#I say as though I don’t live in Indiana

[stevesgother]

Little Red Lighthouse - S.H

Pairing - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings - exes to lovers, second chance romance, angst, slow burn, hurt/comfort, idiots in love, so much pining, cursing, alcohol & drug use, mental health themes

WC - 1.3k

AN - this was originally gonna be a super long oneshot, but in typical emma fashion I'm making it into another mini series

Divider by the amazing @strangergraphics <3

The Alcott. That was your favorite bar in Hawkins; and it was all you could think about sitting outside this shitty bar in Chicago. A mere few hours from home, and yet entirely too far. Just having finished school; it was an education completely orchestrated by your parents. A college you didn’t want to attend, a degree you had no enthusiasm for.

This was how you seemed to be spending most of your days post-undergrad: sulking and ruminating. Everything you could’ve had, but don’t.

–

“Steve, this is insane. That’s like a 15 foot drop!” 

You say as you peer over the bridge, shivering slightly in just your underclothes. It was only the cusp of Spring, the weather in Indiana hardly what you would consider “warm”.

“Oh c’mon. You said you would!” He barked a laugh.

“I told my mother that if you jumped off a bridge that I would too as a hypothetical.” You deadpan, even though a smile still tugs the corners of your mouth.

He looked lovely, always did. Moles adorning his cheeks, scattering their way down his back and into his boxers where your vision couldn’t reach. He shot you a grin only reserved for you.

“3..2..1 JUMP!”

“Wait!-”

Steve gripped your hand, pulling you down with him into the icy water below the bridge. Unable to decipher if the sinking feeling in your gut was from the rapid fall of his skin on yours. The shock of the bitterly cold water knocked the wind out of you.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” His smile gleaming at you. Water dripped from his eyelashes, beading on the apples of his cheeks.

 “It’s freezing!” you gasp as you surface. He starts to grip your shoulders in his warm hands, then pauses. A sudden nervousness settled and he was staring. You nervously wondered if there was something else in the water with you both. He never broke his stare. Your best friend for a million lifetimes, beautiful as ever. Looking at you as if you hung the moon just for him.

“I think I'm in love with you.”

–

When Steve finally peeled open his eyes and glanced at the blinking red of the alarm clock it read ‘3:00 PM’. His breath tasted of stale liquor as he slowly rose from his unmade bed. Skull pounding, he blindly reached for the painkillers he had made a habit of keeping on his nightstand, for afternoons like this.

Your old friend group planned a ‘welcome home’ party in anticipation for your return to Hawkins. Where you had gone to college out of state and made a new life for yourself, Steve hadn’t seemed to be able to keep his ahead above the violent current that was the trauma he endured here, in your hometown.

As you rested on the train back to Indiana, walkman in hand, you felt an air of nausea.You had started to regret leaving your car at your parents house 4 years ago; unsure whether the knot you felt in your gut was the result of motion sickness, or the thought of having to face him again.

Admittedly you were excited to see your friends again. You hadn’t come home for Christmas, for Thanksgiving, not even for summer breaks – always opting to stay as far away from that living nightmare as possible. You told yourself little lies. That it wasn’t because Steve Harrington still resided there, and with him, everything you lost. Everything you know you can never get back.

The air in Steve’s office was stiff and smelled of stale coffee. Robin sits in a less than lady-like position across from him in a chair unofficially designated for her. A plaque that reads “Chief” sat crooked between them from where Robin had set down the paper bag containing their lunch.

“You’re going to have to face her at some point, Steve.” Her voice snaps him out of his dissociative state.

“Yeah, I got it.” He sighs irritably, all traces of enthusiasm drained from his tone.

“I’m just saying,” she starts, “it's been 4 years. I’m sure she’s moved on, man. No bad blood.” It’s meant to be reassuring, but she doesn’t understand that that's entirely the problem. He gives her a skeptical stare. “Look, we’ll all be there. You have a ton of buffer people. Just stop by for a few minutes? For me?” The childish pout she gives in an attempt to guilt-trip is enough to push him over the edge.

“Rob- okay, fine. Stop making that face. For an hour. Not a second longer.” He points a finger at her, not unkindly.

–

As your car crunches over the gravel in the parking lot of Robin’s apartment complex, you can’t help but notice it’s already filled with cars despite you being perfectly on time. All the windows you knew belonged to her unit were lit a glowing yellow behind sheer curtains, allowing you glimpses of mingling silhouettes. You wonder briefly if this was intentional, or if in your never-ending brain fog, you managed to jumble the times.

A quick glance around the lot reveals that your friends still have the same cars they did all those years ago. Jonathan’s Ford LTD, Nancy’s Volkswagen Cabrio, and an achingly familiar maroon BMW 733i. Your heart jumps to your throat when you see it, accompanied by a sharp twist of betrayal in your chest as you don’t recall Robin ever mentioning he would be here. You suppose you can’t blame her.

You stop to take several deep breaths at the front door. You can hear the bass of an old, classic tune bumping inside and you try to time your breathing with it. In three, hold three, out three, and repeat. You raise your fist to knock before thinking it silly, so you just give the knob a tentative twist and walk in.

The room erupts in ‘Hey!’’s and ‘There she is!’’s. It’s a relief to realize they don’t hate your guts, even though they’ve always made it clear that they don’t. A nauseating guilt settles over you as you’re reminded of how long you’ve left them with barely any word from you at all– the pain of this town and everything that happened in it just too much to bear; even if they were your best friends.

Back then, talking to them sounded like long, mucousy vines that strangled and trapped. It sounded like the bitter cold and emptiness of your hometown mirrored just beneath your feet. It sounded like watching chunks of flesh be ripped from your boyfriend’s skin. It sounded like his screams for your help and you just couldn’t– you needed time.

Now though, as they wrap you in hugs and you smell the homey scent of your best friends apartment, it feels less like then and more like now. Over Nancy’s shoulder, slightly obscured by her usually wild curls, you catch the eye of the one person not dogpiling you, and fight the grimace threatening to surface. You don’t hate Steve, not by any sense of the word– you just can’t look at his stupid, beautiful face without remembering what you did to him.

When everyone disperses, satisfied with their greetings, you can really take in Steve’s appearance in front of you. The years haven’t been unkind to him, but he looks tired. Day old, maybe two, stubble shadows his usually bright face. He fills out the red sweater and light wash Levi’s he wears nicely. You think he’ll always have that boyish Harrington charm, but he looks more like a man than when you left him.

You walk towards him hesitantly.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

[queer-in-a-cornfield]

Accidentally gave toddler Mikey a midwestern accent

You can take the man out of the cornfield, but you can’t take the cornfield out of the man 💀

[lovebugism]

shy!reader goes to the pool with Eddie and is too afraid to wear her swimsuit in front of him? Maybe she’s wearing clothes over her bikini/one piece and doesn’t want to undress at first because of her nerves lol

hope u like it! — you still get a little nervous showing your body, but eddie takes it all in stride (shy!fem!r, established relationship, cw for mentions of body insecurity, 1.1k)

Eddie’s rubber flip-flops are much too big on your feet. You fight to keep them on and match his longer strides at the same time. He leads you down the scenic trail of the Harrington vacation home with one hand curled intently around your own. He doesn’t seem phased by the dirt clinging to his bare feet.

“Think Steve’s folks will get mad if we skinny dip?” he jokes over his shoulder, wild curls billowing in the late afternoon wind.

You shrug. “I don’t think they own the lake, so…”

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” he scoffs.

“Me neither,” you concur with a quiet laugh.

A set of wooden steps lead off the trail and towards the shore. They creak under your weight, ancient and half-eroded with time. Eddie stands beside you on the dock, lips curled into a pink, lopsided smile. “Well, what they don’t know won’t hurt ‘em,” he quips before reaching for the hem of his shirt.

You giggle when he lifts the fabric up and over his head. His milky white torso is left on display for you, sprinkled with sparse hair and a couple of faded tattoos. His body is lanky and lean — stomach soft with gentle pudge where his happy trail begins. You couldn’t hide your leering if you wanted to.

“You’re crazy,” you say, still laughing.

“Crazy for you,” the boy croons. 

You watch him reach for the buttons of his jeans, fumbling with them for a moment. Your chest swirls with a strange, hollow feeling. “Wait— Are you serious?” you wonder with wide, glimmering eyes. You’ve never felt totally comfortable swimming in a bathing suit, let alone naked.

Eddie shrugs his freckled shoulders and tugs his jeans down his scruffy thighs. “Yeah. Why not?”

He’s left in his thin, plaid boxers now. He doesn’t seem nearly as fazed by it as you do. Heart thrumming like an anxious hummingbird, your eyes dart over your shoulder and back to him. “What if the others see?!”

“Then let ‘em see,” he chuckles, golden like the early setting sun. “Who cares?”

I care, you almost say, ‘cause you’re too pretty, and I’m not pretty enough. 

You swallow your loathing and instead reply, “Steve would never let you live it down if he caught you out here. You know that.”

Eddie’s bare feet pad against the creaking wooden dock. The sound is mostly drowned out by the waves ebbing and flowing beneath you. Nothing could hide the heavenly sound of his laughter, though. “What? That I’m skinnydipping with the prettiest girl in Indiana?” the boy retorts with a boyish chuckle. “I wouldn’t want him to let me live it down.”

You swallow hard, not swayed by the compliment. Your unsure gaze flits to your feet and the black sandals Eddie lent you on the way down. You see his paler, bare ones come into view just before his calloused palms smooth over your waist — above the oversized t-shirt you wear, which also belongs to the boy in front of you.

“I’m just… I’m just kidding, you know? About the skinnydipping thing,” Eddie assures you, suddenly serious and much quieter with it. His head ducks down to catch your falling gaze. His chocolate eyes sparkle beneath the yellow sun. His lips curl into a lopsided smile. “We don’t have to do it if it makes you uncomfortable. We never have to do anything you don’t want, you know that.”

You purse your lips to the side and think for a moment. You’re not nearly as at ease swimming naked as he is, but you’d be silly to turn down the opportunity to be alone with him. You have spent the entire weekend babysitting, after all.

“Can I keep my bathing suit on?” you wonder sheepishly.

Eddie scoffs. “Of course you can! You can do whatever you want, doll. I’m followin’ your lead here.”

He smacks a kiss to your lips, mouth tasting of nicotine, soda, and strawberries — like nostalgia and springtime.

“Can you turn around?”

Eddie meets your coy look with a wider smile. “Yeah. Sure,” he hums and steps back from you to spin on his heel. You know he’ll see you in your bathing suit before you step foot in the water, but you’ve always felt distinctly smothered by his gaze. You don’t feel half deserving of the adoration always swimming in the deep brown of them.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, you know?” he quips without looking at you.

“It’s different,” you insist, pulling your t-shirt up and over your head. You fold it neatly before setting it gingerly on the dock. You’re left in the pretty one-piece you thrifted before the trip — a floral number that dips low at the chest and ties into a bow at the back.

Eddie doesn’t really understand, but he figures he doesn’t have to. He’ll do whatever makes you most comfortable, no questions asked. “Sure,” he nods. “Can I look now?”

You hesitate for a reason you can’t name. You feel more at ease with Eddie than anyone else in the whole wide world — and besides the fact that he’s seen you in much, much less — you shouldn’t be as nervous as you are now.

“Yeah…” you waver.

Eddie peeks at you over his shoulder for a moment before turning to face you fully. His pink lips purse and a low whistle sounds between them. “Damn,” he mumbles.

You fight back a smile and look away from him, wringing your anxious hands into a knot. “Hush…”

“You’re a total smokeshow, baby.”

“Eddie!”

“Don’t know why you wanna hide from me so bad…” he teases lowly, gravitating towards you without thinking. His hands are warm and wide as they smooth over your sides. His palms curl around your lower back and idle there, fingers lingering just above your ass. “All I wanna do is look at you, and you won’t even let me…” he jokes, mostly serious, but with a playful pout on his lips.

Your arms cross between your bodies. You glare up at him with pretty doe eyes that swim with all the love you have for him. You couldn’t pretend to be annoyed if you tried. “It’s ‘cause you’re so nice…”

His brows raise and disappear behind his fluffy bangs. “You’re shy because I think you’re hot?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “It’s weird.”

“Maybe,” Eddie laughs. He figures it’s on-brand enough for him, as the resident freak and all. But loving you has never felt unnatural or strange. It feels normal, like an instinct he’s always had, something he’s always been destined to do. So he just tilts his pretty head and smiles sweetly down at you. “Can’t help it, though.”

[thewulf]

Not Just Pals || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Request - Hello darling! I have a request for you if you don't mind... It's a hangman x fem! Reader pen pals to friends to lovers kind of thing. Like maybe when he was in the academy someone put his name in this program to write to college students but joke on them because he got paired with reader and they hit it off almost instantly... Read Rest Here

A/N: Whew! This one was for whatever reason really tough to write! I changed it up a little bit but I hope you guys still enjoy it. :)

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Word Count: 3.9k +

T/W : Self-doubt

October 9th, 2014

Hi There Y/N,

I’m not sure how you’re really supposed to start one of these things? How are you supposed to go about talking to somebody you’ve literally never met before? Although the Navy/Army pen pal thing could be interesting. I’ll be honest, my buddy signed me up and I didn’t think I’d actually write anything down but then I got the email with your name on it, Cadet Y/N Y/L/N. Consider myself intrigued.

What’s it like up in New York? Is it cold? Do you get a lot of snow? It gets awfully cold down here in Maryland, so I have to imagine how cold it gets up there. I’m from Texas so I’m still adjusting to this weather… four years later. It’s not easy. I think it’s the hardest part of living in the northeast. I’d rather run a marathon with a thirty-pound pack on than sit outside in the snow for more than twenty minutes. I hope to get stationed somewhere warm when this is all set and done.

Your ‘about me’ says you’re going into the Air Defense Artillery after West Point… which is the exact opposite of what I’m doing. Consider myself doubly intrigued Cadet. What do you do? Fire missiles and rockets at jets? That can’t possibly be as much fun as firing them when you’re in the air. It’s cool just not nearly as cool as what I do, know what I mean? Maybe a close second though.

Have you even been in a jet before? I bet you’d like it. I obviously don’t know you, but I haven’t met many people who didn’t like it. There’s something so freeing about flying 1,000 miles per hour in a tiny silver tube. You should try it sometime. If this whole thing works out maybe I’ll even take you up one day, who knows?

I guess that was my attempt at 20 questions. Hopefully you didn’t find it too annoying. Hope to hear back from you soon!

Jake Seresin

November 23rd ,2014

Hello Future Lieutenant Jake Seresin,

I’m thrilled you actually decided to write. I’m glad my name was all you needed to pick up that pen. I have to admit you made me giggle a few times. You seem effortlessly funny Mr. Seresin. Even for a soon-to-be Pilot.

I find it comical you’re asking me about the weather of all things, Midshipmen. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do on an awkward first date? But to answer your question, yes it’s cold as all get out up here. But I’m from Indiana so I’m used to it. Doesn’t mean I didn’t wish West Point wasn’t in Georgia or something. Why’d they have to put all the Military schools in the north?

What was it like growing up in Texas? Did you ever see snow? One of my favorite memories from this place is watching my roommate (who’s from Florida) see and play in snow for the first time. She froze her ass off but had the day of her life. She also hates snow now. So, it looks like you warm people have that in common.

To sum it up I guess you can say we fire rockets and missiles. My professors always say, ‘If it sounds like rocket science, it is’. Basically, we need to protect the ground troops from the flying bastards aka you. Although we do love our American flying bastards. So, I guess that doesn’t knock you down too many pegs in my book. Do you think they matched us up because our jobs are the antithesis of the other? If so, somebody had a hilarious sense of humor.

I’ve never been in a jet, and I have no plans to either. I don’t think I’d enjoy it if we’re being honest. You’re talking to the girl who gets sea-sick on cruises and had to take a motion pill if we’re going to an amusement park. My lil brain can’t handle the motion. A character flaw as they say. I also have a sense that you wouldn’t go to easy on me, being Army and all. I’ll stick to my calculations and rockets.

Don’t tell anybody I wrote this, but I do think what you guys do is so badass. I work with a bunch of jealous Cadets who couldn’t make it into the Army Aviation division, they’re just bitter. When I was little my dad used to take me to the Blue Angels shows in Chicago whenever they made their way across the States. Kind of the reason why I wanted to be in the military in the first place. But only my dad knows that. And well, I guess you now too. So, keep my secret safe Mr. Seresin.

I know the weather is less than desirable, but I do hope you’re finding things you love in Annapolis! There are some of the best crab cakes I’ve ever had there.

Thanks for the smiles after a long week!

Your New Friend,

Y/N Y/L/N

February 16th, 2015

Future Second Lieutenant Y/N Y/L/N,

That has a right to it doesn’t it? Your name sounds good with a Second Lieutenant in front of it. Sorry it’s been so long since I wrote. Getting busy with graduation coming up and practical’s and all. It’s a lame excuse I know, but it’s all I got. I hope you know how big I smiled reading your letter to me. I read it about fifty times before I could write a decent response to you. You have a way with words that I haven’t read in a long, long time.

Was your father in the military? None of my family was. I also loved the Blue Angels when they came down to Houston for the air shows. I’d always beg and plead and finally my mom or sister would give in and take me. They’re also the reason I’m here. So, I guess we should thank them that we got to meet. Neither you nor I would be in these academies without them. Your secret is locked away in the drawer and safe in my head too. It’s super safe with me.

I’ll be honest, the food here is so damn good. I sure do miss my Texas barbeque, but the spread is better up over here. Plus, the snacks? I didn’t know there was different brands sold across the states and you guys have better girl scout cookies! That’s just not fair. I could’ve gone my whole life knowing that there were two versions of girl scout cookies and I got the worse version. I’ve enjoyed the move far more than I’ve regretted it. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done for myself. It doesn’t guarantee I’ll be a pilot, but it means I’m one step closer to getting there.

What all schooling do you have to do after you graduate this spring? Are you up for deployment soon? I’ve got a lot left to go. If I get picked after I’ve got a few years of flight school ahead of me. Then I’ll really be off. Wish me luck I make it!

With Love,

Jake

March 13th, 2015

Mr. Seresin,

I was getting worried! I thought it was something I had wrote. I’m glad it’s your negligence and not mine for the lack of communication. I forgive you though. It’s been stressful up here in New York as well. I luckily don’t have any practical’s I need to worry about. Just a few nuclear engineering classes are standing in between me and graduation.

I just have a year of Officer School (if I get selected that is) after this is all set and done come June. We have to apply this April so I’m getting a little anxious about the whole thing. I don’t really have a backup plan that I’d actually like to do so I really, really hope I get selected. Enough about me though, let’s talk about you. You’re going to get picked! Don’t let any bad thoughts get in between you and your goal. I think you’ll make a fine pilot Jake. You seem to have your wits about you which is the first step a lot of people miss.

My dad was in the Navy, like you. Don’t gloat though, it’ll ruin the finely crafted image I have of you. He was a deck hand or something like that. I wish I could ask him some more about it, but he passed when I was just thirteen. I just remember he loved being in the Navy. He loved everything about it. He made it seem like anything was possible with a passion.

I’m glad you’re enjoying the food and the girl scout cookies. It took me by surprise when I got Peanut Butter Patties instead of Tagalongs when I was down south for a winter. I’m so glad I grew up where the real GSC are sold.

I hope this letter brought you as much joy as yours brought me.

With the Same Love,

Y/N

(P.S. – Here’s my number if you’d like to text instead of write. No pressure!)

It had only been a week since you sent the last letter. Sure, you hadn’t really known the guy all too well but there was something so exciting about sending written mail. You felt like a little kid on Christmas waiting for a response from him. Who knew throwing your name in something so silly for your class would bring you so much joy.

You sat down on your desk setting your computer out front of you to study. Jake was right. It was an awfully busy time of the year. Applying for your future. Studying for you exams. When you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket you truly didn’t think much of it. It was only hours later when you finally closed the laptop shut that you went to check it that your face scrunched in confusion. You didn’t recognize the area code. It was then that it clicked that it could be him.

No pressure at all text! Hi there (it’s Jake).

You grinned reading it over and over again. That was quick! Maybe you made an impression? You sure hoped so. You hardly even knew what the guy looked like. You might’ve gone digging a little when you got his name. He was cute. Handsome even. But he seemed like that type. That arrogant pilot type. But even in just the two letters you received from him you got the hint that he wasn’t that type of guy at all.

I didn’t think you’d actually text me. It’s good to hear from you.

The messages between the two of you were infrequent at best as the semester ended. But he never failed to put a smile on your face. When you needed a pick me up you went through and read the messages that popped up.

On your graduation day you sent him a picture of you and a few friends in a cap and gown with the text: Beat you! You’re also looking at your newest Officer Candidate too!

You didn’t have to wait long for a reply. Your face only grew with glee seeing his response: Congrats Second Lieutenant. And future Captain. Knew you’d do it. You look beautiful as always.

Typing a quick reply, you hid your smile away just knowing your friends would make a stupid comment about the mystery man that always had you so smiley: You’re making me blush all the way up here in New York. I better get a picture next weekend when you do the same, future Lieutenant.

He came through on your request. When you got the text you could only smile. You spotted him in the picture immediately, your eyes drawn to him. He was so damned handsome. How lucky were you to get paired with a guy like that? Your smile grew further when you read the message: Lieutenant (and future pilot) Jake Seresin reporting for picture duty.

The messages occurred naturally between through the years as you were deployed, and he was in school. Some months you texted more and some you didn’t hear from him at all. It never bothered you. The silly little thing called life happened for both of you.

Still, the two of you often made time for phone calls when the time was right. The first time you talked on the phone you thought you were going to quite literally throw up you were so nervous. But in typical Jake Seresin fashion he made you feel cool as a cucumber. You talked and talked and talked into the morning. It felt so normal. Like you were catching up with an old friend. Jake Seresin. Who was this man that was making it hard to date? He was quite literally everything you wanted and needed in a partner. The universe had a funny way of working sometimes.

It had been six long years since you received that first letter from him. He was off on a mission now. A dangerous one he couldn’t tell you much about. But he wanted you at his arrival back home in San Diego and you promised him you’d be there. Assured him. That’s how you ended up in here pacing in the hotel room contemplating whether you should really go or not. It felt too intimate, like you were intruding. But he did say none of his family would be there, they had other things going on as the mission was a bit of a surprise to everybody. The pilots were all instructed to keep it as quiet as possible.

Your hands were shaking as you parked your car in the overcrowded lot. Gripping the steering wheel, you took a long breath in. You could do this. You had to do this. For him, for you. You stepped out of the car and made you way to the dock. The aircraft carrier was already docked by the time you got to the meeting site. You stood back and waited. Watched and waited. It felt like an eternity then finally the men and women started pouring out in their Navy Whites. You’d always thought they looked the sharpest of the bunch, but you’d never tell Jake that. He’d make fun of your Army uniforms or something like that.

It felt like both an eternity and seconds later that you spotted him amongst the crowd of sailors exiting the ship searching high and low for you. You promised you’d be there. And here you were. He either felt your eyes on him or had an uncanny sense of timing as his eyes locked with your own. His smile had melted you right there on the spot. You felt helpless as you willed your brain to move but it wouldn’t. You only began to panic a little as he moved with ease through the crowd making his way right to you.

He stood in front of you. Jake Seresin stood in front of you, much taller than you thought, “I knew I recognized you. First Lieutenant Y/L/N.” His eyebrows raised as you gaped at him with wide eyes as if he wasn’t really there. Closing your mouth, you knew you needed to pull it together but that sounded much easier said than done. Jake freaking Seresin, your pen pal was really standing in front of you in real life. He was more of enigma in your mind at this point. Somebody you could have deep life conversations with so easily but never having actually met the man it was hard for you to grasp he was really real. And standing in front of you.

“Jake.” You smiled hoping it sounded somewhat normal. He was so much more handsome than the photos he sent through the years. How was that possible? Wasn’t it supposed to go the other way? You continued once your head finally could form coherent sentences, “Well it’s actually Captain now. Got promoted a couple weeks ago.”

He turned his head to the side just slightly, “You didn’t tell me that.” Almost looking offended you hadn’t told him.

“Never felt like the right time to divulge. With this mission and all. Had to keep you locked in.” You looked up to him now studying his face as you gained more courage talking to him. He was something your dreams couldn’t make up.

He nodded not daring to take his eyes off you. He too thought you were even prettier than he could have envisioned. You’d sent pictures and he’d followed your social media, but nothing could’ve prepared him. Especially in your civilian clothes, he was a sucker already. Deep down Jake knew you were the reason he was so non-committal before. He was looking for somebody just like you and couldn’t find her. Yet here you stood in front of him. You were so funny and witty and smart, and yet he couldn’t put it all into words. You are the whole package and so much more.

“You still could’ve told me. We talked enough before I left.” He grinned seeing that the tension was already easing from your shoulders.

You shook your head, “Wasn’t about me Seresin. I just wanted you to stay focused and safe. And thank goodness you did.” You admitted a little more than you wanted, but he just made you feel so gushy. Like you were a sweeter version of yourself you could hardly recognize. And the words just kept flowing out when he gave you that look with those green eyes.

“Oh yeah?” He challenged you a bit sensing that you were starting to feel a bit more comfortable with him already, “Didn’t think you’d be so relieved darlin’.”

Ignoring the sweet term of endearment you shook your head, “And waste six years of my life on nothing? Jake that’s so inefficient. Of course, I want you safe.” The words came fast, and they were snarkier than you intended. But you truly couldn’t help it.  He had you relaxed within the first five minutes of talking to him. You felt like you could just be you.

He threw his head back in laughter. That same weight had lifted right off his shoulders when you snapped back at him like he was waiting on it, “There she is. My favorite mouthy girl.”

He said it so nonchalantly you thought your heart was going to combust on the spot. Your cheeks surely gave way to your reaction to his words. His favorite mouthy girl? Christ. He was trying to send you into a coma or something! Your brain quite literally short circuited as it failed to form any coherent sentence. He only chuckled in response seeing your cheeks heat up in a blazing blush.

“It’s so nice to actually see you in person. You know I’ve always told you this, but it rings even truer even now. You’re quite a stunner, Captain.” His eyes met yours before you looked away quickly feeling as though you were going to faint at those words. You weren’t sure how this interaction was going to go initially. But you really didn’t think he’d come right out and say that he found you stunning. The occasional letter and texts in between had grown flirtier the longer you had known him, but it never crossed your mind he’d be so outright with it.

You turned away out of sheer bashfulness. Never had a man been so bold with you before. It was foreign. Not uncomfortable, no. Nothing could be with him. He made it easier than seemed possible.

“You flatter me Jake.” You grinned up at him hoping your makeup would hide the darkening of your cheeks, “I should say the same for you. Handsome as ever.”

“Now you’re making me blush, Cap.” Sure as hell the faintest pink dusted his cheek, but he seemed much stronger than you. He kept the eye contact going.

You shook your head trying to bite back the big smile you had on your face, but it showed through anyway. How was he doing this? Making you feel so giddy just by looking at him. You knew this man but for the first time it actually felt like you might actually love him. You’d had the deepest conversations with him. When you needed a laugh you texted him. When you craved advice you called him. He was the guy you turned to. And it dawned on you that he never failed to answer you. He wanted to take your calls and answer your texts. He looked forward to it. He too had fallen for a woman he’d never met before.

You needed the change the subject and fast or more words would be tumbling out, “How was the mission? Everyone make it out okay?” You asked having no idea what you were getting yourself into. Jake hadn’t told you much about what they were doing, couldn’t tell you much. But now that it was over he couldn’t wait to tell you every nitty gritty little detail.

“I’ll tell you if you let me buy you a drink?” He gave you a smirk that sent nerves racing throughout your body. Jesus. This man was something else.

Giving him a curious once over you nodded, “Shouldn’t I be the one buying you a drink sailor? You coming home and all?”

“Absolutely not. I’ll never let you buy me a drink darlin’.”

Gosh, Jake was actually going to be the death of you. He was so good making his words come off so easily. You felt terribly high strung next to him, “And why not?”

“Because I’m trying to woo you sweetheart. When I get you to go on a date with me I have to impress you. Inevitably that’ll work and you’ll become my girlfriend. And I can’t have my girlfriend paying for my drinks, no. And it’ll only get worse when I get the pleasure of marrying you. If my wife thinks she’ll pay for a thing she had another thing coming.” He gleamed at you as if he didn’t just say all of that.

You gulped before a stupid smile grew on your face. Of course, you knew he was forward but again, he just took you on an entirely new adventure with that statement, “That’s quite a bold statement Jake.”

He shrugged, “I thought I should make my intentions perfectly clear. I think you’re one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. And you’re perfectly you. Sharp as tack. Funnier than ever. You’re you. And I really like you.”

You let out a breath not sure if you really believed all of that, “So not just pals, huh?” It was all you could think of quickly but that did it for him. Sealed the deal. He knew he was going to marry you right then and there. You’d complete him in every way he needed you and vice versa.

He shook his head taking his arm in yours, “Not just pals.” Leaning into his gentle embrace you led him to your car where he would not let you drive. He insisted that it was a gentleman’s job even if he was only running off four hours of sleep. You’d appeased the man who was on his very best behavior. Not that you minded. Nope, not at all. You were thrilled that Jake was exactly who he seemed to be. Your Jake. Not just pals indeed.

Jake Seresin/Top Gun: Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: Taglist Sign Up) @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @mamachasesmayhem @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @illisea @jessicab1991 @guacam011y @dempy

[caitified]

ooo how about a caitlin fic where they dated in high school and they ended on good terms but didn’t really talk anymore after they went to college. but then they meet again later while cait is with the fever and they rekindle their relationship??

begin again

caitlin clark x reader

warnings:none (we ran out of gifs guys and i don’t wanna scroll🥲)

you never thought you’d settle down in indiana. growing up, it was always just a place on the way to somewhere else, somewhere bigger. but college brought you here, and slowly, the state started feeling like home. years later, you have a life here—a routine, a rhythm. the memories of high school and of caitlin have faded a bit, softened by time and distance. you never planned for her to be part of your life here, but you can still remember the last night you two spent together, sitting on her porch, looking at the stars and talking about everything you’d be.

when she went to iowa, and you left for indiana, it was hard, but you both knew it had to happen. you’d both needed space to grow and to chase what you wanted, and you were glad to have left on good terms. you watched her career from afar, cheering her on from the comfort of your living room, letting her stay a part of your past while your life moved forward.

until now. when you hear the news that caitlin’s been drafted to the fever, it feels unreal, like a memory resurfacing at the wrong time. part of you wonders if you’ll see her, but it still catches you off guard when you run into her at a local café, both of you frozen for a moment before she smiles.

“well, if it isn’t my indiana connection,” she says, her voice warm and just a little uncertain.

you give a small laugh, trying to calm the unexpected nerves fluttering in your chest. “hey, caitlin. i heard you were joining the fever.”

“yeah, guess i finally made it to indiana,” she says, her smile widening, the familiar glint of mischief in her eyes. “who would’ve thought we’d both end up here?”

there’s a pause, comfortable but heavy, filled with things unsaid. she looks just like you remember—maybe more confident, but still the same caitlin who used to talk about making it big, eyes shining with dreams. seeing her like this, up close, feels like an echo of the past and a strange twist of fate.

“so, how’s life been?” she asks, sliding into the seat across from you, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. and maybe it is. “i mean, besides me showing up and ruining your quiet indiana life.”

you smile, leaning back and matching her easy posture. “quiet, yeah, but it’s been good. settled in, made some roots. not quite as exciting as yours, though.”

she laughs, running a hand through her hair. “it’s…different, i guess. i love it, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes i miss the simple things, you know? the days before everything got so serious.”

“i get that,” you say softly, and for a moment, there’s a shared understanding in the air, a reminder of all those late-night talks you used to have. “feels like we grew up overnight.”

“feels like yesterday and forever ago at the same time,” she murmurs, glancing down as if the table holds some of those old memories.

the conversation slips back into old rhythms, like picking up a favorite book after years and finding it as familiar as ever. you talk about college, life in indiana, what it was like for her at iowa, and how she’s adjusting to the fever. neither of you bring up high school or what you had back then, but it’s there, resting between every pause, a steady beat beneath the surface.

“you know,” she says eventually, her gaze steady and serious, “i never really expected this—seeing you here, now.”

you smile, letting the words linger. “neither did i. but it’s…nice, i guess.”

she nods, her eyes softening. “yeah, it really is. maybe we could catch up again sometime? properly, i mean.”

your heart skips, and you feel that familiar pull—the same one that drew you to her all those years ago. “i’d like that,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

as she leaves, she gives you one last look, a quiet promise in her eyes, and you feel the start of something rekindling. it’s different now—older, wiser, maybe even better than it was. and as you watch her walk away, you can’t help but feel like fate brought her back to you, right where you both belong.

🪽🪽🪽🪽

over the next few weeks, meeting up with caitlin turns into a regular thing. it starts with a coffee here, a lunch there, each time stretching a little longer, neither of you wanting the conversation to end. you go to a few of her games, trying to be subtle but still catching her eye when she glances into the crowd, and every time she finds you, she grins like she’s won something more than just points.

one night, after a particularly close win, she invites you out for a late dinner. the restaurant is quiet, dimly lit, and she’s still buzzing with the energy of the game, her excitement spilling over as she tells you about the highlights. her eyes are so alive, her laugh loud and familiar, and you can’t help but feel like you’re falling all over again.

“you know,” she says eventually, her gaze softening as she looks across the table at you, “this is starting to feel like old times… but also not.”

you tilt your head, curious. “not?”

she nods, a small smile playing at her lips. “it’s…different. better, i think. i know i’m different, and you are too. but something about it still feels so right.”

your heart pounds, and you realize that you feel the same. “yeah, it does.”

there’s a beat of silence, thick with anticipation, and she reaches across the table, her fingers brushing yours. “so… do you think you’d want to make it official? i mean, for real this time?”

you laugh, more out of surprise than anything, but you can feel the warmth blooming in your chest. “are you asking me to be your girlfriend again?”

she squeezes your hand, her face breaking into that lopsided grin you remember so well. “yeah, i am. what do you say?”

and you don’t even need to think about it. “i’d love to, caitlin.”

she smiles, pulling you into a hug as you both laugh, the moment perfect and unhurried. it’s not like high school anymore—it’s better, it’s grown up, and it’s real.

[adverbally]

Searching for a Trail to Follow Again

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “The Night We Met - Lord Huron” | wc: 1,111 | rated: M | cw: nonexplicit sexual content | tags: Eddie’s insecurities, not really breakup sex, kind of more like goodbye sex, at least until Steve knocks some sense into Eddie, hopeful ending

———

Eddie has never understood the concept of breakup sex.

Either you were ending the relationship and didn’t care if you never saw the other person again, or you were still in love and devastated that they didn’t want you anymore. What closure could someone get from that?

He wishes he could go back to that ignorance. Now he knows that not all relationships end because the love is gone; now he understands wanting to make the last time special, to savor something you will probably never have again. Sure, it hurts to know the end is coming. But the end is coming whether you know it or not, and Eddie would rather be able to plan for it.

Their end is here. Tomorrow, Steve will be taking his community college credits to Ball State University to become a teacher. He’s so excited to start his deaf education program and work with kids like him. Eddie’s excited for him too, except that Muncie, Indiana is over 200 miles away from Chicago, where they’ve both been living with Robin.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust Steve, but who wants to go to school with a partner chaining them down when they could be meeting new people, enjoying their youth? Who wants a loser like Eddie holding them back? Wannabe musician, part-time bartender, part-time record store clerk, full-time disappointment.

As much as Steve protests that line of thinking, he concedes that he won’t be able to make the trip back to Chicago often, between his coursework and his internship and working part-time. He refuses to call it a breakup, though; this is just a temporary disruption in their relationship.

Eddie wishes he had that confidence. Instead, he’s kissing Steve like it’s his last night on earth and committing everything to memory in case he never gets to touch Steve like this again. The lean muscle of him, the freckles that dot his skin, the coarse hair against Eddie’s fingertips, the taste of his sweat. The way Steve can’t seem to get enough of him, reluctant to let their lips part for more than a moment. The sounds he makes, low moans and gasps and quiet praise and Eddie’s name, over and over.

Afterward, they lie curled around each other in Eddie’s bed. Steve’s belongings are already packed and loaded into the truck he rented. The finality of everything is setting in but Eddie is determined not to be dramatic, just this once. He’ll enjoy Steve while he still has him and not waste the precious hours they have left.

“Maybe you can visit me sometime,” Steve suggests, like he wants to ask Eddie to come but doesn’t want to be too direct about it. Like Eddie isn’t grasping for any crumbs of Steve he can gather.

“If you want me to, I will,” Eddie promises.

“Of course I want you to.” Steve is quiet for a minute before he speaks again. “Are you saying goodbye to me? Was this– it felt… I don’t know. I don’t want to leave with you thinking you’ll never see me again.”

How can Eddie explain that that’s how it feels? Steve is going to be at school for two or three years; that may be a short time in the grand scheme of things, but compared to how long they’ve been together? Compared to how many other people Steve has dated and slept with? Just because Steve has undeniably ruined Eddie for anyone else doesn’t mean the reverse is true.

So instead of trying to explain, he says, “You know, they say it’s, like, scientifically proven that you never forget the person who gave you your first kiss or the one who took your virginity.”

Steve laughs. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“It is!” Eddie insists. “And yeah, you weren’t my first kiss, but you were my first everything else, you know? And I don’t get to be that for you.”

“They may not be as glamorous, but I’ve had plenty of firsts with you,” Steve argues, propping himself up on an elbow to look down at Eddie. “Like, I had never laughed until I cried during sex before you. And I had never been to a metal concert until that one I saw with you.” His voice is soft when he continues, “I don’t think I’ve ever really, truly been in love with anyone but you, either.”

Eddie gnaws on his own lip, pulling at the dry skin until it starts to bleed. “Just because I was the first doesn’t mean I’ll be the last. There might be someone else out there for you.”

“Yeah, there’s probably someone else for you, too. It doesn’t matter, I don’t want someone else.” Steve’s hand is gentle on Eddie’s cheek, caressing the stubble along his jaw. “I want you. As long as you want me back, I’ll want you.”

“I just— I don’t want you to resent me when I’m not there.” Eddie can’t look away with Steve holding his face, so he can’t hide when he tears up. “I worry you’ll realize you’re too good for me, or you’ll wish you didn’t have to deal with me anymore or something.”

Steve looks devastated. “Baby, am I that bad at telling you how much you mean to me? I love you. I’ve loved you for two years, and I’ll keep loving you forever.”

Eddie sniffs as Steve helpfully wipes under his eye with his thumb. “That’s not always— What if the love isn’t enough?”

“What if it’s not?” Steve challenges him. “If we couldn’t make it work, what would you do?” When Eddie doesn’t respond, he continues, “I’d rather be with you now, really be present and enjoy our time together, than worry about some hypothetical. And even if it does end someday, I would rather face the pain of losing you than never have you at all.”

“I didn’t think about it that way,” Eddie admits, almost ashamed. Here he is, making Steve comfort him when he should be focusing on Steve.

“I get it if you’re scared. I’m scared, too. I’m gonna be in a new place, studying hard, and I’m not gonna have you there to make it better.” Steve’s smile is fond and a little teasing. “But we can still talk and send letters. And three hours isn’t that long of a drive.”

Eddie nods. “Yeah. You’re right, of course. I want to be here for you. Even if I can’t always be there.”

“So be here now, and be here when I come back.” The kiss Steve lays on his cheek is chaste, but it might be the most intimate feeling Eddie has ever experienced.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

The Kids Are All Right | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: recovering from an assault (heed this warning pls my loves), canon gore, canon violence, angst

Word Count: 4773

A/N: Heyyyy.... accidentally posted two at the same time haha. No episode this Saturday as a result; I'm sorry, y'all!! But a little extra treat today!!

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

You and Sam spoke almost twice daily after your heart-to-heart leaving Lincoln. You were incredibly grateful to still have his friendship; even if your phone calls had to be carefully maneuvered around times when Dean was in the room. 

You were unsure how to feel about the fact that Sam was still trying to find ways to break Dean’s deal knowing he’d die if that happened but would also support your friend in whatever his decision was. You refused to have any involvement in picking between the lives of the two brothers, though, even if you were falling deeper and deeper in love with him with each passing day. 

Just the thought of seeing him again was enough to have butterflies swirling in your stomach. You were terrified of what he’d say to you, yes, but you missed him so dearly. As chaotic as he could be at times, he truly was your rock. And with each day that passed, the sore pang in your heart at the thought of him seemed to intensify.

Not to mention, your struggle with your assault was draining you. Your heart hurt every time you walked past a mirror, and every once in a while, you’d see yourself in that guard uniform.

“Where are you guys?” you asked Sam through the phone as you walked around your motel room pulling clothes on.

“Cicero, Indiana,” Sam replied.

Your heart and stomach dropped. “What?”

“No way you’re here, too,” Sam began to laugh.

“This isn’t fucking funny, Sam! I purposefully picked a case that seemed like it wouldn’t pan out to stay away from him!” you replied frantically. “I mean, ‘guy falls on his own power saw’ doesn’t exactly scream unsolved mysteries!”

Sam was still laughing, but cleared his throat before talking again. “Yeah, but Dean’s cruisin’ for a hookup, too. That’s his main motivation, I think.”

You scoffed and ignored the burning feeling in your chest. “Of course, he is. Who is it this time?”

“Lisa Braeden. His… five day road trip from about eight years ago,” Sam explained. 

“Oh,” you breathed out. “Gumby girl.”

“So you know of her,” Sam said.

“Oh, yeah! After one of the first times we had sex, he told me I gave Gumby Girl a run for her money. ‘Best sex of my life before you’ is a direct quote,” you told him.

“Okay, ew,” Sam grimaced. “I don’t need to hear about your sex life—”

“It was topically relevant, Sam!”

“—and this is apparently one of his ‘dying wishes’.” 

“Way to let me down easy, jackass,” you sassed at the brunet’s clear inability to read the room in this situation. 

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly.

“It’s fine. I’ll leave. Let Dean have his fun,” you continued.

“No, don’t!” Sam begged. “At least stay till tomorrow so we can meet for coffee. I’m sure Dean ‘ll still be out with Gumby.”

“We should probably call that poor woman by her actual name,” you giggled. “But sure. I’ll stay till then.”

“Great!” You could practically hear Sam grinning on the other end of the phone. “I’ll call you when I get up tomorrow.”

“Okay,” you smiled. “Bye, Sammy.”

***

Someone pounding on your door at around one in the morning woke you up with a start. Swiftly, you put the barrel of your gun to the door and listened because there was no peephole for you to look through. You opened the door a crack when you heard nothing for a moment to reveal Dean staring at the ground before looking up at you.

Shocked, you slammed the door in his face and threw your gun at your bed. Unfortunately, you’d forgotten to lock the door behind you, and Dean waltzed into your bedroom.

“(Y/N), you can’t leave,” the man told you.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Dean? How did you even find me?!” you cried. “What, you think after three weeks of not talking I’m just gonna let you— Especially after you just fucked Gumby Girl—!” You began pacing around the room.

“I didn’t fuck Gumby Girl, (Y/N),” he said softly, still standing close to the door.

You scoffed and crossed your arms, suddenly very aware of the underwear and oversized band t-shirt you wore to bed that night. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious,” he replied, still staring at the ground. His hands stayed in his leather jacket pockets. “Couldn’t bring myself to even try.”

You threw your arms out in frustration. “What, am I supposed to forgive you for not fucking one out of the many Sam’s been telling me about you being with since I left?!”

Dean seemed stunned.

“Yeah! So, I’m sorry, but you’re not just gonna waltz in here and act like everything’s fine and dandy,” you chortled coldly.

“Are you gonna give me a chance to explain myself?” he questioned angrily.

“Why should I?” you scoffed.

“Because you love me! I thought that was the whole point!” he argued.

You stared him down, eyebrows drawn together. “Well, you obviously don’t love or respect me enough not to go fuck random girls literal days after I leave.”

“I do!” he shot back. “Would you just fucking listen? I was drinking alone when Sam thought I was with those other chicks.”

You said nothing, still glaring at him.

“I didn’t fuck any of them, (Y/N), ‘cause I couldn’t stop thinking about you!”

Tension hung thick in the air between the two of you, and you looked up at him with dewey eyes. When you couldn’t stand to hold his gaze anymore, you turned away. “Why didn’t you call? Why didn’t you… say it back? Say anything back?” Your voice broke while you talked. 

“I should’ve,” Dean replied quietly. “I- I’m sorry I didn’t.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have left you guys with those demons.”

You felt Dean’s fingers gently graze your arm, and he waited for you to flinch away for a moment. When you didn’t, he reached out and gingerly turned you to face him and held you to his chest. 

You melted into him almost immediately and let all of the emotion you’d been holding back for the past three weeks out. He rested his head on top of yours and just held you there for a minute. 

“I can’t watch you die, Dean,” you told him, still hugging him tightly. “I can’t do it.”

“I’m not asking you to,” he said. “Can you just… stick around till my time is up?” He gently pushed you away from him slightly to turn your eyes up to meet his gaze. “Please? It’s my dying wish.”

You giggled through your tears but nodded. You immediately dove back into his chest. “I don’t want you to leave,” you whispered. 

“I don’t wanna leave you,” he said, voice beginning to shake. “But I couldn’t let ‘im die, (Y/N). I couldn’t do it.” “I know,” you nodded. 

The two of you stood there holding each other once more until Dean spoke up again. “And, uh… ditto, by the way.”

“What?” you snorted, pulling away from him. 

“What you said… at Bobby’s,” he explained, avoiding your eyes.

“You love me?” you asked, smiling lopsidedly.

Dean just nodded. 

“And you told me just by saying ‘ditto’?” You burst out into laughter at Dean’s attempt at vulnerability. 

Dean went red in the face and turned away. 

“No, no!” you said, immediately quieting down. “It’s just— that was so cute. You’re adorable when you can’t emote properly.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, tilting your chin up to kiss you passionately and effectively silence your laughter. You closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around his neck immediately; almost like a reflex. 

When you pulled away, you leaned your forehead against Dean’s. 

“You know I’m not letting you leave again,” he said.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you smiled. 

***

You sat on the bed facing a shirtless Dean who was reclining against the headboard on a pillow while he told you his story from yesterday. He lazily drew circles on your outermost hip with his thumb as he talked. 

“So, I went to her house, right? ‘Cause… y’know. Gumby Girl,” he began sheepishly. “And, uh, turns out, she’s got a son.”

“Jesus, really?” you replied. “I forget most people have kids at our age.”

“See, this is where it gets interesting,” Dean continued. “So I go out to the backyard, and I see this kid, and (Y/N), I’m telling you, he looked just like me. Acted just like me, too. It felt like fuckin’ Freaky Friday.”

“Dean, don’t tell me—”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too,” he cut you off. “But no. Lisa said he’s not mine.”

“How do you know she’s not lying?” you asked. You finally processed the story Dean was telling you, and realization washed over you in tidal waves. “You could have a child. You might be his father. What the fuck.”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” he said. “It’s freakin’ me out, man. But that’s not all.”

“Dean, if this involves a paternity test that names you as a match, I’m gonna start freakin’ out,” you said.

“No, no, it doesn’t. At least, not yet,” he chuckled. 

You glared at him.

He laughed. “Anyway, I think there really is a case here. One of those kids at the party was weird.”

“Yeah, Dean, kids are weird. Any other earth-shattering news I should be aware of?” you snorted.

Dean deadpanned at you. “You know what I mean. She wasn’t standin’ all the way upright—”

“Maybe she just has scoliosis—” you cut in.

Dean kept talking over you. “—And she kept glaring at everybody—”

“—I glare at everybody—” you continued.

“—And it’s the kid whose dad fell on the power saw.”

You considered for a moment. “Okay, maybe there is something happening. But it could also just be how her grief is manifesting.”

“Yeah, but (Y/N), all kinds of freaky accidents have been happening all over the neighborhood,” Dean explained further. “People fallin’ off ladders, drowning in hot tubs—”

“Okay, maybe you’re right,” you sighed.

“What’s your hold-up with all this?” he asked.

“Whaddya think, Dean,” you deadpanned.

“What, Lisa?” He seemed genuinely shocked. 

“I just think we should leave this town in our rearview mirror. Y’know, between Gumby Girl and her kid that’s potentially yours— oh, god,” you muttered when you fully realized Dean might have a son.

“(Y/N), he’s probably not mine. I mean, she said he wasn’t,” Dean reminded you.

“Somehow, that’s not making me feel better,” you grumbled. 

Dean pulled you down toward him and gently kissed your lips.

“Dean—” you tried, but he cut you off with another kiss. “Dean—” and he kissed you again, “—you can’t just—” another kiss, “distract me with this stuff—” another kiss, “—when we’re in the middle of a serious discussion.”

Dean kissed you once more and pulled you to straddle his hips. “It’s working, isn’t it?”

“Unfortunately,” you smiled against his lips.

When Dean tried to grind up into you, though, you suddenly jerked back from him. 

He looked up at you in concern. “Are you okay?”

You shook your head, tears swimming in your eyes. “I— I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s—”

“It’s okay,” Dean assured you. “We don’t have to do anything. It’s alright.”

You laid down on Dean’s chest, closing your eyes and trying to steady your breathing. Dean kissed the top of your head and wrapped his arms around you to comfort you. Oh, how grateful you were to know him.

***

Later that day, you and Dean walked back to the Impala after investigating a few of the houses where accidents had happened recently. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary; no cold spots, no EMF, nothing resembling a creature’s lair. It was all very “Stepford” in Dean’s opinion.

When you’d almost reached the car, Dean abruptly grabbed your arm. You gasped slightly and turned to face the direction he was. 

“That’s him,” Dean whispered. “That’s the kid.”

You looked ahead at a little boy with spiky brown hair wearing a canvas jacket sitting sadly on a park bench. 

Dean slid his hand down your arm to your hand and pulled you along with him. “Hey, Ben,” he told the kid.

The boy looked up at Dean. “Hey. You were at my party.” Ben seemed to notice you for the first time. “ ‘Sup?” the little guy nodded at you, attempting to smirk through his apparent sadness. 

‘Jesus, this really might be Dean’s kid,’ you thought. 

“I'm Dean, this is (Y/N),” he said, sitting down next to Ben on the bench. You stood next to Dean cautiously. “Everything okay? Something wrong?” Dean asked Ben, who didn’t respond. 

You noticed the empty gaming console case Ben was holding and looked out to the field to see a group of four boys playing with something that looked just about the size to fit the case.

“Is that your game they're playing with?” the older Winchester asked Ben.

The little boy  wouldn’t look at you or Dean. “Ryan Humphrey borrowed it, and now, he won't give it back.”

Dean was immediately ready to beat up eight-year-olds. “Well, you want me to go—”

“No!” Ben exclaimed, grabbing Dean’s arm. “Don't go over there! Only bitches send a grown-up.”

Dean grinned. “You’re not wrong.”

This whole interaction was completely flooring you; rendering you unable to add anything to the conversation.

“And I am not a bitch,” Ben finished.

Dean pointed to a boy wearing long cargo shorts holding the gaming console. “Is that Humphrey? The one that needs to lay off the burgers?”

The little boy smiled and nodded.

Dean hummed. 

“Dean, what are you—”

He ignored you and turned to Ben to talk to him in a hushed voice. You couldn’t quite hear what Dean was telling him to do, and you were puzzled when Ben got up from the bench and started walking over to the group of boys.

“They’re gonna eat that poor kid alive, dude, what were you thinking?” you chastised him, shoving his shoulder lightly. 

“Just watch,” Dean urged.

Ben turned back around to the two of you, and Dean offered him a thumbs-up and a grin. 

A moment later, Ben turned away from the bullies before whipping back around and kicking the boy holding his game straight between his legs twice.

“Dean, what the fuck,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

Ben walked back to you and Dean, triumphantly smiling and holding his game. “Thanks! Dude, that was awesome!”

Suddenly, a gorgeous woman stormed up to you, Dean, and Ben. “Benjamin Isaac Braeden! What has gotten into you?!”

“Gumby Girl,” you realized. 

Dean smacked your thigh lightly to get you to be quiet.

“He stole my game!” Ben tried to explain.

“So you kick him? Since when is—” she looked down at Dean and scoffed. “Did you tell my son to beat up that kid?”

“What?” Dean was still smiling. “Somebody had to teach him how to kick the bully in the nads.”

“Who asked you to teach him anything?” Lisa argued.

“You’re right, he’s sorry,” you said, trying to pull Dean away.

“What are you even still doing here? We had one weekend together a million years ago. You don't know me. And you have no business with my son,” Lisa raged, grabbing Ben’s hand to walk off with him. “Just leave us alone.”

“He will!” you asserted, to both Lisa and Dean. 

Ben broke out of his mother’s grip and ran back to Dean, wrapping his arms around his legs in a tight hug. 

“Thanks,” Ben smiled up at Dean.

Your heart melted and broke at the sight. 

As Ben returned to his mother, you saw three children a few yards beyond them standing in a straight line and turning their heads in tandem. Dean seemed to have noticed, too, and the two of you decided to get out of there as quickly as possible.

When you got into the Impala, you couldn’t say a word. 

Dean looked over at you. “What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’?” you replied.

“You look like you’re suckin’ on a lemon. C’mon, talk to me,” he urged.

“He really does seem like your kid,” was all you could manage to say.

Dean sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

“And, uh, if that does end up being the case—”

“Whoa, what?” Dean cut you off. “Since when am I following up with that?”

You sighed. “I don’t know, Dean, if you are his father, the kid deserves to have you in his life.”

“Sweetheart, the best thing I can do for that kid is get the hell away from him,” Dean replied. “He doesn’t need to be anywhere near me or this life.”

“Why?” you said. “ ‘Cause you think you’d be bad at it? You were great with him today.— y'know, aside from encouraging assault.”

“Yeah, (Y/N), for two seconds,” he said. “Why are you pushing this anyway?”

You paused. “I don’t know, I thought it might just be good for you. Give you an opportunity to live out your last year in peace. Happy.”

Dean’s posture softened, and he said nothing for a moment. “Thanks, but no. I’d take you and huntin’ evil sons of bitches over Middle America any day.” He reached out to you and pulled you to him, placing a kiss to the side of your head. 

***

When you arrived at the boys’ motel room, Sam was at his laptop researching. 

“Somethin’s wrong with the kids in this town,” you told him as you took your jacket off.

Sam replied without looking away from his computer, “Yeah. Tell me about it. So, what do you know about changelings?”

“Evil monster babies?” Dean questioned.

“No, not babies,” you chimed in.

“They're kids,” Dean realized. “Creepy, ‘stare at you like you're lunch’ kids?”

Sam nodded. “There's one at every victim's house.”

“Oh, that’s just perfect,” you mumbled.

“What?” Sam questioned. 

“We got a pile of missing kids being kept in a hole somewhere and a fuckton of changelings we gotta torch. Dean, where’s your kerosene?”

“Already on it,” he said, leaving the room.

“So, I’m guessing you talked things out,” Sam said once the door closed behind Dean.

“Oh, shut up,” you grumbled playfully. 

“So… you’re not leaving?” Sam questioned.

“No. Not yet, anyway,” you said, tone becoming more serious. “I’ll be there to tell him ‘bye,’ but I won’t watch him get dragged to hell. I can’t do that, Sam.”

The younger Winchester paused. “I get it. Hopefully, we won’t have to.”

Dean came back into the room not a moment later holding his torch and grinning.

“You and your gadgets,” you laughed warmly. 

“So, changelings can perfectly mimic children,” Sam began. “According to lore, they climb in the window, snatch the kid. Y'know, there were marks on the windowsill at one of the kid's houses. Looked to me like blood.”

“The changeling grabs a kid, assumes its form, joins the happy fam just for kicks?” Dean questioned.

“I wish that were the case,” you said. “Changelings feed on the mom’s synovial fluid. Sam, did you notice any strange bruising on their backs? It’d be just below the base of their neck?”

“Yeah, how’d you know that?” Sam asked you. 

“It’s the typical spot they feed from,” you replied. “On the end of their creepy, face-hugger-from-Alien tongues, they have these little spines that extend through the body to reach all those spaces between the joints. Pretty gnarly injuries.”

“Right,” Sam nodded. “Changelings can drain them for a few weeks before mom finally croaks.”

“And then, there's dad and the babysitter,” Dean added, referencing two of the victims.

“Yeah. Seems like anyone who gets between the changeling and its food source ends up dead,” Sam finished.

“And fire’s the only way to kill ‘em,” you said, nodding at Dean’s torch. “See why I was worried about all this?”

“Yeah,” Dean huffed. “Great.”

“According to lore, they stash the kids underground somewhere,” Sam continued, “I don't know why, but if it's true, the real kids might be out there.”

“We better start looking,” Dean asserted, seeming to have something on his mind.

“What?” you asked.

He hesitated before answering you with a question. “Any kid in the neighborhood is vulnerable?”

You nodded.

“We gotta make a stop. I wanna check on someone,” Dean told you, and you knew he meant Ben.

Dean held your gaze as Sam began to protest. “Well Dean, if the real kids are still alive, we don't have time. We—”

“We have to,” Dean stated firmly. 

***

Throughout the drive to Lisa’s house, you tried your best to remain calm. You weren’t truly worried about the potential that Ben could’ve been kidnapped or by the fact that Dean was upset, it was the thought of Lisa and Ben potentially taking Dean away from you. You knew your fear was irrational and maybe even a bit toxic, but you still worried that maybe Dean was still attracted to Lisa. Or maybe Dean was Ben’s dad and would be obligated to see and spend time around the two of them. The thought nearly made you throw up while you watched Dean knock on Lisa’s door. 

You saw Lisa yelling at him, and Dean ran back over to the Impala seeming incredibly worried. “They took Ben. He's changed,” Dean explained, hurriedly getting into the car.

“What?! Are you sure?” Sam questioned.

“Yeah, I'm sure. I checked his windowsill,” the older brother nodded.

“Blood?” 

“I don't think it is blood, and I think I know where the kids are.”

***

Dean drove quickly toward a house under construction with a large mound of red dirt sitting on the lawn outside of it. The exterior of the home was almost finished, and the “For Sale” sign on the lawn was stained partially by the dirt.

“Red dirt,” Sam noted, bending down to inspect the sign. “That's what was on the window.”

“Ah, you take the front,” Dean told Sam. “(Y/N), take the left side; I got the other.”

You nodded and set off, gun and flashlight drawn. You crept around the corners of the house until you came to a set of doors angled down to a cellar. You jumped down into it and found small, empty cages lining the walls.

“What do you think you're doing?” a voice suddenly asked from behind you. 

You looked up at the entrance of the cellar to see a redheaded woman glaring at you. 

“You’re staying here until I can get the police here,” the woman said, pulling out her phone.

“Wait, wait,” you tried. “I’m sorry, I was just looking for a place to stay for the night.”

“Then why do you have a gun?” she hissed.

“Self-defense,” you replied coolly. “Please, I’m sorry, I’ll go.”

The redhead tsked and shook her head. “I don’t think you will.” She stood from the entrance to the cellar and closed both doors on you.

“Wait, no!” You rushed toward the doors, but it was too late. She had latched them shut by the time you got to them. Immediately, you started banging on the doors and trying to get them open. You turned around to one of the cages and picked it up, hurling it at the closed doors. You tried again and again, using the cage to hit the door, your shoulder to slam into it, and even tried using a piece of wire from the cage to take off the hinges, but nothing worked. Helplessly, you banged on the door and screamed for Sam and Dean.

Suddenly, you began to smell smoke.

‘Oh, fuck,’ you thought, breath quickening with urgency. You slammed your body into the doors as hard as you could manage. 

Across the cellar from you, the flames began to catch the ceiling, creating a gaping hole in the floor for debris and fiery planks of wood to fall through. You slammed into the doors once more, screaming for Dean. 

The smoke in the room began to fill your lungs and forced a cough out of you. You screamed Dean’s name again hoarsely, turning around briefly to see the fire had spread incredibly close to you. If you didn’t get out soon, the whole building would collapse on your head.

“Dean, please!” you screamed. 

Suddenly, you heard the door to the cellar unlatching.

“(Y/N)?!”

“Dean!” you cried.

He threw the doors open and pulled you out of the smoldering building. He quickly checked you over for injuries, cupping the sides of your face. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Let’s go!” You grabbed Dean’s hand and pulled him around to the front of the house, running as fast as your legs would carry you as flames taunted you dangerously close to your face. You ran across the street to where Sam was standing with a crowd of terrified children and Ben. 

“Sam!” you exclaimed. “Everybody okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think so,” Sam replied. 

Ben seemed shaken up, but he was trying to comfort the other kids around him. You smiled down at him. Dean was exactly the same way. No matter what was going on in his own head, he always checked on the needs of others first. It was one of the things you loved most about him; he was always showing you what compassion truly looked like. 

***

When the fire department had come and the children— all except for one— had been returned home, you and the boys drove Ben back to Lisa’s house. 

“Ben?!” the woman called, running out of the house. “Baby, are you okay?”

Ben ran to his mom and hugged her. “I'm okay, Mom.”

“Oh, my god,” Lisa sobbed. “What the hell just happened?”

“I'll explain everything if you want me to,” Dean started, “but, trust me, you probably don't. The important thing is that Ben's safe.”

“Thank you,” Lisa surged forward and hugged Dean. “Thank you.”

Dean seemed hesitant for which you were thankful, but still returned her hug.

Ben turned to head into his house, and Lisa moved to follow. She turned back to Dean apprehensively. “Do you— wanna come inside?” she asked. 

“Uh, no thanks,” Dean replied. “We, uh, gotta hit the road.”

Lisa nodded, deflating slightly. 

“But… you’re a hundred-percent sure Ben’s not mine, right?” Dean asked. 

She nodded and smiled. “You're off the hook. I did a blood test when he was a baby.”

“Oh,” Dean replied. “Good.”

“I... I swear you look disappointed,” Lisa noted.

“Yeah, I don't know. It's weird, you know your life... I mean, this house and a kid…” he trailed off. “It's not my life. Never will be. Some stuff happened to me recently, and, uh... Anyway, a guy in my situation— you start to think, y’know. I'm gonna be gone one day, and what am I leaving behind besides a car?”

“I don't know. Ben may not be your kid, but,” Lisa began, “he wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for you. That's a lot if you ask me.”

Dean nodded and turned back to you and his brother who stood by the car watching silently. “You know, just for the record…” He turned back to Lisa.  “You got a great kid. I would've been proud to be his dad.”

Lisa smiled at him, as did you, before Dean headed back to the driver’s seat. For once, Sam let you sit in the passenger’s seat, and you popped a Faith No More cassette into the Impala’s built-in player. 

***

A few hours into the drive, Sam had fallen asleep. You and Dean were left holding each other’s hand in silent support; a reassurance the other was there and okay. 

“Did you mean what you said earlier? To Lisa?” you murmured.

“About what?”

“Leaving nothing behind except a car?” you continued.

“Aw, c’mon—” Dean sighed. 

“No, Dean. That’s crap,” you quietly said. “You have a legacy. Everything you’ve ever done has been out of love and compassion. That is who you are. That’s what you’re leaving behind.”

Dean’s eyes flicked toward you, his expression unreadable. He was quite literally the only person to ever confuse your intuitive, watchful eye with his thoughtful, complicated expressions. 

The older Winchester turned his eyes back to the road and brought your entwined hands to his lips, kissing the backs of your knuckles. 

You reveled in the feeling, knowing the feeling of his lips on your skin in this moment, the pattern of Sam’s breathing steadily in the backseat, and the way his hand felt in yours would be a memory you’d need to hold onto when he was gone. Maybe that way, you’d be able to find peace; knowing that not even death could completely tear Dean away from you. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[ladykailitha]

The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 2

I'm so glad that people enjoyed the first part of this so much. I hope you like sexy times and long chapters, because this has both.

I should point out that this is mid to late 80s and Eddie's cell phone is an actual fucking brick. Rich rockstar and all.

In this part we get Eddie sliding into home, finding out Steve's real age and how he got into the bar past a bouncer known for spotting fakes.

Part 1

Mature 18+ only!

~

Eddie was doing what he did best and that was absolutely shred on stage. He was back up vocals because Jeff truly had the pipes. Something they didn’t actually learn until they were half way through their first record.

He had no delusions that if he had remained lead singer, that they would have gotten absolutely fucking nowhere.

He was also keeping an eye on his little canary. Bright yellow in a sea of leather and chains. He just wanted to bite those cheeks. Face or ass, didn’t matter which. Though he would be very happy indeed to sink his teeth into that amazing ass.

Too soon and not soon enough they were saying goodbye. As they walked off stage, Eddie saw Chrissy come back up to Steve. Most likely telling him to stay a little longer.

Eddie was 97% sure that little Canary gave off queer vibes, but that little teeny-tiny doubt was all it took from going over there and bending him over the bar and fucking him wildly.

In the dressing room as they were putting away their guitars, Chrissy came bouncing into the room, bright smile on her face.

“You fucking owe me big time, lover boy,” she told Eddie. “His name is Steve, he’s twenty-two and he’s a local.”

Eddie leaned back against the sofa cushion and draped one arm over the back. “That’s all very interesting Chris, but that doesn’t help me get laid.”

She held up her hand. “I’m getting to it, babe. Pretty boy’s drinking his sorrows because Daddy kicked him out for being caught with his boyfriend.”

Suddenly Eddie was on the edge of his seat, elbows on his knees.

“Who told you that?” Gareth asked, twirling a stick between his fingers.

“Monty, the bouncer,” Chrissy replied, looking smug. “Steve is a regular and Monty knows him.”

Jeff raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Well enough that he would know the dude is queer in small town Bumfuck, Indiana?”

“That’s what he said.”

Brian rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “The worst thing that would happen is that he blows you off and you blow town. Everyone knows you’re gay anyway, it won’t hurt shit if he says anything.”

Jeff and Gareth exchanged concerned glances.

“I’m with Brian,” Eddie said, “and not just because I find the dude hot. He’s not going to start shit surrounded by all my fans and if he’s just out for drinks there’s nothing wrong with me having a couple with the guy.”

Gareth and Jeff sighed.

“You were going to do whatever you wanted to do anyway,” Gareth said. “And even I could tell he had a hard time keeping his eyes off you and I’m in the fucking back!”

Eddie cackled. “Damn right.”

~

Steve was enjoying his second Tequila Sunrise, when the lead guitarist slid into the stool next to him.

Steve turned in his seat to look at him. “Wow, as I live and breathe, Eddie Munson in the flesh. You know you’re better looking in person then you are in pictures.”

Eddie cackled and ordered a beer. He turned to face Steve as the bartender pulled his beer and set it down in front him.

“Cocktails are an interesting choice,” he murmured after taking a sip of his beer. “I would have pegged you for the bottle beer type.”

Steve raised an eyebrow over the top of his glass. “Beer’s great unless you want to get drunk fast then it’s shit. Especially in this hick town.” He took a sip. “Plus it tastes better.”

Eddie threw back his head and laughed. “Fair point. I stick to beer so that I don’t get drunk off my ass, falling off stage is never fun regardless of the height involved.”

“Sounds like you’ve had experience,” Steve said with a huff of laughter.

Eddie hummed around the lip of his bottle and took a sip. “Yep! In the early days of the band, took a header off a stage at some festival, right into the crowd. I’m not sure who got hurt worst, me or the poor people I landed on.”

Steve winced. “That’s rough. At least you were able to come back from that, don’t think most people could.”

“Thank you,” Eddie said with a smile.

They continued to talk. Steve knew the signs. The way Eddie was leaning close, the way he would let his hands gaze his skin, the flirty language. There was no doubt Steve was going home with this one. Well hotel, anyway. So he slowed up on his alcohol intake.

And if the bartender’s smirk was any indication, Eddie was doing the same. It seemed that neither one was interested in drunk sex.

~

Eddie was going to kill Monty and Jeff was never going to let him live it down. Because there was no way this guy was twenty-two. Sure, he knew how to hold his liquor and when to slow down, he had to give him that, so clearly he’d been drinking awhile. But he talked like a high school student.

He just hoped his little Canary was only naive and not actually fucking under age.

“Shit,” Eddie said after draining the rest of his third beer in two hours, “I could kill for a smoke.”

“I wouldn’t mind one,” Steve said, leaning close, “if you’ve got one to share.”

Eddie eyed him up and down. “What no room in those pants for a pack of smokes?”

“I mean I could,” Steve said cocking his head to the side, “But it would leave much room for anything else and I kinda need my wallet more than I need a pack of smokes on me at all times, so...”

Eddie laughed and shook his head. “Yeah, darlin’, I can see why that might be a problem.”

He hopped off the stool and Steve dutifully followed him out the back. He pulled out a couple of smokes and lit them both before handing one to Steve.

“So how did you get your fake ID past the door gargoyle?” Eddie asked after taking a drag and blowing straight up into the air.

Steve threw back his head and laughed. “What gave me away?”

Yup. Jeff was never going to let him live this down. God damn it.

“For all your big talk,” he huffed, annoyed, “you don’t sound like someone who’s been around long enough to be the age on your ID.”

Steve shrugged. “I’ve had the same ID since I was sixteen. Both of them. I have a cousin Scott who was nineteen at the time and altered it for me.” He pulled out the fake ID and handed it to him.

Eddie squinted in the dark and realized that if he hadn’t been told it was a fake he wouldn’t have noticed a damn thing. But there slight smudges where there shouldn’t be that just tipped it over the edge into fake territory.

“Okay,” he groused, “that is a pretty good fake. But Monty is known for his eagle eye in spotting a fake, so what gives?”

Steve grinned as he took back the ID. “Scott is my cousin on my dad’s side and Monty’s my cousin on my mom’s side. He knows my parents are shit so he pays the owner under the table when I go out to drink here. Which I keep to a minimum for his sake, mainly I use it to buy beer in out of town gas stations.” He pulled out his real ID and handed it Eddie. “I’m young, but I’m not stupid.”

Eddie blinked at Steve for a moment in shock. He looked down at the real age and god, the sigh of relief he bit back was immense. Nineteen. His little Canary was nineteen.

“Sorry for doubting you,” Eddie murmured, handing the ID back.

Steve shrugged again. “I get it. I’ve been told I have kind of a weird face when it comes to age, I could look anywhere from sixteen to thirty depending on the lighting and what I’m wearing.” He took his first drag of his cigarette and blew out of the side of his mouth, flicking the ashes on the ground.

Eddie stared at him owlishly for a moment before he dropped his cigarette on the pavement and ground it with the heel of his boot. Then he surged forward and grabbed Steve’s face to mash their lips together.

Steve’s fingers slackened and the cigarette fell from his fingers and rolled away. He brought his hands up to get his hands on those curls like he’d been dreaming about all night. Eddie moaned as blunt nails scratched his scalp. He wrapped his arms around Steve and pulled him in close.

This time it was Steve’s turn to moan. They pressed together from chest to knees and he could feel everything through the thin layer of his clothes.

Eddie’s hands roamed down his back and straight to those delicious looking ass cheeks. He wanted to taste them as surely as he could taste the ash on his lips.

All the buildup, all the tension all night was culminated in this first kiss. Eddie was heady with it. The alcohol in his system burning away in the face of his desire for this man. Because young as he was his little Canary was a man, no doubt.

A man who clearly wanted to take this elsewhere and Eddie wanted to let him.

“Just, just,” he panted when he pulled away. “Just let me tell someone we’re going back to the hotel, okay baby?”

Steve nodded a little kiss drunk and a lot breathless. “Should I just wait here for you then?”

Eddie nodded and then dashed back into the bar. He was barely gone two minutes before he was back out and dragging Steve to his car.

When they got to the car, Eddie pushed him up against it to kiss him again.

“Someone’s eager,” Steve teased, his hands skirting the stripe of skin between Eddie’s pants and shirt.

“Baby, you have no idea,” he growled, diving in to kiss him senseless.

Steve moaned as every nerve in his body lit up with every lick of Eddie’s tongue, every kiss of his lips, every touch of his hands. He felt like he was on fire.

Eddie pulled away long enough to unlock the car. He opened the door and practically shoved Steve into it, before he ran around to the other side of the car and got into the driver’s seat.

“Hold on, baby,” Eddie purred as the engine roared to life, “you’re in for a ride.”

“God I hope so!” Steve said breathlessly, pressing back against the leather of the seat.

Eddie cackled, pulling into traffic. “Oh honey, you have no idea.”

~

Hands were everywhere by the time they finally got into the hotel room.

Steve had stayed in some pretty swanky places growing up, traveling with his parents but fuck it was nothing this decadent.

All the fittings were brass and the tops were marble. In the middle of this was a large king size bed with black bedding and white throw pillows. If he wasn’t trying to get the two of them naked as fast as possible, he would have belly flopped on the mattress and buried his face in the pillows.

But all thoughts of that went out the window when Eddie’s mouth starting kissing down his throat as the only thing going off in his head became: YES! YES! YES!

Steve’s shirt was the first thing to come off as Eddie kept trying to get at more of Steve’s skin. Then Steve’s pants and shoes were next, leaving him naked in the face of the very dressed rock star.

Eddie picked him up and threw him on the bed. He tossed off his jacket and then tore of his shirt. He hopped on the bed and crawled up Steve’s body like a predator on the prowl. Steve moaned as Eddie kissed him deeply.

“God,” Steve groaned. “I need you to fuck me, so badly.”

Eddie grinned, his hands moving down Steve’s chest and sides to land on his hips. “Is that right, little Canary? You need to be fucked?”

Steve nodded, his capacity for speech having flown away with his ability to think of anything but getting to be fucked by a rock star.

Eddie scrambled off the bed and took off his boots and pants. Then he dug around in the nightstand before he pulled out what he was looking for. A small tube of lube and a pack of condoms.

Steve’s body shuddered with the thought of being absolutely wrecked by this beast of a man. Eddie looked good in his clothes, but so much better out of them. He was still as lean and tight as whipcord, but his body was toned with well-formed muscle. And then he pulled his hair back and suddenly Steve wanted to leave hickies all over that column of his throat. Because God! It was just as sinful as the rest of him.

“Shit,” he hissed. “You’re the reason people think gays are going to hell. You’re as gorgeous as sin. Fuck!”

Eddie blinked at him for a moment and threw back his had in laughed. “Baby, that was quite the line.” But before Steve could even think about frowning at being laughed at, he dived back in to kiss his mouth. “If I’m sin, little Canary, then you must be heaven sent.”

Steve wanted to protest that Eddie’s line was worst, but again all thoughts went out of his head when Eddie put the first condom on Steve. His hips bucked with the touch even if it wasn’t a sexual one.

“Now who’s the eager one, baby?” Eddie purred.

Steve moaned the loss of his hands as he watched Eddie sheath his dick in the second condom. He tossed the foil packets away and then popped open the cap of lube. He coated his finger with the liquid and circled Steve’s hole.

Steve let out a little whine at being touched but not enough. It wasn’t enough. Then Eddie breached the ring of muscle and holy fuck, it felt so good.

“You like that, little Canary?” Eddie teased, working his finger in and out of him.

“So good,” Steve breathed, trying not fuck himself on the digit.

“And you’re going to continue feel good, aren’t you?” Eddie murmured into Steve stomach. “Because you’re going to be a good boy and tell me if anything is uncomfortable or hurts, right?”

Steve nodded.

“Use your words, little Canary,” Eddie said, pulling his finger out of him.

“Yes!” Steve cried, though he would have said anything just so that Eddie would come back with his finger.

“Good boy.”

But when he brought his finger back, he added another and Steve nearly careened off the bed. Eddie held him down with his other hand.

“Look at you,” he purred. “I’ve never been with anyone so responsive before, baby.”

“So good for you,” Steve babbled. “Want to be so good.”

“And you are,” Eddie assured him. “You are so good for me.”

Shortly after the second finger, a third was added and Steve was muttering pleas and inanities as Eddie continued to work him open.

“Please, Eddie!” he cried. “I need you!”

Eddie removed his fingers and lined himself up. He grabbed Steve’s hips and slipped right into him.

Soon it was an uncoordinated mess of Eddie fucking Steve and Steve working himself to get off.

“So close...” Steve whispered.

Eddie grabbed Steve’s hand and together they finished him off. His body arched off the bed as he released into the condom. He fell boneless, to the bed as Eddie chased his own completion.

Soon after he was releasing ribbon after ribbon into the condom. His hips shuttered and then stilled as the last of his orgasm floated through his system.

He pulled off Steve’s condom first and then his own, making sure to tie each off before throwing them away.

He cleaned them both up with a wet hand towel from the en suite bathroom and then tucked a sleepy Steve into the bed.

He crawled in behind him and pulled him in close. He kissed Steve’s shoulder and the man muttered back sleepily something that sounded a little too close to, “Love you, too,” for Eddie’s liking.

Not because he didn’t want Steve in love with him, but because he was half way there himself.

This boy was going to be trouble.

~

Steve absolutely doesn't remember saying those three little words the next day.

Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

Tag List: CLOSED

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6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @sticknpokelightningbolt

9- @scoops-aboy86 @kurofuckingshi16 @watermelonmite @eyehartart

[livwritesstuff]

It’s late in the day when Sam Owens first approaches Eddie.

Eddie is sitting in a lawn chair on the edge of Joyce and Hopper’s backyard in Hawkins, Indiana, and sort of trapped there ever since his and Steve's daughter Moe had dozed off in his lap a little while ago.

For the record, Eddie and Steve don’t live in Hawkins. They’d have to be insane to stick around after everything this hole of a town put them through, never mind willingly choose to raise a child there. No, Hopper had bullied them into making the trek home to celebrate Moe's first birthday (Jesus H. Christ, she's one) and by the looks of how crowded the yard is, he'd done the same to practically the entire rest of the Party too.

Eddie isn't actually trapped either. It's true that he doesn't really want to tempt fate by waking Moe up from a nap that he and Steve had sort of resigned themselves to skipping that day, but he could get up if he wanted to. He's a whole sap in his big age of thirty-six though, and extremely aware of how quickly Moe’s first year of life had flown by. He'd be a damn fool to not relish in these moments, when Moe is a baby still, when she's little enough to fall asleep in his lap like this.

So he's sitting and he's letting his mind wander down whatever rabbit-holes it ventures upon because he's not just a sap these days, he's getting retrospective too.

Twenty years after all the shit that went down in his Hawkins, Eddie considers himself a secondary character in it all (even though it hadn’t felt like it at the time – that’s for fucking sure). 

Honestly, he'd really only been involved in about five days out of several years of that shit – not in the know yet for the first part, and unconscious for the end of it – secondary character stuff, in Eddie’s opinion (and as a two-time published novelist, he’d be the one to know).

It's probably for the best, to be honest. He barely survived even the secondary stuff — with a mostly-full picture of everything that happened over those three years he feels pretty positive that if he’d gone through anything more he wouldn’t have been so lucky. 

And these days, in July of 2002, he’s feeling pretty lucky too. 

“Doc,” Eddie nods as Owens takes the empty chair beside his own.

Owens is another one of these secondary characters in everything. Owens is…Eddie isn’t sure who Owens is, to be honest. A doctor in some capacity, he's fairly certain, and also a scientist too in some capacity given how he’s still in Hawkins doing research on all that shit — and he roped Dustin into it too (though as far as Eddie can tell, Dustin is a more-than willing victim in it and goddamn thrilled to be taking over his work someday too).

Someday soon, Eddie would wager, because Owens is well and truly reaching retirement age – he probably should have retired already, honestly, but Eddie can also sort of see why it might be difficult to step away from the kind of work he’s spent his life doing.

“Mr. Munson,” Owens greets him in return. Eddie watches his eyes flick down to Moe for a moment, “Or is it Pops these days?”

“That’s Steve, actually,” he replies, tipping his head in the direction of Steve, who’s standing at the grill with Hop (they’re listening to Dustin ramble about something and wearing matching beleaguered expressions).

Owens seems to understand the implication, because his only response is another one of those wry smiles and an exhaled laugh.

“Well, congratulations either way. I was very happy for you when I heard the news about the adoption.”

“Still keeping tabs on us after all these years?” Eddie asks, mostly joking because he knows the answer is yes. He knows they’ll have eyes on them for the rest of their lives for one reason or another (which he’s nearly made his peace with by now).

“Well, old habits die hard,” Owens replies somewhat tiredly, “Or something to that effect.”

Eddie doesn't really have anything to say in response, so he opts to say nothing, instead running a hand over Moe's hair — it's getting long these days, not quite long enough to style yet but long enough that she shakes her head to get it out of her eyes and knocks herself off-balance which is so so cute.

“I’ll admit," Owens continues after a while, "When I first met you, this isn’t where I thought you’d end up.”

“Yeah, you and me both, Doc," he laughs, because it's true.

“What I mean to say," he pauses, "It suits you.”

Moe chose that moment to finally stir, snuffling a bit as she lifts her head and looks at him with those beautiful brown eyes of hers.

"Good nap, bug?" he asks quietly.

She responds with a bleary, "Dada" (which she had only just started saying a few weeks ago and it goddamn kills Eddie every single time) as she nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder.

He hears Owens let out a soft chuckle.

“You’re really milking this, bug," Eddie says as presses a kiss onto the top of her head, "I think he gets it.”

[venus-haze]

Secret Identity!Homelander x Reader Headcanons

Note: Gender neutral but mildly fem-coded reader, and no descriptors are used. This is inspired by the throwaway line from season 1 where Homelander mentions having a secret identity, but not keeping it for long, so I imagine it’d have been in the 2000s when he was in his 20s. My brain really latched onto the idea, and this is the result. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Warnings: Voyeurism, relationship under false pretenses, obsessive and disturbing behavior. Do not interact if you're under 18.

• Your new neighbor moves into the apartment next door seemingly overnight, but luckily you have a box of brownie mix and some powdered sugar tucked away in your cupboard and decide to make some as a ‘welcome to the building’ gesture

• His name is John, and he apologizes in advance if he wakes you up with his coming and going since he works odd, inconsistent hours as a crime reporter for a small, independent newspaper

• You notice the Indiana University logo embroidered on his sweatshirt and cheerfully say, “Hey, you’re a Hoosier! I’m sure you’re already working on your March Madness bracket.” He nods along as if he understands what the fuck you’re talking about. The two of you continue small talk until you make your leave back to your place. He goes to his computer, groaning at his choice of Indiana as his home state when he doesn’t know anything about basketball, let alone March Madness and brackets

• Over the next week or so, he realizes just how unprepared he is for living on his own, but luck’s on his side, because he hardly has to worry about doing much cooking or cleaning himself when you’re constantly inviting him over for dinner and offering to bring his clothes over to the laundromat with yours since you “know he’s so busy with work”

• Sometimes he has trouble keeping his backstory straight, though he is at least able to bullshit his way through your questions about college and basketball. That doesn’t faze you at first, as he keeps you enraptured with his inside scoop on crime in the city. You’re none the wiser as to how he knows the intimate details of some of the cases, under the impression that he’s just a great reporter

• He keeps tabs on you from afar, Homelander doing quick fly-bys of the area where you work just to make sure everything’s okay. He was raised to be a hero, after all. When you’re alone in your apartment, however, he has no shame in looking through your walls and listening in on what you’re up to. He knows everything about you, the type of music you listen to, the TV shows you watch, the food you go for when you wake up for a midnight snack, that you call your best friend every Thursday night at nine, no detail is too minute for him

• One evening, he decides to take a closer look at your place while you’re in the shower, until he looks through the bathroom wall and feels his mouth go dry at the sight of you. He slips his hand down his pants, and, well, what you don’t know won’t hurt you. It becomes a habit, his guilty pleasure of getting himself off whenever you’re naked in your apartment

• To you, though, he’s still your hot neighbor-friend John, who your coworkers have been pestering you to make a move on, telling you that it sounds like he’s straight from a Hallmark movie. You’re reluctant, but you start to consider something with John when you mention wanting to get rid of some of your older, worn-out furniture and buy new stuff and lament having to pay a company to move. He volunteers to help you during the weekend

• It’s almost funny how he pretends to struggle to move the furniture when he could rearrange your entire apartment without breaking a sweat. He seems to be a good actor, though, because he notices your forehead creased with worry as you watch him move a couch himself. He likes your eyes on him for a change, and though he flexes his muscles every chance he gets, the concern awakens something in him. It’s nothing less than calculated when he “accidentally” drops the couch, pretending to hurt his arm in the process

• You’re frantic as you rush to his side to inspect the damage. Of course there’s no bruising, a truck would have to land on him for that to happen. Still, you gingerly touch his arm and he pretends to hiss in pain. You disappear into the kitchen, only to return with a bag of frozen vegetables in your hand and guilt etched across your features

• “John, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” you ask, brushing his hair from his face, and it takes everything in him not to lean into your touch as he assures you he’ll be fine. The furniture moving project is over for the night, and you order a pizza and let him pick a movie to watch. Your movie collection is almost foreign to him, having been raised on a carefully curated selection of propaganda and clean American classics. He picks Dirty Dancing on a whim, and it proves to be a good choice as you gush over how much you love the movie

• For the first time in his life, he indulges in greasy junk food and cheesy movies, feeling that pang in his heart again as he watches the romance unfold on screen, the one weakness he could never quite get over, loneliness. He notices how as the movie progresses, you end up curled up against him. He furrows his eyebrows, wondering to himself if it’s actually a date all along, and from the way you keep glancing at his lips, only to bashfully look away when he catches you staring confirms that

• He can hear your erratic heartbeat and decides to just go for it, stealing a kiss from you in the middle of the movie. From then on, you’re dating, and suddenly this persona of his becomes far more complicated than he anticipated. You make him happier than he’s ever been in his life. He wants to keep you incredibly close, both of your respective free time consumed by each other, even while he’s Homelander, unbeknownst to you

• John may as well be your dream boyfriend in the beginning of your relationship, attentive and romantic, bringing you to a nearby park on your first official date for a picnic and to try the famous Dirty Dancing lift scene. “Let’s at least try!” he insists. “I’ll catch you.” Despite your hesitations since he’d hurt his arm moving your furniture just a few days ago, he catches you with an almost unbelievable ease on the first try, to your delight. “I’ve always wanted to do that!” you laugh as he sets you down, pulling him in for a kiss

• He buys you elaborate floral bouquets and increasingly expensive gifts, to the point where you wonder how the hell he has that kind of money as a reporter unless he gets paid off by the same criminals he’s supposed to be reporting on. Sometimes he’s troublingly jealous or says things that unsettle you, but you assume it’s because of the line of work he’s in, being exposed to the worst of people. Besides, whenever you get even the slightest bit nervous by his words or actions, he seems to know just when to swoop in and calm you down

• Definitely has no concept of personal space or normal sleep schedules. You’re the first non-Vought affiliated person he’s ever had any kind of relationship with. It’s intense and things move pretty fast, like "I love you on the third date" fast. He idealizes you a lot. Emotionally you’re stretched thin by having to fill the role of lover, parent, best friend, confidant silly rabbit

• Date nights at your place are comforting and domestic, but going out is always an adventure with him. His lack of knowledge of generally getting around New York is downright strange since he reports on crimes all over the city. Not to mention, people do double-takes when they see him, as if they recognize him from somewhere but then figure otherwise. It happens way too often to be a coincidence, though

• Sex with John can also be unpredictable, passionate and loving to intense and almost painful. He’s into some weird stuff and doesn’t have the best etiquette when it comes to his kinks. Not to mention his stamina is almost inhuman, and when you comment as much after he fucks you the fourth time in under two hours, his response is strange, to say the least. You chalk it up to years of sexual repression that he maybe didn't get out during his college years

• Still, he supports and adores you, so you can deal with the frustration and emotional exhaustion when he knocks on your door at eleven at night, letting out a dramatic sigh as he flops on your couch and you take the cue to ask him how his day was. You know there’s something he’s keeping from you, but you decide not to push it. He’s just as interested in your everyday life, hell, he wants you to bother him with the mundane stuff. That’s what boyfriends are for, anyway. You have no idea of what his true identity is, yet you still love him 

• It can’t last forever, though, because you work late one evening, so he decides to check up on you, just to be safe. The scene he descends on is almost too perfect, the type of scenario he’d seen played out in the Vought-branded Payback cartoons he watched growing up. Still, seeing the man so much as pointing the knife in your direction as he demands you hand over your money and valuables almost makes Homelander lose control

• He lands in between you and the man, who takes a nervous step back. “Not so brave now, huh, buddy?” Homelander scoffs, grabbing the man’s wrist and snapping it, the knife falling to the ground as he screams in pain, clutching his broken wrist

• The situation becomes even more nightmarish as you watch America’s fresh-faced hero push your attempted assailant onto his knees, a cruel gleam in his eyes and sneer on his lips as he grabs the man’s head and twists. You can’t bare to watch, gagging when you hear a distinct snap followed by the crunching of bones

• Homelander turns to you, taking you into his arms for what’s supposed to be a comforting embrace, “It’s alright now. You’re safe with me, babe” 

• Your brain pretty much short circuits as you realize your boyfriend John is actually the most powerful superhero who ever lived, and you just witnessed him break a man’s neck like it was a toothpick

• Naturally, you pass out, right into his blood-covered hands. He presses a kiss to your forehead and takes off for Vought Tower. No need to pretend anymore, right?

[stevesgother]

Savior Complex - S.H

Paring - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC - 1.9k

Warnings - Blood. Mention of vomit. Partial nudity. Let me know if I missed anything!

Authors note - This is my first fic...ever. Constructive criticism always welcome but pls be nice. Takes place directly after the events of S3. Hurt/comfort, angst, acknowledging Steve’s trauma bc damn.

Summary: ANGST, hurt/comfort, happy ending but not a lot of resolution, friends to ? lovers? idk its up to you!

Inspired by my favorite poem of all time, that has always reminded me a little bit of Steve.

“In this space right here that we have made for each other, you can say anything and I will not abandon you. Unwrap the worst things you have done. Watch me hold them up to the light and not even flinch”

The air inside Steve’s car was heavy with tension and the thick July heat.

You sat parked in his driveway, the rest of The Party having dispersed to their own homes; their parents waiting for them with open arms and misty eyes. 

Not you. 

And Certainly not Steve Harrington.

You and Steve weren’t what you would call “close”. Until now, that is. Shared trauma tends to have that effect. He knew you had a tumultuous relationship with your parents, and it didn’t take much deducing to realize his parents weren’t in the picture. Barely in Indiana, let alone spending anything close to quality time with their only son.

The idea of spending the last few hours of this nightmarishly long day in his big, empty house was sounding lovelier by the minute. On the grounds that it ‘wasn’t safe to be alone right now’. You didn’t read too much into it; he was right, after all. Part of you wonders if he just didn’t want to be alone. Sluggish, and noticeably more bloodied than you, Steve made his way to the front door with you in tow. His house was silent; eerily so. Everything pristine and well manicured, as if no one lived there at all. 

“There’s a guest bedroom upstairs, and a bathroom down the hall, to the right. Towels in the cabinet next to the shower.” He doesn’t even look at you as he says it. You try not to feel like you’re burdening him, blaming his avoidance on the exhaustion and not the unwelcome presence of you in his home.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” He finally meets your gaze. The shiner he sports on his left eye is still swollen, but less so. The front of his sailor suit you once thought so endearing, is now stained with blood and vomit.

“You’re bleeding.” You say quietly. “You have -” you wince, “- open wounds on your face Steve. Probably a concussion too and that’s if we’re being modest.”

He wears a tight-lipped expression you can’t quite read. You can tell he’s frustrated, and his exhaustion is bone deep. It nags at your heart. Maybe that’s why you don’t just drop it when he answers you.

“Not my first rodeo, I’ll be fine just-” He pauses, “go shower, and get some rest. God knows this shit won’t just be over come tomorrow.”

You take a tentative step forward. “Please just…just let me help. I can disinfect the cuts around your eye. I was a girl scout! Though in hindsight I realize how useless that sounds and-” you’re rambling now; nervous.

“Stop.” You’re taken aback slightly by his tone, you haven’t known Steve to act hostile. Not in a long time. “I don’t need your help, and I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not ‘pity’ Steve! Why is it so hard for you to believe someone might want to help you?” You take a step forward from where you stand a few feet from him. You reach up to touch his forehead with the hope of better assessing his injuries.

‘Enough!” He swats your hand away, “God, I should’ve never offered for you to stay here. You think you’re some type of savior, but you’re not.”

His words feel like a knife to the chest. You knew what he was trying to do, you knew he didn’t really mean the things he said. Not when he’s like this. For the first time since you arrived tonight, you thought of how many times he’s had to come back to this empty, soulless house all alone. Damaged, emotionally and physically. Wounds he’s had to patch alone. No gentle caress of another’s hands. Just the stinging of antiseptic in his nostrils, and the heaviness of everyone he’s ever loved abandoning him.

“You don’t mean that.” You say, shaking your head in a disbelieving way.

He laughs, humorless, “Yes I do. I really, really do.” A bitter sharpness to his words. It burns like liquor washing down your throat. “Go.” 

“No!” Now you’re the one raising your voice. “Being stubborn is for when someone is haggling you at a flea market. Not when someone is trying to love you.”

Love. You realize what you’ve said a beat too late, but you stand defiant despite it. You do love Steve. This fact, collecting cobwebs in the back of your brain for months, being spat out onto the floor in front of you both is what compels you to what you do next.

Steve, who was previously standing with this index finger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose, is now staring at you like a deer in headlights. Before either of you can blink, you’re closing the gap between the two of you, sure of yourself. You wrap him in a suffocating embrace and he struggles against your grip.

“Stop! Please I don’t need you-” He all but shouts. Still, you sense a dent in the armor.  A crack in the wall he’s spent so long building to keep you out; to keep everyone out.

Eventually, he stops struggling. His knees give out from underneath him as the trauma and the pain and the events of today catch up to him. But not just today; a year ago when his girlfriend broke his heart at Tina’s stupid party. When Michael Harrington cut him off on the grounds of him being a disgrace to the family name. Everything flooding back to him all at once. Everything he’s spent his youth avoiding.

You sink to the ground with him, still holding him tight. He stops making an effort to hide his sobs, but instead clings to you like you’re the only tangible thing keeping him here. You sit beside him, with one arm wrapped around his shoulders and your free hand cradling his head to his chest so he can hear your heartbeat. A heart that finally beats for him.

“I know.” You soothe. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.” The hair you’re gently stroking, which is usually so voluminous and perfectly styled, is now dampened with blood and sweat.

“I’m sorry-” He sobs, “I'm so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t want you to be sorry. I’m not sorry.” 

He cries harder at that. Shoulders shaking and breath shallow, he looks at you. You cradle his sweet, bruised face in your hands. You think, like a pomegranate, Steve Harrington is beautiful, and worth the mess. Wiping his tears with your thumbs and careful to avoid the cuts and swelling that decorate his face, you give him a smile. Shy, but earnest.

“Can you take me to bed?” He asks you, eyes bleary.

–

Neither of you speak as you turn on the faucet and watch the porcelain tub fill with scalding hot water; still not hot enough to wash away the memories this day has tainted you both with forever. Tentatively, you lift your shirt over your head, and slip your shorts down your scraped legs, revealing your mismatched bra and underwear. A pang of guilt washes over you when you look down and realize Steve took the brunt of the Russian soldiers. He was the bravest and most selfless person you had ever met.

You give him a look that asks “is this okay?” as your fingertips brush the cotton of his ruined Scoops uniform. You aren’t sure what the boundaries are anymore. Momentarily Steve worries this will irreparably change things between you two. He nods anyway. You lift the shirt over his head, catching a glimpse at the real extent of his injuries. His ribs were badly bruised, and he had clotting cuts all over his abdomen. Something swirls in your stomach at the sight of his chest hair. You wish the circumstances of this moment were different.

He pulls his own pants and socks down with a hiss, eyes screwed shut, leaving you both in just your undergarments. He steps into the tub and slowly sinks beneath the hot water. You step in behind him, and he looks over his shoulder at you, a look of confusion contorting his features. You don’t bother to explain, for the fear that speaking would break the trance you both seemingly were under. You had built a space here for each other, one you didn’t want to leave just yet.

Sitting behind him now, you wrap your arms around his chest and pull him flush to you. You rest your chin in the space between his shoulder and his neck, and close your eyes. You can feel how he tries to match his breathing to yours; slow and rhythmic.

You reach up to the hanging shelf on the wall above your head, and grab the cedar and sandalwood body wash. The second you open the bottle, your senses are flooded with him. Only in your wildest dreams did you think you’d ever get to smell his scent in any way other than passing. A slight brush of shoulders in the hallway; a friendly hug when you’d gotten back from a month long vacation.

With a dollop of body wash on a washcloth you found on the edge of the tub, you gently start to scrub the blood and grime off his freckled skin. Like this, you can see every birthmark, every scar, the way the hair at the nape of his neck curls up around his ears in the damp bathroom air.

Steve rests his calloused hand on your knee and squeezes. A silent reassurance that what you’re doing is okay, that he’s okay, that he’s here. Everything feels overwhelmingly intimate as your hands explore his body. You lather his thick, brown locks with the shampoo you found next to the soap. With a heavy sigh, Steve allows his head to fall back into the crook of your neck. He doesn’t tell you, but this is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for him.

You’re not sure how long the two of you sit in the tub together, but at some point he turns to face you, cupping your jaw in his larger hand. The look he gives you is so tender, you think you might cry. His caramel eyes flicker to your lips and back up to your eyes, so fast you would’ve missed it if your senses weren’t dialed up to 11.

With the delicacy of someone touching a flower petal, he closes the gap and presses his cut lips to your soft ones. Hesitant at first, giving you the option to pull away. He fears he may have misread the moment when you separate from him, a look in your eyes that he can’t read. His worry dissipates as you take his face into both of your hands and kiss him deep and slow. You only break when the air feels too stiff to continue, the water droplets accumulating in the air and Steve's kiss making it difficult to catch your breath. His hands slide from where they were grasping your hair, and down to your neck where they stay.

“I love you, too.”

[loveinhawkins]

There isn’t a strike of lightning, no grand epiphany that clues Steve in.

It just comes down to this: he knows Dustin Henderson.

Knows how he looks when confronted with a problem he desperately wants to solve.

“Fuck this,” he’s saying through gritted teeth, pushing down hard on the gaping wound across Steve’s abdomen; he’s doing everything right, Steve thinks with pride, but it’s not enough.

It’s not his fault.

Steve says as much.

But Dustin isn’t listening; he’s just muttering to himself, “Not again,” over and over.

And Steve suddenly feels like he did when dropping the quarter into The Indiana Flyer—the moment just before the song played, already knowing what he would hear.

“Not again?” Steve asks very quietly.

Dustin’s mouth snaps shut. His face is chalk white, and there’s more than just fear in his eyes; there’s guilt too, guilt and a responsibility he should never have to bear.

Steve wants to take it from him.

He lifts his hand, grunting with the effort, and ruffles Dustin’s hair. “Oh, bud,” he murmurs, “you’ve kept trying, huh?”

Dustin’s eyes fill with tears.

Steve tries to hush him, breathing turning shallow from the pain.

“Hey, you—you’ve g-gotta hand it to me, man,” Steve says through a faint smile. “Was… on the right track, y’know? O-obsessed with clocks.”

Dustin gasps out a laugh. It ends on a sob.

“Shut up,” he says, and that’s all—no clever comeback, nothing, even though he always has one.

Steve’s heart breaks for him.

“How many times?” Steve says, but he doesn’t need a reply; he knows enough just from the way Dustin is shaking.

“I—” Dustin swallows, shakes his head. “I don’t…” Oh, Steve thinks, his kid is tired.

“C’mere.” He cups the back of Dustin’s head. “Everyone… everyone else make it?”

Dustin starts to cry.

It’s an answer of its own.

“Shh. Hey. That’s… you can stop now.” Steve pats the back of Dustin’s hand, stills the pressure on his wound. “Listen. Just… just let it run this time. Hey, it’s okay, Dustin. It’s okay.”

“It’s n-not okay, Steve, how can you—”

“Shh,” Steve says again, and maybe this is as much for him as it is for Dustin; he doesn’t want their last conversation to be a fight. He looks into Dustin’s eyes. Smiles. “Christ, I’m so proud of you.”

It doesn’t cover everything he wants to say; there’s not enough time.

I loved growing up with you. I’m sorry. I wanted to be there for you forever.

“Fuck you,” Dustin says, young and angry and so afraid. “Don’t say you’re proud of me, asshole, just don’t��”

Don’t go.

“Okay, fine. You’re a smartass,” Steve drawls, and Dustin lets out a choked giggle before grief takes over again.

“God,” he says, “this isn’t fucking fair. I sh-shouldn’t have to choose—this is—”

“Bullshit,” Steve agrees. “That’s not on you, man. Not your fault if the game’s rigged.”

Dustin closes his eyes.

It’s not so bad, Steve tells himself. He can just… rest for a couple seconds, tell Dustin to get outta here, then…

A faint chime.

Dustin’s eyes open. There’s a sudden gleam to them, shining through the fatigue. Determination.

Hope, despite everything.

“Well then,” Dustin says, “s’a good thing I’m a smartass.”

And then he’s running.

Steve manages to lift his head up with a cry, gets to see Dustin reach a grandfather clock ensnared with vines, because of course he’s not gonna listen to him, he’s such a little shit, and Steve loves him so much—

Dustin reaches up to the glass in front of the clock face, smashes it with his hand.

The world turns white.

The last thing Steve sees is Dustin turning to him with a shaky grin, mouthing, “One more.”

And Steve’s still terrified, but he also thinks of the world’s most stubborn, brilliant kid with a wonky compass, of how many times do I have to be right on the money before you guys just trust me?

It’s a walk along the railroad tracks, stumbling into each other’s lives; it’s just get ready, and you die, I die; it’s being trapped under Starcourt, and Steve left with the one thing that all the drugs, all the pain in the world could not take away from him.

The absolute faith that Dustin would figure something out.

[coco-loco-nut]

Touchdown

pairing: logan x reader

summary: Logan finally gets the college experience through his girlfriend

masterlist requests open

—————————————

The cool autumn breeze greets you as you exit your class. With a shiver, you wish that you grabbed the jacket like Logan suggested. In your defense, the sun was going down at 4pm now, and it was warmer when you left for your class.

“How was class?” Logan asks from your couch as you walk into your house.

“Boring, stupidest requirement ever,” you groan, heading up the stairs to your room. Logan has taken over the house you rent with your friends, and somehow they love him being here.

Since he got dropped from Williams, he kicked around the idea of staying with you rather than going back and forth between Florida and you.

You change into pajama pants and an old Purdue hoodie that you got on a visit during your senior year of high school. As you head back down the stairs with your laptop, you see Logan looking at you from the couch with a smile.

“How was your trip to Ohio?” You ask as you take a seat beside him. He got back from the Meyer Shank Racing headquarters on your way out the door, so you didn’t have a chance to ask earlier.

“It was good. If they bring me on you might have to transfer to Ohio State,” Logan pulls you close, burying his head into your shoulder. You immediately lean away in disgust. The only thing worse would be suggesting you transfer to Indiana.

“Don’t ever say that again,” your voice is firm as Logan raises his hands in defense.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles, pulling you back close to him.

“I will take back your ticket for Saturday,” you threaten, not letting him soothe the bristles. He loves how stubborn you are though, calls it part of your charm.

“Mhmm, who else will be there to listen to you complain about poor coaching decisions?”

“Lo, the team is one and eight. That one win came from an FCS team. Plenty of people in the stadium would love to complain with me,” you snort.

“See, I’m going because I love you. Should I show up in Penn State gear? Start a ‘We Are’ chant? Make myself look better for the fans?” Logan’s shit-eating grin somehow makes you smile despite part of you wanting to roll your eyes.

“Shut up,” you laugh, gently shoving him. “But yeah, you may want to do that. The chances of us winning against a playoff team is highly unlikely,”

“I’ll see what I can do then,” Logan kisses the side of your head as you open your laptop. “I’ll make dinner while you work on that,”

“Thanks, Lo,” you smile, watching him walk to your kitchen.

As much as you hate to admit it, a small part of you is happy that Logan was dropped. Every part of you wants him to succeed and be happy, but you cannot deny that is nice having him in America and close more than when he was with Williams. Even if it means him going to Ohio every once in a while for a test drive, you are happy.

Logan won’t admit it out loud either, but he loves the change of pace. He really hated the end of his time with Williams, and the fans were kind of right about his frat energy. He loves living college life through you and your roommates, and he likes that his talents can still be utilized through Indycar.

He peeks around the corner, watching as you concentrate on a math problem. The way you bite your lip, run a hand through your hair as you rack your brain for the right formula, he wouldn’t trade these small moments for anything.

Logan dutifully buys you food and hot chocolate at the game as you hold your seats with the girls. He did wear one of your hoodies, but jokingly joined a nearby tailgate of Penn State fans just to antagonize you. You found it funny, or else it is a break up worthy offense in your book. You don’t mess around your sports fandoms.

“Let’s go!” Logan cheers, turning to look at you. Your face has a mix of disbelief, but also disappointment in your expression. “Why aren’t you cheering, they scored a touchdown?”

“It’s double lined,” you groan, angered at the field design. “He was outside the end zone, the pylon marking the corner was right in front of him when he caught the ball,” you aren’t surprised that the situation is happening, but you didn’t expect it to be so silly.

“That’s so stupid,” Logan pouts for you, watching as the team kicks a field goal instead.

“At least it isn’t a shutout now,” you sigh.

“What’s worse, watching a tractor of a Williams or that team?” Logan asks as you leave, ready to hit the bars to drown the pain of staying the entire game.

“Williams, but only because I had to watch you suffer,” you lean into him, your friends having abandoned you in the middle of the second quarter.

“Well, I’m glad your suffering is over,” Logan chuckles, helping you expertly navigate the crowd.

“I’m really excited for your test drive. Your seat fitting made everything more real,” you smoothly change the topic.

“One step at a time,” Logan plays it down as you head to Harry’s. Luckily for you, you know a bartender well who happens to also be a huge motorsport fan. Every time you bring Logan with you, you immediately get in without paying cover.

“Y/n, come here,” Luke calls out as you pretend to not see him.

“Hey! Are the girls inside?” you ask, knowing he has a crush on your roommate. You and Logan are taking bets on when they get together or hook up.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Luke lets you in, both of you getting engulfed by the crowd as you find the table your roommates are at.

“I’ll get drinks, go ahead and order us food,” Logan says as you reach the table, going back into the crowd.

“How was the rest of the game?” Millie asks, sipping her almost empty cup.

“Cold and miserable,” you plop into one of the two saved seats.

“Maybe next week against Michigan State?” Lainey tries to add hope.

“We couldn’t even beat Northwestern, it’s time to turn our focus to basketball,” Valerie counters.

“We should’ve left when you did,” you sigh.

“It could be worse, you could be home sick like Kristen is,” Millie offers.

“True, should we bring her back some food?” you ask, looking at the menu despite knowing what you will order.

“Already ordered soup on Doordash for her,”

“Thanks Val, I’ll pay you back since it was my turn,” you pull up Venmo. You take turns doordashing food for each other when sick, a silly tradition you started as Freshmen.

You discuss the upcoming season for basketball until Logan returns.

“Perfect timing, the waitress is walking over now,” you smile, handing him the menu as you take your drink.

“To forgetting today’s game,” Lainey toasts once the waitress is gone, earning a round of cheers from your table.

As you continue drinking, the air feels light with laughter. Logan’s arm around your chair, you leaning into him, and the voices of your roommates ringing out as they playfully argue. Logan joins in, adding to what he thinks the best Barbie movie is.

That’s how you all find yourselves stumbling home, curling up in the living room, and watching what was decided as the best one.

“You guys are so loud,” Kristen groans from the couch, sounding very congested.

“Sorry K,” Millie practically yells, causing everyone to wince.

Logan leaves relatively early the next morning to fly out to California for his test, making sure there is coffee brewed to help your hangovers.

“You know, I’ve always been against boyfriends as an extra roommate, but I think Logan’s an exception,” Valerie says as she nurses her coffee.

“He said he’d help with the Christmas party,” Lainey adds, earning a nod of approval from Valerie.

“I’m glad you guys approve, it’s been hard with him being dropped,” you admit.

Logan has been living for the college life. He joins in on girls nights when invited, eagerly joining in on gossip and buying wine. He even wears face masks sometimes.

One day after Thanksgiving, you all return from classes to find the house decorated, even a tree in the living room.

“What the hell?” you ask, shocked at the decorations. Logan appears from the kitchen, a santa hat on his head as he carries a box of lights.

“I’m about to hang these on the porch, butter for tonight is set out,” Logan smiles, walking past your group.

“If you don’t marry him I will,” Kristen says, dropping her backpack.

“Ditto,” Lainey laughs.

“Shush,” you blush, heading to the kitchen to see the recipe cards pulled out as well as most of the ingredients you need for your cookie baking night.

The small things like that continue throughout the spring semester, so much so that the girls insist that he joins in one of your graduation pictures. Logan offers to use his connections to get you a job, but you refuse. You want to try different sectors and apply to them before utilizing his motorsport contacts.

“Congratulations,” Logan kisses you once he finds you and the girls.

“Thanks, Lo” you smile, full of pride.

He meets you and your parents back at the house the next day, a pang of sadness hitting both of you.

The house feels empty. You have been packing and moving boxes all week, preparing for graduation and moving on from Purdue. Only the essentials remain, a stark contrast from how Logan first came to know you and your roommates. For you and the girls, it’s the end of an era. You are all going your separate ways, spreading across the country.

“I’m going to miss this place,” Logan says, holding a box of your things. He stands beside you on the porch, looking inside. There is no sign that anyone actively lives in it other than a couple lights on and a fan running.

“Me too. I can’t wait to spend the summer following you though,” you smile, shifting the weight of a box in your arms.

“We will come back soon. Maybe Purdue will have a winning football record this year,” Logan says, eliciting a snort from you.

“Doubt it.”

[wild-walking]

Despite detesting love is blind, I’ve been thinking of a steddie au set within the show with a lot of extra pairings:

Steve and Robin are platonic soulmates who both decide to apply despite Robin being a lesbian. They mainly just want a vacation and figure why not get lavender married at the end of it. Though, of course, if Steve does fall in love with someone he should follow his heart.

They are both chosen for an Indianapolis season (or maybe Chicago, I don’t necessarily want to force them to stay in Indiana) along with Eddie, Jonathan, Argyle, Dustin, Lucas, Tommy, Jason, Dan on the men’s side and Nancy, Barb, Chrissy, Vickie, Suzie, Max, El, Tammy, Carol on the women’s side. Plus whichever unimportant extra characters to just fill however many pods they start out with.

Steve immediately thinks Nancy is the one. He’s still seeing Robin regularly but they do a lot of talking about how hard his decision is between the two of them and the producers think they’re really strange.

Steve is also often chatting with Dustin and Lucas who he has taken under his wing and Eddie who the other boys really like but Steve just doesn’t understand.

Robin is struggling quite a bit with her decision to enter this. Sure, any of these ladies could be bi or secretly a lesbian, like her, but she can’t outright ask them when they’re supposed to be here to find their male soulmate. She’s often in groups chatting with Vickie, Barb, Nancy, and Chrissy, pining as Vickie starts to fall for Dan.

The producers expect Nancy and Robin to be really catty, but Robin just keeps talking about what an amazing guys Steve is to Nancy and how any girl would be lucky to have him.

Nancy is struggling between Steve and Jonathan. Steve is definitely a solid choice, but would he challenge her, would he excite her? She isn’t sure. Jonathan feels different. Like he gets the parts of her she has to hide.

When Steve proposes to Nancy, she ends up saying maybe a tad more of what’s on her mind than she would’ve said if she could actually see Steve’s face, basically coming to the conclusion that she’s rather be with Jonathan directly in front of him.

Steve comes back to the men’s living area and Dustin and Lucas are both on dates. Eddie is sitting there and can clearly tell something has gone wrong. He makes Steve sit with him and tell him everything and is very supportive of Steve, making it clear that he shouldn’t let what Nancy say get to his head. Something in this just clicks for Steve and he gets why Dustin and Lucas both like hanging around with Eddie.

Eddie meanwhile has been dating Chrissy, who has also been dating Jason. Jason is an ass though which is slowly revealed and Chrissy decides she wants to go for the guy who makes her laugh but maybe isn’t who her parents pictured her with based on everything she’s learned about Eddie.

Eddie also hangs out quite often with Jonathan and Argyle and he thinks Steve got screwed over by the show’s premise. Who in their right mind would pick Jonathan over Steve? Like Jonathan is a good guy, but Steve is so nice and a complete smoke show.

The couples who end up moving to the next stage are Steve & Robin, Eddie & Chrissy, Jonathan & Nancy, Dan & Vickie, Dustin & Suzie, Lucas & Max, and Tommy & Carol.

When Steve and Robin are revealed to each other, Robin puts on her most theater club energy performance to give Steve a huge stage kiss. Steve can’t help but laugh through it, glad to be reunited with Robin in person.

Okay there’s more to this, but I didn’t realize how long this would get. Part 2 coming soon!

[naughtystiel]

It wasn’t raining.

For some reason whenever Dean thought of this day, he imagined the sky to be covered with heavy dark clouds. Clearly this wasn’t the case. Instead, everything seemed so lively. Spring brought chirping birds, vividly coloured flowers began to bloom and the sun shone brightly high in the sky. The few people gathered around wore light jackets so it really had to be a beautiful day. He wished he could feel the warmth on his skin too.

A priest stood on the opposite end of the deep hole and Dean grimaced. He had never been a religious man and he wasn’t going to listen to anything that was coming out of the priest’s mouth now either. Meandering between people, he walked further away. Yeah, Lord have mercy and rest in peace o’wayward son.

So, where did he go from here?

“Hello.” Somebody said next to him, but Dean didn’t even bother to look. They weren’t talking to him anyway. They couldn’t be. With arms loosely crossed over his chest, he looked skywards. It was a beautiful day.

“Dean?”

Dean looked to the side, an eyebrow raised. A man in his thirties observed him, hands tucked in his dress pants. “How do you know my name? Do I know you?”

The man nodded his chin towards the priest, “Heard him mention a Dean, so I’m guessing that must be you. Nice suit.” He smiled and Dean looked down at his outfit. Suits weren’t exactly his thing, but he didn’t really think to make a will and they shoved him in this. Did they even bury people in plaids? Probably.

“That would be me, indeed.” Dean tilted his head to the side and scanned the graveyard. Interesting. “Are you dead too? I guess you gotta be.”

The man hummed, “Mmm, you could say so.”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows. Was that a yes or a no? “So, is it just you and me or is anybody else here with us?”

“Nah, they moved on.”

“And you?"

“In the process.”

“I see.”

They both stood in silence, watching the ceremony. A few roses got dropped into the hole. A nice gesture, but it was a waste of money. They could at least put it on top once the casket was actually covered with dirt.

Low rumble disrupted the quiet. “How are you feeling?”

Dean splayed his arms and shrugged. “I mean, I’m dead. I don’t really know.”

The man turned his head towards Dean. “Okay, lemme ask you this - what’s on your mind? Anything particular?”

Now that was a good question. Nothing. A lot. First thing that came to mind was that he wouldn’t be able to see that new Indiana Jones movie he was so looking forward to. But that was just stupid, wasn’t it? Shouldn’t he be thinking of his regrets? Unfinished business? “I wish I could feel the sun on my cheeks.”

“Ah, that I can agree with. The sunset kind. Not too sharp, soft like a gentle veil that droops over your face.” The man gave him a small smile and Dean nodded.

“You see that tall guy there? The tallest of them all. My brother. Last time I saw him we argued.” Dean sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I guess it kinda bothers me that this is how he’s gonna remember me now.”

“Probably not. Usually when a person dies you remember the good things. Unless of course the bad outweighed the good which I don’t think is the case here.” The man scuffed the tip of his polished shoe in the dirt. “Grieving is complicated, it messes with your head. I bet you heard about how it usually progresses but personally I think it’s more like jumping back and forth between the steps. It does pass though.”

“That supposed to make me feel better?”

The man shrugged, his dark lock tousled by gentle breeze. He kept his gaze down, chewing on his bottom lip. “Only stating the facts. Anything else bothering you?”

just a snippet of "the art of moving on" which i might work on more in the future. and if i do, it wont be very long but i think itd be worth exploring :)

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

@steddieangstyaugust Day 14 - Wordy Wednesday: Lake

i’m challenging myself to keep all these at either 127 or 1,270 words each, see day one for more of an explanation!

The last time Eddie visits his Uncle Wayne, he meets a mermaid.

He’d gone under the water to fish up a bright coral pink rock he’d spotted from above, and happened to glance up, looking out into the lake from under the surface, only to meet a pale face dotted with what looked like freckles.

Inhaling the clear lake water, sputtering as he stands, the pale face joins him above the surface.

“He–” another cough, “Hello…?” he greets, questioningly.

The face only studies him further, looking him over from head to toe. 

Eddie squats back down into the water, it’s much colder above the surface now that he’s used to the water’s chilly temperature.

A bright shimmering blue tail skims past his knee.

“Wow! You’re a mermaid!” he says, astonished, finally noticing the rest of the boy’s freckled torso just under the crystal clear water. “I’m Eddie, what’s your name?”

“Eee–” the boy frowns, “Eeadding?”

Eddie points to his chest, “Ed-dee.”

“Edddeee.”

“Yeah! I’m Eddie,” he points to himself again, “You are…?” points to the mermaid (merboy?)

“Ssst–” his face scrunches, he squeals some sort of noise under his breath, “SteeEEE–” He cuts himself off again, shrinking from the pained look on Eddie’s face.

“Sorry, that was just loud.. Is it Steeee…” Eddie wracks his brain, “Fin?” He completes the only name that comes to mind, wincing at ‘fin’ being the only syllable he possibly could’ve imagined while in the presence of a literal finned person.

Maybe Stefin giggles, lifting his tailfins out of the water.

Eddie grins back, “Stee-fin?”

Even More Possibly Stefin nods, a sharp-toothed grin stretching from ear to ear.

“Well Stefin, wanna help me look for rocks?”

Together, they scour the shallows of the water behind Wayne’s cabin for hours

They fill the whole grocery bag Eddie’d been toting around with him by time Wayne calls for him at sundown.

“I’m leaving for home tomorrow,” he tells Stefin, not knowing that would be the last time he’d ever see his friend, telling the beautiful creature “I’ll see you next year though! We come back at least once every summer, promise.”

The merboy had smiled so brilliantly at him, the freckles Eddie had just then realized were tiny blue scales shining in the evening sun. He didn’t want to leave.

But he had to. Eddie left.

Elizabeth got sick.

Al got arrested. 

And in the time between the state of Tennessee gaining custody of him and being placed with Uncle Wayne permanently, Wayne sold his little homestead, settling in a two bedroom trailer in the heart of Indiana.

He understands it all now, of course, Wayne making the decision to move where he knew he’d have consistent work year-round was a necessity, but that first week, an already confused Eddie had asked after only a couple days in the trailer when they’d be going home to the lake.

“I don’t live there anymore Teddy. Live here now, in Indiana.”

“But what about the cabin?”

“Sold it, kiddo. Bought this place instead.”

Eddie’s eyes welled up for what felt like the zillionth time in a month. “But what about the stove? What about the bonfires? What about all the rocks I haven’t found?” What about Stefin? He thought to himself.

“Now son–kiddo, s’alright! We can always plan a trip to the UP if y’wanna.”

“Back to the cabin?” Eddie had asked, hopeful.

Wayne shook his head, “Probably camp at McLain instead.”

“That’s on Lake Soupier?”

Wayne snorts, “Yah bud, s’on Superior.”

Eddie took a moment to consider it, then nodded resolutely. “Okay Uncle Wayne.”

They never went back up to Michigan, let alone all the way up to the UP.

The first summer in Indiana was the only time Eddie asked.

“Sorry kiddo, can’t swing it this year. Maybe next time.” Wayne had said, and Eddie watched.

The whole rest of summer, into the fall, especially in the winter, the red-stamped envelopes would stack, then disappear whenever they would go into what Wayne liked to call ‘broke mode’.

Clearance aisle canned goods, store-brand everything, sandwiches packed into brown paper bags with little else.

Eddie grew up, failed his senior year once, twice, managing things the third, and leaving Hawkins for Chicago, hoping to make it big somewhere, somehow.

He manages to, but not in the way he originally thought, falling into club ownership after the man he’d been working for passed, leaving his business to Eddie.

Wayne gets sick when Eddie’s only 28; he drives down to Hawkins and stays with him about a month before he’s gone.

Eddie goes back to Chicago one Uncle short, goes back to work.

A week after Wayne is cremated, a notification pops up in his inbox. An alert he doesn’t remember setting.

Eddie grins, “You sneaky bastard.”

Wayne’s cabin and surrounding acreage have come up for sale.

It’s not even a thought, there’s no decision to be made. Eddie offers over asking and gets the keys handed to him on his 29th birthday.

He’s still a part owner of his club, gets a check every month that pays the mortgage, but his new day to day consists of fixing the cabin, wandering in the woods, and strolling along the shallows of Lake Superior, looking for rocks.

One day, while walking north along the shore, he stumbles across a hidden little alcove.

The rock face juts in from the shoreline, behind a trickling waterfall. It’s not huge by any means, but it looks like someone’s already came by and carved the sand here away, making a knee-high pool that connects the rocky face of the shore with the lake.

He skirts around the little pool, walking along a narrow strip of sand to the sparkling waterfall.

A shocked scream is yanked from his throat as soon as he peers into the alcove properly though, because there, doing a very astute impression of a dead fuckin’ body, is a merman, leant casually back against the wall of the cave Eddie’d just approached from, snoozing away.

The creature whips its head around at Eddie’s yell, teeth bared and a hissing screech slithering out from between his lips.

“Holy Shit! You’re a—”

The merman stops hissing, “Eddie?”

Eddie blinks at him. “Jesus H. Christ.. Stefin?” The blue tail, the shimmering freckle-like scales, the still horribly beautiful face. “You’re real.”

“You’re back— real?” Stefin asks, incredulous, “You didn’t think I was real?”

“I was a kid with an astounding sense of imagination, sue me.”

Stefin rolls his eyes, “Figures why you never came back to see me.”

Eddie blinks at him again, “What? No! No, I couldn’t! My mom— my dad– Wayne— It’s a long story, okay?”

Stefin harrumphs, sitting back against the stone wall. 

“I still can’t believe this, I always thought I’d imagined you.”

“Well you didn’t.”

“Yeahh, I can see that now, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Wha— nevermind, So, how’ve you been?”

Stefin’s head lolls around, he had to’ve just rolled his eyes. He stands up, “Why do you care? You’ll probably just leave again.”

 “No, I bought the house my uncl—” Hang on, what?

Stefin shoves past Eddie to hop down onto the sand, avoiding landing on his feet in the water.

“You’re walking.”

“Amazing observation skills.”

“You’re naked.” And super hot, holy shit. Eddie averts his eyes politely.

“Again, very astute.” He grabs a bundle of cloth, pulling on a pair of shorts.

“How— Can I take you to dinner?”

“Why.” He pulls a shirt on over his head.

“To explain properly. And also because I missed you.”

Stefin turns, looks him over. His gaze softens minutely. “Sure. I’d like that.”

MY FIRST MER!FIC!! HALLELUJAH!!

also, this kinda got away from me, so it's really only light angst 😅

see the collection on ao3!