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briefalpacashark · 10 months

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MILES 42 Spoils you

Warnings: None.

(Dont know who the artist it but props to them. Amazing stuff)

Miles loves to spoil me. He's got plenty of money, thanks to the buyer's market for fancy gadgets and Miles' insanely smart brain, and a few choice investments. Money was no longer a problem for him. He had paid off his mothers mortgage and the only reason why Rio still worked was because she respected her own independence.

The gift giving started off slow. The appreciation I showed fuelled his desire to gift me anything and everything.

I started catching onto his antics and shut it down.

“You like that one Mami?” I felt Mies place his hands on my hips from behind as he peeked over my head at the small stuffed animal on display in a window.

“No,” I flatly refused, going to step away only for him to hold on tighter pulling me back. Miles was stronger than me by a long shot. So my attempt to escape was easily foiled. I could see his smirk in the reflection as he moved to encase my body in his arms resting his chin on the top of my head.

“The green or the blue?” he asked.

“Neither,” I muttered.

“Come on Mami, Which one?” he asked, dropping his head to my shoulder.

“I was just looking at the cute cashier,” I stated without thinking.

“Who the old lady?” he asked with a smirk. Looking at the cashier, I grimace slightly.

“Come on Mi Amor,” he coaxed his lips, finding himself a sweet little spot on my neck.

“Nope,” I popped the p.

“Mi vida, Hermosa, Mi Alma, Mi Amada, Cariño, Mi Reina, Bebe,” with each pet name his gentle pecks got more intimate. Trailing down my neck and sending my cheeks a flame. Finding my sweet spot rather easily my eyes widened as he started to suck on it, fully intent on forming a hickey. Pushing the pleasant shiver it sent though my body I cleared my throat.

“Fine!” I suddenly declared. He smirked giving the spot one last peck before straightening up.

“The blue,” I muttered trying to fix my hair pretending that the kisses had not affected me in the slightest.

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Staring at the blue teddy on our bed I huffed in defeat.

Yet as I started to shut down his habit he found ways of literally forcing me to accept it. Whether it be teasing me to the point of acceptance or just flat out ignoring me as he bought the item. The honeymoon period of him actually listening to me diminished in less than a month. Hell I had even tried returning items, Miles caught on and started refusing the receipts when he purchased stuff.

So I made it my mission to not go shopping with him anymore. I succeeded mostly yet sometimes he would still pop up.

It was working to an extent.

Until one day when we went to watch a live performance in the park with Jessica, my best friend and Shiro. I guess you could call him Miles' best friend. The performance was canceled last minute so Jessica decided that we should go shopping. I tried to refuse but Jessica was like Miles in a way. Wouldn't take no for an answer. So there we were walking through a clothing shop. Miles hung closer to me watching and waiting for any reaction I would have. Any slight hint that I liked something and his card was out. Luckily for me I had been practicing the art of deception. The whole time I kept a millstone smile on my face. Miles hated it.

“You're not fooling me with that smile,” he whispered into my ear.

“Oh really? Well I wonder why your cards are nice and snug in that wallet that hasn't left your pocket,” I stated smugly, giving him a wink before turning back to Jessica that held a shirt to her chest asking for my opinion.

“What's up with him?” Jessica asked, nodding to Miles who now wore a slight frown, more than usual.

“I won't let him buy me anything,” I muttered.

“I'm sorry. You're not letting him buy you stuff? Are you sick?” she asked, reaching for my forehead pretending to check my temperature.

“He gets me too much stuff,” I muttered with a small smile pushing her hand away as we walked to the other rack leaving a moody Miles behind.

“And that's a problem, how?” she asked. “You have a sugar daddy and you're not using him,” she tisked going back to looking at things. I hated the feeling that settled in my gut at her words. I know she was just joking but it still hit me deep.

“Hey Mami, we're gonna go check out some things I'll be back,” Miles muttered, gently tapping the side of my hip as he stepped up behind me.

“Ok, meet you at the food court?” I suggested.

“In an hour?” he asked. I nodded and waved him off.

“Now that they're gone we can actually do some shopping,” Jessica said wagging her eyebrows. She dragged me straight towards Victoria's secret. I wasn't gonna lie, I had a good time. Trying things on. Looked at everything that caught my eye without the worry that Miles was gonna buy it. I even bought a nice jacket for Miles. Seeing him sitting down I walked up behind him reaching around to cover his eyes with one hand.

“Hands out,” I demanded with a smile. Miles put his phone down holding his hand out. Placing the bag in his hand I pulled my hand back wrapping my arms around his neck as he opened it.

“What's this for?” he asked holding the jacket up.

“What can't I spoil my man?” I asked, giving his cheek a quick peck before sitting down next to him. He chuckled lowly at my words absolutely loving how I called him ‘my man’

The next day I got back from work walking into our apartment.

“Miles, I’m home,” I called out rounding the kitchen and stopping upon seeing a pile of bags on the dinner table.

“Hey mami,” he called from the couch, keeping his eyes on the television.

“Miles,” I sighed, already knowing what was in those bags.

“I really don't see what the big deal is,” he shrugged, already knowing what my sigh was for.

“Miles,” my tone was more serious now, it snapped slightly and my anger appeared. Miles' head tilted to the side slightly at it. I rarely held this tone. But I had had enough. It was getting out of hand. Miles and I rearly fought. And our fights were mostly me ranting and Miles using a calm tone as he listened.

“What's that tone for?” he asked.

“You know what it's for,” I snapped, chucking my bag on the table looking over it all. Hearing the TV shut off I refused to turn around as he approached me.

“Mami,” he whispered.

“Don't Miles, I'm mad at you right now,” I shook my head walking away from him.

“Babe, come on,” he sighed.

“No Miles, you just don't listen, do you know how frustrating that is?” I ranted ripping my scarf off.

“It's not like you listen to me all the time,” he shrugged, leaning against the door frame of our room. My head snapped to him in a glare that had him sighing again.

“What's got you so wound up. Huh?” he asked softly. That stupid soft understanding tone. That one that held no anger. That's why I hated arguing with him. He never got angry. Never. Frustrated maybe.

“Jessica called you my sugar daddy,” I whispered under my breath, kicking off my shoes.

“Sugar Daddy. Well I like the sound of that,” he mused with a small smirk.

“Miles,” I huffed.

“Aight aight. Lo siento,” he held his hands up in defense.

“So am I gonna have to pry what's bothering you out of ya or?” he trailed off.

“I don't want you to think I'm with you just because of your money. I don't like it, it's so fucken stupid and it makes me feel sick,” I continued to rant moving about the room.

“Mami, hey hey, come er,” he walked forward gently grabbing me, pulling me out of my pacing. His hands rubbed up and down my upper arms as he whispered to me in spanish trying to calm me down.

“Why would you ever think that?” he asked with a frown.

“It's not just me. Other people say it,” I muttered.

“Did those other people know that you were with me when I had a whole total of two dollars to my name. Where my idea of an expensive date was a trip down to the seven eleven and a push bike ride to the lookout?” he asked reminiscing on when we had first gotten together.

“Well no,” I muttered.

“And do they know that you work an honest job and against my wishes pay for your own things. That you pay for what you think is half the rent when really I already bought the apartment and put that money into a savings account that I would have told you about when we had our first kid so you wouldn't stress about buying stuff for em?” my eyes widened slightly at Miles casually mention of not only lying to me about the rent but the talk of a kid. I should be really angry at him for lying to me. But all that was running through my head was a kid.

“You want kids?” I asked softly. We had never talked about kids before.

“Who wouldn't want a little you runnin round?” he asked with a small smirk. My chest flushed with warmth at the sincerity in his eyes.

“Why don't you?” he asked.

“Of course I wan- No wait. I'm getting distracted. You've been lying to me! MIlES!” I snapped.

“Mi amor you're angry, How about we calm down,” He suggested his arms moving to encompass me.

“No, I will not calm down,” I huffed trying to get out of his hold.

“Ok,” he shrugged before tipping us back, myself hitting the bed and him flopping down atop me.

“Miles!” I yelled trying to wiggled out from under him.

“Hum?” he hummed, not moving an inch.

“God you can be so frustrating,” I huffed, giving up on my struggle.

“I'll get up when you calm down,” he muttered simply. I gave one last shake before huffing again.

“You know I read somewhere that adults who can't accept people buying nice stuff for them is because when they were a kid their parents would say stuff was too expensive. Messed with the kids mind and made them think they aren't worthy of being gifted stuff,” Miles mumbled. Hearing that my mind instantly snapped back to when I was young. Money was tight growing up. My parents tried their best to shield it from me but I was smart enough. Seeing my parents so worried about paying rent, I guess it could have left a mark.

“Stop trying to be smart,” I huffed. Miles was smart. Crazy smart. As in genius einstein smart.

“You deserve the world Mami. And I'm the one that's gonna give it to ya,” he whispered softly.

“I don't need the word Miles. I only need you,” I whispered my arms moving around to hug him, my hand gripping the back of his shirt. Rolling us onto our sides he shifted me up so we were looking at each other.

“Who else am I gonna spend my money on huh? I send a bunch to charities. I look after my mum as much as she will let me. At least you let me buy you stuff,” he muttered.

“Let you?” I propped an eyebrow.

“Yes Mi Vida. You let me, even though you try not to,” he grinned. I sighed, shaking my head reaching up to grab his face.

“I love you Miles. I love YOU, Not your money. Not this apartment. I would love you if you had not one penny to your name. You know that right?” I asked. I wanted him to know it. I needed him to know. For a long time he simply stared at me. In his mind he wondered what he had done to deserve the love of such an amazing woman. He knew I didn't care whether or not he had money. But the main reason why he did what he did, why he sold his tech was to make a life free of such worries.

“I know,” he whispered, his own hand reaching up to cup my face. “ So let me spoil you. The whole reason I did it all was to make a life free of the worry of money. To make a good life for us,” he whispered honestly. I pressed my lips together. He had a point.

“Fine. but only once a month,” I huffed.

“Once a month?” he asked, pretending to be appalled.

“Fine once a week,” I muttered. He grinned, pulling me into a sweet kiss. I smiled, trailing my finger down his chin as he pulled back.

“Say, you busy this evening?” he asked.

“Why?” I asked.

So there I sat. On the handlebars of Miles' old push bike. In one hand I held a slushy. I wore the biggest smile on my face as we rode through the town, my hair gently billowing in the wind. Looking back I caught a glimpse of one of Miles' genius true smiles. A smile so wide and toothy that it showed his dimples.

“You wanna know something?” I asked, turning back to the front. He hummed, signaling for me to continue.

“This has got to be the best date yet,” I said.

“I guess it's alright,” he mused.

#miles molares #miles g morales #miles morales prowler #prowler miles #earth 42 #miles prowler #miles 42 #across the spiderverse #miles morales #into the spider verse #miles 42 x reader #earth 42 miles #milesxreader #miles42

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rip-quizilla · 6 months

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Impossible to Hate You ~ Part 5

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Summary: Everything is falling- leaves from the trees, rain from the sky, you for Eddie, and Eddie for you.

Word Count: 10.1 K

A/N: Big thanks to @the-unforgivenn (happy birthday❤️) for all of the help you gave me on this chapter, and honestly this whole fic in general. You've been an invaluable part of the writing process of this story, and the fact that you care so much about Eddie & Ace just makes me feel so loved... you don't even know. Ily wifey✨

Thank you @vintagehellfire for your priceless tattoo knowledge- I hope I did you proud!!

Also thanks to @blueywrites for helping me decide on what Eddie would tattoo on reader back in our Tumblr DMs in June😂 y'all that's how long I've had this scene in my brain. This part of the story has been a long time coming.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Part 5

Fall, 1983

“Rick, are you serious, man?”

“Dead serious, I’ll sell it to you for twenty.”

You caught the tail end of their conversation as you approached the red plastic picnic table in Forest Hills trailer park. Today was the first day of fall, and while it may not have felt like biting cold and crunchy leaves yet, it did feel like flannels tied around waists and long-dead grass that broke beneath the soles of your shoes. You hopped up onto the surface of the table, swinging your feet around to rest beside Eddie where he sat on the bench.

“Sell what?” you asked, producing three cans of Coke from your bag that you’d brought from home and handing one to each of the boys. Rick had grown accustomed to your presence since the spring, so he actually cracked a smile when he answered your question and nodded in thanks as he accepted the can.

“Munson wants to buy my old tattoo gun.”

Your jaw dropped. “Wait, seriously?” you asked Eddie.

He didn’t take his eyes off Rick. “And I’m wondering what the catch is if you’re selling it to me for so cheap.”

You cracked open your can of soda with a hiss, joining Eddie in his Rick stare-down. “Hmm,” you mused, “I bet he forgot to clean it and it’s staph-infested.”

“Nope,” Rick popped the ‘p’ after taking a swig from his shiny red can. “Never been used, so I can guarantee it’s staph-free. Always meant to use it, but after that brush with the cops I had last month, I don’t want to risk having it.”

You narrowed your eyes at Eddie, trying to discern whether or not he’d thought about the fact that if he bought it, then he would be in possession of paraphernalia for illegal Indiana activities.

Then again, you knew he smoked weed and that was most definitely against the law as well, and he hadn’t been caught yet. You trusted him not to be stupid enough to get arrested.

You turned your line of questioning on Eddie. “Why on earth do you need a tattoo gun anyway?”

“Well you see, Ace-” Eddie lifted one of your feet up from the bench, straightening your leg and presenting your right shoe- your white converse, half covered in mythical creatures and random doodles that Eddie had slowly been adding to with his fine-tipped Sharpie ever since you’d bought them in early August. “-it seems that I need a canvas for my art, and it won’t be long before I run out of shoe.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “So now people are the canvas?”

Eddie held up his arms, bare skin nearly translucent in the afternoon sun. His nearly-too-small Iron Maiden tee showcased just how much bare skin he had to spare along the contours of his limbs. “If by people you mean me, then yeah.”

“You’re going to tattoo yourself?”

“Yep!”

“Without practicing on someone else first?”

Eddie smirked, “You volunteering?”

You rolled your eyes, but for some odd reason the idea stuck. You decided to play along.

“Let’s say I am, what would the tattoo be?”

Eddie hadn’t anticipated this answer. He was so surprised, in fact, that he choked on the soda that he’d just sipped into his mouth before your question. In a cacophony of coughs and wheezes, Eddie managed to regain his composure as you smiled wryly, feeling as though you’d bested him somehow in some small way. To fluster him with something as small as this, something he hadn’t expected.

“You’re serious? You want a tattoo?” Eddie responded skeptically, before turning away from you to fiddle with his soda can still held in his hands.

You shrugged, as if he were asking if you wanted a pizza, not a permanent brand inked on your skin. “Why not? I think I’d look pretty badass with a tattoo.”

You weren’t sure what was making you feel so bold today, but you had a feeling it might be related to the thought of Eddie covered in ink that wound up and down his skin that was making you ache to touch it when it was still naked and peach-pale. You scooched a couple inches down the tabletop to the left, placing your seat directly behind Eddie’s neck.

Then, in a stroke of something between bravery, stupidity, and need, you carefully slung your legs over Eddie’s shoulders so that they sat in the bends of your knees.

It was a simple gesture- familiar, even. You made a point to lean back a little, bracing your hands behind you on the tabletop so that the apex of your thighs stayed a good distance from the back of Eddie’s neck. You felt Eddie’s shoulders stiffen, each muscle under your jeans tensing for a moment before relaxing into the closeness.

Then Eddie brought his hands to your ankles, his fingertips brushing the spare skin between your high tops and the cuffs of your jeans. The pads of his thumbs barely caressed the skin but they felt like a kiss- a thing coveted and then forbidden, then coveted even more.

His touch drifted over your legs, warm hands coming to rest over your shins and squeeze, heating the denim that separated his skin from yours. You were holding your breath. You’d been so confident a second ago yet here he was, knocking the very air from your lungs.

You waited anxiously for him to say something; if he didn’t you were sure you were going to do something stupid. Something that would involve more of his skin on your skin.

“Would you want this tattoo of yours to show?” Eddie asked at last, breaking the silence between the two of you- well, the three of you. Rick was still there, taking in the sight before him with a smirk on his face.

“Not easily, my parents would kill me.” you said, ensuring that your tone of voice was nonchalant, casual. “But I don’t see the harm in something small that I could hide.”

Eddie tilted his head back and up, earthen eyes flicking up to yours. “What happened to ‘looking badass’?”

You pursed your lips as you leaned forward, bringing your faces to hover parallel over each other. “You’re saying that taking my pants off to reveal a surprise tatty isn’t badass?”

You watched as Eddie’s eyes flashed darker for a split second- nearly imperceptibly so- before his lips stretched sinfully into a mischievous grin. “Oh, under the pants then, huh?”

His hands traced higher, ghosting on your knees and burning his fingerprints through your jeans.

“Easy to hide,” you said, struggling to keep your voice even. “It’s a practical placement.”

Eddie’s thumbs stroked absentminded circles into the flesh of your lower thighs, tight denim puckering with the motion. “Practical placement…” he murmured, low enough that it sounded like he hadn’t even meant to say it out loud.

“You could put it on your hip.”

Both of your heads whipped around to focus on Rick, who was grinning at both of you like he’d just discovered a fun new game to play. He shrugged, hopping up to sit beside you on the tabletop. “You want it to be hidden all of the time, right?” he leaned to shove you congenially with his shoulder. “When’s a good girl like you gonna be showing off some hip? I bet the only one who’ll see that will already be married to you when he lays eyes on-”

“Hey!” you interjected. “You act like I’m some prude, I’m not a nun.” Rolling your eyes, you looked back down at Eddie hoping to meet his gaze and laugh together over how ridiculous Rick was being. However, you looked down only to find Eddie’s chocolate browns trained on Rick with wide-eyed warning. A silent message was clearly being exchanged, but it wasn’t for you.

Rick was smiling smugly down at Eddie, unbeknownst to you, and Eddie was getting the message loud and clear:

It’s time to raise the stakes, kid.

“Perfect!” Rick chirped, smug eyes still trained on Eddie’s. “So you wouldn’t mind letting Eddie use your hip as his, uh… canvas, then?”

If Eddie’s looks could kill, Rick would be a dead man.

“Yeah.” you choked out, refusing to give yourself time to chicken out of what you’d gotten yourself into. “Yeah, why not?”

***

Rainy days in autumn just felt right.

Sure, you were in Latin class. Sure, you were supposed to be working on a packet the substitute teacher had just passed out. However, it was raining outside. The sub was easygoing enough that she hadn’t made a move to stop Eddie from doodling on your shoe that was perched comfortably on the crook of his hip.

You sat behind him in every class you had together- there were four of them this year- and Eddie had gotten into the habit of reaching back to tap you on the leg whenever he knew he was losing focus. Every time he tapped, you would carefully stretch your leg forward until his hand caught on your ankle, lifting it up until it rested on his lap. His sharpie would go to work on whatever blank spots he could still find on your white converse, and the mindless activity of his drawing would keep his mind awake enough to listen as teachers droned on and on.

The change in Eddie wasn’t lost on his teachers- they had all noticed the impact that your company seemed to have on him, and it was the only reason why they hadn’t had any issues with your constant companionship. When you were around, Eddie actually paid attention in his classes and turned in work- that was good enough for them.

The silence of the classroom and the soundtrack of rainfall beating against the roof and windows had created the perfect work zone for you, and your focus on your classwork was only interrupted when you noticed a folded piece of torn notebook paper on the edge of your desk.

Smirking as you felt Eddie continue doodling on your shoe, you unfolded the paper and read the slanted scrawl that you’d come to recognize instantly as Eddie’s handwriting.

Were you serious about the tattoo thing? It’s OK if you’re not.

Your cheeks heated, contemplating whether you were still serious about it or not. The only fears you had about it were completely logical- Eddie had literally no clue what he was doing. Yours would only be his second tattoo after his own. Worst case scenario, the tattoo would get infected and you go to the hospital. Eddie gets arrested for tattooing without a medical license. Best case scenario… you get to sit there while he grips your naked thigh for as long as it takes to leave a permanent reminder of him on your hip.

You blinked a couple of times, letting that mental image wash over you, before confidently penning your answer beneath his message.

I’m serious.

Folding the scrap of paper and handing it back to him, you felt his Sharpie leave your shoe as he took the note and read it. You watched him register the two words, glance back at you through the loose strands of hair that hung over his shoulder, then smile softly into a shake of his head. A second later, he was handing the note back to you.

If you say so, Ace. What am I tattooing, and where?

You had to think about it for a moment before passing back your answer

Hip is fine. What are you gonna do? We could match.

Eddie’s reply came faster than you’d ever seen him write any of his notes in class, that’s for damn sure.

You want matching tattoos?? Are you sure?

Your heart began to race. Was that bad? Was he judging you for wanting to match him? Maybe you were being too clingy, trying too hard… you glanced down at his jacket, which was wrapped around you almost every day at this point- it was practically a second skin. His handwriting was all over your shoes. You stared at your fingers, scarlet polish chipping from the tips of your nails, and you remembered that you’d chosen red solely because he’d mentioned it was his favorite color.

Were you coming across as desperate? Were you weirding him out? Maybe you needed to dial it back-

A new piece of paper slid across your desk, Eddie’s eyes glancing your way with nothing but warmth in his gaze before he returned his attention to your shoe on his lap.

I’m fine with it if you are.

Putting bats on my forearm.

You released a breath that you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, giving ways for butterflies to take flight inside your chest. You grinned, jotting down your reply beneath his writing.

I’m more than fine with it.

Could you do just one little bat on my hip?

Eddie took a little longer this time with his response, and you understood why once you saw the adorably small silhouette of a bat penned in black on the paper he’d passed back to you.

You leaned forward, letting your chin nearly brush the fabric of his denim jacket as you whispered low enough that the substitute teacher wouldn’t hear.

“It’s perfect.”

A snicker from the other side of the classroom caught your ear. Eddie and you both turned to see a cluster of letter-jacketed assholes staring at the two of you, whispering and laughing with each other.

You knew deep down that you didn’t care what they thought. You knew that you should just keep your head down. Ignore them.

But then you caught the tail end of one of their sentences.

“...fucking freaks.”

Two things happened simultaneously: your eyebrows jumped, and Eddie’s stomach dropped.

The ringing of the bell was all you needed to angrily shove your belongings into your backpack and march over to the other side of the classroom, stopping the jocks in their tracks. Eddie was right behind you, tugging you back by the crook of your elbow as you steadily ignored his pleas to sit down and ignore them, they aren’t worth it.

“You want to repeat what you were saying over there, Alan?” You stared up at the freckled boy, his harsh features sneering down at you from where he stood nearly half a foot taller than you. His height did nothing to deter you, however. Neither did Eddie’s death grip on your arm.

Alan snorted, raising an eyebrow at the sight of the two of you before him. His eyes flicked over you, appraising for about two seconds before directing his attention to Eddie behind you. “You letting your girl pick your fights for you now, Munson?”

Eddie didn’t have a chance to respond; you didn’t give him one. “Don’t look at him.” you stepped forward, bringing you mere inches from the freckled football star. “I asked you a question.”

Alan and his cronies laughed, apparently amused by the show of dominance you were trying to make. You opened your mouth to berate him further, but the sharp tug on your arm from Eddie was strong enough this time to jerk you away from them and toward the door of the classroom.

“Wh- Eddie, quit it!” you tried to shake off his grip but it wasn’t going to budge; Eddie marched you out the door and down the hallway like a man on a mission.

“Yeah, Eddie, quit it!” You both could hear Alan’s patronizing whine from the classroom, his voice thrown into a reedy falsetto that made your blood boil. His voice trailed off, melting into the nasal snickers of his friends.

Eddie didn’t let go of your arm until the two of you reached his locker, at which point he finally looked you in the eye- and his stare embodied an intensity that you hadn’t seen from him ever before. You’d seen him intense, of course… just not like this.

This looked like fear.

“What the fuck was that for?” Eddie bit out, his teeth clenched and eyes wide.

You crossed your arms, suddenly defensive. Had you messed up, somehow? “I… I mean, they were calling us names, I wasn’t going to just sit there.”

“Alan’s an illiterate asshole, you don’t need to explain yourself to him.”

“I know I don’t need to, but…” You chuckled humorlessly, that familiar vengeful feeling from moments ago beginning to bubble back up. “You know what, no. I do need to. I’m not the kind of person who can just sit there while jerks like him run around slandering good people, it’s wrong!”

Eddie huffed, his hands on his hips as he glanced around and shook his head. “Slandering, huh? That’s a big word, Ace. What’s that, the college word of the day?” You raised an eyebrow, watching him closely and curiously.

He was fidgeting nonstop, repeatedly picking up his feet and replacing them on the floor only an inch or so away from where they’d been before. His eyes darted in every direction, as if scanning for potential threats so that he could run from them before they decided to pounce.

“Eddie, why are you so afraid of those guys?”

Big brown eyes widened to saucers, refocusing on you. “This isn’t fear, Ace, it’s just common sense.” Eddie checked over his shoulder to ensure the jocks were gone, then took a step closer. He leaned his shoulder against the locker, lifting his opposite arm to gently place his hand on your upper arm. You shivered, feeling his thumb trace small circles through his own black leather. Maybe that’s why he’s so scared all of a sudden, you pondered, leaning closer to Eddie. He’s given me his armor.

You lowered your voice, sympathetic to Eddie’s plight. “You know I wouldn’t let them hurt you, Eds.” Looking up into his eyes, you expected to see them soften, gratitude coating his gaze. Instead, they widened and crinkled slightly at the edges. Eddie huffed out a gaudy laugh, incredulous at your admission.

“Hurt me?” he shook his head, stunned, and began to rifle through his locker for the books he needed for next class. “Ace, I just don’t want them to hurt you!”

You balked. “Me?” an eyebrow raised, you crossed your arms over your chest, defensive once again. “You really think they’d hit a girl? They’re jerks but I don’t think they’d go that far-”

“Nah, they’ll only sick their girlfriends on you.” Eddie punctuated his sentence with a slam of his locker door. “Purebred harpies with matching scrunchies who’ll make your life a living hell and then pretend that you’re the crazy one.”

It was a struggle to keep up with him at the rate he was walking, strides each a yard wide as he tugged you along by your hand.

Your hand. Eddie Munson was holding your hand.

“You, uh… you speaking from experience?” You stuttered over your words, cheeks heating at the sudden skin-to-skin contact. He had just admitted that he didn’t want to see you get hurt- his blatant protectiveness of you coupled with the way he was decisively dragging you by the hand to your locker right now was nearly too much for you to handle.

“Trust me,” Eddie sighed, swinging you around as he reached your locker and (to your dismay) letting go of your hand. “You get asked out on a dare enough times, you figure out how their coven operates.”

Eddie wasn’t meeting your eyes. You had to actually place your hand on his shoulder to capture his gaze. “Eddie,” you said, making a conscious effort to keep your voice steady and be something stable for him to feel at least a little grounded on. “Deep breath.”

Surprisingly, he did as you said. Eddie closed his eyes, inhaling deep and allowing his lungs to fill long enough that his chest expanded before his exhale blew softly on your cheeks. It smelled like the apple you’d brought for him at lunch.

When you were once again treated to that warm hazelnut gaze, your hand acted without thinking and flew up to gently rest against his jawline. You were crossing some invisible line- you knew that- but the light in the hallway was causing shadows to take up residence in the dusting of whiskers that decorated the sharp incline that led to his chin. Your fingertips brushed his skin reverently, and he seemed frozen. Eddie didn’t dare move; you were like a butterfly that had deigned to land on him of all people, and damn it all if he was going to fuck it up and scare you off.

“I’ve got you, you’ve got me… right?” Your voice was barely loud enough to be heard through the noise of bustling students. “We look out for each other, Eddie, we’re stronger together.”

Eddie remained still under your caress, wishing he could focus on your touch. Wishing he could rip his eyes away from where they were trained behind you- held in terrified contact with a sadistic-looking Alan who stood with his cherry-lipsticked girlfriend across the hallway. Alan’s lips were curled into a sneer, watching as the thing that Eddie wanted most became his worst nightmare.

You were openly touching him, while wearing his clothes, standing in shoes covered with his drawings- and Eddie watched in horror as the harpy pushed up on her tiptoes to whisper something in Alan’s ear before both of them refocused not on Eddie, but on you.

They laughed like fucking heyenas, eyeing their next meal.

It took every ounce of self control Eddie had, but he gently took your hand in his and lowered it from his cheek. He ignored the way your eyes gazed up at him the same way a scorned puppy begged for some kind of affection, any confirmation that they are, indeed, loved.

“It’s the together part I’m worried about, Ace.” Eddie whispered, keeping his voice low.

You were quiet, which Eddie hated because it was his fault.

“Oh, and um-” Eddie raised his shoulders and shivered, rubbing his hands along his upper arms to warm himself with the friction. “-it’s a little chilly today… you mind if I wear the jacket?” His hand drifted down to the flannel that hung loosely tied around your waist, taking a corner of the material and feeling it between the pads of his thumb and forefinger.

“This’ll keep you warm, yeah?”

You stared blankly for a moment, stunned. You had nearly forgotten that the jacket was his to take. You’d assumed he liked that you always wore his jacket, but… perhaps you’d made that up. You were eager for him to want things like that, after all… ‘more than friends’ kinds of things. However, asking for a borrowed item to be returned was completely normal for friends. You chided yourself for reading too much into it and smiled warmly up at him.

“Yeah! Of course!” you sprung into action, setting your backpack down on the floor as you began to shrug off the jacket. “You’re right it’s frigid in here today.”

You handed the jacket to Eddie, who donned it with a thin-lipped smile. Parting ways for your next class, you departed in opposite directions down the hallway.

Upon arriving in your calculus class, you glanced out the window eager to zone out as you watched the rain, only to be greeted by a gray sky drained of its water. The rain’s reprieve left nothing in its wake but a tired sun, soft mist that obscured all surety, and packed Indiana dirt softened to mud too loose for one to find their footing.

The sort of mud that, should you try to walk through it, you’d be destined to slip and fall.

***

When Eddie thought of Halloween, he thought of blood and sugar.

It was a strange contradiction, the way that Halloween’s association with horror and gore had balanced itself out with candy corn and fun-sized Snickers bars, and yet the juxtaposition of the two brought a smile to his face. The combination of sweet and terrifying embodied the holiday perfectly. On Halloween, there was no need for any kind of steely exterior that might protect him from judgment. No need to hide the way he really feels behind the scary metalhead armor he’d so carefully curated as a defense mechanism.

On Halloween, he wasn’t just allowed to be a freak. He was celebrated for it.

On Halloween, he could just be.

It was the reason why Halloween just so happened to be the day he’d had enough courage to look through your bedroom window exactly four years ago. It’s the day when Hell meets Heaven to make something sweet, and anything can happen.

Anything- including matching tattoos on the floor of his trailer.

Everything was ready- Eddie had laid out sheets of newspaper to cover what he’d deemed the tattoo zone, and broken down a cardboard box to act as a stable surface on the soft carpet of his bedroom floor. Eddie had scrutinized every instruction he’d been able to wrench from Rick for how to work the tattoo machine. Grips, needles, fucking rubber bands that were apparently very necessary… he’d made sure he had it all. He’d even practiced on an orange that he’d swiped from the kitchen counter.

A thick black cable now snaked across his carpeted floor, connecting the machine to a pedal, the pedal to a power supply, and the power supply to the yellowed plastic outlet on his wall. Beside the machine sat a stack of paper towels and all sorts of other shit Rick had advised him to make sure he used. He was lucky that Rick had bought a bottle of black ink- Eddie wouldn’t have known where to seek out medical-grade ink in a state where it was illegal to ink your skin without a license.

Your knock at his door made Eddie jump; he wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. It would be easy to write his nerves off as adrenaline before his first tattoo, but who was he kidding- it was you. You’d gone from someone who made him nervous to someone who made him nervous for different reasons, and all of this was very inconvenient for Eddie.

“Trick or Treat,” You’d chirped when he opened the door, and it was at that moment Eddie realized that this night may very well be the death of him.

You wore your favorite baggy sweater over a tight black tank top, which you’d tucked into some high waisted acid washed jeans. Unsurprisingly, the chucks on which he’d scribbled his claim were fastened securely on your feet. In your hands was a variety pack of halloween candies and a shopping bag from the local drugstore. Everything about you radiated warmth, and Eddie had to fight the urge to change tonight’s itinerary to movies and a blanket fort and spend the whole evening on the couch with you, surrounded by candy wrappers and the light of his television set.

“I brought antibacterial soap,” you said, bringing Eddie back to reality. You rifled through your shopping bag to show him your spoils as you stepped through the threshold and into his trailer. “-large bandages, and a little travel first aid kit just in case. Oh, and I did a little bit of reading at the library and I couldn’t find much on tattoos, but the one commonality between every book and article I could find said to make sure you wash the wound often and disinfect everything-”

“Ace,” Eddie interrupted, taking the bag from you and closing the front door. The corner of his mouth quirked up, keeping an amused chuckle at bay. “You went to the library to read about how to safely care for an illegal tattoo?” Your expression soured, shifting to a half-scowl, half-pout.

“Well one of us has got to do it,” you huffed, grabbing the bag and marching towards Eddie’s room. “And I know you wouldn’t set foot in the library unless you were forced.” You continued to yell at him from his room, “You’ll thank me when your kitchen-scratched tattoo doesn’t get infected, and you get to grow old with all of your limbs intact!”

Eddie stayed glued to his spot as his smirk grew into a goofy grin. You were fucking adorable.

You hadn’t argued when Eddie insisted that he start with his own tattoo- before he got started on permanently marking your skin, he wanted to be sure that he at least had gotten the hang of it first. He immediately started getting to work with his trusty fine-tipped Sharpie, sketching out a scattering of bats on his forearm and glancing every once in a while at his notebook for reference. You’d flipped through that notebook on several occasions when the two of you had sat idle during classes or study sessions. The drawings were always sprawling, sharp and gruesome in a way that wasn’t so much scary as it was fascinating to you.

You laid stomach-down on his mattress, positioned behind where he sat on the floor, his back leaned up against the bed frame and close enough that you could probably reach down and play with his hair if you were bold enough. You didn’t- no matter how tempting it was, you didn’t want to risk anything that might mess up his focus. You settled for watching Eddie’s reflection in the mirror that sat leaned up against the wall in front of him.

When the Sharpie stencil had dried and Eddie picked up the tattoo machine, you couldn’t deny the nervous uptake in your heart rate. You watched him gingerly begin the process of permanently inking his drawing into his skin, and before the needle touched skin, Eddie looked over his shoulder at you and winked, whispering a surprisingly shaky “Point of no return.” Before you could ask if he was having second thoughts, he was already outlining the first bat, his socked foot pressing decisively on the pedal that whirred his machine to life.

Minutes ticked by before you uttered a soft “Does it hurt?” to break the awkward silence. Normally, Eddie had some sort of music playing, Metallica or WASP or something along those lines spinning on his cheap old turntable- but tonight there was nothing but the electric buzz that filled the small bedroom, and it was starting to make you antsy.

Eddie huffed, and it was as much of a laugh as he could afford while holding still. “Well, Ace, it’s a needle sticking in and out of my arm repeatedly, so if I’m being honest it ain’t exactly sunshine and rainbows.” You watched him wince as he moved on from outlining the first bat and started on the second.

“Does it at least make you feel a little badass?” You watched his reflection in the mirror glance up through the curtain of his hair and raise an eyebrow at you.

“That depends,” He said, “do I look badass?”

“A little.” You teased. “You’ll look more badass when the tattoo is finished.”

That earned you a snort from him. “What, fifty percent of a tattoo doesn’t cut it?” His reflection flashed you a genuine smile, that lopsided grin affecting you the way it always does, spiking your body temp and rushing the thump of your heart.

“Nope. Though, if your intention is to tell the world that you have commitment issues-”

“I do not have commitment issues-”

“Then what kind of issues do you have?”

Eddie parted the needle from his skin, taking a moment to glance wryly over his shoulder in your direction.

“You.” It was punctuated by a tongue that peeked out from between his lips. You followed suit, shoulders shaking as you chuckled.

Silence threatened to fall for a moment then, but Eddie put a stop to that. “Keep talking.”

“Huh?”

His voice was quiet, muttered like he was biting the inside of his cheek as he spoke. “Hurts less when we’re talking.”

You smiled, watching as he avoided your eye contact in the mirror, focusing on his arm as a subtle blush began to creep onto his cheeks. Tempting as it was to tease, you opted for a more neutral topic.

“Which is better, sour candy or chocolate?”

You could barely see his eyebrows furrow behind his curtain of curls as he considered your question. “Chocolate.”

“You’re crazy.”

He barked out a laugh. “After all the ridiculous shit I’ve said, that’s what crosses the line for you?”

You shook your head, amping up your reaction for his benefit; he was laughing, and it was music to your ears. You were greedy for more of it.

“Sour candy is a whole experience, chocolate is just sweet! That’s all it has going for it!”

Eddie gawked but kept his eyes trained on his skin. “What do you have against sweets?”

You rolled your eyes, flopping from your stomach to your back and staring up at the water stain on Eddie’s ceiling. “I haven’t got anything against sweets… I just like a little tart to go with it. Oh hang on, that reminds me-”

You stuck your hand into the plastic bag you’d brought with you, producing a variety pack of cheap Halloween candies. “Do you normally get trick-or-treaters? I thought we could pour these into a bowl and set it out on the porch- you know, so we don’t have to keep answering the door.”

Eddie Shook his head. “Nah, not a lot of kids who live here. Those who do always high-tail it to the neighborhoods where the good shit is, like-”

“Loch Nora?” you finished, smirking.

Nodding his approval, Eddie echoed, “Loch Nora.”

“Well in that case,” you yanked open the bag of candy so hard that a few individually wrapped pieces were flung onto the bedspread as well as the floor below. “I guess we’ll have to eat all of this ourselves.”

Eddie paused his tattooing to glance at a fun-sized packet of sour gummy worms that had landed on the carpet beside him. “Gummy worms?” he asked.

You flicked the back of his head while the needle was off his skin. “Uh, yeah, they’re delicious.”

“Did you at least get candy corn?”

You gagged. “Candy corn?!”

The two of you passed the next hour like that, debating about various arbitrary topics and inevitably disagreeing on almost all of them. There were only three things that you both agreed on without any debate whatsoever: Santa Claus was the superior holiday mascot, Joan Jett could easily beat Cyndi Lauper in a fight, and The Empire Strikes Back was way better than A New Hope.

When Eddie was finally finished with his tattoo, you were off the bed in an instant and already reaching for the antibacterial soap.

“You should wash it under some warm water first before anything gross has a chance to get in there-”

“Hey hey hey, whoa hold on!” Eddie was laughing, eyes wide as he smiled at you. Your hand was already encircled around his wrist, tugging his arm (and the person attached to it) toward the bathroom. “Ace, you haven’t even looked at it yet, c’mon you’re bruising the artist’s ego here.”

You sighed but couldn’t hide the rueful grin that danced on your pursed lips. Softening your vice like grip on his wrist, you shifted your hands to cradle his forearm and survey the last hour’s work.

“It looks good, Eddie… really good, actually.” You absently swiped a thumb over the soft skin of his wrist. “If you’d told me it was professionally done, I’d totally believe you.”

“Yeah?” He looked up from where your thumb stroked the base of his forearm, eyes shining.

“Yeah,” you smirked. “Of course, I’d tell you to try and get your money back, but-”

“Oh shove it up your ass, Sweet Tart.” The playful shoulder-check had you letting go of his arm, but both of your faces were painted with ear-to-ear smiles.

Eddie washed his new tattoo in the bathroom sink, admiring the way the bats stretched and shifted with every flex of his forearm. Your mouth hurt, as did the muscles in your cheeks; you couldn’t stop smiling. He was so happy with his work, and you had to admit that he had actually done a really good job with that tattoo machine.

“We’ve got to get you out of Indiana, Munson,” you murmured to the mirror where he continued to scrutinize his work from every angle. “I think you may have just found your calling.”

His eyes were wide and shining with pride as they glanced your way. “You think?”

You nodded, that saccharine smile stubbornly staying put on your lips. To be fair, you didn’t fight it.

“You’re coming with me, then.” Eddie replied, his own smile glowing in the dying light above the bathroom mirror.

There it was- that familiar fire beneath the skin of your cheeks.

“Oh I am, huh?”

“Hell yeah.” Eddie braced his arm on the doorway, leaning over you until your faces were mere inches apart. “We’re stronger together, remember?”

Breathe. Breathe… Why can’t you breathe?

You’d barely managed a nod before Eddie was ducking around you through the doorway, grabbing your hand, and leading you back to his room.

“Your turn, Ace.”

Oh yeah, you were also getting a tattoo today. You’d almost forgotten. Were you nervous? You weren’t sure. Actually, yes, you were very nervous- not so much about the tattoo as you were for where the tattoo would be.

In minutes, you were both sitting on Eddie’s bedroom floor- Eddie readying everything he needed for your new ink, and you sitting eerily still as your soul started to feel like it might leave your body.

“Ace,”

Eyes refocusing, you blinked a few times. “Yeah?”

Eddie’s expression was calm, sympathetic to the inward freak-out he had a feeling you were on the verge of. “We don’t have to do this, you know. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out sounding a little more strained than you had intended. “Hah…you saying I have commitment issues?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up, but Eddie’s eyebrows stayed knitted together above his big brown eyes. “No,” he murmured. His voice was soft, as if he were speaking to a stray animal and trying not to spook it. “I guess I’m just… trying to give you an out, so you don’t feel pressured or anything.”

You shook your head, “I don’t want an out.”

Eddie blinked, “No?”

“No.”

There was a second of silence between the two of you before you both took in a collective breath, exhaling simultaneously and giggling when you both realized that you were breathing in sync. Perfect harmony; sour and sweet, nervous but willing.

“You, uh…” Eddie stammered, his eyes flicking down to your lap and back up to your face. “...you still want it on your hip?”

Your heart rate doubled.

“Um, yeah.” you awkwardly shifted your weight onto your knees, grabbing hold of your waistband and unbuttoning your shorts. You shimmied them over your hips, revealing the rest of your leotard- leotard, Eddie realized. Not a tank top. You were wearing a black leotard. It was almost like the kind that he’d seen ballerinas wear, except it cut so high on your hips that he was sure it wouldn’t be allowed in any of the dance studios he could think of, and….yep. YEP, it was practically a thong. Your ass was out. You were sitting on the floor of his bedroom with your ass out.

Chill out, Munson! He screamed inwardly at himself, Chill the fuck out!

Of course, you couldn’t tell that there was a war going on between Eddie’s ability to function and the short-circuiting that threatened to render him unable to do anything but stare at you. All you could see was the way his jaw had gone slack and his eyes bugged out of their sockets.

You smiled shyly, a twinge of something between satisfaction and guilt nudging at your heartstrings. “I figured this thing would be less awkward than if I was sitting here in my underwear,” you laughed nervously as you gestured to your leotard.

Eddie gulped. He couldn’t see much of a difference. “Yeah, totally.”

A beat passed. You grabbed a bag of gummy worms from the floor, tearing it open with a crinkle of the plastic that would not have been so loud if the two of you weren’t dead silent. You bit into the candy where the color changed from pink to blue, then finally muttered through your chewing, “Ready when you are.”

Eddie blinked rapidly, taking his Sharpie in his hands. “Uh, yeah… yeah, okay.”

With your free hand, you pointed to the part of your hip where your flesh naturally creased as your thigh met your pelvis.

“Is here good?”

Eddie gulped.

“Yeah, that’s good.” But Eddie was very much not good. He was the opposite of good, he felt like he was malfunctioning. When he placed his free hand on your upper thigh, he almost apologized. Why the hell did he feel like he had to apologize? He had no clue. His palms were sweating- did you feel how sweaty his palms were? Oh god. He forgot what a bat looked like- you were trusting his artistic skills enough for him to permanently ink his drawing into your skin and he couldn’t even remember what a goddamn bat looked li- oh, wait, he had them on his own forearm now. Eddie glanced at his arm, reminding himself what a goddamn bat looked like.

He’s never felt like more of a nervous idiot than right now.

Meanwhile, you felt like you were about to explode.

His hand was warm. So warm as he grasped your thigh. Whenever he’d touched you before, there was always a barrier, some form of separation between his skin and yours- jeans, a sweater, a flannel.

A leather jacket.

That’s right- he had taken his jacket back. Maybe you were reading too deep into things, but you had this unshakable feeling that taking back that jacket had been a message.

We’re just friends. Nothing more.

But if that was true, then why was he looking at your thighs the way he was? Why had he looked at you the way he did when he said you should go with him when he leaves Hawkins?

He wasn’t your boyfriend… you knew that.

So why couldn’t you shake this undeniably girlfriendish ache in your chest?

“Okay.” Eddie’s voice jolted you out of your downward spiral into your very inconvenient feelings. “Check that out in the mirror, make sure you like it.”

You straightened up, walking on your knees until you faced the mirror leaning against the wall and inspected the tiny, perfect little bat that he’d drawn on the fullest part of your hip.

It matched the bats that now decorated his arm, now surrounded by an angry red halo that bloomed across his skin. Once that bat was inked, it would be something connecting you and Eddie forever- a shared experience, a secret that the two of you would always be in on.

Suddenly, you realized that in this moment there wasn’t a single thing you wanted more than a matching tattoo with Eddie Munson.

Well, there was one thing. But you had a feeling that wasn’t happening tonight. The tattoo, however…

“I love it.” You looked over your shoulder at Eddie, but his eyes were a little too busy staring at your practically naked behind to meet your gaze.

“Ahem.”

Breaking free of his trance, Eddie shook his head a tad, which drew a small chuckle from your smirking lips. Eddie couldn’t help but smile too, albeit more shyly than you.

“Distracted?” You teased, unable to hold back your glee at this kind of attention- any kind of attention- from Eddie.

He sighed, blinking rapidly while he finally met your eyes. There was something new in the way he was looking at you- if you didn’t know better you might call it frustration, but it was an amused sort of frustration. Almost like his eyes were saying “what am I going to do with you?” but through sunglasses tinted with desire.

You wanted to bottle that, stow it away for emergencies. Wanted to preserve the way that gaze made you feel so that you could experience it over and over again.

“No.” Eddie murmured through a rueful grin. “Lie down, it’ll be easier to ink the skin while it’s flat.” You did as he instructed, feeling the crinkle of newspaper underneath the skin of your rear. Once again, you found yourself staring up at the water stain on Eddie’s ceiling until his face came into view, looking down at you as he readied the tattoo machine.

“Are you?” You heard him ask.

You raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

The pads of Eddie’s fingers poked and prodded at the skin around where your tattoo would soon have an indefinite spot on your hip, and you wondered if he could tell that your temperature shot up ten degrees each time you felt his hands on you.

“Are you distracted?” he clarified. “Because it hurts less when you’ve got something else to focus on.”

“Oh.” Suddenly, your mind went blank. Of course, the moment you wanted something to distract you, all ideas turned tail and ran. “Um…”

Snap!

Your jaw dropped as the elastic of your leotard snapped back to your skin from where Eddie had pulled it away with his pointer finger. “Where’d you even get this thing?”

Now it was your turn to short-circuit.

“Uh-” You stammered, interrupted by the machine beginning to buzz.

Eddie didn’t wait for you to finish your thought before reminding you what he’d asked. “C’mon, Sweet Tart, where’d you get the leotard?”

You knew he was trying to distract you so you didn’t feel the pain, but you couldn’t help the tensing of your muscles as the needle pierced your skin. You winced, staring at the water stain with a newfound intensity. “Dance store.” you gritted through lips that formed a tight line.

“Dance store, huh?” You could hear the smile through Eddie’s words. “And why were you in a dance store?”

You huffed out a short, breathy laugh, careful to keep your hip still as Eddie’s needle continued to do its work. “I was making a Flashdance costume. Heard about this Halloween party a few weeks ago, but then we made the tattoo plans… and I had already bought the leotard, so…”

It was disconcerting to speak with Eddie without looking at him; he was a very expressive person, always talking with his hands, always making sure that he looked you in the eyes when you spoke to him. But now he was focused on his work on your hip, leaving your eyes to shift between staring at his ceiling and fluttering closed.

“You were going to wear this thing to a party?” he asked, incredulous.

Your eyebrows wrinkled over your closed eyes. “I would’ve worn tights under it…”

He snorted. “That wouldn’t have made a difference.”

You winced, groaning as the needle hit a nerve that particularly stung. “What- ah, shit- what are you trying to say?”

The buzzing stopped for a moment. “Fuck, you okay?” Eddie’s face leaned into your field of vision, his frizzy brown hair backlit into a halo by the light from the lamp behind him. “You want to take a break?”

You shook your head, taking a mental snapshot of how ethereal he looked like this. “No, you can keep going, I’m fine.”

Cautiously, Eddie got back to work. A few wordless seconds ticked by before you spoke.

“What did you mean, ‘that wouldn’t have made a difference’?”

Eddie’s reply was matter-of-fact, but you could have sworn that you heard a hint of protectiveness in his voice when he said, “Tights or no tights, the whole party would have been staring at your ass, Sweet Tart.”

The “T” sound in “Tart” was soft this time. So soft, it was barely there at all, and it almost sounded like he’d just called you sweetheart. If only. You’d give anything to be Eddie’s sweetheart.

Whether he’d meant to blend that consonant or not, it made you brave. “Is that a bad thing?”

A pause. Then, “Is this a trap?”

“Answer the question, would a bunch of people staring at my ass be a bad thing?”

Eddie sighed. “This is definitely a trap,” he muttered, before replying “No, Ace, objectively it would not be a bad thing. But sometimes people view girls differently when they walk around with their asses out.”

“Do you look at me differently when my ass is out?” You were being cheeky, you knew it.

“No, I don’t look at you differently.” came his instant response, muttered through nearly-closed lips. “I just look at you.”

Nothing could stand against your smile, not even you. “Yeah, that much I could see in the mirror.”

“You don’t sound too upset about that.”

This was different from the flirting you were used to with Eddie. Your regular flavor of flirtation had always been surface-level banter; nothing past a jab here and there, a joke at his expense or a nickname thrown your way.

Now? You were talking about the way he looked at your body, and the fact that he could tell that you liked when he looked. The two of you were in uncharted territory, and you buzzed under his touch in time with the inky needle at the beautiful unknown of it all.

“Okay, the outline is done but I’m about to start filling it in.” Eddie warned. “This part hurts a little more. You wanna take a break?”

You nodded. While Eddie jumped up to get you both a glass of water, you sat up on your elbows and peered over at your hip to get a look at your new ink. When you saw it, you gasped so fervently that you startled yourself.

It was perfect. The perfect little bat.

It wasn’t completely symmetrical. The outline was a tad thicker in certain places than others. But those imperfections made it his. And the fact that it was on your skin made it yours.

You couldn’t wait to wake up and stare at it like this every single day.

Eddie returned a moment later with two mismatched cups of tap water. Once you’d both rehydrated, he got to work replacing the needle at the end of the machine with a new one, as well as changing out various attachments and fiddling with a knobby-looking piece until he seemed satisfied with what he’d changed.

You were impressed with how intensely focused Eddie was on this sort of work; it didn’t seem to be taking him long to get the hang of this. It also didn’t take him long to come up with another topic of conversation that teetered on the line between friendly and flirty.

“Ever played Fuck, Marry, Kill?”

You had not, but the title of the game brought an unexpected chuckle out of you. “Edward Munson, I am a lady! At least take me out to dinner first-”

“I’m going to take that as a no.” Eddie chuckled, and you could hear his deadpan in the tone of his voice. “I say three people’s names and you have to tell me which you’d fuck, which you’d marry, and which you’d kill. Comprende?”

“Uhh-” whatever you’d been about to say was cut short by a harsher buzz than before, accompanied by the aggressive sting of needles on your skin. “Mmh, shit, okay yeah sure let’s play.”

Eddie smiled to himself. He wasn’t sure why he loved the little noises and whispered curses that spilled from your mouth while he tattooed you, but he honestly thought they might be the cutest sounds he’d ever heard. You were taking the pain like a champ- he was actually pretty proud of you in this moment as you remained still through the sting.

“Lars Ulrich, James Hetfield, and Kirk Hammett”

You rolled your eyes. Eddie had ensured over your many rides in his van this summer that every Metallica song he’d played had been an educational experience. Eddie had picked up a cassette of their debut album in July, and ever since he’d become obsessed. Already, he was trying to persuade the other members of his band to figure out how to play The Four Horsemen by ear.

Needless to say, you knew enough about the band to at least answer the question.

“Well I’m killing Lars for sure.”

“Poor Lars never stood a chance.”

You grinned, willing the distraction into something great enough to numb the pain. “And I think I’m gonna have to fuck Hetfield.”

“‘Have to fuck Hetfield,’ such a sacrifice.”

You carefully stretched your arms up to rest above your shoulders, cradling your head on your hands like a pillow. “Hey, if someone’s got to do it, I’ll take one for the team.”

You heard him snort, then after a moment’s quiet he added, “So you’re marrying Kirk Hammett, then?”

“I guess so.”

“What makes Kirk marriage material? Over the other two, I mean.”

You thought about Kirk Hammett’s wild, dark curls. His build. His brown button eyes. The way he looked holding a guitar.

“I don’t know, there’s just something about him.”

Eddie thought about the way he’d been trying to make himself look more like a rockstar ever since he’d first seen the tiny, grainy picture of the Metallica members in the corner of a page of Rolling Stone; he’d been bumming copies off Jeff’s subscription since the seventh grade. How he’d started growing out his hair after seeing Kirk’s long, black mane. He smiled.

He must be doing something right.

“Alright, Mrs. Hammett,” He quipped, “My turn, hit me with bachelorettes one through three, please.”

You thought over your options, trying to think of women you’d heard him mention before. Wondering if he thought any of them had something in common with you, and praying to God he didn’t kill them.

“Olivia Newton-John,”

Already, Eddie was descending into a fit of giggles.

“Why are you laughing? She’s pretty!”

Eddie launched into a falsetto rendition of the chorus from Grease’s Hopelessly Devoted to You, and you were instantly fighting the giggles too.

“Shut up! I’m not done yet. Olivia Newton-John… have you seen Fast Times?”

His response came in a tone of voice that was the vocal equivalent of a side-eye. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I don’t know if you know who Phoebe Cates is.”

“Oh,” Eddie sighed dreamily, “I know who Phoebe Cates is.”

You rolled your eyes, but chuckled nonetheless. “Okay then- Olivia Newton-John, Phoebe Cates, and Carrie Fisher.”

Eddie barked out a joyous “Ah!” before answering, “Well this is easy, Ace, say goodbye to Newton-John!”

You mock-gasped. “You’re killing Sandy?”

“I’m killing Sandy.”

“That is brutal. She was so innocent, too.”

Eddie squinted at the half-filled tattoo, smirking into his explanation. “Okay, I see the appeal, Ace, I truly do. That outfit at the end is killer.” He paused. Should he say it? Would he be too obvious if he did?

Ah, fuck it.

“I’m a sucker for a woman in red shoes, let me tell ya. However-” Eddie quickly glazed over that last sentence, as well as any opening you might have gotten to think about how that might relate to you. “-I’ve gotta fuck Phoebe Cates. Because… y’know-”

“Boobies?” you beat him to the punch.

Eddie confirmed with a matter-of-fact “Boobies.” He glanced up at your face for a moment, curious to see if he could read what you thought of his answers, but you were staring pensively at his ceiling, expression unreadable. “And you have to have known I was marrying Leia the moment she was an option.”

“You have a thing for Princess Leia?”

“Are you joking?” Eddie asked, incredulously. “How could I not? The woman’s the definition of a spitfire, she kicks ass and takes names. Not to mention, she’s got a thing for scoundrels.”

You hummed. “Do you think you’re a scoundrel, Eddie?”

“Well I’m certainly not a scruffy-looking nerf herder, I’ll tell you that much.”

You winced playfully, “A nerf herder you are not… but you are a bit scruffy.”

“You’ve got me there, princess.”

Eddie went silent. The nickname had just slipped out- all this talk of scoundrels and princesses and strong women who weren’t afraid of a fight and before he knew it, he was seeing more similarities between you and Leia than he’d realized were there before.

Princess had just seemed right. It just slipped out.

The line between friendship and dangerous territory had been so clearly drawn in Eddie’s mind before tonight. Where had he gone wrong? That once clear line was getting blurry.

Eddie was absolutely convinced that he would probably find a way to single handedly ruin your friendship before he was finished filling in your tattoo- which you would inevitably hate, because it would remind you of the asshole who you used to be friends with before he made things weird between you.

“My turn,” your voice cut through Eddie’s downward spiral, drawing a relieved sigh from him that tickled the skin of your thigh. “Let’s make this round more interesting. Only names of people from Hawkins.”

“Hm, that is interesting.” he mused, the needle inching its way toward the last remaining centimeter of bare skin left within the outline. “Let me think… Chief Hopper-”

You barked out a laugh, “Oh great start, Eds.”

“Chief’s a good looking guy! I don’t know why you’re laughing!” but Eddie was smiling ear to ear, delighted that his awkward apprehension had already begun to dissipate. “Principal Higgins-”

“Are you only going to give me old men as options?”

Eddie was going to do exactly that, because he didn’t want to picture you marrying or- God forbid- fucking any men in Hawkins that you might actually enjoy doing either of those things with. He wasn’t jealous, per se… but none of the shitheads in Hawkins were good enough for you. Eddie wasn’t even good enough for you; not yet, at least. He could picture a future version of himself one day taking his chances with you, once you’d both skipped town and found your way in some thriving city somewhere.

You were both too good for this place- you were the first person to make him think that about himself.

“What was that security guard’s name at the mall? Average joe looking guy? Quentin? Quincey?”

“Oh, you mean Quinn?”

“Knew his name started with a Q.” Eddie softly bit his bottom lip as he finished the last bit of your bat’s wing. “Hopper, Higgins, and Quinn. Those are your options.”

You groaned. “These choices suck, can I just kill them all?”

“I kinda like it when you go all bloodthirsty, Ace.”

You rolled your eyes before letting them flutter closed. “Ugh, well I’m obviously killing Higgins… he’s never been nice to you and all he cares about are school sports. I guess… I mean if I have to, I’ll fuck Hopper.”

Eddie was beside himself with giggles, “I mean, that’s one way to get out of a speeding ticket.”

“You’re lucky I can’t smack you right now.” You ignored Eddie’s snickering and continued. “And I don’t think I’d mind being married to Quinn, he always smiles at me and asks how my day was. Plus he’s kind of cute, he’s got nice hair.”

Eddie wrinkled his nose. “I don’t see it.”

You laughed, and the jingling tone of your voice suddenly sounded too loud as the buzzing of Eddie’s machine stopped.

“Alright, Ace,” Eddie announced, leaning back to survey his work. “Check out your new ink.”

You didn’t need to look at it again to know it would be perfect, but you looked anyway. You stood on your sleeping legs and gazed at the little black bat on your hip- it sat beautifully balanced on the skin framed by your high cut leotard, and you knew at once that you’d think of Eddie each time you saw it. This was exactly what you wanted- a daily reminder of exactly how he made you feel, of who he was to you.

At this moment, it dawned on you exactly what it was that Eddie made you feel. The way you always wanted to be around him, and the way he had become a balloon that inflated your chest every time he made you laugh, and how you knew- just knew- that you’d follow him anywhere if he asked.

You loved Eddie Munson. You were in love with him.

And you couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot at that little asymmetrical bat.

Taglist: @emma77645 , @rustboxstarr, @josephquinnsfreckles, @rozxartaki, @sheneedsrocknroll92

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #stranger things fic #impossible to hate you #ithy #friends to enemies to lovers #friends to lovers

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dragonflylady77 · 2 months

Text

Mr Steve and The Monster Hunter

It's finally there, time to post my fic for @bigbangharringrove (thank you mods for all your work for this event!)

I've been working so hard on this one... I even did some doodles of a couple of scenes from it (I might post them once I've posted all 6 chapters).

Art by @adelacreations (so very excited about this!!).

I want to thank @ihni for Olivia’s name, @spaceofentropy for noticing I'd forgotten about Will (oops!) and @akioukun for Cindy’s name

Also on Ao3

Steve gets the surprise of his life when one of his students gets picked up by her father. A man who Steve thought had died on the dirty floor of Starcourt Mall fifteen years ago. Billy Hargrove is alive... and a dad. He runs a security company called HellGrove and he hunts monsters in the Upside Down for a living. When Billy opens a portal into the Upside Down in Robin and Heather’s backyard, Steve follows because he wants answers.

Chapter 1 - Mr Steve isn't a boy

Steve is looking forward to the weekend after a long week teaching six-year-olds. Having the school trip to the zoo the same week as the talent show is not something he’s keen to do again in a hurry and he let his principal know as much.

He smiles as the last of the kids rush past him, waving him goodbye as they squeeze in the doorway before running down the hallway towards the exit, a spring in their step. He notices Olivia is still in the classroom and he walks over to her desk.

“Everything okay, Olivia?” he asks as she shoves the last of her drawings in her backpack. He reminds himself for the hundredth time to ask Robin where she found the Hawkins Lifeguard backpack because he didn’t know such an item existed and he was a lifeguard at Hawkins Community Pool for a few summers, both while he was in high school, and after, during summer breaks from university.

He knows he isn’t supposed to have favorites but Robin and Heather’s daughter is one of the brightest students he’d had in his ten years of teaching elementary school and she is extremely funny to boot, at a level that her classmates usually don’t get.

“Yep, Mr Steve, I’m spending the weekend with my dad so I want to show him all my work.”

“Your dad?” Steve asks, confused. As far as he knows, the little girl only has her two mums. Of course, Steve figures there has to have been a man involved in the process, he did pay some attention in biology class, but he never asked. Heather still scares him a little and he isn’t as close to Robin as they were fifteen years ago.

Nope, not thinking about it.

“Yes, he works a lot all over the country so I don’t see him very much.”

“Then I bet you’re very excited to see him!”

“I haven’t seen him since Christmas, he’s very busy but he rings me when he can,” Olivia says matter-of-factly as she closes her bag.

“That’s nice,” Steve says, smiling even though he thinks two months is a long time without seeing your child, not that he has any of his own.

“He lives in California, you know,” she adds as she starts walking to the door.

Steve follows a few steps behind, in a daze, her words unleashing the memories of loud metal, leather and cigarettes, and a blue Camaro.

Nope, not thinking about him.

He watches Olivia step out of the classroom and turns towards the mess he still has to clean before he can go home when the voice coming from the adjoining hallway stops him in his tracks.

“Hey, princess!”

It can’t be. But that voice… He’s heard it before, and those words…

Shaking like a leaf, Steve turns towards the open doorway and takes the three steps that separate him from the owner of the voice.

It isn’t possible. Billy Hargrove is dead, Steve reminds himself. He died at Starcourt Mall fifteen years ago, in what remains the scariest night of Steve’s life. This is just his brain playing tricks on him.

He steps into the hallway and freezes. The shock of seeing Billy Hargrove, alive and in the flesh, dims Olivia’s gleeful screams.

He looks… Steve feels all the air leave his lungs. Billy looks fucking good for a dead guy. His hair is cut short, some golden curls on the top still, he looks broader in the shoulders, his muscles more defined than they were in high school, not that Steve is looking, but the guy is wearing a t-shirt that looks painted on, okay?

He is also sporting a scar across his left cheek that looks not too recent but doesn’t make him look any less handsome, as well as some gnarly looking, but silver, older, scars on his arms and Steve knows there would be matching ones on his sides and in the middle of his chest, where the Mind Flayer had hit him with its tentacles.

“Pretty boy?” The shock is evident in Billy’s voice. He clearly didn’t expect to see Steve either.

“Daddy, you’re silly. Mr Steve isn’t a boy, he’s my teacher!”

Billy clears his throat and looks down at his daughter. “I can see that, princess.”

Billy Hargrove has a daughter!! What. The. Fuck?

“Billy. Long time no see.”

“Mr Steve, you know my daddy?” Olivia is looking between the two of them, trying to work out the connection.

Billy crouches so he is level with Olivia. “Mr Steve went to school with me and your moms, Livi.” He looks around and picks up her cardigan from her hook. “Is that all your stuff?”

“Yes, Daddy. I gotted all the stuff in my bag to show you.”

“That’s great, princess. Can you wait here a minute while I have a super quick chat with Mr Steve?”

She nods. “Can I play the word game on your phone?”

“Sure thing.”

Once Billy sorts Olivia with her game, he looks at Steve who is still hovering in the doorway and gestures towards the classroom. Steve nods and heads back inside, Billy a few steps behind him.

Steve stops when he reaches his desk, trying to compose himself. He hears Billy behind him and turns around.

“Robin never said—”

“You probably hav—”

They both stop at the same time and Steve knows he’s being awkward but he is not prepared for this. It’s not like he was friends with the guy back in high school, but Billy sacrificed his life to save them that day in1985 so for him to just show up like that is just… Steve doesn’t even know at this stage. He needs time to process.

“Listen, I have to run, haven’t seen Livi in way too long and I want to make the best of it but if you want to talk, or like, I dunno, have questions for me, here’s my card. Call me.”

Billy pulls out his wallet and hands Steve a business card with a tentative smile. Steve takes it, trying to wrap his head around what just happened. He nods as Billy puts his wallet away.

“See you around, pretty boy.” Billy doesn’t wait for a reply and he heads out.

Steve hears Olivia’s voice then the chatter moves further away as they walk towards the exit.

He finally looks down at the card in his hand. It’s dark gray, almost black, with the letters HG in white in the middle. He flips it to find the same monogram on the left then his eyes read over the words, taking them in.

HellGrove Security Consultants

William H. Hargrove

CEO & Head of Security

Followed by a phone number and an email address.

What.

The.

Fuck?

***

It’s after midnight and Steve is lying on his bed, flipping Billy’s card over and over, the dim light of his bedside lamp catching on something in the corner of the card. It’s embossed in the same color so he didn’t really notice until now. He brings the card closer so he can have a proper look and…

It’s a demogorgon flower head.

Motherfucker.

He grabs his phone to call Robin but then remembers that they’re not really best friends anymore, besides it’s late and she’s a parent now. Olivia did say she was spending the weekend with her dad but Steve isn’t sure what the arrangement is.

Billy Hargrove is alive and he’s a dad.

More questions than answers and it’s making Steve want to scream. So he sends Robin a message, figuring that she can choose to reply if she’s awake.

He hopes she does.

Steve: So I met Olivia’s dad at pick up today.

Immediately the reply box shows three littles dots. Steve holds his breath for a bit but has to give up after a minute. Either Robin is typing a novel-length explanation or she is not sure what to say.

Robin: Surprise? <cringe emoji>

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Steve yells in the empty room, his frustration at boiling point. His phone dings again and he looks to see what else Robin had to say.

Robin: Come over for lunch tomorrow. We’ll talk.

Steve sends a brief text saying he’ll be there then puts his phone down and switches to his laptop, giving into the temptation to visit HellGrove.com.

The website mentions the usual stuff: the various services offered (most of which mean little to Steve), reviews from clients as well a page about the company and its staff. Steve keeps looking on the main page for the freaky flower and finally finds it, hidden on the Reviews page when his cursor hovers in the bottom left corner and HOLY FUCK!

There’s no photos of the Upside Down but the hand drawn illustration in the banner is enough for Steve to suppress a shudder at the memories. There are a handful of anonymous written accounts by survivors who were rescued by HellGrove and reports about unsuccessful rescue missions. The wording is vague but, to someone who’s experienced it first hand, it’s clear they’re talking about the Upside Down.

Steve goes back to the home page and clicks on Staff. His eyes immediately focus on the black and white photo of Billy. It must have been taken some time ago because the scar on his face is missing.

The short bio tells Steve that William H. Hargrove joined the Marines at eighteen and left after six years to start his own security company. Steve scrolls down and he is surprised and a bit shocked to find out that Max, Lucas, Will and El also work for Billy. And some guy named Argyle, who apparently has no last name.

He vaguely remembers Dustin mentioning that Lucas got a job in California after college and he knew El and the Byers already lived over there. He feels bad when he realizes he hasn’t thought about Max in years. He ponders reaching out to Dustin but that would open a can of worms and even more questions.

He closes his laptop and dumps it on the other side of the bed and settles on his side to go to sleep.

The feeling of an arm around his waist pulls Steve from his slumber. He gasps when he realizes there’s a (warm!) body behind him, the owner of which is dragging him closer and dropping a string of kisses on his shoulder.

Steve can’t remember the last time he shared a bed with someone, especially while being naked, though he is sure he was wearing pajamas earlier. The kisses morph into a bite and a needy moan escapes his lips when he feels teeth nibbling on his skin. The embrace around his middle tightens and Steve’s hand drifts to the one holding him, fingers locking with the ones of the man behind him. Because it is a man, of that Steve has no doubt.

He looks down, noticing the silver scars in the soft glow of his bedside lamp. “Billy?”

“Sorry I woke you up, pretty boy,” comes the hushed whisper from behind him.

“No, it’s okay. What are yo—” The words die in his throat when Billy moves their linked hands south. Steve can feel Billy harden against his ass as their hands start stroking his dick and he shivers.

Billy gives a light squeeze and Steve rolls his hips, arching his back and groaning when Billy bites down on the crook of his neck.

“Oh god… Billy…”

Steve lets go of Billy’s hand to bury his fingers in golden curls instead. It’s been so long since the hand touching him wasn’t his that the pleasure of it is blinding in its intensity.

He moans loudly, earning himself another bite from Billy.

“Shhhh, pretty boy, not so loud, you’ll wake the baby.”

Steve sinks his teeth in his bottom lip in an effort to be quiet, so he doesn’t wake this baby he doesn’t remember having. His entire focus is on not making noise while Billy does unspeakable things to his body. He shudders; he’s so close already…

Billy notices, because of course he does, he always did notice things, and his hand starts moving faster, his closed fist squeezing the head of Steve’s cock on the upstroke. It’s slick, it’s heady, and too soon, Steve can feel his orgasm rushing at him.

He comes with a shout he can’t silence, but when he opens his eyes again, he’s alone in his bed. It’s his hand around his cock, his mess in his pajama pants.

Chest still heaving, he quickly cleans up using his pants and gets back into bed wearing a clean pair, reeling from the shocked realization that he wants Billy Hargrove. And a baby.

What the fuck?

Chapter 2

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #harringrove big bang #harringrove bigbang #harringrovebigbang #dragonflylady77 #collab #mr steve and the monster hunter

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cryptiduni · 9 months

Text

…i just saw this poll and my unevolved brain gel wriggled inside my cranium like a feral fish:

idk how you look at his official art and call him conventionally attractive. my man looks like a wet dog and has eyebags for daysss. face full of pox scars, skin pale af, and those shaggy ass hair & a rugged beard hanging from his flat long face.

he is pretty *to me* but like dude???

—not exactly a heartthrob boy band material is he?

obv I wouldn’t call him “misunderstood baby uwu” if we are talking a little more seriously —but to be fair jean is having possibly the worst week of his life. the car? fucking sunk. case? unsolved. not to mention his close partner (who is also an ass mind you) doesn’t even remember him, already running around with a new one.

yeah he is absolutely foul and aggressive and degrading harry but like i said before (in my tag essay lol) judit also makes ableist comments and i don’t see people hating her because she’s outwardly nice—

and respects harry as her superior. her BOSS.

(also a friend with benefits? /nope, it’s just him harassing judit/ as well but not as a complicated relationship compared jean and harry’s brötherbund. only a few months of acquaintanceship.)

plus it’s highhlyyy likely that harry is not the only one substance abuse. —look at jean’s rudolf-looking-red-ass-nose. a drunkard’s sniffers. probably had few lines with him late at night… when your lifetime partner is an alcoholic it's hard to say no.

about the left for dead thing, they left because harry told them to fuck off. tbh harry is nightmare to work with esp pre-bender. (and am saying as a pathetic little unmedicated neurodivergent woman.)

but when the second time they left revachol was not jean’s fault, and it was judit’s suggestion anyway. the squad probably thought that since harry had someone a little more responsible looking after him. it will be fine when they come back. the tribunal was absolutely unaccounted for.

yet despite all of these things, he will try to come back to make sure he is ok and accommodate harrier to the best of his abilities which is wearing very thin. look at him trying to make up to our harry boy:

anyways am incapable of writing coherent thoughts (even though i want to talk about it for hours) that make sense so go look at sygneth’s jean psychological analysis instead. it is an excellent read. please go read.

#op might wanna get their eyes or head checked lol. they looked at a little too much fanart.#+do not interact with the original poll. don’t look it up. it’s not worth it. don't give it traction. don't attract drama.#am sure op is just a troll. prob barely spent any time playin/readin DE. not that i am that much media literate but still...#i am sure there are things i left out. oh well...#i know that you need high EDC build run or lotta reading to understand so his “lore” so is kinda gatekept--#but it’s frustrating to see shit takes like this lmaoo #also don’t get me wrong i like judit. she is a tired working woman w/ a pathetic husband + 2x children. she just wanna grab jean & go home.#p.s stella as in stella from ‘‘helluva boss’’. idk didn’t like its S2 i think she coulda been more complex character.#but not everything needs to be deep and meaningful i guess. simple villains are ok.#her anger is justified towards her husband’s infidelity but she’s kind of a dumb royal brat. esp in s2. just calls of his assassination rig #heron vs secretary #angry bird vs angry bird shit fr beuh #disco elysium #jean vicquemare #jean posting #jean heron vicquemare #loyal is the he…#no. am not tagging HB or stella.#kinda long #longish post #cryptid rambles

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prettyboybuckley · 1 day

Text

20 Questions for Fic Writers

tagged by @saybiwithme @bi-buckrights @zainclaw

How many works do you have on ao3?

160

What's your total ao3 word count?

1,070,239

What fandoms do you write for?

I've mostly written for 9-1-1, though I started off with Shameless (6 fics) and I have written some for Teen Wolf (5 fics). There's one 9-1-1 crossover with Schitt's Creek.

Top five fics by kudos:

parents always yelling (telling us to get our acts together)

i just want something to hold on to (and a little of that human touch)

I will come to you (even in my sleep)

open up again (i believe in second chances)

exes and the oh's

Do you respond to comments?

Always, even if it takes me months. I actually just caught up again (there's still a bunch to go, but right now the oldest is 17 days ago instead of 250 days...). It's just a rule I have for myself, and even with the backlog I've kept it up so far, so I'm not going to stop doing it now.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I'm not a big fan of angsty endings, I generally try to at least make it a hopeful ending or, in the case of the college au, use an epilogue to fix things.

But I guess sunny skies & summer highs qualifies as an angsty ending simply because of the cliffhanger (and yes, there is still going to be a continuation, I'm working on it 🙈).

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Choosing one out of 160 is really hard, but I think tell me, will you stay or will you run away is definitely one that deserves a mention here, because it already has a happy ending and then the epilogue just makes it even better 🥰

Do you get hate on fics?

Not commented on the fic itself, no. I've had some people talk shit about my fics on twitter, though, and not even vaguely but calling me by (user)name.

Do you write smut?

Is grass green? Yeah, I write smut 🤭 Thanks to two times kinktober, I have 95 explicit fics, by far the most used rating for my fics.

Craziest crossover:

let's have some fun tonight is my 9-1-1/Schitt's Creek crossover fic for 9-1-1 Rarepair Week, and my only crossover fic

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

My head over feet Buddie valentine's two-parter got posted as one chapter in Wattpad work with over 30 fics once. Filed a DMCA and Wattpad took it down within two hours.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Two of my fics have been translated into Russian afaik, one on ao3 and one on Ficbook

Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Nope. It may be a nice challenge for the future? Not sure who I'd do it with.

All time favourite ship?

Gotta go for Buddie on that one, lol. Especially if you look at my writing history. But I often tend to hyperfixate on one ship at a time (current reading obsession is McDanno)

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Buck's POV of if love is art then you might be my masterpiece. I really want to, but at this point it's been two years since the original so I don't know if it'd be worth it either. (I know not everyone was happy about how I ended it, but I doubt any of them are still waiting for more). Writing a different POV of the same fic takes an amount of planning that my brain just really struggles with. And I could pick up where the last chapter (before the epilogue) picks up, but I think that way there would be some crucial information about Buck missing.

What are your writing strengths?

I've been told quite a lot of times that I am good at keeping characters, well, in character, even when putting them in partial or complete AU's. Of course, what is in character or not is subjective, but I do always challenge myself to work as much of the canon backstory and personality into who they are in the AU as possible.

And I like to think I'm pretty good at writing smut.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm terrible at pacing, which multiple of my long fics prove. It'll be drawn out first and then suddenly rushing. And being ESL I do struggle with things like sentence structure and grammar pretty regularly still.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

As long as there is some kind of translation provided somewhere I like it, but I'm not so quick to use it myself. Not beyond a few Spanish words here and there (generally pet names between Eddie and his family we've seen on the show or the occasional curse word when I feel it fits better than an English one, but I usually need to employ help from Spanish-speaking friends for those).

First fandom you wrote in?

Shameless! I binged that right before I started 9-1-1 and combined with the creative writing minor I was doing, it was actually what got me back into writing in general and what made me write my first ever fic.

Favorite fic you've written?

My in your arms i feel safe-series (which I always lovingly refer to as the ace kink fic) is definitely one of my favorites simply because of how personal it is to me and for the reason behind me writing it in the first place.

Other strong contenders are i would've loved you forever (it's never enough but i wanted it to be) and i'm begging you, come home to me (Teen Wolf, Thiam)

tagging @monsterrae1 @rogerzsteven @loserdiaz @watchyourbuck

#gary writes #buddie fic #thiam fic

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aerkame · 2 months

Note

Any advice on how to break out of an insane long art/writing block? My minds been going crazy with ideas, yet my hands say “Nope! lol!” Mode for some time.

I absolutely hate art blocks they're the worst. I've had some that lasted for months on end, sometimes a whole year so I'll give what advice I can to help you break out of this funk. 👍

Important bits are highlighted.

I suggest changing up your drawing environment for a bit, declutter anything on your desk or drawing spot, clean anything that could be in the way. Sometimes a change in your environment can help you feel less stressed. Cluttered spaces can change how we behave and it can also mess up our thinking process without us even noticing it so give that a try. (This applies to studying and doing homework as well!)

If you can, go to a new location and just try relaxing. Try going to a park, a colorful part of a city, a zoo you never went to, or even just walk around a neighborhood. This works similar to the above advice with changing your environment.

Write down the drawing idea you had for later and sketch something else lazily, do not put effort into the sketch, just feel and do whatever. After that, practice SKETCHING (sketching, not drawing, this does not need to be perfect or a masterpiece or a final product of sorts) parts of your desired drawing idea. Do this until you feel yourself being more comfortable.

RELAX! A lot of times when I start to feel an art block coming on mid-drawing, I notice my hand and face is not relaxed. If you feel yourself gripping a pencil/pen hard when drawing, take deep breaths in and out and relax. Drawing with your hands gripped is a sign of stress and art should be relaxing, not a stressful chore.

This follows up on number 4. Try lightly exercising. And I emphasize lightly. Especially if you are not someone who regularly exercises (remember to stretch before). Do something to get your heart going just a little bit. Sometimes doing this helps relives stress you may not be aware of and it also makes you feel more loose and energetic afterwards. This is because your body will release endorphins (the hormones that make you happy) into the body after exercising. Along that, make sure you're hydrated. No really, drink water.

SLEEP WELL! Make sure you are taking care of your body by getting enough sleep.

Draw out of your comfort zone. Try to start practicing on drawing things you are not usually used to drawing. Your Kryptonite basically. Personally, my kryptonite is cars and mechanical things.

That's all I can think of for now. If I think of more, I will reblog this with the attached new list.

You may or may not be confused on why I am focusing so much on the body and not actual drawing part itself. The thing is, art block is both a mental thing and physical thing that results from stress, exhaustion, or other factors you may not be aware of that can be helped (usually). An example? When I'm busy with college or when I had my first job last year I was so stressed out that the very idea of getting out my graphics tablet and drawing made me feel like I didn't want to draw anymore. I lost interest in doing something I really like. The same happened when I was in a STEM high school. I was too stressed out to pick up a pencil and draw.

You need to make sure your brain is stimulated and relaxed before you draw and after you draw and that can be done through exercise, new changes to the environment, or simply just trying new things with art. Your brain is in charge of so many things and that includes how you're feeling, so do what you can to take care of it.

#art block #art block help #art #art help #art advice #art tips #studying

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spiritgenie · 6 months

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INFO ON SAPPHIRE FOR @sonic-oc-showdown

✨- How did you come up with the OC’s name? so was struggling a bit, the original name was Aurora, but then a friend suggested Sapphire to match silver, and I liked both, so I made Aurora her last name

🌼 - How old is she? (Or approximate age range) around the same age as tails

🌺- Does she have any love interest(s)? no, not right now, still debating on if she gets any once she's able to focus on life more than surviving

🍕 - What is her favorite food? hmmm, initially it was just stuff she could find, so she didnt really have much focus on a favorite food, so not right now

💼 - What does she do for a living? SURVIVE

🎹 - Does she have any hobbies? She is very into arts and such, she did a lot more once she was able to relax and not focus on surviving

🎯 -What does she do best? she is a very skilled fighter, and knows how to use knifes VERY well

🥊 -What does she love to do? What does she hate to do? she love to draw and all that.

she hates being emotional...and an an ironic fashion, doesn't really like fighting, she just has to fight.

❤️ - What is one of your OC’s best memories? it used to be before she was alone, but its been tainted by years of thinking her parents abandoned her, now, its when she met silver

✂️ - What is one of your OC’s worst memories? the day she was alone, when her parents left and never came back, when she was forced to defend herself....

...when her powers appeared

🧊 - Is her current design the first one? nope, her first design was very different, before her powers were all cold and such

she looked very different yet the same

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC? matilda by the tournament runner, it was once brought up that since sonic has tails, shadow has Matilda, who does Silver have, I got inspired, and a month or so later, I thought of it again, and thus, sapphire was born.

🌂 - What genre does she belong in? apocalyptic and action, since she lives in the apocalypse, she fights a lot.

💚 - What is your OC’s gender identity and sexuality? hmm, she never really put much thought into it but.....

she identifies as a girl and is a lesbian, asexual

🙌 - How many siblings does your OC have? she doesn't have any....at least, not anymore.

🍎 - What is the OC’s relationship w/her parents like? she doesn't like them, she thinks they abandoned her and have for years....she doesn't handle it well when she finds out they died protecting her.

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC? that while she acts like a tough girl and tries to be intimidating, deep down shes still a scared little kid.

✏️ - How often do you draw/write about the OC? so far...a bunch, she has infected my brain and i have become obsessed.

💎 - Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC? so the narrative seems to really want her to die, but i outright refuse to kill her so she actively goes against the narrative and lives

💀 - Does your OC have any phobias? shes scared of being alone....fire, and being abandoned.

🍩 -Who is your OC’s arch-nemesis or rival? she doesn't have any yet....but she might have one in the future, mayhaps someone she once knew.

🎓 - How long have you had the OC? hmmm, about 9 days now

🍥 - What age were you when you created the OC?

20, aka how old i am rn, she is really new

#spiritgenie #sapphire aurora #sapphire the snow leopord #sonic oc #oc prompt

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highladyjane · 5 months

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YOU'VE BEEN TAGGED!!

1) Are you named after anyone?

2) When was the last time you cried?

3) Do you have kids?

4) What sports do you play/have you played?

5) Do you use sarcasm?

6) What's the first thing you notice about people?

7) What's your eye colour?

8) Scary movies or happy endings?

9) Any talents?

10) Where were you born?

11) What are your hobbies?

12) Do you have any pets?

13) How tall are you?

14) Favorite subject in school?

15) Dream job?

Tag someone!

Ooohh fun fun!

1) My parents decided to name me after my dad's 8 best mates who ALL had names that started with J & A & N & E lol

2) Yesterday, after finally daring to reread and actually finish The Assassin's Blade (my first book into the Maasverse) because my baby SAM CORTLAND DESERVED BETTER. I was so devastated after reading it the first time, that I couldn't read ANYTHING (not even the rest of TOG) for MORE THAN A YEAR after it (until ACOTAR 🤣). So yeah, I cried when I finished it yesterday. I'm a hopeless romantic who gets invested too quickly, so I learned my lesson there - both in books and in real life 😆

3) Nope. But planning on having ones in the next five years so I can name them Azriel, Cassian and/or Feyre lol

4) Footie ⚽️the longest, but I've also done 🏇🤺🏐🏑🏸🏉🏈 not because I was particularly athletic, but because my parents wanted me to have a hobby besides reading, baking, and sitting in my room daydreaming - so I got to try everything for a couple of years each. 🏇 and 🤺were my faves but they were too expensive.

5) If I know the other person enough to know they will get it... 'cause not a lot of people do 🙄

6) Their energy and their hair

7) The colour of something bittersweet and something smelly

8) HEA! I save all the scary movies for October 🤣

9) Being ME is a talent 🤪 I'd say I used to be talented in singing but after I got hit by depression in my teens, I stopped singing for years and now I just don't have it anymore. But my friends recently said I'm talented in baking and cooking, as well as pretending I'm the most extroverted person in the room when I'm actually the most introverted to the point of being a total recluse or dead for months until somebody checks up on me lol

10) In a hospital in the capital city of a country made up of islands in the most populous continent of planet Earth.

11) Making up fake scenarios in my head... And sometimes acting up someone else's head-made fake scenarios on stage 🎭

12) I have two - cutie Q below, and then one that people like to call my now 'Husband'

13) Not tall enough to reach the upper-most shelf anywhere without a stepping stool or a ladder or a brother or a husband or a taller stranger to get what I need.

14) English, Arts, Languages, and Social Sciences.

15) Actress! Or anything that would allow me to travel a lot... Or if I'd had the brains for it - a CEO of a business/organisation that helps contribute to something good to the world rather than destroy it.

No pressure tags for my mutuals: @realitycheckeveryday @this-is-madnesss @kita98 @acourtofchaosandmess

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hannuhbee · 2 years

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𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗺𝘆 𝘁𝗼𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗼𝘄𝘀

steve takes you to chicago to get your mind off of everything. [wc; 4.9k]

pairing; steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings; swearing, mentions of death (no one dies though), mentions of violence, this is set sometime after season 3 but not in season 4, fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, and steve being cute, one bed trope... hehehe.... not edited at all oops again

an; title is from all my tomorrows by frank sinatra solely because of the line "and all my tomorrows belong to you". i also don't know what the art institute of chiacgo was like in the 80's so it's probably not accurate LOL

it was a month after starcourt had gone down in a fire, according to the news. you and the others knew what actually happened, and it hurt to keep that tucked away.

it had been a month, and you were still hurting. your body was still sore, some bruises never healed, and your brain seemed to be permanently fried.

everyone was scared still, scared about what they would do if it came back, or if someone died.

will, jonathan, joyce, and el had left for california. seeing everyone saying bye hurt, made it feel like your heart was being ripped apart. it was for the best though, everyone knew that.

now, you were standing on the curb with a bag waiting for steve to pick you up. a month ago, he appeared under your window, asking if you'd like to go on a trip with him. just you and him. you met steve during all of this, and he'd taken a liking to you. he wasn't at all like his high school self. you liked him, and he liked you. you just didn't know that.

it was cold, the air was biting at your cheeks. it was early morning, around 3 am.

you got lost in your thoughts, something that happened often. you would often find yourself back in the mall, back in the russian base underneath getting beat up and drugged.

the headlights of the maroon BMW had pulled you out.

steve got out and give you a small smile. he didn't say anything as he opened the trunk for your bag. he still had the bat in there, just in case.

once you two got into the car, he smiled. "hi."

"hi."

"i'm sorry if this is weird." he apologizes. he was a new friend, and he thought that going on a trip with you was strange. it wasn't that strange.

you shook your head. "it's not. thank you for this."

"figured we needed a break, yeah?"

you nodded. "yeah. i'm scared though."

he started the car and began to drive off. "of what? i'm not gonna kill you."

you chuckled. "i didn't think you were. i'm just scared that... that something will happen when we're gone. like dustin will get into some shit and we won't be there to help."

steve glanced at you. he wished he wasn't driving so that he could stare at you more. he decided that it was stupid and weird of him to think that. "they'll be fine. i may or may not have threatened him. i think he'll be okay."

"i hope so. god, i'm just so, i don't know. i don't know."

"i know. me too."

steve reached over the center console to grab your hand where it rested on your leg. he was always one to engage in physical touch. it took you some time to get used to it.

"the drives like three hours. maybe more if we decide to stop." he says. the radio wasn't on, the only thing you could hear was his breathing and the engine. "you ever been to illinois?"

you shake your head. his hand was still on yours. your skin burned. "no. my mom always said it was cool though. you?"

"nope. my dad said the same thing. he's always up there for work trips. but uh, about your parents - they don't care?"

"i didn't tell them, but they wouldn't care. i think it's better that i'm gone, that they don't have to deal with me." you laugh, trying to hide the fact that you were almost in tears. your parent's attitudes had changed after starcourt. they hated that you had changed, that you weren't as smiley and carefree.

steve smiled at you. "i get that. fuck parents."

"fuck parents." you agreed.

you and steve had bonded over your family situations. he would call whenever he couldn't sleep, and most of the time you couldn't either. it was either his parents were gone and he was left alone, or his dad had said awful shit to him.

you had gotten so close to steve over the months that you would consider him your best friend. it angered you that his parents hurt him the way they did.

"are you okay?" you ask. it felt weird to ask that because he wasn't okay. no one really was.

his face was still bruised, and his cuts were still healing. "i'm hanging in there. are you okay?"

"hanging in there." you repeat. "your face has gotten better."

he laughed. "started taking care of the cuts and stuff, you'd be amazed at what a difference that can make."

"i bet. my back is still sore. can't believe that guy just threw-" you stop yourself and take a deep breath. "sorry. i'm glad you're hanging in there."

"glad you're hanging in there too." he stops at a red light and takes the opportunity to look at you. really looked at you. you were sure you looked tired, that you had bags and dark circles under your eyes. "let me know if you wanna go back, i'll take you back."

"i don't wanna go back. i wanna stay here." with you.

"good." he smiled, patting your thigh. you felt extremely cold when he put his right hand back on the steering wheel.

once you got out of hawkins fully, the air seemed lighter. it wasn't stale, it didn't hurt to breathe. steve seemed to feel it too, taking a deep breath at the "you are now leaving hawkins" sign.

"i wish we didn't have to come back." you say.

"me either, but the kids."

"the kids. one of these days."

he sighed. "i hope we can all leave sometime. maybe join the byers in california."

"i don't think i'd fit in there." you admit. you had this growing pain in your chest that you were never meant to leave indiana, that you were stuck in hawkins.

steve looks over and raises an eyebrow. "i think you'd fit in perfectly. you could definitely become a great actress or artist, maybe you could write books and stuff."

"i can't do all those things, steve."

he smiled. "yeah you can. i wish you could see how talented you are, babe."

babe. it played over and over again in your head. babe. babe. babe.

steve always used pet names, babe included. every time it gave you goosebumps. "whatever you say, harrington. you'd have a bigger chance of making it in la."

"'cause of the hair, yeah?" he asks and you nod. "knew it. my best feature, right?"

you wanted to be honest and say, no, your eyes, smile, and freckles. "yeah, you are steve the hair harrington, after all."

"oh shut up." he teases. he doesn't want to shut up. he could listen to you speak for hours on end and never get tired.

you finally reach the highway and you're really on your way to chicago. it's smooth sailing from now on. "do you have any plans for us? i don't know what there is to do in chicago."

he shrugs. he can feel his hands burn like they should be on you. you were ice that could relieve the pain. "i heard about some photography exhibits at the art institute. you like photography, right?"

"it's cool. i think that'd be fun."

"i think there's other things if that sounds boring, i didn't really think it through i'm sorry."

"steve." you cut him off. "it's okay, i think it'll be fun. i'm sure they'll be other things to look at too." you two share a look. "it'll be fun with you, i promise."

steve smiles. he can't form words. with you.

he looks around for a gas station. his tank was nearly empty. "shit, i didn't even think to fill up before i left. sorry."

"it's alright."

he finds a gas station and pulls into it. "do you want water? or like, corn nuts? i can go inside and get them."

"no, i'm fine. thank you though."

while steve was focused on the pump, you took the time to really look at his outfit. he had on an old and worn shirt with basketball shorts. and he looked good.

looking down at your outfit, you realized that while you wore basically the same things, you didn't look like him.

you had on gray shorts, cut from an old pair of sweatpants that had gotten too short. you had on a t-shirt, one that was probably your dad's. it was large on you, nearly covering your shorts.

"alright, let's get on the road again," he says, climbing back into the car.

it was still so early that the sun wasn't up yet. it excited you though, the thought of seeing steve in the sunset, a beautiful wash of reds and pinks on his face.

"can i put my feet on the dash? i'll take off my shoes."

"go ahead."

your eyes widened because steve never let anyone put their feet up on the dashboard.

the road is long and winding, it almost puts you to sleep. in fact, you are asleep by the time the sun comes up. so much for seeing steve in the light.

"babe. i think we should get some coffee, yeah?"

steve didn't like coffee, you did. he brought you to a cafe for you. "are we in chicago?" you rubbed your eyes.

he shook his head. "no, but we are in Illinois. just got here."

you nod and rub your eyes. the sun was bright, making you squint. "coffee."

"yeah, up." he motioned for you to sit up and get out of the car.

you felt weird about going into a cafe, a nice looking one, in your sleep clothes. steve didn't seem to care, so you tried not to either.

"holy shit, thank god." steve muttered, eyeing the toast and eggs on the menu.

the waitress came over a couple minutes after you sat down. "what can i get for you folks? i think i saw you looking at the toast and egg plate? it's very good." her tone was overly flirtatious. she looked much too old to be flirting with steve.

"yeah, i'll get that. uh, water too, please."

"got it, and for you?"

you smile. "just a coffee please. no milk or anything."

the waitress nods and leaves.

"no food?"

you shrug. "not that hungry."

steve leans back in the booth and nods. "maybe i'll find a nice burger joint or something. that sounds good, no?"

"it does."

you're quiet, too quiet. it felt strange, steve felt strange. "you okay?"

you shrug. "still scared i guess."

he puts his elbows on the table and leans over. "wanna talk about it? i'm a good listener."

"i don't know. i just feel scared. i've got goosebumps all the time, even when i'm not cold." you close your eyes.

steve hooks his ankle with yours under the table. "considering what we all went through, i'd say that's normal. i've been getting nightmares real bad lately. robin said that's normal."

"i'm sorry," you say. you haven't been having nightmares, but then again, your whole life recently felt like a nightmare.

"s'alright." he's silent for a few seconds, staring at you. "is it weird if i ask to hold your hand?"

you almost choke. "uh, no, i don't think so."

he reaches over to intertwine his fingers with yours. "you have nice hands."

"so do you." your voice is strained. he notices this and laughs.

"are you flustered?"

"oh my god, shut up."

he mimes zipping his lips and throwing away the key.

"you're insufferable."

"it's just in my blood, baby." his voice is awful and strangely low. it makes you laugh.

you point to him with your free hand. "your lips are supposed to be sealed!"

you two fall into a fit of laughter that undoubtedly has the other occupants giving you dirty looks.

with steve, you could forget that the world existed around you. when you were with him, it was just you and him.

"here's your food, and your coffee. enjoy." the woman smiles.

"so," steve starts, his mouth full of food. "i was thinking we could get there as soon as the place opens, and i don't know, change in the backseat of my car. is that weird?"

you shake your head, sipping the hot coffee. "i don't think so, i've done it plenty of times."

"i was also thinking that we leave today too, i didn't pack enough for multiple nights, and i don't think you did either."

"i didn't."

"you're a mind reader, harrington. plus, i think i can only handle so much of chicago." you laugh.

he nods, finishing his food. "right! i found a cassette in my car, pretty sure max left it. it's stuff i don't really know but it'll be nice to listen to some tunes, yeah?"

you smile at him. he looks so good in the sun, in the cafe. he just looks good. "yeah, it does."

you two finish and steve pays. he almost shoves you out of the cafe when you insist on paying. something about wanting to do nice things. steve is always doing nice things though.

it's a lot warmer when the sun is up, but you think it may just be Illinois itself. it wasn't haunted by a looming evil, surely that contributed to the warmth.

steve drove slower, cruising. his hand found its way to your thigh again, making you scream inside. the windows were down and he had sunglasses on. the sun was high enough that he didn't really need them, but he looked good so you didn't mention it.

the cassette he found was full of random songs that either of you didn't know. it was nice though like you had a little piece of home with you.

"you okay?" steve asked, lowering the music slightly.

"i'm okay."

"good. you were daydreaming again. anything new?" he asks. steve knew about what you saw when you daydreamed, what you smelled, what you felt. all of it in starcourt.

you shook your head, looking out the window again. "nope. i'm used to it though."

"wish you didn't have to be." he tried to smile, but it came out all wrong. "wish you weren't with us at all."

"you're my friend, all of you guys are my friends. i'm just glad everyone's safe."

"me too, glad you're safe."

something about the way he spoke to you made your butterflies grow in your stomach. but he didn't like you, him holding your hand didn't mean he liked you, he was a friend. that's what friends do.

"you get dressed, i'll be outside."

"right, my epic guard." you laugh.

steve parked the car a ways away to allow the most privacy. privacy in chicago was hard to come by though.

steve was sitting on the hood of the car, his back to you. you changed quickly. a worn pair of blue jeans and a tank top. it was red with navy horizontal stripes. totally not appropriate for the weather.

you climbed out of the back and sighed. "think i'm ready."

steve turned around and gasped dramatically. "oh heavens!"

"what?" you thought something was on your face, or your hair was messed up.

"you just look really good. like awesome."

"awesome," you repeat. his face turns a pink color, making you laugh. "you look awesome too, harrington."

"shut up." he laughs, pulling you into his side. his arm is around your shoulder as he leads you to the institute. "excited?"

anything is fun with you, you wanted to say. "yes."

whatever exhibit was open behind those doors excited you. it could be anything, really.

inside, you could tell that you were underdressed, both of you. it was full of older people in nicer clothes. they probably understood art more than you too.

there was a sign that read "SCENES FROM THE SUMIDA RIVER". yeah, you were excited.

it felt like an eternity passed while you walked around looking at everything while steve followed behind. his feet were dragging a little, concerning you. "are you tired?"

he shook his head. "not really. feet just hurt a little."

"you can go sit down, i can continue on my own."

steve nearly shouted then, because he wouldn't leave you. he couldn't leave you. the way your face lit up when you saw something that you liked, whether that be an interesting texture in the painting or the subject's emotion.

"i like watching you. kinda like you're art." he winced as he said it, knowing it was cheesy.

"shut up, cheese ball." you laugh quietly. because of your attire, you and steve got strange looks from the older folk, and you didn't want to get any more from being loud. "thank you though. that's sweet."

"i'm sweet." he says it in a sweet voice. it fits.

"i'm almost done looking by the way. my feet hurt too."

"you having fun?" he asks, putting his hand on the small of your back. it's strange then, though you're used to the touch.

you nod and continue looking at the painting in front of you.

"what's the meaning behind this one?"

you shrug. "no clue, pretty though." steve nods, he agrees, though, he would argue that you're prettier. he's too nervous to say that though.

"there's a lot of old women here, think some of them want to come onto me." he whispers and smirks.

you laugh. "oh definitely, everyone wants to get a piece of steve harrington." you hit his chest and walk away.

"are we leaving?" steve calls, a little louder than he should be. he jogs to catch up. "i kinda wanna leave."

"yeah, i'm done looking."

“you have fun?” he asks.

you nodded. “a lot. i’ll have to come back and see what else chicago has to offer.”

steve’s quiet as he thinks. “would i be allowed to join?”

you laugh and fight the urge to hit his shoulder. “idiot, you’re the only one with a car. of course, you’re allowed to join.”

he pumps his fist up. "hell yeah!" it's like he's a little kid again. it's sweet. "alright, let's rock and roll." and you're off before you can chastise him for that saying.

"no fucking way." steve mumbles as he pulls over to the side of the road. the car was driving a little funny and there was a squeaking noise.

"what's going on?"

"something broke, maybe the brakes? or the whole engine might be fucked... god i don't know!" steve shuts off the engine and climbs out. his stance is something familiar, with his hands on his hips shaking his head.

you get out too. "assuming you can't fix cars?"

"you're funny. i'm gonna call a tow truck or something." and he's off to a payphone, cursing under his breath.

with the sun going down, you started to shiver.

looking around you, the small town you were in was quiet, with no traffic noise or people's car radios being too loud. thankfully, in case you needed it, there was a motel nearby. it didn't look the best, but it seemed to have some vacancy.

"hey."

"jesus! you can't sneak up on me like that!" you hold your hand to your chest. steve had a bad habit of sneaking up on you.

"sorry. i called, it's gonna come soon. also called dustin just in case."

you nod and shift on your feet, the temperature uncomfortable. "probably for the best. don't want him breaking down your door when we don't come back right away."

he laughs and blows out a long breath. "i think we should get a room for the night." he nods his head in the direction of the motel.

"i was thinking that. i'll go get a room while you wait for the truck."

before steve can protest and tell you to not pay for anything, you're already far away from him. you can almost hear him sigh humorously.

it's empty when you walk inside. the bell above you moving, but making no noise. there's no bell on the desk, either. to get whoever attention, you cough loudly. a man appears from behind the desk. he was just sitting there. avoiding you?

"sorry, do you have a room?"

"one." the man speaks in an awful british accent and you almost think he may be faking it.

you throw down some bills on the desk, probably too many. "keep the change." you say when you notice his wide eyes.

he hands you a key with tape on the head that has 15 scribbled on it. it's old, the tape is almost falling off, losing its stick. it's silent, the man doesn't speak again, just nods when you leave.

it wasn't hot inside, but it was a helluva lot warmer in rather than out.

"holy shit, that was weird," you say to steve as you approach him. the tow truck hadn't come yet.

"yeah?"

"hopefully won't have to deal with him any more than we have to. tow trucks gonna come soon, yeah?"

he nods. "are you cold?"

you begin to say yes and he's already receiving a jacket from the back. "better?" he asks when it's around your shoulders. the little bits of skin that his hands had grazed felt warmer than the jacket could ever make you.

"yes. thank you."

he pats both of your shoulders and smiles. "'course."

the tow truck pulls up with it's brights on, effectively blinding both of you. a scary man hops out and almost jogs over. steve stands up a little straighter.

"you steve?"

steve nods. "that's me."

they continue a conversation a little ways away from you, probably about where the car will end up and when it'll get fixed.

a few minutes later and the car is being hauled away.

"i hope she'll be okay." steve says quietly.

"the car? you don't need to be so sad about it, it's probably fine."

"fucking better be."

your bags were already sitting on the ground. steve didn't need to pick up your bag, but he did anyway.

"lead the way."

you swing the key ring on your finger and walk to the room. "i'm gonna be honest, i'm not expecting the best motel room. sorry if it's like, gross."

anywhere is okay with you, he wanted to say.

steve wasn't paying attention when you opened the door, startled by your shouting. "holy shit!"

just your luck, just your fucking luck. one bed. it's like in the movies.

"i can't believe this," you mumble.

steve sets down the bags and puts his hands on his hips, observing. "i can sleep on the floor."

"you aren't sleeping on the floor, it'll be fine. just... this sucks." you wince at your choice of words. "i mean, it doesn't suck, having to sleep with you - i'm gonna shut up now."

steve laughs loudly, making your face heat up. "you're awful."

"i think i need to shower," you say, retrieving your pajamas from earlier. you needed to freshen up if you were going to be in a bed next to steve harrington.

you've fought russians, sort of, and crazy interdimensional monsters. all while steve harrington was making you the most nervous. what a world.

when you got out of the shower and spent an eternity making yourself look presentable, steve had been waiting on the bed. he wasn't under the covers or anything, he was just sitting down and staring at the wall. the cream colors of the wall weren't interesting to him, it was you he was thinking of.

his heart was beating out of his chest, and he hoped that you wouldn't be able to hear it when you got out.

before he could try and think of anything to make him less nervous, there you were. although cheesy, he thought you looked like an angel, all glowy and fresh and nice.

"hi."

"hi." you say quietly, making your way to the bed. it was a full bed, thankfully not a twin. it seemed a perfect size, not too big and not too small.

"you smell different."

"i had to use those shitty travel size shampoo and conditioner things. they don't smell good."

"i wasn't gonna say anything bad, i think they smell okay."

the conversation felt easy and normal. you loved how it was like that with steve.

"i'm sorry that this whole thing got fucked." he said, his voice small. "just wanted to do something nice for you."

"it's not your fault, steve. you can't know when your car is gonna die." you want to reach over and grab his hand. he beats you to it.

it's quiet. every so often you can hear a car pass, or a screech on the road, or a honk. the only light was the orange-ish fluorescent from the street lights. even in shitty lighting steve looked good, he looked like steve.

"you look nice." he says, moving out of the way to allow more light to your face. "really nice."

"are you hitting on me?"

he laughs and shakes his head. "absolutely not." his voice is dripping with sarcasm. "maybe."

"god, you're awful. i'm gonna get robin to beat your ass for being awful."

"she'd love that."

again, you fall into a comfortable silence. his fingers are still intertwined with yours.

you want to make him laugh. you turn to sit in front of him with your legs underneath you. "do you have a crush on anyone?"

"oh my god, stop that. feels like eighth grade all over again." he laughs. mission accomplished. "i'm tired."

"me too, i'll stop being childish."

"best you do that, i think. i'm not gonna sleep much if i'm laughing."

you both laugh again. it's awkward when you both try to get under the covers. much to your dismay, he lets go of your hand. when you're both situated, he doesn't grab it again.

you are both facing each other, however. that's a plus.

"how often do you have nightmares?"

he shrugs as well as he can from his position. it's a little weird. "more often than not."

"i'm sorry. what do i do if you have one tonight?"

again, he shrugs. "dunno. i don't even know what to myself."

you turn on your back to look at the ceiling. popcorn ceiling. "i'm sorry." you say again. steve didn't move from his position on his side. he liked looking at you.

"it's alright."

he still stares at your side profile until he thinks you're nearly asleep.

"yes."

"hm?" you stir.

"to your question earlier, the crush one. yes. you?"

you shift to look at him, mirroring his position yet again. "yes."

he smiles, you smile, no more words need to be shared. the way he looked at you said everything.

"night," he says quietly.

you reply quietly. "night."

steve falls asleep first. you like that, it allows you to admire him. even slightly bruised and cut up he still takes your breath away. the fact that he's less than a foot away makes it even worse.

in the morning, steve is shirtless and his legs are intertwined with yours. it freaks you out a little bit.

he's stirring at the same time you wake up, not fully wanting to open his eyes.

you're looking at the freckles that are on his shoulders. like constellations.

"oh sorry, it got hot."

"shitty motel heating," you say. you don't want to make any notice to your legs, the closeness.

he laughs. "must be." he rubs his eyes. "it's bright in here."

"yeah, i was gonna get up and close the blinds but..."

he notices your legs and chuckles. "sorry."

"don't be." it's nice, you want to say. "i don't think you had a nightmare."

he thinks for a second. "no, i don't think i did."

"maybe we should do this every night," you say it like it should be a joke, and you hope steve takes it that way and laughs. he doesn't,

"maybe."

you are so close. so close.

he leans in and you feel as if you're going to explode. he's going to kiss you, he's 100% going to kiss you.

"i think we should go get the car," he smirks. it's awful. your face is hot and your eyes are wide.

"uh. definitely. yeah."

he untangles himself from you and puts his shirt back on.

inside of the mechanics is cold. the ac was on high, not much different than the chill outside.

whoever was working on his car was blasting music, old music.

you were drifting, it was easy to fall asleep when steve was pushed into your side.

steve's arm burned from how much he wanted to wrap it around your shoulder and pull you even closer to him. he hums the song he can hear. it's faint, but loud enough that he can hear the lyrics.

but i've got a lot of plans for tomorrow

and all my tomorrows belong to you.

he thinks of you. how he would like to spend all of his tomorrows with you, whether that be in chicago, or in a shitty motel with one bed, or in a russian secret base.

the underlying feeling of dread and hurt still lingered, but with steve by your side, it was a lot more bearable.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fluff

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