. She’s mouthing to them— both of them, with her head low and a smile on her face. Her glasses she usually wears are sliding down the bridge of her nose, fingers coming up to press them back into place when she finally glances your way, raising her fingers in a silent greeting.

Sensing your hesitance, she calls your name into the open air and you walk the short distance between you, boots crunching loudly against the freshly fallen leaves. As you lower yourself down beside her, your eyes trail the names on the two headstones.

One Susan, the other Billy.

Loving mother on one.

Beloved son and brother on the other.

Your heart splinters in your chest, but you don’t let it show on your face, instead you train your eyes forward and wait until she says something.

Fortunately, it doesn’t take long before she’s asking, “You came to visit your grandpa?”

“Yeah,” you kick your feet out in front of you, tattered boots crushing leaves beneath them. “I try to come once a week if I can. Tell him about my week.”

Max nods, as if she understands, and it hurts you because she shouldn’t know this grief. Not now, not at her age, not ever really. And still, she stares at her mother’s name all the same, and the brother she had loved and lost, and anguish rushes over you in waves.

“My mom,” she says, pointing to the stone on her left. “And then my asshole step brother.” She says the second part with a chuckle, and your heart clenches at the affection that seeps into her tone when she does so.

Your eyes scan the dates. One is July fourth of 1985, and the other March twenty seventh, 1986.

It’s that same date you keep hearing about over and over again.

What happened that day to have hurt so many people?

Changed so many lives?

“I’m so sorry, Max,” you breathe out, scooting closer to her.

“Billy died in the mall fire back in July. He was an asshole, but he was my step-brother and I loved him,” she says firmly, like she wants you to believe her, but you don’t need any convincing. You can see it in her eyes, the love she bore that boy.

So young. He was so young.

“And then it happened in the earthquakes for my mom, but I hadn’t been awake for it,” she continues to say. “I was in the hospital. Eddie and I both, actually.”

“Max.” Your exhale is shaky. Broken. Watery.

“Both our hearts stopped that night,” she says, chuckling a little bit. “Mine right before all the earthquakes, and then his heart stopped in the hospital on the table when they were trying to save him.”

You don’t know what to say.

There aren’t even words that can express the feelings that swirl endlessly in your mind.

The reality that both Max and Eddie had died, however brief, but died nevertheless.

Two people that have changed your life in a short period of time for the better almost were snubbed out before you ever got the chance to know either of them.

“Figures that’s why we’re so close now,” Max says, fingers reaching down to pick at the grass there. It’s starting to die with the chillier weather.

“I didn’t know that you were so close,” you admit, the leaf in your hand twirling as your fingers shift it around and around and around again. “I saw you two talking at work.”

“He’s kind of like my brother now…in a weird, dysfunctional kind of way.” She shrugs, glancing up to the sky. “His Uncle Wayne met one of our other friends, Hopper, when I was in the hospital. He was visiting Eddie a bunch while he was recovering, so they saw each other often. And then I guess…I don’t know, because I was unconscious for most of it, Wayne offered to try and petition to be my guardian. He has…really good insurance because of where he works. My dad’s been shitty for as long as I can remember, so it apparently wasn’t that hard. I don’t really understand all the legal stuff. So I’ve been living with Wayne for…over a year now?”

You’re silent. Stunned silence.

“I got really lucky in a crap situation,” she says a little breathlessly, tucking her head against her knees, her freckled face shifting enough where you can see the blue of her eyes. “It’s why I really needed this job. I hate him having to pay for me, so I try to help where I can. Eddie’s an annoying little shit and also pays for my crap too, no matter how much I tell him I’ve got it. He already moved out so I could take his bedroom. So I just wanted to say thanks.”

You swallow thickly, trying to imagine what it must have been like to have been in Max’s situation. Unconscious in the hospital for ages, unknowing that her mother had died, and that she’s been taken in by someone she barely knew. And then there’s the fact of Eddie, trying to care for her, always putting others' needs before his own. Moving out of the room you know he’d spent the better portion of his life in from what he’s chosen to share with you.

“Of course, Max,” you whisper softly, offering her a smile. Catching the downturn of her lips, you smirk. “I’m guessing that’s why you’re always trying to force something between the two of us. You’ve got that little sister role down.”

“I’m sorry about that.” Her cheeks flush bright red, hand coming up to brush at a stray hair that blows in the wind. “He’s just—he’s been through so much shit and he didn’t deserve any of it, and people are so shitty to him, so when I saw you being nice to him and him opening up again I figured…maybe something could happen.”

“You really care about him,” you say. It’s not a question.

She dips her head. “Yeah. Don’t know when it happened, but yeah I do.”

And you suppose you understand.

In the time you’ve known Eddie, you only know his heart to be kind and open and generous.

He’s been there to lend a helping hand, to help you with your apartment, to reassure you when scared. He’s been steely and rough around the edges, but he’s opened up. Really and truly started to bare his soul to you in a way you know he doesn’t frequently do so with much of anyone at all these days.

But you don’t want to tell Max the depth of your feelings. The swirling and hum that settles within your gut as of late when you’re near him. The wonder of ‘what if’ lingering in the spaces between the two of you.

The line between friendship and the something more you felt the beginnings of at the end of summer.

So you offer her solace with, “I really care for him, Max. Don’t worry. And I’m here for you, no matter what you need. Always, okay?”

She whispers a quiet thank you, and you sit in silence, honoring her loved ones lost.

The Mad Tatter sits just outside of Hawkins, about twenty minutes from both the Hideout and Sunshine Coffee. Eddie sits in the van beside you, watching your foot as it taps along the floor, an endless tap tap tap of nervousness that bubbles and bursts along your skin.

“Are you ready to go in? Your appointment is soon.” His head shifts just enough to look at you, those dark eyes of his warm and welcoming before you. “It’s going to be okay. You’ll look at me the whole time and you’ll barely feel it. And the sketches look great. Plus, I know the artist; they helped with my tattoos after…my accident. I wouldn’t take you just anywhere. I actually care about you, in case you forgot.”

Your hands slide along your jeans, sweat pooling in the hollow of your throat at the nerves jumping to life in your belly. Eddie’s words are a comfort, but they do little to quell the impending worry of what to expect, whether or not it’s going to hurt, and if you’ll be able to sit for the whole tattoo process.

But it’s Eddie, and you do trust him, so you dip your head as you follow him into the building and begin the process of filling out what seems to be heaps of paperwork for the ink that’s about to be permanently etched into your skin.

Eddie stands near the counter, talking amongst the workers, showing off the pieces you assume they’ve done for hom along various places of his body. He’s boisterous, all raucous laughter and head tipping to the ceiling with them.

Livelier, now that he’s no longer in Hawkins.

You wonder what that’s about.

Once you’re done, however, you have little to focus on other than the various drawings of tattoos along the walls. Tiny sketches that mimic those in the endless books laid out for all the artists' works and their individual tattoo styles.

Eddie had referred you to his friend, Theo, who had apparently worked on some of his newer stuff. Especially the still in progress pieces meant to cover up some of the visible scars he has along his arms.

Your name is called and you’re introduced to a man with a trimmed beard and a pair of oversized glasses, hands already snapping a pair of gloves into place as he preps your skin to be ready for the piece he’s created for you.

It’s two daisies, like those that scrawl underneath the title of your coffee shop, set to be inked just above the crook of your elbow along the flesh of your bicep.

Dainty line work and delicate shading, from what you can see of the stencil he places against your skin.

“Before we start, how do you feel about it? Placement and everything,” Theo asks, but you’re turning to look at your reflection in the mirror, and then over to Eddie beside you. “I can give you a second?”

He steps away just over to the front counter, and you turn to look at Eddie once more, eyes wide as your gaze drops down to your bicep then back up at his eyes. “It’s good, right?”

“How do you feel about it?” Eddie asks you. “It’s going on your body.”

“The design is perfect. Exactly what I wanted,” you say, glancing down at the design once more. “He did a really great job with it. I’m just…scared, I guess.”

“What if I hold your hand?” he asks, his fingers already reaching for your own. You reach down and feel his fingers lace within yours, the weight of them heavy in your palm, and then settling against your thigh when you drag it down to rest there. “Are you ready? Just remember that I’ve got you, okay? No matter what.”

Your head dips once. “I guess as I’ll ever be,” you say, exhaling shakily as Eddie calls Theo’s name above the quiet of the room you’re sitting in.

The burly man shuffles back into the room with a stiff nod and settles back down on his stool, prepping all his machinery for the tattoo he’s about to work on. Your foot taps against the table you’re splaying out upon, Eddie’s fingers squeezing tight within your own to remind you he’s there and not going anywhere.

By the time he’s ready, your eyes linger on Eddie’s face as Theo walks you through the fact he’s set to start. You hear the whir of a buzz coming to life, the voice of Theo asking you if you’re ready, and you nod.

The first pass of the needle isn’t painful, no. That’s not the word that comes to mind when you feel the first prick against your skin. It’s more like that of something scratching into your skin, like an uncomfortable itch deep within you. Sharp in nature, just like the sounds coming from the machine, but not terrible.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks, leaning down close to your ear. His shoulder brushes your free one, his hand still in yours against your thigh. “It’s not so bad, right? Just a little pinch.”

“A bunch of little pinches,” you correct, glancing down at the top of Theo’s head. From this angle, you can’t see the tattoo yet, but you’re sure it’s great because you’ve seen Theo’s work and liked all of it. You’re not really sure he’s really paying attention to you two, because he’s nodding his head along and mouthing the lyrics to the metal music blaring in the room, so you tilt your head back to look at Eddie and say, “I bumped into Max at the cemetery yesterday.”

His mouth drops into a line. “She’s been thrown a lot in the past few years.”

“She told me how kind you’ve been to her,” you tell him, feeling your chest swell with that sticky fondness that’s been growing in his presence as of late. “How you and Wayne took her in, and that you moved out to give her space. I thought that was really selfless.”

You leave out the parts about what you now know about the both of them. That for a moment they were gone, before they were brought back. The fact Eddie’s body had been so broken, he’d needed to stay in the hospital for so long. The fact Max had needed to do the same.

He gives your hand a squeeze, eyes softening. “Red’s just a kid. Figured I might as well move out, you know? I was twenty-two. Seemed about time to get out of Wayne’s hair. Plus I’ve grown to love the little monster.”

“She loves you too, you know?”

He dips his head. “I know. Closest thing I’ve had to a little sister. Even if she drives me crazy with her stubbornness. It’s why we were fighting outside your shop; sorry about that, actually. Wayne’s too soft on her, plays the good cop with her.”

“So you're the bad cop in this situation?” you muse lightly, wincing at a particularly harsh pass of needle against skin.

“Someone has to be,” Eddie says, brushing his thumb along the back of your hand. Awareness prickles there, tiny champagne bubbles dancing along skin. “Took me three years to finish senior year. I’m not about to watch her do the same.”

You glance up at Eddie’s face. The soft lines of his features, paleness of his skin except for the darker shade of the scars that crawl along his cheek and neck, stark against the shock of raven waves at the top of his head. His thick span of inky lashes, framing those chocolate brown eyes that look to you with such affection you feel like your chest could burst aflame.

Your tongue dips against your bottom lip, your lungs drawing in a deep inhale as you shift on the cot and say, “You’re a good man, Eddie Munson.”

“You’re a good man, Eddie Munson.” The words beat like a tattoo against your ribcage. His brows start to furrow together upon his forehead. A sort of melancholy settles against the lines of his face. Almost like he’s not heard those words before, almost like the mere idea of him being a good man is unfathomable. It burns in your chest to see him struggling with the compliment to his character, evident in the tremor that spills from deep within his chest, a hitch of his breath falling on your ears.

Your hand still presently holding his own against your thigh squeezes lightly. You stare deep into his eyes and reiterate, “You are, Eddie.”

In that moment, away from Hawkins, away from your friends and loved ones, away from Theo who’s occupied with tattooing your arm, Eddie’s ringed hand comes up to curl around the side of your face. It just lingers there, the pad of his thumb a gentle sweep low against your chin. He just stares at you, like he’s painting a picture of you in his mind, memorializing this moment for him to keep.

And you’re doing the same.

Relishing the feel of his skin against yours, of the light and teasing affection, of the calluses on his fingers from the endless hours of practicing his passions for music, the way he stares with his head tilted to the side, just full to the brim with kindness that spills into the spaces between you.

You’re upset when the moment shatters, Theo’s voice booming into the quiet to tell you he’s done. Your gaze drops to your bicep and Eddie’s hand drops from your face—though it never leaves your thigh—and the two of you take in the new piece before he has to cover it up from view.

It’s just as you wanted. Delicate line work, two twining stems of the daisies, their petals lightly shaded. Pretty and purposeful. A reminder of your grandfather and the shop, forever written into your skin.

“It’s perfect, Theo,” you say, staring down at your arm, feeling Eddie’s hand tighten around your own. “Thank you so much.”

“Looks great, sweetheart,” Eddie agrees, and Theo gets to work bandaging it up properly.

He walks you through all the steps for the upcoming days, steps you’re grateful you also have Eddie remind you of if need be, to ensure it heals properly as you head up front to pay your bill. You thank him again and tip him generously, waving to everyone inside as you go. The workers give Eddie a knowing look and you feel heat bloom in your face, before you’re both heading out into the crisp fall air and climbing into the van.

“Thank you for…in there,” you mutter softly, lowering the dial on the radio.

“That was all you,” he says, smirking lightly. “It just gave me a chance to hold your hand again.”

You shove at him lightly, feeling butterfly wings rustle to life deep in your belly. Rapid beats that swoop low against your skin. A peal of laughter spills from your lips as the two of you bask in the newness of flirtation.

Eddie raises the knob on the radio. His fingers reach out and buckle you into the seat beside him, curls dancing along your collar bones, and you can faintly smell his shampoo from this morning. Something citrus and sweet. A contrast to what his outward appearance portrays. All dark wash jeans and equally dark colored clothing.

“Ready to go?” he asks.

“I am now,” you reply, feeling his eyes linger on your face.

There’s a brief moment where you think he wants to say something.

Intends to say something.

But it never comes, and that’s okay because in a sea of uncertainty, you know with Eddie all you have is time.

The realization hits you harshly that morning: you want to tell Eddie how you feel about him, how you have been feeling about him, but it’s met with the trepidation of how one might do so.

“You just tell him, babe,” Robin says when you meet her for lunch that evening, mouth full of freshly baked macaroni.

“You make it sound like it’s so simple!” Your voice comes out in a whine, at which Robin simply rolls her eyes and stabs her fork into her bowl.

Her hands move upward to fold across the table in front of her. Eyes firmly set on your face as she says, “Then don’t overcomplicate it. You like him, I’m sure as hell he likes you, you tell him about this revelation and you ride off into the sunset.”

“You really think it’s that simple?” you ask, stirring your own food around in your bowl, prongs of your fork digging into the noodles as you do so.

“I’m telling you, it’s exactly what Steve would tell you to do,” she tells you. “And sure, he’s not quite found the right person yet, but he’s dated, like, a lot of girls. So he must know what he’s doing.”

“Okay, okay. So I just…come out and tell him.”

“Yeah, I mean you can get a little creative with it, maybe. Don’t you write little jokes and facts on his cups or something?” She glances up at you expectantly.

“Yeah, I do,” you say, mulling over her words. An idea blooms, then. A smile crosses your lips as it settles and stirs, hand tightening around your fork. “I—I think I have an idea.”

It’s how you find yourself the next day scribbling away on his coffee cup a few minutes before he comes in. You hide it from the kids, making sure none of them see, because if you’re about to embarrass yourself, you would rather do so in private. You can’t fathom to think of them witnessing your possible rejection first hand.

Couldn’t even think of it.

And suddenly, just as your hand stops shaking long enough for you to set his cup down on the counter and slide on a sleeve to keep his hand from being burnt, the door chimes and Eddie spills in as usual.

He catches your wobbly smile at the register, brow arching as you hand him his coffee and he says, “You’re being extra…bouncy today.”

“That’s not a bad thing, is it?”

He shakes his head. “No, never. Can I get one of those peanut butter cookies you made the other day? I…ate all the ones you gave me.”

You gasp mockingly. “I’ve turned you into a cookie fiend.”

He pats his abdomen, laughing. “Who knew the way to my heart was through my stomach? Although I am going to have to cut back eventually…maybe after the new year.”

You wrinkle your nose up at him, giggling brightly as you reach into the glass case and hand him what he’s asked for. Your fingers brush for just the slightest moment, your eyes lingering on your scrawl across his coffee cup.

He’s not seen it yet, and you’re grateful for it.

You almost hope he reads it in private, over when he’s at the Hideout, so you can’t see his reaction. Especially if it’s not the one you’re hoping for.

“I’ll see you later?” he asks, getting ready to head for the door.

“Yeah, I’ll be over after I close up shop,” you tell him with an eager smile.

As soon as he’s gone, you work on making yourself busy. Your nerves feel alight with anticipation. With this fear of the unknown dangling in front of you.

The wonder of if he’ll mention the confession at all.

The words you had written in curly font across the side of the cup, saying, ‘Fun fact of the day: I kind of sort of have feelings for Eddie Munson.’

You can’t take them back now. It’s the reality you come to accept as the sun starts to set over Hawkins and most of your customers have left for the afternoon.

Max and El have since clocked out for the day, leaving you to close up alone. You find you like it most nights this way. You turn on some music and sing along as you clean. And by the time you’ve finished sweeping and mopping the floors, the place is glowing and ready for a new day.

Your eyes catch the time on the wall and you flip the sign hanging on the door from ‘OPEN’ to ‘CLOSED,’ your heart already pounding faster in your chest as you slip your apron from around your waist and place it up on the coat hanger.

You feel like a teenager with a crush all over again as you rush up the stairs to your apartment and look at your appearance in the mirror that Eddie had found you at a store near his apartment and surprised you with. You quickly brush at the mascara that has melted beneath your eye throughout the day, fix your hair a bit, and apply just the smallest smudge of chapstick.

And then you’re fixing your sweater, adjusting how it’s tucked into your jeans, nervousness pooling in your belly.

It’s Eddie.

It’s a reminder you force into your mind.

Eddie, who has seen you in all states of dress. Who has never once said you look anything but nice. Who has only ever been kind.

So with that knowledge, you lock up and make your way over to the Hideout, jacket enveloping your form from the cool air, pocketbook bouncing against your side.

Eddie’s there with a wave as you enter, a glass of wine already on the counter as you approach, with a little napkin tucked underneath it. Stark white against the cherry wood.

Curious, you think, but you settle down all the same and pull out your current read.

The Mists of Avalon. A take on an Arthurian legend from the perspective of female characters.

Another slice of influence from Eddie being in your life, thoughtfully picked for you by him.

It’s only when you glance down at the napkin a few moments later once Eddie’s done with helping another customer that you see he’s written something there in his messy handwriting.

“I read your little fact of the day,” he says, his chuckle like music to your ears as he adds, “Probably my favorite one so far, if I’m being honest.”

He pushes it closer to you, the silver of his rings catching in the light.

And there, on that napkin, he’s written his own tidbit.

Fun fact of the day: Eddie Munson kind of sort of has feelings for you, too.

“So what do we do now?” It’s you who asks, holding the napkin in your palm against your chest. You want to wrap those words around yourself like a blanket, joy unmeasurable filling every atom of your body. Your fear of rejection quells and settles into nothingness, because the feelings are mutual.

A tentative start at friendship has blossomed into something more. This is your something more, you realize.

Eddie tucks a bit of hair against his mouth at your words, all frenetic energy as he bounces a bit on the balls of his feet nervously. “See, not going to lie to you, sweetheart. I’m not really a pro at this. Might need your guidance here.”

You know, from what he’s insinuated previously, that he’s never been one for relationships. A few interests here and there, always brief. It’s a fact that had been hard for you to grasp then, and even harder now, that people wouldn’t realize the absolute wonder and privilege of being a friend to Eddie Munson. It’s even more baffling that, knowing who he is at his fundamental core, would prove to be a hindrance in his romantic life.

“Generally, one starts with a date,” you tell him teasingly, feeling your lips quirk upward at the corners of your mouth.

“Okay, okay. That’s when two people sit around, typically over food, and talk about the weather, right?”

Your grin turns wry, complete and utter giddiness sloshing around low in your belly. “More or less.”

He smirks at you, elbows dropping down against the bar as he hovers closer. “Sweetheart, I know that part. And I’d love to take you on a date.”

“Is that so?” You hum thoughtfully, folding your arms across the bar in front of you. Your fingers trail the bat tattoo on his forearm, watching gooseflesh pimple against pale skin.

“How does this Saturday sound?” He glances down at where you’re touching him, his voice a soft husk as he speaks.

“You’ll pick me up?”

“Seven sounds good? I’ll switch around my shift with someone else,” he says, eyes flickering to your face. “And of course I’ll be picking you up, I am a gentleman.”

“Sounds like a date then,” you say.

“Yeah, definitely,” he agrees, and that nervousness wells.

Bubbles.

With your spoken agreement set into place for this upcoming Saturday, he resumes work as the bar grows busier, and you drift back into your storybook, letting the words flow behind your eyes to temper the rapid thump of your heart.

For the rest of the evening it’s all quiet glances from the boy. It’s Eddie stopping every so often to ask if you’re okay, make sure you have water, offer you some food when he hears your stomach grumble from even above the music. It’s all fleeting looks and the brush of his hair against your shoulder when he looks to see what page you're on and asks if you’re enjoying, it’s him simply wanting to make sure all your needs are met, when all you’ve only asked for is to simply spend time with him.

And at the end of the night, when he helps you into his van and does his normal loop around the parking lot, that an awareness of mutual affection stirs between the two of you. Neither of you speaks for some time, eyes trailing to the moon, the buttons of the radio, the cup holders with various used cups within, his box of cigarettes fallen to the floor of the vehicle, the dangling pine scented air freshener.

He exhales from beside you and mutters, “You should get some sleep. You’re up early in the morning,” he says, and he’s not wrong. Your start time is just a few hours out now.

You want to tell him to get some rest as well, but you remember he doesn’t like the dark, doesn’t enjoy rest until the sun starts to rise in the sky.

It’s one of the areas in his life you don’t pry into.

So instead, you settle on, “Goodnight, Eddie,” and loop your arms around his neck, feeling the weight of his palm against the center of your back as he comes to curl his own arms around you, hugging you close.

You wish each other goodnight with quiet words.

With the slow slide of your hands down his arms as you separate.

The bashful wave as you stand outside of his van, shifting to go walk toward the apartment.

The shared knowledge that you like him and he likes you.

And the promise of a date to explore it.

The day of your date, the worst thing imaginable happens: you find yourself coming down with something. A sort of head cold that starts the night before behind your eyes with a little pressure, a tickle in the back of your throat, and a sniffle here and there—and by morning, you’re feeling a lot like warmed up death, trying to calm the sandpaper currently tearing up your throat and wishing you had stocked up on more tissues at the supermarket.

The kids are more than kind, taking over opening up for you. Will and El bring freshly made soup from their mother, Joyce, to your apartment and you gratefully sip at the warm broth to ease some of the ache. But the ache in your bones is the worst part, chills making you seek out the comfort of your warm bed and a sea of blankets and pillows.

Your television plays in the distance, a VHS of The Lost Boys popped in as a little saving comfort, reminders of the back of Eddie’s van there to keep you content. It’s around then that you hear a soft rap at your door, your eyes drifting to the alarm clock on your side table reading five in the afternoon in glowing red neon lights. You’re not expecting anyone, and you tried to call Steve earlier to tell Eddie that you wouldn’t be able to see him today because you don’t want him getting sick, but he’d only dug into you asking what your plans were for the afternoon and why he hadn’t yet been informed of them. After much groveling, however, he did say he would relay the message.

So it comes as a shock to you, when you pull your knitted blanket over your shoulders and tug both ends tight to your chest, that when you open your bedroom door it’s to none other than Eddie Munson. Before you can protest that he shouldn’t actually be there, he’s pushing into your room with two giant brown paper bags in hand, and immediately laying them out on your kitchen counter. You catch a few bottles of gatorade, some water bottles, boxes of tissues, different cold medicines. He’s also brought along with him some snacks, throat lozenges, an oven bake pizza, a five hundred piece Star Wars puzzle, and a thermometer that he’s already running along under water before popping it into your mouth.

You raise a hand to protest, but he taps your chin and mutters, “Quiet. Stay still, sweetheart.”

You huff out a sigh as he comes to stand behind you, thumbs running along your trapezius muscles as you wait for the few minutes to be up on the cool metal currently perched between your lips. You can’t deny that the feeling of his fingers pressing into your skin does feel amazing; especially with the soreness throbbing and aching within every inch of your being, likely from fever. After a few moments, Eddie moves back around to pluck the thermometer from your mouth, tutting at the number he reads there.

“What’s it looking like, Dr. Munson?” you grumble, swiping a hand down the front of your face.

“One hundred and one,” he reads out loud, eyes squinting to see the temperature accurately. “Maybe one hundred and two, hard to tell on this thing. But either way, your diagnosis is that you're sick.”

“You shouldn’t be here…I’ll get you sick,” you say, but you’re grateful anyway when his arm loops around your shoulders and pulls you close to him, your body just melting into his own.

“If I remember correctly, we have a date planned for today,” he replies, his voice a warm puff of breath against the crown of your head. “And no one, in my professional opinion, should be all alone when they’re not feeling well.”

You sigh against him, pulling back just enough to take in what he’s decided to wear tonight. He’s in a simple black sweater, a thin red line across his upper chest. His typical jeans spread tight over his eyes are on full display, wallet chain dangling silver against his hip. He’s got his hair back, revealing the fullness of his striking jaw, the fullness of his lips, the angles of his cheekbones, the little crinkle around his eye when he smiles, the scars on his cheek and neck visible against the low collar of the shirt.

He’s handsome as ever, and you whine miserably at the fact your original date got ruined, though there’s some solace in the fact he’s willingly standing there now, keeping you company. “Go lay down, I’ll grab you some medicine and get started on dinner.”

You part from him fully, tugging your blanket closer as you clamber over to your bed, climbing on top until your back bumps against the headboard. Eddie’s diligent as ever, popping open the box of medicine and reading the instructions on the side before pouring some questionable colored liquid into one of the measuring cups given along with it. He then proceeds to grab one of your little breakfast trays you keep hidden in a cabinet and places some fruit onto a plate, along with the box of tissues and a water bottle. He moves toward the oven next, prepping a tray and reading how to make the pizza, his brows furrowing together as he does so. The oven is set to preheat and he’s walking back over to where you lay, the tray in hand.

He settles it down over your lap and says, “Medicine and water first. Snacks after.”

You sniffle involuntarily, lifting the cup of liquid to your lips and downing it in one swallow. Your face wrinkles at the taste, Eddie already holding out the water bottle, lid already tugged off. You swallow it greedily, wincing at the aftertaste of the syrupy goo that just slid down your pained throat. “How did you know that I was sick? I was going to call you…but I realized I don’t have your number.”

“You called Steve, and if there’s one thing you must know about Steve’s, it’s that he has a big mouth and he immediately called me and said I better get over here,” he says, capping your water bottle once you’ve drank a little more. “Our date wasn’t till seven, so I figured I could go to the store and grab you some things to surprise you with…but then I got a little excited, so here I am at five.”

“You’re going to get sick,” you reiterate.

“Don’t worry about it,�� he says, and you shift just enough on the bed to make room for him. He settles down beside you, plucking a pineapple from your tray. “Eat up. I’m at your service for however long you need me.”

You sit like that on your bed watching Beetlejuice, your head lolling from sleepiness against Eddie’s shoulder. He’s never one to protest, pulling you closer into the fold of his body as the characters move about the screen and the smell of pizza fills your nostrils, even despite the fact your sinuses are practically screaming at you.

“Funny enough, Lydia looks so much like Joyce,” Eddie points out, and you can’t help but see the uncanny resemblance. His hand slides over to where it rests against his side and pulls it to his face within his own, kissing the back of it softly as he climbs up off your bed. “Let me go check on dinner.”

You lift your remote to pause the movie and grab some tissues as Eddie walks about your kitchen, compiling some things he knows you’ll need from your various cabinets. “Where do you keep your cups again?” he asks, his broad back covered in black filling your vision.

“Bottom shelf, left upper cabinet,” you tell him.

“Okay, close your eyes, sweetheart,” he says, peeking over his shoulder to look and make sure you’re doing as he’s asked of you. “No peeking.”

Your heart dances in your chest, hands coming up to cover your eyes as he moves about your kitchen. You can hear the clink of glasses here and there, the sounds of silverware as he digs them out from the drawer, the flicker of a cigarette lighter, the slide of plates across a rickety wooden table, the scrape of wooden chairs against tile as he pulls them out to make room for the two of you.

“Keep them closed,” he repeats, the sound of approaching footsteps greeting your ears as he brushes his fingers around your wrist, a solid circle of his thumb and pointer as he picks it up within his own, and slowly slides them lower so his fingers lace delicately between your own. “Eyes still closed, but slide your feet over the side of the bed.”

You do as told and he helps lead you into the kitchen, your slippered feet recognizing the soft tap tap tap of the plastic grippers on the bottom of them meeting the tile. Your eyes remain closed as he settles you down into a chair and slides you closer to it, and then listens as he does the same across from you and finally says you can open your eyes. When you do, your heart nearly bursts in your chest at the sight Eddie’s made in front of you.

It’s so silly, you think, because you’re eating an oven-baked pizza while fighting off the cold from literal hell, and Eddie’s gone on to make things as romantic as possible for you. He’s picked your nicer plates, glass cups full of ice water, silverware resting on folded napkins. And there in the center he’s lit little tea light candles, because they’re all you have, illuminating your swiftly darkening apartment in a yellow glow.

“I figured, yeah…it’s not what we had originally planned for today, but I still wanted to do something nice for you.”

“Say thank you to the chef for me,” you laugh, bringing up a slice of pizza to your lips and smiling around a mouthful of cheesy goodness. “It’s perfect. You even set up candles. This is the sweetest thing anyone has done for me.”

“Laying down the pressure already for our next date now that the bar is set,” he teases, sipping some of his water.

“Next date, hmm?”

“Oh absolutely, sweetheart,” he chuckles.

“I would say it is very likely,” you chuckle.

“So what does one talk about on a first date?”

“We talk about whatever we want to talk about,” you tell him, leaning forward in your chair. The blanket around your shoulders shifts a bit, one side falling over. Eddie’s quick to jump up and tug it tight around your shoulders, his palm curling about your shoulder and squeezing tight. You thank him quietly and continue, “There are no rules. A first date is whatever we want to make of it, though I really doubt this is your first date ever.”

He shakes his head, the loose curls on either side of his face bouncing about his shoulders. “Not my first date ever, no, but the first one in over two years. And I really want to impress this girl.”

“You already have,” you tell him sincerely, gesturing to the table. You sniffle noisily, earning a soft laugh from the dark eyed boy. “You’re here when I’m sick, made me dinner, brought me all kinds of things to make me feel better…I’d say this is a pretty great first date. Just maybe not ideal.”

Because you find you really want to kiss him at the end of the night, but you know better than to risk giving him your cold any further than he’s already done so by staying here with you. “So…since high school then. I am so curious to know what high school Eddie was like.”

“Oh, you know, Freak of Hawkins High, leader of the school’s DnD club, not really anyone's cup of tea.” He’s smiling at you as he says it, but there’s a little bitterness that seeps into his tone and catches you off guard.

You reach across the table to rub a thumb along his knuckles. “Pretty sure I’d have liked him. I like you now.”

So it carries on like that, simply sharing in the comfort of quiet conversation as you snack on pizza. He asks you the simple questions, those little tidbits neither of you is yet privy to with one another. What are your favorite colors? He’s red, a darker shade, and you wonder if it’s because his guitar is that color. Yours, you state, changes often (which he argues isn’t fair if he needs that information for later), but at present is blue; not just any blue, however, blue like the color of the Hawkins sky, that pale shade that signifies a new day dawning. You talk about your favorite seasons. You the warmer months, him those quieter, cooler ones where he can stay in and relax. He jokes about how you’re the sunshine to his dark storm cloud, and you argue that he’s not a dark storm cloud at all.

In the past months you’ve seen him open up, watched him flourish and share with you, learned his heart. He’s harder around the edges, maybe, but there’s a softness he shares with his loved ones—and it’s the same softness he shares with you now. That flash of gold in his interior, a special gift to those who have the privilege of knowing him. That warm, beautiful center of his heart, where you have learned he is kindness personified.

That is Eddie Munson.

Once you’re done eating, Eddie maneuvers around the kitchen table to drop a kiss to the crown of your head, suggesting, “I’ll go ahead and clean up. Why don’t you shower and get comfy, and we’ll watch that movie while we…start this puzzle?”

He holds up the box that’s on the kitchen counter and your grin widens, head dipping once.

“You continue to impress me,” you admit, laughing as he excitedly shakes the insides of the box. It looks to be five hundred pieces, a scene of C-3PO and R2-D2 from one of the movies. “Give me like…fifteen.”

“Take your time,” he calls over his shoulder as he gets to work, sweater rolled up to his elbows.

You’re grateful for it as you slip into the shower after rooting around for some sweats and a pull over, hot water rolling over your hair and skin. It helps to ease a little of the soreness in your muscles, assisting your medicine with the congestion in your nose and chest. You hum contentedly to yourself and shut the water off after a while, snatching a towel to dry yourself before patting your hair with another.

Once dressed and dry enough, you slip back out into your kitchen to find Eddie with a blanket folded on your chair and him sitting in the one beside yours, pieces of the puzzle already spread out over the table. He’s got the remote in his palm, ready to hit ‘play’ once you sit down.

You work in a comfortable silence. But it’s in that silence the evening shifts. Eddie’s more open with his touching, growing braver with every passing minute. Soft brushes of skin when you reach for the same puzzle piece, the heat of your thighs pressing together when he grows tired of the space between you two and slides your chair closer to his. Whenever your blanket starts to fall from your shoulders, he’s there to pull it back up, fingers lingering there longer and longer. And as the puzzle takes form and shape, you catch the way he looks at you out of the corner of his eye.

This curiosity behind his eyes, a want burgeoning between the two of you. You can feel it— have felt it since he made you dinner and set up a romantic table for you. You bite your lip after a while and say, “I’m not kissing you. You’ll really get sick then.”

He sputters a bit, laughing as you narrow your eyes his way, as if that isn’t what he's been thinking about when looking your way. Have you read the signs all wrong?

“On a first date?” He’s light and teasing, thumbing at your chin when you force a pout.

“Remember what I said?” You press a puzzle piece into place, glancing up at him through your lashes. “About there being no rules on a first date?”

“Except for right now…because you’re sick.”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“But next date…”

You dip your head. “Next date.”

He’s all smiles and boyish charm, that dimple in his cheek popping as he glances down at the table to try and hide the grin that slides across his face. Sticky fondness bubbles in your chest, driving you to move closer, thighs draping over the top of his, your cheek pressing against his shoulder as the two of you resume your puzzle.

Soon enough the movie ends and your clock reads ten at night, and Eddie’s making sure you take another round of medicine against your many protests. He drops the cup in front of you on the table and hands you another water bottle, smiling fondly as you stick your tongue out in disgust.

The puzzle is still not finished, only about halfway done, and your eyes are practically closing where your head rests against his shoulder. It’s then and only then he starts to stir from beneath you, standing to his feet as he suggests you start to get ready for bed.

You’re sluggish in movement as you do what he says, body thumping against the mattress as you curl on your side. His head pops up beside you from where he kneels beside your mattress, head of curls beckoning your hand toward his face, tangling with the strands there.

“Thanks for a perfect first date,” you murmur sleepily.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“I’ll be better for the next one,” you say, glancing over to your television set up. A sad TV sat on a packing box. “I think I need something better for the TV to sit on…and maybe a couch. Come with me?”

“I’d love to,” he says, cupping the side of your head and gently brushing the backs of his knuckles against your hair. “You should get some rest. You’re a little warm again. I’ll come check on you tomorrow.”

You sigh, eyes closing. “Goodnight, Eddie.”

He leans over your bedside, lips featherlight against your cheek. A soft press of his skin against yours, and then he’s leaning back to whisper, “Goodnight.”

Your head burrows deeper into your pillow, arms coming up to tuck beneath your head, and Eddie’s jingling wallet grows more and more distant as he heads toward the door.

He whispers goodnight once more, and your eyes grow heavier.

The last thought before bed is that of all the first dates you’ve been on, this one’s the most special.

You waste no time in seeing one another again. Luckily, Eddie’s immune system is stronger than either of you predict, because he never gets sick and soon enough you’re climbing into his van and greeting him with a giant hug as you head to the thrift stores in search of some sort of entertainment system or couch.

You plan on splurging a bit on at least one of them today, and excitement seeps into your veins at the thought of spending more time with the man.

It feels like a whirlwind as you waltz into the first thrift store, not quite finding anything you’re looking for. Most of the furniture looks a little too aged for your liking, with holes that seem a little questionable.

But it doesn’t stop you from shoving Eddie into a dressing room with a bunch of ridiculous clothes. Bright patterns full of color, hats too big on his head, and the most ghastly sunglasses you can find. When he walks out you wish you had brought along your camera, his hands on his hips as he strolls out casually, asking what you think.

“It’s definitely a look,” you laugh, coming forward to toy with the button on the shirt you’ve picked for him. “I think the hat really sells me on the whole thing though.”

He grips the bottom of your chin and wiggles your face lightly, reaching forward for a moment, and you wonder if he’s about to kiss you, but he only bumps your nose against his and murmurs, “Your turn, sweetheart.”

His choice is worse, you think, as he disappears from you for a moment and rushes around the aisles. When he returns, he’s got this frilly pink dress full of tulle and a hat with plumes of feathers on top, and a clashing plum velvet exterior. Still, you disappear from view and head into the dressing room, slipping the hideous combination on and laughing at the reflection that stares back at you. Endless fabric spills around your frame, and the hat atop your head falls into your eyes unless you keep pushing it up, weighed down by the feathers.

You drag Eddie in with you, glancing at both your images in the long mirror, his features filling in the spaces beside you. You pull out your camera shoved into your bag and snap a few photos, wanting to save this moment to join the other photos you keep sitting on your night table and bookshelf.

He tugs you close there and kisses your temple, and your fingers curl in his shirt. You look like a kaleidoscope of garish color, but your joy burns bright, the newness of whatever this is scoring a memory across your heart.

The next thrift store ends up being a little more fruitful. You don’t tempt one another with hideous outfits; instead, you manage to score a beautiful, barely used looking entertainment system that looks close enough in color to your bookshelf that it should work with the apartment.

A worker helps Eddie carry it out to his van, sliding it into the back, and the two of you stare at one another over the center console when you’re all ready to go back inside. He reaches over first to grab your hand, slides his fingers through your own after he raises the volume on the radio a bit and announces your next location.

You end up at a furniture shop where a salesperson immediately asks you a thousand different questions. “What are you looking for?” “What kind of space?” “What color?” “What fabric?” And Eddie’s there to help you answer, his hand in your own as you try out various different couches.

“I feel like Goldilocks or something,” he laughs after a while, wincing as the two of you drop into the most uncomfortable of the bunch. “The one before this had me feeling like I was about to fall into a black hole. This one I think just broke my ass.”

“Mine, too.”

“Not the one?” the worker asks, interrupting your private moment. “I think the next option might be a good fit then.”

And it is.

If anything, it’s perfect. Not too hard, not too soft, just right.

Eddie curls you against his chest later that evening on said couch when you return to your apartment and set up your new things. You’ve worked on your puzzle a bit more and it starts to look a little bit more like the photo on the box, but decide to relax and put on a movie.

His legs kick out beneath him, back against one of the armrests, your side stretching across his chest as his arms rest low around your waist.

It’s then with the sun starting to set over Hawkins, sky growing a beautiful red and orange color like a burst of fall in a perfect painting, that you tilt your head up and look at Eddie’s face. His profile stares back at you, head turned just enough to watch the scenes playing out on your television.

Your fingers slide up the side of his face, body moving up and off of him just enough to do what you want to, and those chocolate eyes slowly shift until they meet yours. His head follows suit, tipping ever so slightly to let you know he wants this just as much as you do.

Your breath halts as he lifts a callused hand to your cheek and slides his fingers along the side of your face until they rest comfortably against the hinge of your jaw. His thumb brushes your bottom lip and you shudder a breath. It’s a gentle perusal as the pad of his thumb slides to the corner of your mouth and lingers there, eyes dropping down ever so slightly to where you equally want him just as much.

“Can I—”

He’s barely gotten the words out before you nod and he’s leaning down to press his lips against yours. You meet softly in the middle, the plushness of his lips sealing over your own, your own hand pushing further across his skin.

You feel the roughness of stubble forming along his jaw as his lips move over your own, all gentle presses of skin, heat sparking life in your belly, a quiet hum falling from your parted lips as he pulls just back enough to rest his forehead against yours. He’s all puffy lips and red cheeks, shaky breath panting against your mouth.

But it’s not enough.

You lean back forward, claiming his mouth with your own, easing him in slightly. He’s hesitant at first, hand still on your cheek, just gentle caress after gentle caress, until the uneasiness of kissing someone new dissipates into something deeper.

You can taste the sweetness of the fruit you shared earlier on his tongue as it slides across your bottom lip, seeking entrance, sliding against your own. Can feel the throb of his heart against your ribcage as he shifts the two of you with an arm around your lower back and rolls you over until your spine hits the plush cushions beneath.

Eddie groans as your fingers curl around the back of his neck, dragging him down closer to you, your body relishing and twisting beneath him at the solid press of his weight molding you into the couch.

He slows down after a while, soft sigh after soft sigh pouring from his lips into your own, making sure things don’t progress too far too fast. And when he parts, your breath shakes against his bottom lip, eyes clashing with his in the dark. It could have been minutes or hours you’ve spent languishing in his presence, you’re not even certain, all you know is you crave more of it.

You lift your head just a bit to close the space once more, the smack of a quick peck filling the quiet of your apartment.

“Hmm,” you hum, nuzzling his nose a bit when he curls a hand around your neck and leans down above you. He does the same, a slide of skin against yours, and drops a kiss to your forehead, smiling against your skin. “Well, I’d say our second date was a success.”

He rests his head down in the crook of your neck, his muffled laughter making your skin warm. You lift a hand to thread it through curls, feeling his arm loop around your waist.

“How are my odds at a third?”

“I’d say highly probable,” you tease, holding him tighter.

The next date finds you at a local harvest festival. It’s outside of Hawkins and all bright and welcoming. Everywhere you look are things to see. From the pumpkin patches, to the apple orchards. There are fresh pumpkin donuts wafting in the air, caramel apples on display, corn being sold by the ear.

Kids skirt and weave about you and Eddie as you walk through the crowds hand in hand, both of you wearing thick sweaters and flannels overtop. To your right stands a hulking corn maze, and to your left the worker currently smacking their gum between their teeth protects the farm stands and pumpkin patches at the entrance from behind their register for entry.

Your idea had been simple: grab a few pumpkins and carve them back at your apartment with Eddie and have a cozy night in. That’s quickly turned into a grand event, with your friends trailing on ahead, a prospective pumpkin carving competition on the horizon.

Steve and Robin lose it upon seeing the two of you holding hands openly, commenting that it’s ‘all thanks to them’ you’re together in the first place. You whisper to Eddie later that it’s not, and he brushes a kiss along your temple when no one is looking to reassure you you’re right.

So you and Eddie set off to look for the perfect pumpkins, perusing the patch with a wheelbarrow trailing behind you as your friends mill about in the distance trying to pick their own. It’s also then Eddie starts this game of making the absolute most ridiculous flirty pick up lines that make your sides hurt from how hard you end up laughing at them.

In the patch it’s, “If you were a pumpkin, I’d pick you.”

Later, when trailing through the check out lines and waiting with the other dozens of people who have the same plans in mind as you for the weekend activities, he holds up a gourd and bats his eyelashes, muttering, “You’re gordeous. I can’t be-leaf you’re mine.”

In the corn maze, when you and Eddie end up deciding to split up with Robin and Steve and see who gets out first, he’s tugging your hand to his lips and saying, “You’re a-maze-ing.” (You roll your eyes at that one, but reward him with a kiss when he ends up pouting).

And later, as you crowd around on a line to grab something warm to heat yourselves up, Eddie leans down to the hollow of your ear, chuckling out, “Want to go on a coffee date? Because I like you a latte.”

You shove at him lightly, waiting till Steve and Robin are too preoccupied in their own coffees to lean up on your toes and press your lips against Eddie’s. He’s warm, lips tasting of hot chocolate, and smelling like those sugary donuts, mixing in with his aftershave and the leather of his jacket, the cigarette he smoked as you stood in line to get into the festival.

Later, you all stand around Steve Harrington’s kitchen table covered with a giant plastic bag to keep the mess at minimum. You all sip on chilled beers as you crowd about, Dustin there to judge the pumpkin carving competition. You and Eddie choose to carve a Yoda into the front face of the pumpkin, which proves to be more ambitious than you initially plan for, but Eddie’s up for the challenge. His hair is tied back, sleeves rolled up high on his elbows, tongue pressing into his lips. You’re there to gut the pumpkin, arms deep into the cavity to pull the guts from it, the sticky sludge sliding between your fingers. He’s laughing to himself when you pretend to be a zombie, murmuring ‘braiiiiins’ and walking toward him slowly as you hold aloft the gooey mess in your palm, fingers deftly holding a knife to the front of your pumpkin as Steve and Robin look on happily.

Dustin only gags at your public display of affection, groaning out, “Get back to work, you two. This is a competition and you’re being timed.”

In the end, you and Eddie don’t end up winning. Which is understandable, because despite all Eddie’s best efforts, Yoda hardly looks like Yoda and at least Steve and Robin’s pumpkin looks like something. Theirs is merely a grinning mouth with endless rows of teeth, and yet it’s easy to crown them winners and you hand over their aforementioned bet money, knowing you’ve already won the best prize.

And it comes in the form of Eddie pulling you close by your belt loops later that night, him sighing into your mouth as your tongue drags against his and you tug him closer.

Always closer.

“Goodnight,” you whisper.

There’s a press of his lips against yours once more.

A seal for the end of the night.

“Sleep sweet,” he murmurs against your skin, and date number three ends better than you could ever imagine, with his arms curling tight around your frame, holding you close, simply basking in your newfound closeness.

You continue on like that for the next two weeks.

In the morning, you wake and open the coffee shop. Pass out endless coffees and tend to your workers, laugh with the kids, talk with your customers about their day to day. In the afternoon Eddie comes to visit for his coffee, lingers to talk with you and the kids. Reminds Max about her homework assignments.

Some nights you visit him at the Hideout, sitting near the bar as you read a good and pass him smiles from where you sit, counting down the minutes until you can see him again. Other nights you spend in the company of Steve and Robin, telling tales of your travels, listening to them rant and rave about their jobs at Family Video.

Some nights, Eddie comes barreling into your apartment seeking you, wanting to be near you. Clings to you with hands, lips and teeth. Presses you against the cushions on your couch, holds you tight as he nips and kisses along your skin, always tasting, never venturing further. But you don’t press him—you don’t wish to push him further than he’s ready to go. He confides in you one night that he’s never been with anyone—not fully, at least. He’s tried things before, sure. Has kissed his share of people. But when it comes to intimacy, he’s nervousness embodied. So you only reassure him you’re in no rush, you’re ready when he’s ready, you want him to be happy. That you want that moment to be perfect, and you’re more than happy to wait for him.

Some nights Max teases Eddie about where he’s been. Questions a fading mark on his neck nearer to the front of the store so you can’t hear (you always hear). Asks what his plans are for the weekend. Wonders whether or not he’ll be joining her and Wayne for dinner. It’s on those nights he questions her grades, asks if she’s done her homework, threatens to tell Wayne to take away her allowance or phone privileges. She’s always quick with a quip, and he’s all smiles and wit, hugging her despite her protests.

Soon enough it becomes a comforting pattern for you.

A daily constant.

Something to rely on every day, because it’s a certainty just like the sun rising every morning, and setting in the evening.

Work, friends, Eddie.

You don’t know when it happened, but you suppose it’s exactly how it was meant to be all along. Your soul sings and your elation hums in your veins.

Life is good, things are good.

The shop is growing, you’re thriving, and you’re falling for Eddie Munson in the midst of all of it just like the leaves that drift and tumble to the ground.

It’s hard to admit, even scarier to accept, and yet you’re falling all the same.

“It’s not even fair,” you grumble, watching as Eddie walks out of your bathroom wearing his leather jacket, a dark shirt underneath, hair down and earring on full display.

You’ve opted for a flowing skirt, and a white tank top you found that looks as close to Star’s from The Lost Boys that you could muster. All in all, you’re Michael and Star, minus the literal vampirism, and ready to head out to Steve’s party for Halloween.

“What’s not fair, sweetheart?” he asks you, moving about your kitchen to grab his keys. You lock up behind him as the two of you slip out of the apartment, curling your hand around his as he leads you down the steps.

“That you look like that right now.”

“Speak for yourself,” he says, helping you down the last step, grunting as your form bumps into his own. “Easy there. Look at you falling for me, sweetheart.”

You want to laugh, because you already are.

Instead, you follow him to the car and pop in one of his Metallica cassettes. The familiar opening notes of one of the songs greets your ears and you watch Eddie’s fingers strum along his steering wheel.

“What time is Charlotte getting there?” Eddie asks.

And that’s right, because you’ve invited one of your customers you caught Steve Harrington practically fawning over the last time he and Robin came by. She’s pretty, all long curly hair and striking blue eyes, a dance teacher. So when Steve mentioned you and Eddie could bring whoever you wanted, you had asked the girl and she hesitantly said yes, yet said yes all the same.

“Look at you matchmaking,” he teases.

“Yeah well, the kids all have someone. Robin has Vickie. I have you… it’s Steve’s turn.”

He reaches over and grips your hand in his gentle kisses brushing over to the back of your skin. “The fact you’re so thoughtful is one of the reasons I like you so much.”

“Not that I supply you with endless coffee and snacks?”

“Those are definitely brownie points. I cannot lie, sweetheart.”

When you arrive at the party, Robin’s dressed with Vickie in a style that looks like that of the seventies. All flowing bell bottoms, tassel tops, oversized circle sunglasses, dangly earrings. And then there’s Steve dressed up as Danny from Grease .

The rest of the kids stand about the Harrington home, their little core group dressed as characters from Star Wars, while Jonathan and Nancy are dressed as Johnny and Baby from Dirty Dancing. Her in a dainty pink dress and heels and Jonathan in his all black garb.

“You two look so good,” Robin coos, reaching up to toy with the curls around Eddie’s shoulders. “The fact you got him to wear a costume, babe, is a true miracle. Last year he dressed as himself.”

“I’d say I’m dressed as basically myself now,” Eddie points out, batting playfully at her hands.

“He does dress very similarly,” you say, leaning closer to his side, waving hello to Vickie.

“Still, it’s the thought that counts.” And Robin’s swooning around the kitchen as the older girls flit on inside, commenting on each other's costumes and making yourselves drinks.

Nancy talks about the journalism department at her college. Vickie mentions she’s happy to just be home for a little bit and kisses a blushing Robin on the cheek. You update them on the fact you’re finally feeling like the shop is making you the money you actually need. And then the door rings, just as soon as Robin’s handing you all red cups full of whatever concoction she whipped up today.

In walks Charlotte and you burst over to her side just as Steve intercepts her, giggling to yourself over the fact she’s dressed as Sandy, with her hair all curly, a black top, black pants and a little pop of red on her high heels.

You didn’t plan this part, and yet it’s somehow infinitely more perfect than you ever could have anticipated. You give her a hug and introduce her to everyone before telling her you’ll show her where the rest of the girls are, mouthing over your shoulder at a very smitten looking Steve (and a bemused looking Eddie), “Act natural.”

Steve only mouths back, “I love you!”

And then mutters to his best friend, “I think I love your girlfriend,” and is effectively elbowed in the ribcage by said friend.

Later, after Charlotte’s warmed up and the group of girls has had a drink or two in their systems to loosen up a bit for the night, you find yourself back at Eddie’s side while Steve and Charlotte talk together in the distance. He’s carding his fingers through his hair and laughing at something she’s said, her smile bright and wide across her pretty face.

It feels perfect.

Steve talking with the girl he’s been pining over with a new light in his eyes.

Said girl looking up at him like he’s as wonderful as you know him to be.

Robin and Vickie kissing in the kitchen.

Jonathan and Nancy sway as he holds her in his arms.

The kids outside play with their fake lightsabers, shouting loud above the music.

And then there’s you, standing with the boy in all dark clothing that makes your soul sing.

“I feel a little floaty,” you murmur sleepily, pressing your face into his leather-clad shoulder.

“It’s your good friend Robin’s love for tequila.”

“Mm,” you hum, nodding. “Probably.”

“I tell you how pretty you look tonight?”

You shift in his arms, glancing up at his kind face. “Don’t think so. But maybe you can tell me now?”

He chuckles and lowers his face to your ear. “You’re so pretty. And I’m so happy you’re here.”

“Here as in the party?” You ask, face warm still from his compliment and the way it tingles down to your toes.

“As in Hawkins. Here.” He curls his arm around your shoulders and presses you against his chest. “With me.”

The next weeks pass swiftly, and it’s only because with the cooler weather, you find yourself busier than usual. You end up hiring another two openers, this way you can stagger out the kid’s schedules and also to allow yourself the opportunity of some flexibility after Eddie catches you falling asleep at the bar one night and suggests you need to take care of your own self too.

Apparently working seven days a week isn’t sustainable.

So for the next couple weeks you work on training them up, helping them learn all the functions of the shop, as well as showing them how to manage the money for the earlier portion of the day, while the kids know how to handle the night shift.

Soon enough, you find yourself able to take a day off when you actually want to, visiting Robin and Steve at Family Video here and there, and Wayne on the days he’s off from the power plant.

That’s a newer development.

Since meeting him at Eddie’s birthday back in August, you’ve gotten closer with the man.

The two of you try to get together just to sit and talk even if it’s for thirty minutes every so often.

But you enjoy it. He’s an addition on the list of things that make Hawkins more like home.

Your photo collection grows in those weeks as well. Jonathan helps you develop your photos and soon you have the ones of you and Eddie from the thrift store, Halloween, a photo of Eddie kissing you that one of the kids must have taken when you weren’t looking during one of your ‘family game nights’ at Steve’s.

Steve and Charlotte have started to date as well.

You’re not shocked at all by that. It was easy to see at the party they were smitten with one another, and now he’s set to be spending Thanksgiving with her family in New York. He says it’s serious, and you’re more than overjoyed to hear it.

He deserves the world. Especially for the kind of friend he’s been to Eddie these years.

And then there’s Eddie.

Eddie with his glowing smile. Eddie with that sweet dimple. Eddie who comes over more and more to make you dinner, to hold you close, to kiss you until your head spins. Eddie who murmurs his affection low in your ear, words meant only for you to hear, who opens up and blossoms before your eyes, who whispers of a future he hopes you see in Hawkins, paints the picture with his dreams.

It becomes more and more clearer every day.

“Okay, so Max doesn’t like cranberry sauce,” you say, holding aloft the grocery list in your hand. “Should we just forget about it then?”

“Do you like it?” Eddie raises a brow, pushing along the shopping cart beside you.

“No.”

“I don’t like it,” he says.

“I don’t think anyone really likes it, babe,” you laugh out, gasping in shock when Eddie grips your hand and tugs you against his chest. “We’re in a store.”

He presses a kiss to your lips. “You didn’t say hello.”

“I did. Many times.” You lean up and kiss him once more, pulling back to whisper, “Hello.”

His fingers curl around the belt loops of your jeans, tugging you close in a hug, his hand sliding just slightly into your back pocket. The aisles are empty, and to anyone who might pass, you look like just another couple in the honeymoon phase. All bright colors behind your eyes, whimsy, kiss stained lips. Girlish giggles and boyish laughter between closely bent together faces, hands brushing, fingers trailing, that constant need-to-touch behavior.

“I just want to make a good impression,” you remind him once the two of you have separated. “It’s my first Thanksgiving with…well, with family in a long time. I don’t want to mess it up.”

“It’s Max and Wayne…who both already love you.”

“I know, but I just think it should be perfect. It means a lot to me, Eddie.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he says softly.

And he does.

You’d whispered to him the night he mentioned to you how Wayne wanted you to spend Thanksgiving with them that the invitation alone meant more than words could say. Your own family had never been one for the festivities. They’d often travel somewhere tropical and have whatever food was offered there to celebrate, and often left you behind because it was generally under the guise of a ‘business trip.’

But that traditional Thanksgiving. The Thanksgiving you’ve seen only in movies…that’s the kind you want that year. The kind full of family and friendship, of the people that make you happiest, the ones that make you feel warm.

“It’s going to be perfect,” he promises, lowering his hand to the small of your back, his lips a gentle brush against your temple.

You walk in and out of the aisles in search of everything you need, talking amongst yourselves, merely enjoying the day together. And you’re ready to check out when you see a woman with a shock of blonde curly hair standing behind you in line staring at Eddie like she knows him, like she loathes him.

He doesn’t see her at first, but you do, watching as the cashier works on ringing everything up and Eddie stands at the end of the belt to pay.

“You shouldn’t be with him,” she says out loud.

You’re not sure she’s talking to you.

And why would she?

She doesn’t know him.

You merely nod your head and glance away, uncomfortable.

“He’s not a good man.”

There’s that voice again.

That haunted sounding voice that makes your blood run cold, but not because the words hold any weight, but because of the hollow tone to them.

You move further away from her, glancing at Eddie who is still caught up with whatever the cashier is talking to him about. Apparently they share an interest for metal and were talking about the upcoming concert the younger boy was planning on going to.

“Miss, I really think you should kindly mind your business,” you say as nicely as possible, your voice high and tight at the end.

It’s then Eddie finally hears you, eyes darting to your face, and then further still over your shoulder. His mouth drops open as he meets the woman’s eyes, handing the cashier his money so the two of you can get the hell out of there.

“You shouldn’t be here, young man,” she says directly to him, and ice crawls down your spine. “I don’t care what they say, you shouldn’t have been allowed back.”

You shove your cart forward and Eddie moves to turn you away from the woman, rushing the two of you out the front doors to the supermarket as she shouts again he shouldn’t be there into the cold fall air.

Your heart is racing as you load up your car with the groceries, Eddie pushing the cart away into the corral once everything is stowed away. You drop down into your front seat and lock your buckle into place, hand against your chest to try and calm yourself down.

Eddie appears a moment later across from you, looking just as fearful, but though your fear is for him, his is solely for you. He reaches across the space between the two of you and cups your face in his hands, pressing his forehead against yours as your raspy breath fills the car.

“Are you okay?” He finally breathes into the open cabin of the car.

“Am I okay? Eddie, she was harassing you.”

“I’m okay.” The tremor in his voice tells you he’s anything but.

“Who was she? Why was she saying that?”

“Sweetheart, there’s…I…the things that happened two years ago. I—”

He’s struggling.

His breath comes quick and staccato in your ears, his eyes growing rounder and rounder in his growing panic.

Your hands come out to rest on either side of his shoulders, feeling them as they tremble, his mouth working over words that won’t come up.

They die on his throat, and all you’re left with are the sounds of his struggle.

“Eddie,” you whisper, sliding a hand up and down his arm. “Don’t. I…would never want you to talk about something if you’re not ready or comfortable. Please know that, okay? Whenever you’re ready, I’m here. But not a moment before that.”

He’s rasping out, “Okay” over and over again and your heart breaks for him. For the fear crawling up his throat and choking him.

Your anger builds for the woman who thought it okay to openly yell at him in a public setting and left him like this.

Your anger builds for the woman who left him broken like this.

“Let’s just go home, okay?” you whisper, sliding your hand down until you can feel his palm within your own.

You give him a gentle squeeze and he returns the pressure, training his gaze ahead.

Let’s just go home.

Thanksgiving dinner isn’t perfect, but you think it makes it infinitely better.

The turkey you tried to cook…doesn’t exactly work out as planned, and despite you nearly bursting into tears in front of Eddie over it, he’s there with his arms at the ready holding you close and reassuring you that you also brought chicken wings, and he and Wayne like those a thousand times more than ‘boring dry turkey.’

Dessert is easier.

You’re good with dessert and end up baking an apple pie and a batch of chocolate chip cookies (the ones you know Eddie and Max like).

When all is said and done and your apartment smells like a bakery, you get ready for the evening in a simple brown sweater and jeans. Something comfortable for all the food you’re about to consume.

And as you arrive at Wayne’s with Eddie in tow, all your worries about everything that might have gone wrong dissipate. Because Wayne’s there with a giant hug and a booming welcome, with Max lingering in the hallway a little further behind, practically screaming at Eddie when he rushes forward and picks her up in a bear hug.

Her head dangles over his shoulder and her fists rap against his back, but she’s laughing, red hair spilling around her like a fire, smiling when he places her back on the ground and pushes her glasses up on the bridge of her nose.

“Asshole,” she mutters, but it’s said through her grin, before she pushes past him and hugs you too. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

You unpack the things you bought and lay them about around kitchen counters and tables, Wayne admonishing that you��ve made too much, that it’s more than he could have expected.

But you wanted perfect for your first Thanksgiving in your new town, and can only grin to yourself as you swat both Eddie’s and Max’s hands away when you show Wayne the cookies you worked on.

Dinner is spent passing plates over the table to one another, with Max announcing she wants mashed potatoes, Eddie shoveling yams onto her plate, making sure she’s also got vegetables in there somewhere. It’s spent with Wayne telling you stories about Eddie’s childhood. Like the time he cut his own hair and tried to hide it from Wayne for a week with a knitted hat…in the middle of summer (he later took him to a barber shop, where they ended up chopping most of the length off). He tells you about the first tattoo Eddie got and also tried to hide from him. Eddie only balks that he was too young at the time, and wasn’t about to tell his uncle he’d gotten a stick and poke from a friend who was only learning then.

Max tells you about her schooling, her hobbies. Eddie laughs that she’s always covered scrapes and bruises because she still holds her title as ‘Mad Max,’ as given by her friends, but sobers up when he says he’s happy she can again, and he’ll always keep Wayne’s place stocked with band aids since he’s so happy she’s back to full health.

Apparently there were many months of physical therapy after her accident to regain full strength back in her body.

After a while she announces she’s going to the Sinclair’s for dessert, but steals one of your cookies on the way out, thanking everyone for a great dinner. You’re left in the kitchen washing dishes with Eddie as Wayne sits in front of the TV in the living room.

Eddie’s hand curls low around your waist as you clean up, your soak slick hands roving around one of the plates. “How’s the first Hawkins Thanksgiving?”

“Perfect, Eddie,” you whisper gratefully, “thank you.”

“I’m going to go ahead and get dessert set up,” he says, brushing a kiss against your temple.

You hum as he goes, singing along to a tune unknown as you work, glancing over your shoulder to where Eddie stands in the living area opening different dessert trays with his hair falling forward around him. And then further, you catch sight of the elder Munson, your heart swelling at how much they already have come to mean to you.

Both of them.

It’s a little overwhelming, and a lot scary, but you lean into that feeling.

You let it roll over you in waves, this feeling of family that grows with every passing day here.

Dessert feels like an orange glow. Like the heat of a fire warming your skin. Pillowy soft and honey sweet. It feels like candy, sugar coating your mouth. It’s the heat from Eddie’s body rolling into yours as Wayne pulls out Eddie’s old talent show tape from when he was younger. Shaved head, no tattoos, with a more youthful face. Eddie cringes as the three of you watch, his movements along the strings still just as impressive then as you know them to be now, and you lean into his arm to give him a kiss on the cheek through the awkward laughter he lets out. It’s the quiet call of your name as Eddie moves to go clean up dessert and slips into the kitchen.

Wayne leads you outside with a fresh mug of coffee in both your hands. The instant stuff, he laughs, not like the good stuff you have back at your shop. But you don’t mind it, not at all, as you settle down on a chair beside him, a blanket swallowing your form as you tuck your thighs beneath you.

“Thank you for inviting me tonight,” you say after a while, eyes lingering on the beautiful moon up above.

You hear the rustle of leaves pick up in the wind, the sound of wind chimes dancing in the air, the bark of a dog in the distance, a low hum of a car engine as people head back home for the night.

It’s nice.

“It’s my pleasure, little missy.” He looks over to you and smiles, the wrinkles around his mouth crinkling as he does so. “Been a long time since I’ve seen my boy smile like he does with you. Grateful for that tonight.”

“Thank you, Mr. Munson,” you reply, feeling your eyes burn. “It’s all I want for him, really. I…I really care about him. He’s such good person, and I know a lot of that is thanks to you.”

“He’s a good kid, despite everything he’s been through,” he agrees, tipping his head up to the sky. “You’ll look out for him, won’t you?”

“Always,” you promise.

After saying goodbye to Wayne for the night, you tell Eddie you want to go back to your apartment to hang out for a little bit.

You sit in the quiet of comfortable companionship. Talking about your favorite moments from the night, laughing over the videos from Eddie’s talent show.

“Looked like a whole different kid,” he chuckles out, recalling the shaved head and lack of ink you currently run your fingers over as he sits beside you. “How about you, what was your favorite part of the night?”

“Just getting to spend time with you all. It felt right.”

“I know what you mean,” he says, his head rolling a bit on the couch cushion to look you in the eyes. “Meant a lot to me you were there. You mean a lot to me.”

Your fingers brush his jaw, right along the ridges of his scar, ever so gently. “You mean a lot to me too, Eddie.”

“Seems so silly to ask you to be my girlfriend when I think about it. But then again, we’ve never really talked about what we are. I just know I’m serious about this, about us. And I know I’ve been a real idiot about certain things in the past, but this is one thing I want to get right.”

“I want this too, Eddie. More than anything.”

What happens next starts out hesitant.

Eddie presses his lips to yours and hums into your skin as you clamber up and onto his lap. In the distance, your TV plays, but right now all you can focus on is the rapid beat of your heart, the flush that warms your skin.

His hands are hesitant. Splaying on either side of your hips as your knees press into the couch cushions, your mouth sliding over the curve of his cheek, the gentle slope of his jaw. You grin at the sound of the moan that spills from him as your teeth lightly drag along an earlobe, scoring a path down his neck.

Those hands around your hips tighten reflexively as you mark your path back up his neck and claim his mouth once more with your own, exhaling shakily against skin at the first experimental roll of his hips up into yours, fueled only by natural instinct.

He’s already hard there, impossibly so, your hips rocking forward slightly against his zipper, hissing low in your throat as heat drags low along where you want him most.

He mutters your name to stop you as you reach behind you to grip the hem of your sweater in both arms, those callused fingers replacing your own a moment later as he helps you push it up and over your head. You’d foregone a bra as soon as you got home, and you’re happy for it now with the way he murmurs, “Babybabybaby,” against your collar bone, and then lower still at the first swirl of his tongue against hot flesh.

You yelp at the shift in weight as he flips you beneath him, thighs parting around his slender hips to make room. You feel so very exposed laying there half naked while he’s still fully dressed, but the way he looks at you quickly quiets that fear.

All dark eyes blown out only for you, gentle touches against skin, murmurs of how beautiful and perfect you are against the hollow of your throat as he punctuates each compliment with a kiss.

You rock your hips upward against his slowly, his answering groan against your lips before you swallow the sound making heat pool. At the first press of him at your core, just the slightest of rolls of his hips as he grows more comfortable in the moment, you let out a breathy sigh, body practically humming with delight from the nearness of him.

But it’s not enough.

And he agrees, because it’s suddenly a frantic clash of lips and teeth. His elbows lowering to either side of his head as his chest rests against yours, his heart thrashing against your sternum. His fingers work deftly at the button on your jeans, zipper slicing into the silence of your apartment as he slides it down.

Every inch of you burns bright.

Your lips are kiss swollen, breath heavy, chest tight. You can feel the slick of your center, the need spiking with every second that passes he’s not inside you. And you know he feels it too, can feel it in his kisses, the sounds rolling from deep within his chest, the press of him hot and hard and ready at your core.

But that’s where it all goes wrong.

He’s kissing your throat and sliding his hand down the front of your jeans, fingers just barely skimming the line of your underwear, when you decide you need more of him.

It’s your hand sliding beneath his shirt and running along the first ridge of a scar you hadn’t even known was there that does it.

It’s like tires on a tarmac.

The rust of brakes gone bad.

The scratch of a record as the moment screeches to a halt before things can go any further.

Because Eddie’s flinching and murmuring, “Waitwaitwait.”

And suddenly he’s rolling off of you and standing to his feet, breathing heavy and looking up at the ceiling.

You curse under your breath, snatching your sweater from the floor and sliding it back over your form, reaching for him because you don’t know what else to do.

“Did I hurt you? Eddie, please tell me I didn’t hurt you—”

“No, shit, sweetheart…no.” He curses again, fingers pressing into the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry. I just fucked it up, I’m sorry—”

You wrap your arms around his midsection slowly, feeling the tremors wracking his form, pressing your cheek over the frantic beat of his heart. “Eddie, you’re all I care about. If you’re not ready, you’re not ready. It doesn’t change how I feel about you. All I’ve ever wanted is what you want. You didn’t ruin anything.”

“I just…I don’t look like I used to. It’s—”

“Eddie, please don’t feel like you need to explain. It’s okay.”

“I’m just—I look like a monster under there,” he admits, dragging you back down over to the couch. You curl up on his lap, his hands twining with your own, your thumb rolling lazy circles into his skin. “It’s wrecked to shit and…”

He presses the heels of of his palms into his eyes and curses out with a low groan.

When he pulls them away, your eyes meet his. Your voice is soft as you whisper, “Eddie Munson, a few scars don’t make you a monster. A human heart does, and I know you have a damn good one, okay? One of the best. But I want this to be enjoyable for you too, and I only want it when you feel absolutely, one hundred percent comfortable. Not a moment before. So just hold me and watch this movie with me, because I really don’t want to say goodnight to you yet.”

His arms curl tighter around you as your head turns to take in the movie. “I’m sorry,” he whispers against your head.

“Don’t apologize,” you reply, giving his hand another squeeze. “I’m here, I’m with you, you’re safe and I’m safe and we’re happy. That’s all that matters.”

Your chest aches, because you love him.

You don’t know yet you’re in love with him, as you’ve got nothing to compare it to, but you know you love him.

Nine months of knowing someone will do that.

And it kills you to think he still sees himself as this ugly monster, when he’s only ever been beautiful to you. It kills you because you don’t even know what it is that’s made him that way. You wish you could take it all away.

So you settle for, “You’re beautiful, Eddie Munson, and I wish I could silence everyone who has ever told you otherwise. Even if it’s just the voices inside your head.”

He buries his head into your shoulder, his swath of dark curls falling around your face. And if he cries silently into your skin, a few droplets sliding down the collar of your sweater as proof, you say nothing of it, not wanting to upset him further.

You only hold him close, for as long as he needs— forever if he asked you.

The night at your apartment becomes a memory.

Not in the fact either of you have forgotten, but in that you’re currently preoccupied with making Eddie’s apartment look like a winter wonderland. Your space isn’t large enough for anything impressive. You bought a few decorations and lights here and there for the upcoming winter festivities, but after much groveling (much, much groveling) you find yourself trailing behind Eddie as you walk through the local tree farm in search of the perfect Christmas tree for his space.

“It just can’t be bigger than eight feet,” he tells you on the way in the car, his fingers curling within your own. “I’m serious, no bigger than eight feet.”

Your knee bounces erratically. And it’s not simply because you’re on your way to buy him a tree, but because it’s also the first time you’re going to his place, just outside of Hawkins. It’s a fifteen minute drive, in a complex full of nicely decorated spaces. Definitely more upscale than anything you might be able to afford. But you don’t question it, and instead focus on the task at hand.

All around you are towering branches, full trees, sparse trees, trees covered in the snow that recently dusted Hawkins. Earlier than usual, the news had said, shocked by the six inches of snowfall that hit the town within the past day or so. Still, it makes for the perfect atmosphere. Tickled pink cheeks on Eddie’s face, a scarf tucked around both your necks, fluffy jackets on and knitted hats with pompoms bouncing as you walk about the place looking for the perfect pine.

“What about this one?” You stop to ask, glancing up at the tree before you. It’s likely not as full as Eddie has grown to want, but the color is vibrant, and the height is within his specified wishes.

“It’s…I just don’t think it’s the one.”

“Well, how will you know?”

“I’ll know,” he says, leaning over to brush at some snow that’s fallen onto your shoulder.

“For someone adamant against buying a tree, you sure seem invested.”

“Because now that I have the idea in my head, I want it to be perfect.” He turns around and stops you in your tracks, looking down at you. “We never really did the whole…Christmas thing when I was growing up. Dad was…you know, in and out of jail. And mom was usually out of her mind on whatever she was doing at the time. Wasn’t till I was at Wayne’s that I really did much at all. But this year I want it to be special.”

It’s the unspoken words that spill between you that make your heart swell.

This year he has you.

The next tree you stop in front of is actually perfect. Full branches, no spaces, the perfect looking height. You’re about to tell Eddie as much when your foot slides out from beneath you and you go tumbling to the ground. Eddie’s hand, practically fastened to yours these days, ends up jolting upon your impact and sends him hurting after you. You’re a swarm of limbs and laughter, your head in plush snow as Eddie’s form trembles above you, his sides shaking from his own mirth.

An attendant rushes over, likely afraid he’s about to be sued, and asks if the two of you are okay.

And you’re fine. Truly.

You’re more than fine.

You’re all wide smiles and sticky sweet kisses as Eddie leans down and presses his mouth to yours.

You're wide eyed and joyful as the attendant helps wrap up your tree and fastens it to the top of Eddie’s van.

And you’re over the moon when the two of you make your way back over to his apartment.

It’s the first time you’ve been there and it’s not lost on you as you enter, taking in the sights all around you.

It screams Eddie.

His living and kitchen area are separate from his bedroom. Already much different than the open floor plan of your apartment. He doesn’t have much other than a cough and TV, a little kitchen set, some nicknacks here and there. Memorabilia from Dnd and Lord of the Rings rest against his entertainment system, and you run your fingers along his bookshelf, taking in the broken spines of the books he has there. They look well-loved and appreciated, worn from years of tender love and care. It’s a little messy, sure, but it’s quaint.

It’s his and he’s choosing to share it with you at the moment.

The two of you help carry inside the tree, fanning out the limbs in the holder Eddie’s purchased in preparation. It overwhelms the space, broad branches spanning into the room and making it feel full. But Eddie seems happy with it, moving about to the small closet he has to pull out various lights and ornament boxes.

“Didn’t know you had all of this,” you say, holding up a strand of colorful lights.

“I was waiting for the right moment,” he says, and the two of you begin working on setting up the tree.

Eddie puts the radio on, where holiday tunes are already playing, and it fills his apartment with sound. You move around one another, handing each other lights and stringing them up on the tree until it glows in a colorful rainbow of light. And once you’re done with that, it’s the two of you bobbing and weaving as you put ornaments on the tree. Various bulbs of silver, gold and red, spread out messily, and yet still somehow coming together to form something special—something uniquely yours.

And neither of you would change it for the world. Not as you stand back and admire the tree, holding one another close. Not when you begin to get ready for bed in his bathroom, the two of you brushing your teeth in tandem, excited to spend your first night together. There’s no expectations, nothing further than a kiss here or there, and yet your heart thrums speedily in your chest.

It always does when it comes to him.

Later, as you walk into his bedroom and take in the sights, you feel that love for him growing all the more. His acoustic guitar in one corner, electric guitar in the other. The various metal music posters for the bands he likes strewn about the walls. His dresser isn’t fully closed, some of his shirts and jeans poking out here and there. And his closet looks to be full to the brim with laundry. But he turns to you in the dark and whispers that he’s happy you’re here.

Presses his lips to yours and walks you backward to his bed. Your back hits the comforter as your kneecaps hit the mattress, fingers curling in his hair as you hum a sigh when his lips connect to your collarbone.

And later, as you melt into one another beneath his blankets, your body curled against his, his arm wrapped low around your waist, you feel like this is how it has been meant to be all along.

All your wandering, all your searching has led you to this moment in time.

You and Eddie, folded into one another, seeking warmth, seeking love.

Rest comes easy that night.

Red sky.

Inky darkness.

Flashes of light, slicing the dark.

Whip of a tail around his throat, circling, tightening, choking.

A crude noose.

Smack of his back against concrete.

Stars in his vision as he’s momentarily jolted.

He can’t think, can’t hear over the sound of flapping wings, over the screeching in his ears.

The whip of tails around his appendages, a painful spread of his limbs.

Stretching taut, tight like a medieval torture rack.

Teeth biting into flesh.

His flesh.

Over and over and over again.

They rip into him, take pieces of him, consume him.

He’s screaming, screaming, screaming.

It never stops.

The pain never. Stops.

It is waking death.

Living torture.

He cries, and no one listens.

No one…hears him.

Pure agony.

Blood.

So. Much. Blood.

Praying for death.

Wishing for it all to just end.

The pain of it not.

Gasping, writhing, pleading.

No one hears him.

No one ever hears him.

It’s lonely in the Upside Down.

And then there’s Dustin.

He’s crying and asking him to stay.

Pleading with him.

Telling him he loves him.

Dustin loves him.

He wants to stay, wants to graduate, wants to live.

Fuck, he wants to live.

But there’s too much blood. There’s always so much blood.

It oozes from him, bubbles up on his lips, chokes him.

He can’t breathe.

His lungs constrict, he gasps, he begs for mercy.

It never comes.

Why would it ever come?

He doesn’t deserve it. Chrissy is dead, Fred is dead, Patrick is dead.

It’s only right he dies too.

Isn’t it?

This is his punishment.

This slow, painful death. This slow ooze of life into the dirt, this slow plea for the end, this cry for help that never comes.

It never comes.

His eyes flutter closed.

He wakes up.

“I need to tell her,” Eddie says, discarding his cigarette into the ashtray between the two lounge chairs Steve and Eddie rest upon.

Steve takes a sip of his beer and dips his head. “You mean about the Upside Down? What happened to us in March?”

“Yeah,” he says cooly, his voice carrying in the fall breeze. “She, uh, stayed the night—don’t make that face, Harrington, it wasn’t like that. But I had a nightmare. Woke her up in the middle of the night and I think I scared the shit out of her. Was the first in a while, of course it has to be when I have company and I’m trying to not make her think I’m some fucking Freak.”

He lets out a bitter laugh that has Steve’s head whirling his way.

“You’re not a Freak, you idiot. You almost died two years ago.” Eddie winces at the harshness of Steve’s words, but he knows his anger is not directed at him. “We tried to take down some sadistic torture wizard and lost that first time. You had a whole damn town chasing you down like they were on some sort of witch hunt. You were pinned for the murders of three people. You were acquitted, sure, but there are people in Hawkins who are conspiracy theorists who will do anything to paint you as that murderer. You could have ran away, but you stayed because of Wayne and Max…and all of us, too. It’s expected that you’d still struggle with it, man.

Steve’s right.

He knows it in his heart of hearts.

But it’s hard to separate that from the fact it happened—that it’s still happening.

That you had to witness Mrs. Cunningham run him out of a store.

That you saw him have a panic attack in your kitchen over the bat that flew into your window.

That he flinched when you tried to touch him the other night.

That he woke drenched in sweat from a dream of swirling red clouds and endless teeth ripping into flesh.

“Will you help me tell her?” Eddie asks sullenly, meeting Steve’s gaze. “I don’t know if I can. Not fully. Not all of it, man.”

Steve nods his head. “Of course. Whatever you need, just tell me when.”

If there’s anything Eddie Munson knows for certain, it’s that Steve Harrington is a good man.

It’s that he’s lucky he has friends who stayed by him after everything that happened and worked to see his name released from the accusations set against him, that he had his Uncle to care for him when he was healing.

It’s that he needs to tell you about what happened, because you deserve to know, because he wants to be fully open with you.

Because Eddie Munson’s never been in love, but he thinks that’s what he’s starting to feel for you.

Chance Muller comes in like he does any other day, except this time it’s the afternoon; that’s not typical for him.

Though your relationship had been fleeting, just the slightest of interests fizzling into a dull spark, he’s not held it against you. Instead, he still visits multiple times a week before his shifts, resuming your normal day to day as though nothing has changed.

That evening, however, he’s like the cat who swallowed the canary. All overly eager smiles, elbows leaning expectantly on the countertops, looking like he’s having way too much fun for a man who likely only just finished up a long shift.

You almost don’t want to ask him what’s got him smiling like that.

Alarm bells sound in your ears.

Scream at you that something is wrong, though you cannot know what until you ask.

The shop is dead for this time of day. Eddie’s set to come in soon before his shift, the cookies you made him already put to the side for snack should he crave one, and other than the two patrons sitting outside over a cup of coffee with their dog, you’re all alone with him.

“I didn’t know you and Munson were dating,” he says all of a sudden, picking at the straw sticking out from his cup. At your confusion, he continues, “I didn’t mean to pry, believe me. I just saw you wishing him farewell early this morning when I was getting in my car. You two seem very cozy.”

You bite at your lip, not quite understanding why he even cares in the first place. It’s not like you two were ever anything serious, and it’s not like Hawkins isn’t a small town anyway. It’s likely people would find out by way of gossip eventually. Still, you make a mental note to be a little more careful when wishing him goodbye. Not even just around your customers but also the kids. As much as you are close with the kids who run your shop with you, you don’t want your relationship to veer too far into that of friendship; there still needs to be that balance.

That and Hawkins doesn’t really need to see you kissing Eddie goodbye after he’s spent the night. Those moments, so special in their meaning, are not meant to be spread to the world. They’re for your safekeeping within your own heart, and meant to be shared with him and him alone.

Your fingers brush along your lips at the memory of his lips ghosting yours that morning. The feel of his fingers curling around the side of your neck, thumb tipping your jaw up up up so he could kiss you sweetly.

Soundly.

“We’re seeing each other,” you state plainly, moving to rearrange the treats within your glass case into a prettier assortment.

Your fingers curl around a croissant when he says, “Did he tell you about what happened two years ago?”

You pause on the spot.

The croissant drops to the bottom of the case, forgotten.

“I know there was an accident, or something,” you say, humming brightly.

Or at least it’s what you think happened. You know from Maxine that two years ago some stuff happened that Eddie found himself in the middle of. You know he has scars that cover a large portion of his body, have felt them now beneath your fingertips, know which ones still cause him discomfort sometimes. But you’ve always thought them to be akin to those of a fire or some sort of car accident.

Because it’s not your story to tell, you’ve respected his wishes and kept the conversation out of your mouth. You have waited for him to be the one to share that with you—to tell you about that March two years ago that changed his life.

An image, a memory, flashes across your eyes of just days ago. Of running your hands beneath his shirt and feeling him tense underneath your fingertips at those first subtle brushes of your skin against his scars. The way he jolted away like he’d been struck by lightning, by fear.

“Pretty girl, you’re telling me you haven’t looked into it at all?” Chance asks, shifting his body weight so his elbows rest on the counter and his head tips to the ceiling.

“Didn’t think it was my place to meddle,” you tell him, closing the glass case shut and spraying some glass cleaner over the surface.

It sparkles under your attention and Chance only chuckles. “So when you moved here, you didn’t research the place at all? Anything about what happened?”

You didn’t have to.

People were more than ready to talk about the curses laid over the town.

Over the satanic worship and the cults that walked the earth.

Of how the gates of hell opened up beneath the place.

The deaths that happened in the span of days.

The ‘Freaks’ that live in the town.

The girl in the trailer park, with her eyes ripped out of her body.

You heard about it all and still chose to move here—still chose to take a leap, despite all that stood against you.

“People talk,” you admit, tossing your rag into a bin to be cleaned later. “Back where I lived before here. Told me I was crazy for moving to this ‘cursed town.’”

“That’s all true,” he tells you, voice dropping an octave lower. “The rumors about hell being here, about all the devil worship and the sacrifices. It’s all true.”

“Chance, stop.”

“I’m not lying to you,” he promises, whirling back around to face you. “Do you know where Eddie Munson lived? Not where he lives now, where he lived.”

You do.

The trailer park.

The same trailer park that’s being rebuilt to this day.

You shake your head. “I’m not talking about him with you.”

“He’s not safe,” he shouts when you try to maneuver around him to wipe at one of the many tables littered with coffee stains.

Eddie..not safe?

You nearly laugh in Chance’s face.

Eddie, the same man who helped you paint your apartment. Eddie who used his bare hands to put together a bookshelf for you. Eddie who held your hand at the fair when you were scared, and then later when you got your first tattoo. Eddie who held you when you were bedridden with the flu. Eddie who sat behind you and showed you how to really carve into a pumpkin. Eddie who caressed your face in bed the night before as if he were holding the most precious thing in the world. Eddie who kisses you like a butterfly's wings kisses the skin, soft brushes, gentle flutters.

He’s not talking about your Eddie. There has to be another, it’s your only explanation.

And yet, your mind hitches on the ‘trailer park,’ and the rumors you heard.

The girl in the trailer park with her eyes ripped from her head.

Not Eddie; not your Eddie.

Maybe someone else’s Eddie, and you’re sorry for them, but it’s not Eddie Munson.

“Four people died,” he starts, walking closer to you. You feel like you’re caught in a trap, his dark eyes chilling you right to the bone. “Four people. They’ll tell you Jason Carver was fueled by jealousy. They’ll tell you that he was so angry that the Freak of Hawkins High had lured his sweet little Chrissy to his trailer that he went on this wild man hunt. They’ll tell you that Patrick McKinney drowned in Lover’s Lake. They’ll tell you Fred Benson, so overcome with grief , claimed his own life. They’ll tell you that Jason killed Chrissy out of anger for being cuckolded. Not his Chrissy; never her. They’ll tell you that Jason tried to kill another girl and her friends, and ended up with that girl being bedridden for months while he died shortly after in the earthquakes that destroyed the town.”

“I don’t…I’m not..” Your words are a babble.

Your mind spins.

It reels, because you don’t know what any of it means.

Why is he telling you this?

Why does it matter and what does it even have to do with Eddie?

Eddie, you remind yourself, who woke up that morning and hugged you from behind. Kissed your shoulder and told you he’s never felt this way about anyone before.

Eddie, who you were sure you were falling in love with—a feeling you’ve never truly felt before.

“I don’t know how he managed it. I don’t know what kind of lawyers he had, but people will say Eddie was innocent in all of it. That he hadn’t been around when Chrissy died, and wasn’t around when Patrick or the others died either. The evidence is ‘too loose and flimsy,’ they said. And the news just fed it to us,” Chance goes on to say, spitting venomously. “You know he got out with no jail time? All those murders, he just got away with them all.”

“You said Jason Carver was responsible—”

“That’s what they told us to believe,” Chance barks out, hand fisting at his side. “But I know Jason, and I know he would have never hurt Chrissy. He’d never have hurt that other girl, either. It wasn’t him.”

“But you said he went after Eddie—”

“Because Eddie killed Chrissy!”

“I think you should go,” you say through a clenched jaw.

You want to hear nothing more of his delirium. This warped idea he has of Eddie in his mind.

Not your Eddie, not your Eddie.

Never him.

It can’t be.

“You don’t really know who you’re dating,” Chance warns, cornering you against the countertop. “Three of my friends died that week. Three.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but it wasn’t Eddie. They ruled him out. They wouldn’t have let him go free if they didn’t think he was innocent.”

“What do you know about it? You didn’t know him in high school like we did. Didn’t know about his satanic club he had. They called themselves Hellfire. How more obvious could it be that it was him? It was right there all along—!”

“Chance,” you shove at his chest, sensing the sorrow and grief radiating off of him as his eyes water and his breath heaves on a sob. “Again, I’m very sorry, but you need to go—”

“What’s going on here?” Eddie calls from the doorway. He’s in a red and black flannel. A sight that would normally make heat pool low in your belly, but now only makes your heart ache because of the way he looks at you.

Pain, he’s in physical pain.

Your eyes glance up to the clock, and you breathe a grateful sigh of relief in knowing it’s time for him to head off to work. Another chill slides down your spine at the way they look at one another.

Recognition flares in Eddie’s gaze.

Eddie repeats, “What’s going on here?”

Chance steps away from you, your breath coming in shaky exhales.

Chance lifts his coffee cup from off the table he sat it upon, tipping it toward Eddie. “Just filling her in on Chrissy…Fred…Patrick…oh and Jason, too. Seems you forgot to. Don’t worry, I took care of it for you, buddy.” Chance glances Eddie’s way, smiling. It’s not a sincere smile, no; it’s the kind of smile that makes your heart stutter, your breath halt in your lungs, because of how empty it is. “Take care.”

He leaves with the jingle of your door bells, leaving you and Eddie in stark silence. You want to scream in your frustration, but instead rush over to him, hands coming up to rest on his forearms.

He’s unblinking, unfeeling, unseeing as his eyes dart to yours.

You lean up on your toes and kiss the side of his jaw, dropping back down when he winces.

Actually winces.

Your heart shatters at the rejection that bleeds.

Seeps from the wound.

“Eddie?” Your voice cracks on the whisper, his form stiffening further as your hand slides up along his chest, over the rapid beat of his heart beneath.

He’s shaking.

Full body shakes that make you reach forward to hold him, but he steps backward, head shaking as he chokes on his words. There are tears swimming in his eyes and you feel another crack wedge its way into your heart.

You whisper his name once more.

Your hand reaches out to grab his hand but it meets empty air, because he’s slipping from you, out the door and muttering, “I-I have to go.”

And you’re left standing there, with your hand over your chest, heaving out a sob for the man with pain in his face and disaster behind his gaze.

Tag List: @clinicallyonline17, @sidthedollface2, @lazywillow6748, @idkidknemore, @blue-eyed-lion, @emma77645, @bambipowerblueaddition, @aysheashea, @lezzy-bennet,

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson agst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x afab!reader #eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson imagine #Eddie munson post s4

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slothgiirl · 1 year

Text

nesting (xiao x reader)

1.5k. established relationship. fluff. suggestive but nothing explicit.bird xiao traits tho i didnt lean hard enough into it i dont think so mb ill try again soon.

The first time it happens there’s frost on the ground when you wake up. You have to force the window open. The frost cracks. You wince, half expecting to have broken the window.

Cold air invades the already drafty flat at the top of Wangshu Inn.

You cross your arms over your chest. The cotton robe did little to protect from the start of the winter season. Snezhnaya did have a monopoly on snow. All too soon snow would cover the Liyue landscape. There were only a handful of snow days and the sun melted most of it away by noon, but you still shivered as the sun rose.

You strike the flint, restarting the fire in the wood stove. Xiao must have put it out accidentally. It was a common occurrence with his anemo fuelled comings and goings. You didn’t want to say anything, worried your lover would take it the wrong way. This was new. He’d only just asked you to move in with him.

You rub your hands together.

No, you would simply relight the fire.

Striking the flint again, you light the incense, dispelling any lingering demonic energies. The smell of herbs and resin was familiar by now. Xiao had taught you the ritual, the ancient Liyue words to recite, to keep yourself free of his taint.

You sigh.

You can see your breath.

The ink would have to be warmed for you to work.

You pull on your warmest trousers, think about purchasing some meters of wool from the Mondstadt traders to sew a warmer set, and set out a fresh new sheet of paper. Your calligraphy was well liked in Liyue Harbor. The smooth lines were auspicious for merchants most worried after Morax’s passing.

The ink was smooth liquid once more. Lately, your head has been filled with tales of Skybracer. You flip through your books, looking for a passage that speaks to you when a gust of wind enters the room atop Wangshu Inn.

“You’re back,” you smile, knowing it was Xiao. “I didn’t even feel you come in last night.”

“I did not want to disturb you,” your lover sets a knit blanket over your shoulders, “while I have little use for rest, I would not deprive you of sleep.” Xiao carefully places a flawless chunk of mystic ore on your desk. It sparkles in the early morning sun.

“It’s pretty.” You’d never use it to enhance anything. A gift from Xiao, you’d treasure it forever.

“The shine caught my eye,” Xiao admits, ducking his head down, “was your sleep undisturbed?” He worried his nightmares would leak into your dreams.

“I still think you could’ve woken me up.” You snort when he traces the marks on your collar bones. “We mortals can take naps Adeptus Xiao,” you tease, raking your fingers through his hair. “And I never mind when it’s you.”

Xiao scowls, “who else would it be?”

You kiss his jaw, “my alarm clock.” You set your work aside, focusing the sum of your attention on your lover. “Where did you get this,” you ask, feeling the heft of the cotton used, the intricate knit. All knits were intercrate when you’d given up on knitting entirely.

“Do you like it,” he asks softly, taking your hands in his.

“Mhm.” You plant a kiss against his brow.

“The surge in demonic activity in Cuijue Slope has coincided with an increase in temple offerings,” Xiao explains. “Given the change in weather. . .” he trails off.

“Are you staying long,” you ask, wrapping your arms around his neck, intent on keeping him to yourself. You had gone far in teaching Xiao the benefits of cuddling even if he didn’t need to sleep.

“No.” Xiao’s amber eyes met yours. He wraps his arm around your waist.

“Mm,” you smile, knowing you’d won. Then you kiss him, welcoming the warmth of his lips against yours.

You help Verr Goldet spread salt all along the ramp up to Wangshu Inn. The bags of salt were heavy and it was hard not to feel like a freeloader when you didn’t know the specifics of Xiao’s arrangement with the Innkeeper and her husband.

“There,” Verr Goldet wipes her hands on her apron, “that should do it.”

“I’d hate to fall from this far up,” you look over the railing. The frost took longer and longer to melt with each passing day.

“It’s a good thing the Traveler took up our commissions to fix the stairs,” the woman agrees. “Smiley Yanxiao made chicken and dumpling soup if you’d like a bowl.”

“You are too kind Auntie,” you address her warmly. Everything else felt too cold, this was the best form of address for her you decide on.

“Come now, you just helped me lug salt up and down five stories. That’s at least worth soup. It’d have to pay 10,000 mora for the adventure’s guild to do it.”

“Well,” you laugh, “when you put it that way.”

You have dinner with the staff of Wangshu Inn. It’s past midnight when you finally make your way up to your home. Your home with Xiao. You have to take a deep breath when you linger on that for too long, waiting outside your door because it was true and your heart felt like it wanted to explode from happiness. Your’s and Xiao’s home.

You step inside.

It wasn’t anything special. You doubted the most pious of Liyue imagined an Adeptus to reside in a studio cluttered with jars of ink, a tiny stove, and your clothes carelessly tossed into a pile on the trunk, and yet there Xiao was, fluffing up pillows on the bed in a simple act of domesticity that had you swooning. His spear was set against the wall, Yaksha mask on his belt and he was arranging the blankets that had seemingly appeared out of thin air.

“Hey,” you set your shoes by the door, changing into your house slippers. “have you been waiting long?”

Xiao shakes his head, focused on arranging the pillows. “I do not mind. My duties are solitary in nature.”

You feed more wood into the stove. The thing was well built, filling the room despite being the size of your night stand.

“Will you join me,” Xiao sits up in bed on his knees, red dusting his cheeks. He could be so bashful for an adeptus that regularly slayed demons. You loved the fact the he flustered easily even when he’d fucked you on the grass.

“I’d love to,” you hang up your jacket, “will you stay with me?”

He doesn’t answer right away, waiting for you to crawl into bed with him.

You discard your sweater and trousers, adding more to the pile on your trunk. Laundry day was fast approaching. “Do you want me to make you anything to eat?”

Xiao shakes his head. “There’s no need.”

You slide under the covers, sighing against the plush blankets. There were furs at the foot of the bed that your toes grazed when you stretched out. The pillow covers must be silk you think, tapping Xiao’s arm, “lay down with me.”

He lays down next to you, cupping your cheek with his hand. “I am glad you are here.”

“So will you stay?” There’s so much raw love and fondness for you in Xiao’s eyes as you stroke your hands over his chest, feeling up his muscular arms. You wanted nothing more than to feel his naked body against yours. You wanted Xiao, wanted to feel him inside you.

“Mm,” Xiao tips your chin back, kissing the side of your throat. “That was my intention when I asked you to lay with me.”

Your body flushes with heat. You doubt Xiao said the innuendo intentionally, but you don't care when he nips your bottom lip with his teeth.

You’re greedy.

You kiss him back readily, pulling his body flush against yours, canting your hips, rubbing against his leg shamelessly. You kiss him, stroking his tongue with yours.

Xiao leans back, all puffed up, pleased in a way that’s new to you.

You lay your head back, catching your breath, already thinking of new ways to entice him to lay with you. To fuck you. To make love to you, whatever so long as it meant having Xiao.

“That can’t be comfortable,” you pull on his gloves, “to sleep in,” you allude to his usual warrior’s gear.

“Your intentions are transparent,” Xiao huffs, sliding his thigh between your legs and you know that he’ll spend the next few hours making love to you.

You slip your hand under his shirt, “I love you.”

“As I love you,” he whispers softly against your cheek.

Xiao hangs crystal cores from the ceiling.

They twinkle in the night like your own private stars.

Xiao sets chunks of Cor Lapis and Noctilucous Jade on the windowsill as if jewelers didn’t pay a small fortune for raw gemstone this pristine. There’s slices of bright blue crystal chunk on the wall next to your line paintings that alchemists would covet for their potions.

But it doesn’t click for you until you leaf through a book on Dihua Marsh, painting abstract cranes for practice on brown recycled paper. It doesn’t click for you until you read the description on the finches and their nests that you remember what type of illuminated beast Xiao is.

#bird xiao #xiao x reader #genshin xiao #xiao x y/n #xiao x you #nesting #aka xiao basically going my so moved in and now i must make a nest worthy of them #i wanna say gender neutral but idk i think it can be femme coded

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tmblrcolouredpaper · 4 months

Text

Hold my hand, I'm nervous.

Minho likes spending time with you and discovering new aspects of this friendship.

Friendship, Mutual Pining, Domestic Fluff, Nervousness, Comfort, Concert, Protectiveness, Holding Hands, Cold Weather, Clumsiness, Cooking together, Napping, Nightmare, First Sleepover, Platonic Cuddling

⚠️: Body Shaming (by stranger) indicated, Fear of Crowds indicated

wc: 3966

'Hold my hand, I'm nervous.'

He wasn't nervous, not at all, but you know, sometimes he was convinced that lying was completely okay as long as it didn't harm anyone. Besides, he was sure you knew when he was telling the truth and when he wasn't anyway. That's something he loved so much, the comfortability in the friendship with you that caused him to be able to goof off and bullshit around as much as he wanted to.

'You're on a chair not a mountain.', you stated and rolled your eyes in annoyance. The concert was about to start and the fact that you arrived too late to get good spots made you already regret going out this evening.

'Still.', Minho insisted and waved his hand in front of your face until you took it to make him stop.

'Man, that's gonna be one awesome show. I've always wanted to see them live, you know.', he smiled and looked over the mass of people, excitement shimmering in his eyes.

'I know.', you grumbled and remembered why you went out, why you were out in the cold surrounded by people, many drunk, some probably on other drugs, holding his hand even though it was completely unnecessary. Him playing his 'fear of heights'- card was so pretentious that you were almost amused by his preference of saying anything but directly what he wants. Involuntarily, you shook your head and couldn't keep yourself from smiling despite your bad mood. It was silly anyways, especially when Minho was right next to you having the time of his life. His happiness was simply contagious after some time.

Was he able to not look down at you and smile? No, not at all. Did he feel like an idiot, standing on a chair to see the stage, yet having his eyes only on you? Yes, for sure. But it didn't surprise him. He stepped down, tightened his grip on your hand while he did, because he was actually worried that he might lose balance for a second. Once he was stable on the ground, he pretended like he would actually fall and not even he would have expected your reaction of pulling him into your arms immediately.

'I was joking.', he clarified with an embarrassed blush that crept over his cheeks up to his ears. He was pushed away harshly, but your low mumbling, the only word he could comprehend was 'idiot', made him smirk.

'Aaaaw, you thought I was actually falling?', he teased and caressed your cheek, his fingers light and warm on your skin. 'Thank you for always being my saviour, babe.'

'Don't touch my face with your unwashed hands.', you grunted and pushed his arm away.

'So, I wash my hands and can touch you?', he asked, eyes widened in excitement.

'No. Never.', you answered monotonously and crossed your arms in front of you. 'Why did you come down? I thought you wanted to see the stage properly.'

'Want to stand next to you, but you can still hold my hand when you miss it.', he explained without looking at you.

When the concert started he was jumping and dancing, singing along the lyrics and laughed from happiness. The crowd was hyped and even you began to show that you were having fun, actually recognizing a few songs that Minho must have shown you before.

A man next to you kept glancing at you from time to time and you thought it was because you probably looked weird in some sense. You kept wondering if it was your hair or your outfit or your makeup. Every bit of your appearance could have been a reason for someone to express their dislike for it, but in the end no one cares about stuff like this, so you tried your best to ignore his temporary stares and convince yourself that he must have had reasons that weren't under your influence.

'This was awesome. Thank you for coming with me.', Minho laughed after the last song was performed and the band left the stage after several rounds of applause. He took your hand and secured you close to him when everyone became busy leaving the hall.

'Can't lose you.', he said and squeezed your hand, inaudibly assuring you that he was planning on keeping you safe with him.

Many people passed by including the man that kept paying attention to you before Minho decided to leave as well. He saw him, he hated him. Not that he knew him, but the way he kept looking at you and turning to his friend to laugh and joke immediately after scanning you, was enough for him to have an opinion. Minho needed to see him walking away.

'Soooooo, should I bring you home or are you up for chilling at mine?', Minho asked during the walk through the streets, enjoying the fresh air after the concert, his hand still holding yours while playfully swaying them back and forth between your bodies.

'Yours?', you asked happily and he responded, 'Mine?!', sounding just as bright and happy and started laughing.

The fresh air slowly became uncomfortable and Minho started to worry that he might catch a cold. You probably felt the same. Unaware of what he was doing, he pulled you closer to him and immediately heard your teeth clashing against eachother in a fast pace.

'You're an idiot for not bringing a jacket.', he announced and laid his arm around your shoulder.

'You brought me with you. Isn't your task to take care of me then?', you questioned and sneaked your arm around his waist, seeking his warmth, wishing you could just stop walking and push your face in the softness of his shirt.

'No? Since when do you rely on people?', he laughed, but secretly wished he would have been more considered. He would have brought a scarf, a jacket, a whole heater if he'd known you wanted that.

'I don't.', you clarified and took a step away from him, his arm falling off your shoulder.

'Well, I didn't bring a jacket either. That makes two idiots here, hm?, he smiled and pulled you back into his embrace, ignoring your protest.

The apartment complex was soon arrived and Minho held the door open, waiting for you to enter first. He gave you the keys to his apartment and nodded upwards. 'I have to get something from the basement, but go and make yourself comfortable already.'

He heard your steps on the stairs echoing from the empty walls and hurried downstairs to get a pile of his old clothes that he picked up from his parents' house a few days ago. He didn't have any use for them, but thought that you might like them.

When he arrived at his apartment door, he was surprised to find you still standing there, fondling with the keys. Your hands were red and stiff and you visibly struggled to pick the right key, dropping the whole chain clumsily.

'Fuck.', you mumbled and picked them up.

'Let's swap.', Minho announced behind you and gave you the pile while you handed him the key chain. He was even more worried now that you must have been freezing more than he did, so the second he entered the apartment, he went straight to his bedroom and carried the thick blanket to you.

'You go and get cozy in the living room.', he demanded and waited for you to take off your shoes before he pushed you in the direction he wanted you to head to, taking the pile of clothes from you at the same time.

Once he was done washing his hands and grabbing two bottles of water, he followed you, sat down on the floor in front of the sofa where you were curled up into a cocoon, the bottles placed on the small desk. His heart started beating so strongly that he could feel it in his throat. He could just move one meter forward and collect you in his arms, all cozy and close. Just one question, just one agreement and a few moves...

'I need to pee.', you announced, freed yourself from the blanket and went to the bathroom.

It was also just one moment, Minho realised.

The evening proceeded to be just as lacking of conversations as the whole day had already been. You didn't talk much on the way to the concert, the concert itself is no event that provides many talking possibilities and afterwards you two were busy processing all new impressions. Now you spent your time watching dramas, you spread on the sofa and Minho chilling on the floor, head resting on an empty spot of the sofa cushion.

His stomach grumbled and without saying a word he made his way to the kitchen area to cook something. He kept glancing over to you from time to time and the later it got the more he wondered if you would be up for sleeping here. He would like that a lot, he realized and began humming happily when he started imagining how your sheer presence might influence the atmosphere in his apartment.

Suddenly, when he turned to grab a spice on his left, he saw you standing next to him. When did you get up? How long was he actually daydreaming? In panic, he stirred the vegetables in the pan, scared he might have let them burn.

'Can I help with something?', you asked and he was caught off guard by the tiredness in your voice.

'Did you fall asleep?', he asked, genuinely curious, but his voice didn't cooperate and his tone made it sound like he was mocking you.

'Yeah.', you whispered dreamily and sighed.

You seemed happy. He wondered why.

'Good nap?', he questioned and filled some rice in two bowls that were already waiting, while he was working on the greens.

'Hmhmm. Can I help?', you repeated and Minho quickly shook his head, before he could think of verbalizing anything.

'I'll wash the dishes later then.', you shrugged. You didn't move. He found it almost awkward how you were standing in the middle of the room, not initiating of going back to the TV.

'May I smell yo-your shirt?', you whispered, and he dropped the spoon in surprise.

It landed in the pan, and he awkwardly fished it out of the sauce. He carefully laid it down and wiped his hand on a small kitchen towel.

'What?', he finally asked, baffled.

'It's just, your blanket. Like, I want to know if it's the smell of your laundry detergent or you.', you explained, fumbling with the hem of your own shirt.

'The smell?', he didn't understand.

'If the smell comes from the detergent, you need to tell me which brand and scent you're using. I swear, I haven't slept this well for months.', you spoke and started stirring the inside of the pan while Minho kept looking at you in a mixture of shock and disbelief.

After your explanation, he smirked. This was way too funny and if he was honest, way too good to be true to him.

'And what if it's my scent?', he asked confidently, taking the spoon out of your hand.

'Then, ahm, I guess, I, I will cherish this wonderful nap I got to take here?', you spoke slowly, sounding like you were unsure if what you should be saying, like you didn't even think this far.

'Go on, I'm all yours to smell.', he consented and put the pan to the side, deactivated the heat and turned towards you, arms spread to his side, him fully presenting you to himself with his eyes closed, because he knew he wouldn't be able to handle looking at you when you'd approach him with the intention of absorbing something as personal as his scent.

'I could also just smell the detergent.', you clarified and reached around him to take the pan, starting to fill the bowls with vegetables and sauce.

Yes, Minho was disappointed. Not in you, he would never be disappointed just because you didn't do something you didn't want to. He was disappointed in the whole situation and especially in himself, for not being genuine with you. If he were, he would have told you right away that the scene's origin didn't matter, that you could always take a nap here whenever you wanted, because he really liked having you here, giving you everything you'd possibly ask for.

'I'll show you later. Let's eat now.', he suggested and let you carry the bowl to the sofa, following you like a sad puppy that lost its favorite treat.

Other than you said, you didn't take care of the dishes alone. Minho was right by your side. He paused the drama you were watching and turned on music, grooving lazily while washing and tidying up. He caught you covering your mouth due to yawns several times and finally ask nonchalantly, 'You're staying here this night, right?'

'I would love to if it's okay for you.'

He smiled. His was sure his ears got all red, because he felt his body warming up comfortably.

After being done with mundane chores, you returned to the loving room, realizing that it was already 1am. Minho, sitting on the sofa, settled back and sighed. It was a great day. He was absolutely happy.

'Was it alright that I dragged you with me to the concert? I know it's not something you originally enjoy, but I'm very happy that you were with me.', Minho spoke lowly, eyes closed, feeling the exhaustion in his body.

'I actually ended up having fun. Maybe your taste in music isn't that bad after all.'

'Didn't know you had doubts. My taste in everything is out of this world.'

'Sure it is. Keep hallucinating.'

'You're mean, you know that?'

'I'm not and you know that.'

'Yeah... I know.'

'I wanna sleep with your blanket this night', you mumbled after a long pause, cuddling the big blanket that you kept with you ever since Minho gave it to you.

'And I thought you wanted to sleep with me.', he blurted out, unconscious of what he was saying, but he realized after a few seconds and cleared his throat in embarrassment.

'If that was the case I would use your trick and say that I'm scared and need to hold your hand.', you responded, ignoring his embarrassment, but you were well aware of his mood.

'I wouldn't fall for that trick. I know when you're lying.', he laughed.

'And you think I don't know when you're being overdramatic?', you questioned, leaning closer to observe his face, but also to play with him a bit. When would he drop his act of false disinterest and confidence?

'The chair was higher than you think.', he whispered and held eye contact. Silence arose, and the only thing he was focusing on were your eyes, and he recognized once again how weak he was for you. You were so close, so calm and just one question, one consent and one move away for him to caress your cheek with all the gentleness he could put into one touch. He hoped if he'd ever did that, you would become just as weak, melting into his touch like he seemed to find himself melting into your presence.

'I would hold your hand every time you'd ask me to. No chair needed.', you whispered back and he observed you blinking more often, realizing that this position was difficult for you too, but your words sank in, and he felt like crying out of happiness. He believed you, because he really wanted your words to be his reality.

'You're so much braver than I am.', he said and ended the starring contest, looking down at his hands.

'I'm the bravest version of myself when I'm with you.', you confessed and he saw you smiling at him in his peripheral vision.

'Can we go to sleep? I'm very tired?', you asked, wrapping the blanket around you a bit tighter and he nodded , in awe of how adorable you looked.

'I bring you some pillows. You can go get ready for sleep in the meantime.', he said and vanished into his bedroom to bring you anything you might need to have a comfortable sleep. He also pulled out another blanket from his drawer, because there was no way he would take the one you recently occupied from you.

He instructed you to rest well in a serious manner before he left to his room and once the door closed behind him, he threw himself onto the mattress, gathering all wonderful moments of the day in an imaginary treasure box, then actual items he needed after the shower.

The hot water washed away the smell of the concert hall and the spices from cooking. The lotion bottle was still wet, because you used it earlier. It wasn't the first time you showered here. In summer you two would always take a break here for you to take a cold shower, because of how easily you were overwhelmed by warm temperatures. However, you never slept over. You two camped together or stayed over at friends' houses, but having you at his own apartment over night was a first.

He returned to his bed after 20 minutes and wondered if he would even be able to fall asleep, to agitated by the day's events, but he laid down and tried.

A knock on the door woke him up. He actually fell into a deep slumber. The door was slowly pushed open and revealed you, still carrying his blanket with you. He wasn't surprised, but he was still in awe.

'Did the blanket power run off of scent energy?', he groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes and then making his way towards you. You didn't say a word, and he got slightly scared.

'Are you okay?', he asked, worried, gently pulling you into his room and switching on the fairy light that was unorganized and forgotten on a shelf until this moment. He didn't want to hurt your eyes by switching on the brighter ceiling light.

When he finally saw you properly, he was immediately worried. Your eyes were teary and your breath shaky.

'Scent energy immune against nightmares, I guess.', you whispered and sounded like you're about to cry every moment.

'It's a lot to ask, I kno-ow, but can I sleep here?', you whispered, voice so quiet and shaky that Minho had trouble understanding, but he instantly agreed, expecting you to walk to his bed. You didn't. You spoke again.

'With you?'

He wanted to. He wanted to sleep with you in the same bed, even holding you, so badly. He wanted to be bold and confident, but at the same time he was so intimidated by the way he felt when it came to you and he didn't want to make you uncomfortable, feeling even unsafe in any sense. He would also give you everything you'd ask for and if you wanted him with you, he would be with you.

'Sure.', he said and added a smile, hoping it was assuring and casual.

He took the fairy light and dropped it on the bedside table, waited for you to settle, and once he thought you were comfortable, he switched the light off and laid down as well. It's not much he wished for right now, yet he felt like it was too much to ask. Maybe that's how he could phrase it, so he tried.

'I want to ask you for something.', he started and heard a small 'okay' from you, quiet and in your consciously gentle tone that made him feel good right away.

'It's a lot.', he continued and paused, waiting for an indication if you’re ready or if he should drop it.

'I conquered your bed and you with your pretty body for a night. This is a lot from my side to ask, you have every right to do the same.'

'You're literally the only one I know who could phrase it this way without making it sound dirty.', he chuckled, amused, because it was true. He heard you laughing as well.

'Okay, I really want to hold you close to me. I, I want to, you know...' , he ended.

'You know.', you repeated and he was sure he could never sound as innocent as you regardless of how innocent he actually were.

'Yes, please, I'd like that a lot.', you said and Minho thought he was already in dreamland.

'Please, can you initiate, I'm way too overwhelmed and shy right now.', he heard you whisper and confidence finally returned to its home.

He scooped closer and lifted the blanket from you to let it drop over him as well. Under one blanket, he felt your warmth and every of your movements and it was new to him, he didn't dislike it though. As much as he knew he liked you, he didn't know to what extent and it was as exciting as it was scary to investigate that aspect of himself and the relationship he had with you.

'Minho.', you whispered and he immediately stopped his breath.

'Can we, kinda, set rules or something?'

'What rules?', he asked, not moving.

'Like, for example... that... we have to say... out loud what we think? And we don't judge that? And we don't act on it or something, just, we, ahm, talk eachother through?'

He slowly exhaled and let out a low chuckle.

'Wow. I take it back. You can make your words sound dirty.'

You laughed and sat up, now looking down at him. It was weird, so he sat up as well.

'No, not in that way. Just, I feel like I need to say what's on my mind here or otherwise it's gonna consume me. I don't want it to become awkward with you when there is no reason for that.'

He understood exactly how you felt and was eager to make this right.

'I really want to caress your cheek.', he announced, well aware of how weird it must sound like said out loud and when he heard you laughing, he knew it was weird.

He also realized that it was completely fine. It doesn't have to be serious, it can just be.

'You can do that. I allow it.', you said, the second sentence only a whisper.

Reluctantly, Minho reached out for you, he was feeling calm, but his hands was slightly shaking. However once his fingers touched your skin, he wanted nothing more to make sure you were confident in how much he liked you, how much you were liked and respected.

He pulled away and huffed in a smile. 'You're good?'

'Yes. You?', your voice sounded drained and he laid back down, indicating you to do the same by patting the mattress next to him.

'Just wanna sleep, holding you. Nothing changes, just like having you with me.', he mumbled and felt you rolling over, hesitantly placing your head on his chest.

'Okay?', you questioned and he laughed feeling you relax against him so easily.

'Yes', he said as if your question was the most ridiculous one ever.

Then he remembered something.

'How do I smell?', he asked teasingly, throwing his arms around you to comfort your embarrassment by rubbing your back.

'You should hold my hand.', he announced and heard you huffing tiredly.

'Is the bed that high?', you asked, sounding like you were about to fall asleep every second.

'No, but I'm high on endorphins.', he explained very seriously and wasn't surprised when you pinned his arm down to grab his hand, acting all annoyed when he knew you actually weren't at all, that you liked his company just as much as he enjoyed yours.

#skz minho #skz scenarios #skz x reader #skz fluff #leeknow fluff #skz fanfic #lee minho x reader #lee minho fluff #lee minho imagines #lee minho fanfic #skz soft hours #skz soft thoughts #not proofread

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jaxie101 · 6 months

Text

more fnaf movie hcs because i adore them

mike was advised to get anxiety meds but he couldn’t afford them, he looked for more at-home remedies but they didn’t work. sometimes his anxiety gets so bad that he can’t leave the house, afraid that someone’s going to kidnap him, or take abby away from him

fully blames himself for garret, and unlike game mike, it definitely wasn’t his fault

after garret his dad stopped talking to him, he never explicitly said that he blamed mike but the way he just acted like he didn’t exist said enough. his mom still tried to be there, but he could see the look in her eyes sometimes that screamed “why couldn’t it have been you instead?”

both mike and abby prefer winter over summer, summer is nothing but hot and sweaty overstimulation and it’s basically hell

saying that, mike doesn’t look forward to winter, the cold weather = heating bills that he can’t afford

abby likes dogs, mike likes cats. they settle on maybe getting a bunny but then they found out that vanessa is allergic :(

abby has nightmares every now and then, and when she does mike cuddles her to sleep while they watch her favourite show. (she gets the day off school too because he knows how drained she must feel)

saying that… mike has regular nightmares, he wakes up screaming at least twice a week. and after freddie’s it only gets worse, he dreams of what happened to garret, abby dying, vanessa dying, that mask closing in on him. eventually vanessa learns to calm him down, she strokes his hair and talks him through his attacks

vanessa deep cleans the house when she moves in… and creates a cleaning schedule!

abby HATES onions. like that girl will destroy the entire house if she even sees one

it’s ok tho mike hates them too

abby has a meltdown when he buys her a shirt and it’s the wrong texture, it takes hours to calm her down and mike never EVER buys from that store again

vanessa and abby have girl nights, while mikes at work they paint each others nails and have a little spar session

abby starts including vanessa in all of her drawings :( she’s always at the front with a big smile and her police care is always at the back

mike can’t really afford much for christmas or birthdays, he always tries his best but moneys a little too tight. abby’s lists start getting smaller and smaller and it breaks his heart. so he spends weeks working 16h shifts, he works nights and through the day and even does odd jobs on the side to save up. he remembers the things her eyes have lingered on and manages to buy her everything. that morning when abby wakes up and sees a big pile of presents waiting for her, her big smile nearly makes him cry and he has to pretend to yawn to cover it up (he even bought her one of those custom cakes and put a photo of her plushies on it, and they have takeout for dinner)

abby draws out a story book for mike, and he cries while he reads it

vanessa watches the saw movies with a straight face and mike is hiding behind her (“how can you watch this-“ “relax mike, it’s not even accurate.” “WHAT”

his favourite colour is navy blue but abby doesn’t have any navy crayons so he never buys a shirt in that colour

#hashtag delusional #part 2 #fnaf #fnaf movie #five nights at freddie’s movie #five nights at freddy's #fnaf vanessa #vanessa shelly #mike schmidt #abby schmidt #fnaf headcanons

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krikeymate · 1 year

Note

For your fluff request.

Gale taking care of a sick Tara and/or Sam.

Everyone just chilling at the park.

Sleepover at Gale's ending in a cuddle pile.

There are a million other things that Gale would rather be doing than standing in a substandard kitchen, in an apartment far below her standards, making soup. She suggested take-out, soup if it must be soup. She can offer them anything from any restaurant in the city, and even some from out of the city, in a single phone call. But Sam was adamant that when Tara is sick, she gets homemade soup.

If Sam wasn't laid up in bed, curled around her sister, also sick, she would have done it herself. I mean, she tried. It didn't go well, she got banished to bed with her sister. Well, not with her sister. Tara had managed to crawl in there by herself at some point when Gale wasn't looking. It was weirdly hard to keep track of these two. You turn your back and they've wandered off somewhere else.

Gale thinks this must be what it's like having toddlers.

So here she is, Gale Weathers, cooking. The only one left to take care of these two.

The twins had been banned from the apartment the moment they began to show signs they were sick. Unfortunately, the damage was done. Within a day, Tara was wheezing into her pillow and into a coughing fit that wouldn't settle down, Sam just 12 hours behind. That useless boyfriend of Sam's was nowhere to be found, the coward. Oh, Sam had tried to give him excuses, he's visiting family she says. It's no excuse, Gale says.

She wonders when she became so protective, when these two girls had endeared themselves to her so much.

It was probably the punching, attempted and landed. Gale appreciates a good punch.

Gale makes their soup, and nudges them awake from their disgusting sweaty cuddle pile, and feels a sense of pride when Tara smiles wide after the first sip. Sam's response is less enthusiastic, a twitch of the lips, a tile of the head, a shrug of the shoulders, but Gale gets the impression it was for show. Her eyes meet Gale's as she rests her head on Tara's, and they glimmer with appreciation and thank you's.

She stays there for 3 days, ordering them about and sleeping in Tara's abandoned bed. She frantically calls Sidney that very first night, demanding her knowledge of sick children. Sidney was entirely unhelpful, too busy mocking her and falling into a laughing fit. Mark had to take the phone off her at one point. He at least gave her some hints. Sidney did text her later, but Gale didn't deign to respond.

She finds Tara's soft toy, a stuffed wolf that looks like it's seen better days (she makes a note to find someone to fix it), and pumps them full of medicine, carefully researched so as not to exacerbate Tara's asthma. She forces them to shower, and changes their sheets. (Dewey would be so proud of her, she thinks. For once, the thought of him doesn't hurt). She cooks for them all the while, and she's beginning to think it's not so bad after all.

The cooking, not the caring. The caring is a nightmare.

#/mp #ask box #Scream #Gale Weathers #Sam Carpenter #Tara Carpenter #family dynamics tag #-after 6 #my writing tag #guess I accidentally made the headcanon that Gale just doesn't cook lol #this isn't as good as the first attempt but that one is lost forever so #i've also already established that actually sidney and gale have an affectionate bullying thing going on

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ninapi · 8 months

Text

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ Re:Born ❜┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌

Premise: In a world dominated by androids, the few remaining humans had to fight for survival. Your boyfriend Suguru, wanted to destroy them all and regain supremacy of the lost world, yet things don't always go as planned. A love once lost, solidifies. An opportunity to go back into the arms of a man that has always loved you since the beginning of time.

Word Count: 3351

Note: This is a romance Sci-fi Au. You can read the first chapter here :)

Chapter 2: Change of heart

The dreadful weather had been too much to handle, the clouds full of filth produced the most awful acid rain in decades, making it impossible for any of you to leave the compound.

Even with the gloomy weather and without any sort of good news, this was a lovely morning.

Satoru, as he has been doing as of late, stayed with you for the night.

You woke up to his soft snores pressed against your ear, his arm draping around you tightly keeping you in place. It’s strange how you’ve got to this point without even having to discuss whatever the thing you were having at the moment was.

With Suguru, things were always slower, well thought, there was always a plan behind everything, steps that must be followed.

But with Satoru, everything was spontaneous, there was no need for explanations or planning, things just happened, and it felt good, if there were no expectations previously set, there was no disappointment later on. With Satoru things were fun, extreme at times, but fun. Memories of both of you diving naked in the toxic river at ten years of age filled your morning making you giggle and waking him up from his slumber.

“What’sso funny baby?” his slurred speech suggested he was more asleep than anything else, he was always like this, anything would wake him up, always with his guard up no matter what. “It’s nothing, go back to sleep it’s still early.” uttering your words in a hushed tone made him cuddle you closer, unable to keep his hands to himself. Your belly was so soft and warm, he loved running his long fingers along your smooth skin, especially now that you let him slither into your shirt just a bit, if he behaves. Dreams of a hopefully not so distant future where it is full with his child plaguing his thoughts.

“How can I go back to sleep when I have this gorgeous babe in my arms?” he placed a soft kiss on the back of your neck, sending chills throughout your entire body.

Before you could reply though, your bedroom door opened up startling you both, a very agitated Shoko could be seen within seconds. This should be a revelation to her, yet somehow, she wasn’t surprised to see a half naked Gojo in your bed.

“Geto is awake (Y/N)…” it’s all she said before leaving you two to process her words, closing your door behind her.

“Wasn’t the door locked?” you just blinked in Satoru’s direction, this could have been worse, what if it was Yaga? Seeing Satoru in your bed was more problematic than one would think. Yaga wanted him married to Utahime, it was no secret to any, this could ruin his life for good, a terrifying thought.

“Baby…did you not hear Shoko…?” his arms tightened his grip around you in a possessive way, he could see how you were blocking reality and he wished he could do the same, he didn’t want to lose you, he knew the moment they walked out of that room he would be forced to back down to the childhood friend position once more and he hated that with all his guts.

“I did…” you heard it, yet you weren’t running into your man’s arms. Could it be possible that you were just as afraid as he was?

“Is that not what you wanted? To have Suguru back?”

“I don’t know what I want anymore Satoru…I don’t think I can face him right now…” you turned around in his grip, facing his chest while hiding yourself in it. This has become your safe place, the sound of his heartbeat made you sleep peacefully, no more nightmares, no more worrying about the crazy conspiring ideas of your beloved boyfriend, with Satoru there was no need to think of keeping yourself alive, he would keep you safe no matter what, he would be there for you always, you were a priority not a puzzle piece.

You didn’t know you needed to feel needed, loved, desired. You thought you were all that actually, until Satoru came back into your life and showed you how different things could be.

It was an awful thought, it made you feel bad, your boyfriend had been through a lot, you should be there by his side, yet you didn’t want to leave the warmth of this man’s embrace.

“I’ve always known what I want. And that's in my arms right now…” lifting your chin gently with his index finger, he placed a soft loving kiss to your lips, causing tears to spill from the corners of your eyes.

“But we gotta get going.” you just nodded before placing one more kiss to his lips, sorrow and pain could be felt from it, hitting Satoru deep where it hurts.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

Your father was patiently waiting for you to arrive, he had hoped you would come faster though, confirming his suspicions, the Gojo clan had seduced his daughter once more.

He thinks of the times his wife was still alive, how she actually wanted you to marry the young Gojo and bring beautiful babies to this devastated wasteland, ‘eye candy for the suffering souls’, she said. It was him the one who insisted on choosing the Geto family instead, Suguru’s rebellious nature inspired him to get out of the misery their community lived under, they were elite, and elite doesn’t live the way you did.

Following your mother’s death, you decided to listen to him, entertain the Geto boy for the sake of your family and the community, though a beautiful relationship was born from that selfish wish.

But your father wasn’t dumb, he’s seen how much brighter you look nowadays.

He thought you were happy with Geto, he thought he did the right thing separating you from the Gojo kid, but he wasn’t so sure anymore. Geto’s rebellion did put you in harm ways more than once, you almost got killed for following him to his attempts of destroying the androids and reclaiming the world for ‘the better race’.

Satoru was already strong just by existing, he didn’t need validation from anyone else, didn’t have to train or learn new skills, he would dedicate his time to follow you around and make a fool of himself. He hated people like that, but you seemingly didn’t, and he didn’t want to think of his daughter as less than anyone in his clan, you were the elite in medicine, yet you weren’t that interested in the field, sending Shoko to be his apprentice instead.

For Suguru that was a stupid decision and he kept pushing you to learn from your father, something he greatly appreciated. But Satoru…he didn’t allow him to speak ill to you even when you were his daughter, he didn’t allow him to order you around. Sure, that sounded nice to you, but to him felt like defiance, something he didn’t like in the slightest.

When Suguru opened his eyes, the amount of happiness within him was beyond words, but he hadn’t said one word since then, and didn’t really until you arrived.

“(Y/N)-san..?” his words left you all speechless.

“R-chan…?” you were by his side within seconds, fear left your body along with Satoru’s in realization. Suguru wasn’t there anymore…

“It appears something went wrong. I do have his memories, but for some reason I’m the main driver of his body. Don’t understand the reasoning behind it though, when I scanned him last his personality traits were still intact.” the large scar with sutures on his forehead was a constant reminder of the awful deeds that lead Suguru to this table, but at the same time it was a reminder that the one inside his body had no fault whatsoever in past occurrences.

“So that’s it? The Geto boy is lost?” your father could hear your future shatter in the background, the one he wanted for you at least. He dreamed of being on Geto’s side when he was crowned as king of the new world, to have you sit right next to him, take the glory for your clan. But now, you’d be just a damn stay at home mom for all Satoru would care. A lovely future to your eyes, but a lackluster one in the eyes of powerful men of age.

Satoru remained quiet, holding you by your waist. He was happy to see his android friend back, happy he wouldn’t have to put his love on hold once again, but was also sad to see his best friend was lost for sure this time, there was no coming back from this and he knew it.

“R-chan…how are you feeling? Is it weird to be in a human body? Do you think the surgery worked in your favor at least?” your father thought about it, maybe it was a plan for the robot to survive, they had no feelings, killing one more human wouldn’t make a difference to them. But the look of happiness and innocence on the boy’s face was not one of someone with bad intentions.

“I feel some rumbles in what Satoru-kun called ‘tummy’, could that mean I’m defective?” this made you all chuckle, the light had been brought back into your life in a very unexpected way.

“No, buddy. That means you’re hungry.” the gasp that left his lips made even your father laugh. Seeing him gorge down some porridge was a sight to remember. It was nice seeing such an innocent smile on his face, it reminded you of the times when Suguru wasn’t so consumed by hatred, when all he wanted was to help around and to be a good match to his girl.

Those were good times, precious memories of yours.

“(Y/N)-san I must apologize. When I got in his body, I got to see a recollection of his entire life in the process. I feel entitled to tell you that he always knew Satoru-kun loved you and was indeed very scared of you finding that out. Thanks to that memory I got to learn what the feeling of fear was actually like, finally.” you just nodded quietly, it didn’t surprise you if you were being honest. If there was one bad thing about Suguru even when he was not as lost, was how possessive he was, which is why your friendship with Satoru had been dwelled down as you became an adult and officially his.

“How about the feeling of love? you said you wanted to know how that felt like the most.” If he had seen Suguru’s life, he should certainly know what it felt like now. Or so he implied but knew otherwise.

The cyborg just shook his head, a sad expression covering his features, “Not sure. I was able to feel (Y/N)-san’s love…” his cheeks turned rosy, suddenly the pink lights within him making sense in an inexplicable way. “But on his side, it was different. He wanted her, but not in the tender way you do.” tears were running down your face, deep within you always knew he didn’t love you the way you did, he was a great friend, nobody would dare to question that, but his life goals and all his thoughts were someplace else since the very beginning, “As someone who had no capacity to love, myself, I can say that he had the same issue. His feelings were very dark, he wanted to bring destruction to this world even if that caused you all to die. It was a very interesting experience seeing everything from his perspective, but I must say I wish I had been put in some other container with nicer feelings towards others.”

“It’s ok, buddy. You’re not him. Now you get to experience all the feelings you wanted for yourself, just keep that in mind. You’re not him.” to this he just nodded, laying himself down once more to rest, his physical state wasn’t the best just yet and needed to stay there for a while.

“You can go now, daughter. I will leave Shoko in charge while I figure out how to explain this to Yaga without getting you killed.”

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

Unable to lie completely to Yaga, the leader decided to change their approach in security. If one android managed to go past it, more could do the same. You were just lucky he was a good android, a concept they didn’t know existed and gave them a new perspective in things.

Geto, as he was now called by everyone, seemed to enjoy his freedom in the community.

He took lessons from young Megumi on how to survive around the camp, from Nobara about fashion and art of old times and from Yuuji in martial arts.

Even if his body was older than them in age, his personality was closer to the youngsters, making him want to spend more time with them than doing boring chores around the compound.

Yet, he would still spend a good amount of his free time talking to you, his friends.

Having Suguru’s memories confused him, he would dream of having you by his side, of your soft hands caressing his body…he got to understand the concept of hormones after a while, his hand becoming his best friend at times of need, that was also learned through his memories, by the way.

He didn’t know if he liked you because he was in Suguru’s body or if he just did on his own. He remembered his droid self and how his pink lights startled him without ever figuring out what they meant, how he now understands how happy he was back then sharing your room and being always with you and Satoru.

He wanted to hate him honestly, and a part of him did.

He didn’t like how he didn’t care about others seeing you together anymore, how he would freely kiss you wherever you were, how he would get to hold your hand and embrace you constantly. He wished he could do the same and the memory of you doing it to his host body just made everything worse. He was sure these were bad feelings, he read about it before, how envy and lust driven thoughts ended humanity, he knew this were Suguru’s feelings, not his, but seeing your face just made that line blur to a worrying extent.

He wished to do unspeakable things to you, from kissing you to have you all to himself, to have you at his mercy, see your broken face tearing up just for him, caused by the amount of pleasure he could give you. Those thoughts terrified him, he felt like he was being hacked, his body would react in awkward ways and he hated himself for that, made him feel dirty.

It came to a point where he just couldn’t hold it in any longer, trying his luck, he held you from behind, nuzzling your neck with the tip of his nose, his hair tickling the sides of your face while you folded laundry, a known yet confusing feeling. “Buddy what’s up? Are you feeling lonely?” you continued treating him like a puppy dog, even when he was now inside the very large frame of your ex-boyfriend.

“Yes. You always hug Satoru-kun, I wondered how that felt like.” you turned around, hugging his waist, to you he was just your android friend, the image of Suguru was blocked now in your heart for good. Knowing he never loved you hurt like swallowing acid, you didn’t want to face such past, so you just dumped all your memories of him in the trash and embraced your lonely droid friend instead.

“You can hug us whenever you want, buddy.”

“Hey, don’t count me in there, ok? I don’t wanna be hugged by Suguru’s body…” Satoru wasn’t jealous, he knew deep inside there was just his android friend, there was not even an ounce of Suguru within this man, but he wanted you to remember that as well.

“Satoru…he isn’t Suguru ok? Let’s just not say that name again, it will make all of us uncomfortable.”

“To be honest, sometimes I feel like he’s still here. I have awful thoughts of jealousy and anger bursts. I don’t think that comes from me but from him reacting to what he sees through my eyes. It’s very scary…” you rubbed his sides tenderly, wanting to offer some sort of comfort to his distress.

“So he misses (Y/N), huh? Give me a break will you…he should have been a better boyfriend if he was going to be this way…” pulling you away from him, Satoru brought you to his chest, pouting.

“Like how you are the best boyfriend there is~?” lifting his spirits was quiet easy, having him snuggle his cheek on yours in seconds.

“Exactly.”

Your eyes remained on your Scared-faced friend, a gentle smile gracing your lips, “Don’t let his feelings intervene with your own, buddy. He had his chance and lost it. Now it’s your time to live, to be happy, to experience life.”

“Would you show me what love feels like? I don’t think I could get it from anyone else….” Satoru gasped loudly, your hand reaching for his in reassurance.

“There are many types of love. I already love you, you know? You’re a very important part of my life. When your battery died I felt like a part of me died with you. But remember what we told you that one day? Friends love each other too, in a platonic way. We both love you very much, you, not Suguru. Don’t let him cloud your judgement.” he just nodded, sadness could be seen emanating from him like some sort of curse.

“I’m sorry bud. You know how much she means to me and how hard it’s been for me to have her, I won’t be handing her out to anyone, ever. But like she said, you’re already an important part of our life and we would like to have you in it for as long as possible.”

“Can I…hug you…?” his puppy eyes were unbeatable, both of you opening your arms to welcome him in your shared embrace.

“I think I understand platonic love. I promise I will try to block those evil thoughts from now on, I want to respect you and love you both truly.” he was rubbing his cheek between both of your faces making you chuckle, he was adorable indeed.

Thanks to him many things changed around the compound, for the best.

Not only had Yaga improved the security around, but also the perception of androids had changed quite a bit.

Sharing his android knowledge with everyone made the entire community not only learn about the past of humanity but also about androids and their struggles, how not only military droids were out here and how they weren’t as different as humans were.

Your relationship with Satoru was accepted by Yaga after much convincing. Truth is Utahime had a very big, fat crush on Shoko and didn’t know how to go around rejecting Satoru, for a woman…so it played just fine for her to cancel the arrangement.

Your father works now with your android friend developing new tools and medicine for things that had no cure in your world but his database had clues on.

Everyone ended up accepting the new cyborg Geto, even those who despised Suguru in the past.

Overall, the compound was now a brighter place to live in, even if the quality of life kept diminishing.

Moving in officially with Satoru was just your final step towards happiness. A bigger pod was offered for you as your family was soon to grow with such a needy partner beside you.

A room was also secured in it for Geto to live in. He was part of your family now, not as your husband as it was intended, but family of some sort, sharing your living quarters seemed appropriate to the three of you. Labels weren’t really required anymore, everyone around accepted the complex relationship you three had, unexpectedly.

Love isn’t always easy to understand, people isn’t always comfortable with concepts they can’t quite understand, but one thing was certain, love filled every corner of your household as new ways to return to a better world were explored, not as the supremacy Suguru intended for humanity, but as equals.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

Masterlist Previous Chapter

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ailendolin · 1 year

Note

🤝🏽 Hand holding for Ian and Gabriel, please, my lovely? 😊

Here you go, dear! I hope this ficlet manages to make you smile a little 💙

Next up:

🎶 Dancing - Dissectus & Voltari

💞 Post-nightmare cuddles - Thomas

⚡ Scared of thunderstorms - Vex & Irk

❤️‍🩹 Reunited after a long time apart - Dissectus & Voltari

🎮 Games - Mary, Annie and alive Kitty

🌧️ Rainy day activities - Humphrey & Sophie

🩸 Patching up a wound - Alison/Mike

🥰 Saying 'I love you' without saying it - Thomas/Isabelle

Ask Game is here. Filled prompts are here, here & here on AO3.

————

A Hand to Hold

🤝🏽 Hand holding

When Anne opened the door, she found Ian outside pacing in the hallway. He looked worried and tense; restless in a way he otherwise only tended to be when there was work to be done and someone kept him from doing it.

“How is she?” he asked at once, turning mid-step, desperate for news.

Anne offered him a reassuring smile.

“It’s not the plague,” she said. Her smile softened when the tension drained out of him, forcing Ian to lean heavily against the wall as he closed his eyes in relief. “Best I can tell is that she’s just not used to the weather yet and more prone to sickness because of it. The climate in Spain must be a lot kinder than ours.”

“It is,” Ian murmured. When Anne raised one of her eyebrows at him he blushed and cleared his throat awkwardly. “Gabriel once told me it doesn’t get cold there – not like this.”

He gestured up at the ceiling beyond which the latest snowstorm of the season could be heard howling fiercely. It was doing its best to bury the city in snow and had managed to bring public life to a complete standstill, leaving Bill cut off from his beloved stage and Gabriel from getting medical treatment.

Thank god it’s not the plague, Anne thought, not for the first time.

“We need to make sure she dresses more warmly from now on,” she told Ian. “England’s not Spain.”

Ian’s eyes grew thoughtful. “Makes you wonder why she’d want to stay here, doesn’t it? Miserable as this place must be in comparison to what she’s used to.”

He looked down at his hands and Anne’s heart went out to him for she knew what he hoped the reason was. She also knew why he found it so difficult to believe he could be part of it, so she reached out to place a hand on his shoulder and said, “Fair weather means nothing if there is no one to share it with.”

When Ian ducked his head and nervously wrung his hands in front of his body, Anne gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and nodded towards the door. “Why don’t you go in and sit with her for a while? I’m sure she’d appreciate some company – and someone holding her hand,” she couldn’t resist adding.

Ian flushed scarlet to the tips of his ears, causing Anne to bite her lip in amusement.

“Oh no, I couldn’t,” he stammered out.

Oh yes, you could.

With the hand still resting on his shoulders, Anne gently steered him towards the open door. “I’m just teasing you, Ian. Go on, stay with her. I’ll get dinner ready.”

“Are you sure?” he asked because of course he would. God forbid someone dare try to take his work from him.

“Very sure,” Anne reassured him. “I’m glad for a change of scenery.”

Ian hesitated, clearly torn between his need to be useful and his desire to be with Gabriel. For a moment, Anne feared the former would win the silent battle waging in his mind. But then Ian offered her a small, grateful smile and said, very softly, “Thank you, Anne.”

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before he walked into Gabriel’s room. Intending to give them both some privacy, Anne reached for the door handle but paused when Ian sat down on the edge of the bed, his eyes filling with worry once more as he took in Gabriel’s pale face and laboured breathing. Hesitantly, cautiously, he stretched out a trembling hand to brush a stray lock of hair out of her feverish face. The touch was so tender and sweet that Anne felt her heart seize with hope. Maybe, just maybe, one of them would soon be brave enough to tell the other how they felt. After all, no one could be more deserving of finding happiness in these difficult times than her two dearest friends. With that thought, Anne quietly closed the door behind her, unaware that only a moment later, Ian took Gabriel’s hand in his and gently interlaced their fingers.

#ian #gabriel montoya #anne hathaway #gabrian #bill 2015 #bill the film #my fic #ask game prompt ficlet

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tealquil · 2 years

Text

I have started shipping Clarence and Jonathan recently because friends to lovers. Especially if Jonathan can be honest with Clarence and have the man accept him as an Ekon, it's almost like the closer they get the more it proves to Clarence that just because of a lot of vampires can be heartless monsters, not every vampire is.

And I just need to see really cute fluffy things with them:

~ The boys cuddling while Jonathan just purrs contently

~ Jonathan comforting Clarence after a nightmare

~ Clarence making tea for Jonathan when he's upset, knowing he can't drink it but understanding that it's a comfort for the vampire

~ Clarence feeling too anxious to sleep and asking for Jonathan to stay with him

~ Or asking Jonathan to use his mesmer to help him calm enough to sleep

~ Clarence helping to keep Jonathan covered and safe from harm as they watch the sunrise

~ Clarence standing in-between Jonathan and a Priwen patrol that assumed Reid must be up to no good (Bonus points if Jonathan argues with Geoffrey himself)

~ Jonathan gives Clarence all the gentle little kisses when he needs comfort

~ Jonathan makes soup/tea/food when he's sick/under the weather.

#vampyr #vampyr game #jonathan reid #pacifist!jonathan #Clarence Crossley #Jonathan Reid/Clarence Crossley #fluff #domestic fluff #soft bois

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savageannah666 · 1 year

Text

Whiskey Cuddles

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Lena Hargreeves

Concept: Five was drunk at the living room bar, and Lena went to go tell him to go to bed. Sometimes all you need is cuddles instead of alcohol.

Content: Fluffffff

Warnings: None

Author's Note: This is a really sweet fluffy one shot. I do not write smut for characters like Five for various reasons, so please do not request it. I can write fluff all day, though. Also this is my first time posting a one shot to Tumblr, so if any other one shot writers have suggestions for formatting, do let me know!

Also, Lena Hargreeves is from an upcoming fanfiction where she is essentially a Five from an alternate timeline who screws up her calculations and ends up in this timeline. She and Five have a strange relationship form.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO THE REPRODUCTION OR TRANSLATION OF MY WRITINGS.

-------------------------------------------------------

Lena's P.O.V.

I walked downstairs for a glass of water from the kitchen, but stopped when I saw the silhouette of Five sitting at the bar in his blue and white striped pajamas. I quietly walked over so I didn't spook him. The last thing I needed was a black eye this late at night.

"Five?" I asked. He turned around, clearly plastered drunk, a half-full whiskey glass in hand.

"Whaaa? Lena, why are you awake?" He asked between hiccups. His eyes were squinted as if we were in broad daylight in the middle of a dimmed living room. The only light in the room was a lamp nearby.

"Are you drunk?" I already knew the answer before it even left my lips. I placed my hand on his shoulder, and rather than shrug it off, he placed his cheek on the top of my hand and leaned into it. He started to lean too far and I had to hold him up before he fell off the stool. "Five, you need to go to bed. No more drinks."

"No," he countered, his cheek squished against my hand. "I am 58 years old. Let me do what I want."

I took the whiskey away from him, placing it behind the bar. "Old man or not, you need some sleep and sobering up." I tried to tug him out of his seat, but he started to fall asleep on the bar counter.

I shook him repeatedly until he stopped grumbling at me and stood. He was so drunk that he stumbled and fell as soon as his feet touched the ground. I caught him halfway down and he leaned his full body weight on me. He was heavier when he was drunk, but that could just be me being weak in my tired state.

I helped him stand, and slowly we made it upstairs to his room. He laid in bed and immediately fell asleep, not even bothering to turn his bedside lamp off. As I walked away from his bedside, I heard a soft "Lena." I turned around and in his half-asleep, super-drunk state, Five outstretched his hand towards me as if to tell me to come back.

"What, Five?" I asked, shuffling back to his bedside. I just wanted to go to bed.

"Can you play with my hair?" he mumbled. I facepalmed and climbed onto the bed beside him, knowing he would whine and pout if I didn't. I stretched out beside him but let him have his space as he fell asleep again.

I started to run my fingers through his dark brown hair, the messy locks curling from the humidity this time of year. Even across timelines, the weather patterns were the same. I heard Five's breathing start to even out as he slipped further and further into a peaceful sleep.

Thank god, I thought. He hasn't rested in days.

He relied entirely on black coffee and alcohol to such an extent that anybody else would die from exhaustion. I don't know how he does it.

I pulled my hand away from his soft hair and as I was moving to get off his bed and go towards my room, he rolled over and wrapped his arms around my waist. He started to mumble something about the apocalypse and buried his face into my stomach. I felt his body tense and he started to have a nightmare, probably about the apocalypse he lived through for years and years. He must have been so alone, and that broke my heart.

I tried to shimmy my way out of his grip but he held on for dear life.

Shit. I'm stuck.

I finally gave up trying to get away and relaxed beside him, his grip on my waist not relenting. He was still super tense, and he started to whimper, probably calling out to someone in his nightmare.

I ran my fingers through his hair again, my other hand resting on his upper back, drawing small circles on his pajama fabric. After a few seconds, his whimpering stopped and he relaxed into my abdomen again. He took a deep breath and sighed, his breathing evening out again. I continued to play with his hair until I fell asleep, hoping he would sober up and get some well-deserved rest before the morning.

#the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #hargreeves family #number five #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfiction writer #writers on tumblr #one shot #five hargreeves one shot

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themculibrary · 1 year

Text

Sharing Clothes Masterlist

A Stupid Idea (ao3) - GeekTriangle bucky/clint T, 3k

Summary: ‘That’s my hoodie.’ he said.

Idly Natasha looked up from her phone.

‘Oh, now you notice.’

‘I- what?’

‘Clint, he has been breaking into your room and stealing clothes for what must be weeks now. That you still have clothes left is honestly a miracle.'

catch a flame to my sentimental tune (ao3) - orphan_account steve/bucky, clint/natasha G, 2k

Summary: They've been roommates for over five years and through multiple moves when it happens. Steve's jerk of a friend Tony calls them magnets and at least once he and Bucky have ended up spinning it into a scientific debate that makes Steve roll his eyes and walk away. It's not strange for two men to live together, move together, share the same bed (yeah that became permanent after move #2 because Steve tends to have vivid nightmares), occasionally borrow one anothers clothes and avoid the dating scene.

Right?

He asks Sam one day and gets a dry sarcastic "Yeah that's how I act with my buddies. We always share a full sized bed and show up for game night wearing each others shirts." He's wrong because if they were more than that, Bucky would know.

clothes thief (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor bucky/clint G, 872

Summary: In which Steve finds out that Clint and Bucky are dating, and also that Clint's a clothes thief.

It All Started with a Shirt (ao3) - Hyacintheriel_Dophlas steve/tony T, 1k

Summary: Steve had a lucky shirt until it was lost forever...or so he thought. Well, he never expected to find it the way he did but he's not going to complain. He sure does like the view.

Just One Good Thing (ao3) - HeartOfTheMirror steve/bucky T, 3k

Summary: Steve bathes Bucky and then they cuddle because sometimes a good thing needs to happen.

Laundry (ao3) - sevdrag (seventhe) bucky/sam G, 545

Summary: A prompt from @loonyloopylisa, asking for wearing each other's clothes.

roasting s'mores by the campfire (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor bucky/sam G, 714

Summary: Sam and Bucky are joining Clint and Kate on a camping trip. When Sam gets cold, Bucky lends him a sweater.

second watch (ao3) - jedusaur bucky/clint M, 1k

Summary: Bucky makes it all the way through breakfast and back to his own apartment before he passes a mirror and catches a glimpse of what he's wearing. He calls Clint, squinting at the screen-printed text below the image.

"Barton," he says. "Why the fuck do you own a T-shirt with Jesus nailed to the cross wearing sunglasses?"

"Uh," says Clint. "No clue."

"East Cleveland Lutheran Summer Camp 2004," Bucky reads backwards in the mirror. He turns around to check the back. "I am the way, the truth, and the life... of the PARTY! You let me take the fuckin' subway in this?"

Sharing Clothes (ao3) - prince0froses steve/tony T, 692

Summary: Steve and Tony's relationship becomes apparent to all, thanks to a few misplaced/misworn articles of clothing.

stuck on you (ao3) - wearing_tearing steve/bucky T, 5k

Summary: “Bucky? You don’t look so hot.”

Bucky makes a tiny little sound in the back of his throat, only to start coughing. Of course he doesn’t look hot. He’s sick and he’s dying and Steve obviously isn’t attracted to him.

Sweater Weather (ao3) - Heartithateyou steve/tony G, 693

Summary: So what if Tony likes wearing Steve's sweater, it won't matter as long as Steve never finds out.

So of course he does.

The burgundy sweater (ao3) - Mimisempai bucky/sam G, 1k

Summary: Bucky is tidying up and comes across a particular sweater of Sam's... the burgundy sweater... and the memories come flooding back.

The Clothes that Make the Man (ao3) - tisfan steve/tony T, 2k

Summary: Tony keeps souvenirs of special moments with Steve...

The T-Shirt Means I Love You (ao3) - laireshi steve/tony G, 1k

Summary: "You’re wearing my clothes.”

Steve wants to take the words back as soon as he said them, because obviously Tony isn’t wearing his clothes, Tony’s not wearing any clothes, Tony’s an artificial intelligence, but Steve wishes Tony were corporeal and wearing his clothes, preferably in his bed.

Thou Shalt Not Steal from Steve Rogers (ao3) - holmesintardis steve/tony T, 2k

Summary: After a one night stand, Tony accidentally steals Steve's favorite pair of underwear. Steve isn't about to let him get away with it.

tore my shirt to stop you bleeding (ao3) - HeartonFire bucky/clint T, 2k

Summary: 4 times Bucky wears Clint's shirt and 1 time Clint wears Bucky's.

Warmth (ao3) - BlossomsintheMist steve/tony G, 732

Summary: Tony Stark is on a business trip and misses his lover, Steve Rogers. It's a good thing he packed one of Steve's sweatshirts to help out with that. (It's warm, okay?)

you keep his shirt (ao3) - talktothesky steve/tony T, 7k

Summary: So, Tony has never been that particular about the clothes he wears. Even less so since he started dating Steve. And that is why this recent development in the crazy storm that is Tony’s life doesn’t make any sense.

There is no real explanation about the recent obsession he has developed with wearing Steve’s clothes and, honestly, it’s even getting a little embarrassing.

#themculibrary #mcu #marvel #fluff #sharingclothes #sharingclothes masterlist #masterlists

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