#Interst Rates | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

honeyedmiller · 5 months ago

Text

Pretty Little Thing | Joel Miller

joel miller x oc!f!reader

rating: 18+, minors dni

synopsis: it’s summertime and you’re working at a retro diner on the outskirts of austin. you’ve seen many faces and heard many voices all in a passing blur; ones you’ve never really payed any mind to—until one handsome southern gentleman in particular catches your special attention, and he’s got a voice you’d recognize anywhere—one that’s gotten you off more times than you’d like to admit.

warnings: original female character, no outbreak (game) joel, joel has a hidden identity in this for a bit, joel is taller than reader, joel can pull reader’s hair, reader is mentioned to blush once, joel indulges in virtual sex work, joel has no kids in this, flirting, talks of masturbation, smut (protected sex, blowjob, consensual choking, spitting, hair pulling, many ass slaps, edging, squirting, name calling, ass play), no use of y/n.

word count: 5.3k

a/n: this is entirely self indulgent. sorry for the small writing hiatus, life has been insanely busy. thanks for being patient with me as i ease back into writing fanfic.

It was like clockwork.

Every day was the same.

The same regulars, the same orders being put in, the same rushes.

The lunch rush usually died down around two, which gave you time to prepare for the dinner rush before five.

It was funny, really. You never thought that such a tiny diner off of Interstate 35, tucked in a corner on the outskirts of Austin, would have such an attraction as it does.

Maybe it was the house favorite flapjacks you guys sold. Maybe it was the friendly hospitality you and your favorite coworker, Betty, gave to new and familiar faces. Hell, maybe it was the half-decent coffee and the low prices for everything that kept everyone coming in and coming back.

Either way, it was all the same every single day.

Until today.

Usually, there’d be no more than three stragglers from lunch, and no one would come in until around five.

The little bell above the door chimed as someone walked in, and Betty tapped you on the shoulder with a pleading look in her eyes.

You averted your gaze from the sugar pourers you were refilling, giving her a small smile.

“Honey, I’m sorry, I was about to take my break. Can you take that table for me? I need a cig after this morning’s rush.” Her blonde-gray hair was in disarray and her voice was scratchy and desperate.

“No problem. Enjoy your break.”

“Bless you, sweetheart.”

You brush off the straggling sugar crystals that stuck to your hands on your black apron, pulling out your pad of paper and pen before approaching the man that sat with his back facing you.

You muster up the best smile you can before stopping at the booth, ready to jot down his order.

“Hello sir, how are you doin’ today?” You ask, and he looks up from the menu with a grin.

The first thing you notice is his eyes. They’re a warm and inviting shade of hazel; a mixture of a beautiful green that reflects off of his tan skin and an amber as smooth as whiskey.

Then you notice his lips. Pink and plush. Kissable.

And then there’s the smile hidden behind the lips. Bright, pearly whites that take your breath away and make your heart palpitate, because god, why is he so handsome?

It’s like he won the genetic lottery or something.

The mustache above his lips and the scruff on his jawline matches his dark hair with a few silver strands peeking through; the only identifier of his prospective age.

His lips pull up into a smirk as he watches you shamelessly checking him out. Truthfully, you want him to watch you watching him.

He clears his throat and your eyes snap back up to his. You tilt your head to the side and study him for a moment further before he finally speaks.

“I’ll take a black coffee n’ the number three please. Eggs over easy.”

You write down his order and your brows furrow as he speaks. Something about his voice sounds so… familiar.

“Midday breakfast?” You tease, and he offers you a shrug and a grin. “It’ll be right out, sir.” You gingerly take the menu from him and walk back behind the counter.

His voice keeps ringing through your head as you ring in his order on the POS system. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but his voice was attractive nonetheless — deep and gruff, yet sweet and polite.

Where the hell have you heard that voice before?

And then it hits you.

Fuck.

Oh, fuck.

That man’s voice has brought you more orgasms than you can possibly even count.

In a desperate need to get yourself off one night, you explored your options until you came across a faceless account. It was his broad body and thick, muscular arms that caught your attention. And — yeah, okay, maybe his deliciously girthy cock, too.

The final nail in the coffin was that thick, syrupy Southern drawl that reeled you in and immersed you in a world full of pleasure.

His voice and groans alone have made you come harder than any man you’ve ever been with.

Your throat goes dry as you look back at him, tucked into the booth he chose to sit at, looking at his phone.

You mindlessly pour his coffee and bring it out to his table, legs seemingly floating in his direction.

You set the coffee cup down on his table. His large hand grabs the cup, making it look nearly miniature.

Your mind was fuzzy and your core suddenly had an aching throb as you thought of his hands exploring your body; what they’d feel like all over you and — god, get a fucking grip.

“Was there anythin’ else I can get for you?” You ask as nonchalant as you can muster up.

“Nope, that’ll do it darlin’. Thank you.” The crinkles beside his eyes deepen in the slightest as he tosses a polite smile your way.

“Food should be out in a couple of minutes.” You rap your knuckles on the table once before turning around to finish topping off the sugar pourers.

The chef chimed the bell indicating the handsome man’s food was done. You wipe your hands on your apron once more before sucking in a breath.

You decided to shoot your shot and call him out by his screen name. You were confident it was him.

You saw no wedding band on his finger, either, so what the hell, right? Worst that could happen is he rejects your advances.

You grab his plate from the kitchen window and head toward his table. Your palms start to sweat and you’re nervous as hell, because fuck, a face like that is hard to forget.

You set the plate down in front of him and he softly thanks you. You hesitate for a second before tucking a stray hair that had fallen out of your braid behind your ear, shooting a wink his way.

“Anytime, Mr. Ryder. Let me know if you need anythin’ else.”

He pauses before looking up at you again, eyebrows furrowing.

“How do you—?” He starts, clearing his throat as his eyes travel down your figure.

“I’m a fan of your work.” You shrug, passing it off like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

“I see,” He looks back at the now empty diner, gaze shifting back to you. “Wanna sit for a minute and chat?” His voice holds sincerity and — god, let it be — desire.

You nod and hold a finger up to him. “Just a sec.”

You walk back to the counter, catching Betty at a perfect time. She grins at you as she re-ties her apron around her waist.

You jerk your head back to Ryder. “The guy over there wants to chat for a few. Mind if I take a break?”

“Go ‘head baby. Not like we got a ton ‘a people to serve.” She laughs, and you shoot her a smile.

“Thanks, Betty.”

You untie your apron from your waist and walk back over to his booth. He gestures for you to slide into the side opposite of him, and you clumsily settle into the worn leather bench.

He chews on a piece of bacon before his gaze roams your face, seemingly studying you before he swallows.

“So, what’s the first video you watched?” He asks, and you feel your face burn with a blush. You thought he’d be more subtle, but it’s better to lay the cards on the table you suppose.

“Truthfully, I’ve scrolled all the way to the bottom of your page and have probably watched every single one.” You shrug at your confession, and that pulls a smirk out of him.

“What about your favorite?” His tone is almost challenging, but truthfully, he’s intrigued. Never did he think anyone could recognize him by just his voice.

Joel was careful not to show his face on camera. He wanted to keep himself a mystery—the gruff, sexy voice of a suave cowboy and his perfect body that he shared with the world—a secret.

“It’s probably gonna have to be the one where you’re pretty much just talkin’ the viewer through it and, fuck, this is kinda embarrassing but we’re already here,” You huff, and Joel shakes his head and urges you to continue. “When I watch that video, I’ve kinda timed it to make myself come the same time you do.”

“Not embarrassin’, sugar. That’s the sexiest thing a woman has ever confessed to me.”

“Yeah, well, when you got a voice like yours and a dry spell like mine, it’s the perfect mix for a most blissful—” Joel’s hearty laugh cut you off, and you couldn’t help but admire him from across the table.

He was so fucking handsome and you genuinely couldn’t believe you were seeing the man who’s made you come more times than you can count without even fucking touching you, in person.

“Can I see your notepad and pen real quick, baby?” He asks, gesturing down to your lap. You shuffle the items out of your apron pocket before sliding them across the table, and at the click of the pen, he starts to write something down.

You lick your lips and cross your arms over your torso, lolling your head to the side. He clicks the pen once more before sliding it back over to you with the notepad.

You look down at what he’s written, to see his fake name, phone number and an address.

“Whenever you get off, gimme a call n’ come over if you’d like. No pressure though, sugar.”

Holy fuck.

No way in hell you’re passing up this opportunity, so you shoot a smirk his way and tuck the paper into your apron pocket.

Play. It. Cool.

“I get off in about,” You look down at your watch, twisting your lips to the side. “An hour.”

You try to keep your voice steady, but your heart is thumping in your chest and your desperate, aching cunt.

“Sounds good,” He raps his knuckles on the wooden table before grinning at you, nudging your foot in the slightest before he finishes off his breakfast for lunch. “Just the check, sugar. Then I’ll get out of your hair.”

“I’d rather you pull it than get out of it.” You grin wickedly at the astonished man in front of you, sliding out of the booth.

You walk away to the counter before he can retort and ring the check up for his meal, but before you can bring it back to him, he slaps two twenties on the counter before you.

His thick fingers find their way to your wrist and give it a squeeze as he leans down to you and whispers his next words.

“Hope I can satisfy you in more ways than one, baby. See ya in an hour,” He straightens back up before looking down at the twin Jacksons staring back at the both of you, “Keep the change.”

He walks out without another word, without looking back, and it leaves you nearly winded.

“What was that all about?” Betty asks, sidling up beside you as she gently nudges your ribs.

“Looks like I got a hot date.” You half joke.

“If I was thirty years younger I woulda been all over that too, baby,” A hearty laugh escapes her and she shoots a wink your way. “Have fun tonight.”

The hour goes by surprisingly fast and you find yourself almost scurrying to your car after you clock out. You toss your apron into the passenger seat of your car and immediately roll down the windows.

The AC decided to give out on you about a week ago, and of course it was during a time where it was hotter than the devil’s fucking asshole outside.

You groan as you close your eyes, the heat already making you miserable. At least the diner had a good central air system.

You peel your eyes open to fish the paper out of your apron pocket with Ryder’s number and address on it, dialing the numbers scrawled across in blue ink.

After the second ring, his rich voice picked up on the other end of the line.

“Hello?”

“Hey Ryder. ‘M off work now if you still want me to head to your place.”

“Hey sugar. Head on over. There’s a spot in the driveway for ya.”

“See you soon.”

Nerves coursed through your veins as the line went dead. You type in his address into your phone, and to your surprise, he only lived fifteen minutes away.

You threw your car in drive and you were off, the hot air whipping through the cab of your car.

It was truly unlike you to do something so bold like this.

You never went to strangers houses, always ignored when you got hit on at the diner, rejected offers from several men for what would probably be a night full of mediocre sex—and yet, there was something about this man that you couldn’t shake off.

Even with just video evidence of this man’s gruff voice, veiny cock and skillful hands, you could just tell he knew exactly what the fuck he was doing.

It wasn’t long before you pulled up to a quiet neighborhood. His house was on the right hand side, and you pulled up into the driveway next to his black truck.

You took a deep breath before looking at yourself in the mirror of your sun visor before touching up with some lip gloss. You spray your perfume on your pulse points before deciding to stop stalling and finally get out of your car before psyching yourself out.

Your beat up work shoes scuff the concrete path leading up to Ryder’s door, and you swallow thickly before you knock.

Thirty seconds later, a now shirtless Southern gentleman answers the door, hazel eyes catching yours as you stare up at him in awe.

“Well fuck me.” You mutter under your breath as you study his handsome face and his thick, toned torso.

“Tha’s the plan, sugar.” His deep voice shoots straight down to your core, nearly making you audibly moan.

He steps aside to let you into his house, which is surprisingly warm and inviting. It’s cozy with its worn-in furnishings and family photos on the walls. It smells like him too; something earthy and musky and delicious.

He guides you into the living room with his hand on your lower back, touch sending a chill down your spine.

“Make yourself cozy, darlin’. Would y’like anythin’ to drink?”

“Whiskey, neat please. If you have it.” You respond, and he softly smiles at you before nodding and retreating into the kitchen. You can’t help but watch him walk away with the muscles clearly rippling in his back as he walks, all the way down to the back dimples he has.

There’s no fucking way this man is real.

You sigh and settle onto the couch, folding your hands into your lap after setting your purse and keys on the coffee table in front of you.

It’s only a couple of minutes before Ryder reappears before you, handing you a glass of amber liquid. You thank him and sip on it graciously, the smooth taste gliding down your throat and going straight to your already throbbing core.

He sits next to you and slings his arm over the back of the couch, allowing himself to get comfortable as if this occurrence is the most natural thing in the world.

Fuck, maybe it might be for him. You wouldn’t really be surprised considering the charm and suave demeanor he possesses.

“You can relax, darlin’. ‘M not gonna try anythin’ or touch ya without your consent.”

Your shoulders visibly relax at that, not even noticing they were tense to begin with. He didn’t give you bad vibes or scare you. He made you nervous—a feeling you haven’t felt with a man in a very long time.

“So,” You start, voice scratchy from talking so much hours prior and the burn of the whiskey affecting your throat, “You usually bring women home like this?” You’re half teasing and half curious, wanting to see if this really is a regular occurrence for him.

A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest and practically vibrates the whole couch. “No, sugar. You’d be the first t’ even recognize me just by my voice. Gotta say, ‘m pretty impressed with that. Guess you’re a regular viewer then, I take it.”

Now he’s the one teasing, but there’s a knowing tone in his voice. You didn’t even have to say it. He knows.

There’s really no point in denying how turned on he gets you, so you just… let it happen.

You feel a little looser with the whiskey swimming in your veins, giving you the bit of courage you mustered up within the past minute or so. You sink into the couch further, spreading your legs enough to keep the man curious.

He watches you wearily, eyes trained on your body and the signals you were emitting.

“You’re the only man that can get me off now. You’ve got me wrapped around those skillful fingers, Mr. Ryder.” Your voice sounds more smooth and sultry than you expected it to, but it was definitely working in your favor.

“These skillful fingers would love to show you a thing or two, baby.” His fingers twitch around the glass he holds tightly; clearly a form of self-restraint.

You didn’t want him to hold back anymore.

“Show me.” You say.

A small groan emits from the back of his throat.

You suck in a breath as your eyes notice his going completely dark, drowning in desire for you. His once bright hazel eyes have since been replaced with something deeper than a simple need to satiate.

It was fucking carnal.

He downs the rest of his drink and licks his lips, patting his jean-clad thigh.

“Sit on my lap. Back against my chest.” He commands, and you try to smoothly maneuver yourself onto him just as he’d asked.

Once you’re settled on top of him, he gently grips onto both of your knees to spread your legs apart so they’re on either side of his thick thighs.

Your lips part and you don’t even notice you’re breathing heavier until you feel a soft kiss on your shoulder.

“Relax, baby. ‘M gonna make you feel good. If you need me to stop, just tap my thigh twice and hard. Got it?”

“Yes.” You whisper, nearly shaking in anticipation.

“Good.”

And his hands are grazing up your legs to the inner part of your thighs, delicately tracing your skin. Goosebumps raise at his featherlight touch, and before you know it, he’s spreading his own legs wider to spread yours.

You were aching and damp even back at the diner as you sat with him in the booth, studying his handsome features. The cool air of the home hits the dampness on the cotton panties you wore.

Ryder’s fingers made their way up to the lace trim of your panties, causing you to softly whimper for him. You genuinely didn’t think you needed anyone to touch you so fucking bad in your life.

You didn’t want to come off whiny and absolutely desperate, so you kept your pathetic begging to yourself.

“So wet already, pretty girl. This all for me?”

You can’t muster up the words because your brain is simply mush at this point, and all you want is his fingers on you, and fuck, in you.

“You know I respect you, right baby?”

Respect you?

You’ve only known this man—physically—for a few hours, albeit knowing his voice and his body long before he’d even tell you his real name.

And yet, there’s a comfort in his presence. One that would have you willing to do nearly anything for him—with him.

And all you could do was meekly nod your head at his words, his Southern twang dripping in honey—buzzing into your veins.

You turn your head to look at him with a bewildered expression on your face, though, wondering why he’d ask such a thing.

He shoots you a devilish smile.

“Good, ‘cuz for the next few minutes it’s gonna look like I don’t.”

“Oh, fuck.” You mewl, tossing your head back onto his shoulder. He noses at your jaw, littering kisses and small nips all along your jawline and neck as he slides your panties to the side.

He slides his middle finger through your slick slit, moving up to circle your already sensitive clit. You shudder at the touch, clamping your eyes shut as you softly moan.

“Fuck baby, you’re drippin’ already. This what I do to ya? You get this wet when you’re by yourself and you’re bein’ a dirty fuckin’ girl gettin’ yourself off to my videos? Hm?”

His deep voice vibrates through your body, finger traveling down to your entrance. He teases you as he slips the tip of his finger into you—nothing more—and moves it back out.

He continues this a few times, and when you don’t answer him, he slaps your dripping cunt lightly. You gasp and grip onto his forearm that was wrapped around your torso.

“Answer me.”

“God, yes, I–I fuckin’ love your videos. You always get me this wet. Every time. You’re just so—fuck—goddamn hot.”

He chuckles at your blabbering. “Hot, huh? You think that highly of me?”

“Ryder,” You moan as he fully sinks his middle finger into you. He stops his movements and it takes everything in you not to rock your hips.

“Joel.”

“W-what?”

“I want you moaning my real name, baby.”

Joel.

That name is somehow very fitting for him, and lucky for you, it rolls off the tongue easily.

“Joel.” You test it, and his grip on you tightens.

“Atta girl.” He praises, sinking a second finger into you. You moan at the feeling, long fingers hitting spots yours never could. He curls his fingers to hit that exact spot and you cry out in pleasure.

You can feel Joel’s cocky smirk on his lips as he kisses your braided hair, likely in a complete disarray at this point.

The squelching noise that reverberated throughout his living room was truly obscene, but he didn’t seem to mind one bit. In fact, it seemed to spur him on as he twisted his wrist and worked his fingers faster, pressing into that spot inside of you that had you choking on your own moans.

Without warning, you felt yourself nearly at the brink of your orgasm—and Joel pulls his fingers out of you. You cry in desperation, the beautiful build up completely dissipated.

“Not. Yet.” Joel’s mouth was next to your ear, nibbling at your lobe as he worked you through the edging.

He didn’t stop after that, though. He kept the momentum going, sliding his other hand from your torso down to your swollen clit. He slowly starts to rub small circles onto the already overstimulated bundle of nerves, and you cry out a strangled moan as the feeling surges through your body.

“Now.” He says.

Your mind was going blank at this point and a pressure kept building and building and building—until you felt a huge gush, forceful and draining. Your eyes snap open to see clear liquid dripping all down the couch.

“Fuck, Joel I’m sor—”

“Don’t you dare apologize baby. You ever done that before?” He asks, and you shake your head no. He moans at your wordless response and readjusts himself beneath you, and you can suddenly feel how hard he is in his jeans.

Even through the denim he felt fucking big, and you knew you were in for it.

“Let me,” You start, shakily sliding off of his lap and onto the floor. “Let me take care of you.”

Joel watches you and the same muscle in his jaw ticks furiously. He nods without another word as you lean up to kiss the hot skin above his jeans, trailing your lips down to the hemline. You undo the button and zipper swiftly, and he lifts his hips to pull his pants and boxers down to his mid thigh.

Your hunch was correct: he’s fucking huge. You swallow as you take in the sight of his cock in-person rather than over a screen, and it was even better than you’d imagined all those times.

You gently grab the base of his silky flesh, giving it a soft squeeze as you move your hand to the tip. Your eyes flicker up to his, and he’s watching you intently. You smile sweetly up at him before bringing your head down to lick the pre come from his slit, moaning as you get a taste of the salty musk.

Joel’s hand flies to your head, threading his fingers through the loose braid as you slowly lick your way down the vein on the underside of his cock.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” You say, and he groans at your praise. “Even better than I imagined.”

You bring your tongue back up to the tip and take him in your mouth this time, going as far down as you could before you gagged softly.

“Fuck yeah baby, just like that. Doin’ so fuckin’ good for me,” He mewls as you set a faster pace, one of your hands coming to pump the rest of his cock you couldn’t reach with your mouth, the other gently fondling his balls.

You moan around him as his silky flesh easily glides onto your tongue. You enjoy getting him off like this; unraveling him inch by inch just as he’s done to you many times before.

He began to rock his hips up into your mouth, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you try your damndest to not forcefully gag around him.

“Mouth feels so goddamn good on me, honey. ‘M not gonna last much longer.” Joel confesses, and your tighten your lips around his cock to silently urge him to let go.

It was only another minute until his hips completely stilled and his pulsing cock was drained, salty spend coating your mouth in haste.

He groans loudly as he reaches down to cradle your jaw, slowly sliding your mouth off of him. You swallow his spend and sit back on your heels, looking up at him innocently.

“On your knees, baby. Ass up.” He pats the spot next to him on the couch, and you happily oblige. He pulls the skirt of your uniform up over your hips and slides your wet panties down your legs so you’re on full display for him.

You feel his hands slide over the globe of your ass, spreading you apart to get a good look at all of you. You suck in a breath for a second before you feel his fingers slide through your slick folds once more, teasing you so.

“You ever had a man touch you back here? Pretty little thing.” He asks as his thumb circles the tight ring of your ass.

“No.” You moan, closing your eyes as you press a cheek to the couch cushion.

“Hm. ‘S a shame. Feels real good.”

“Please, Joel.” You truly weren’t above begging for this man to touch you in any way possible.

“Please what, sugar?”

“Please—please touch me. Make me feel good. Even better than I already feel.”

You turn your head more to lock eyes with him staring down at you with a look of determination and hunger.

He keeps his eyes locked on you as he grabs his half-hard cock, reaching to the coffee table beside you both to grab the foil packet you didn’t even see until this very moment.

He rips it open and slides it on before sliding his cock through your slick folds. You sigh in pleasure as your eyes flutter shut for a brief second before you open them again as his tip notches your entrance.

“You ready baby?”

You nod your head, but he shakes his.

“Need your words this time darlin’.”

“Yes Joel. Please.”

He sinks into you slowly, his girth stretching you out so deliciously. It stung a little, because in truth, you’ve never been with anyone his size.

Once he’s fully sheathed into you, he shoots you that same wicked grin before letting spit slowly dribble out of his mouth and onto your asshole.

“Oh fuck me,” You whisper, moaning as his thumb circles the tight ring once again. “Please.” You say, and he hooks his thumb gently into you.

You feel so full like this, barely even able to comprehend the fact that you’re about to get fucked by your favorite adult content creator.

Joel starts to rock his hips slowly at first, moaning at how tight you are. He picks up his pace once you’re both comfortable and it feels like he’s punching your fucking gut.

It’s almost unbearable— but the pleasure outweighs the pain by a mile. He’s rocking his hips so hard that the couch starts to scrape onto the floor, nothing but skin slapping on skin. You feel a sting on your left asscheek and moan at the contact, realizing Joel had slapped you.

He does it again, and again, and again, until tears are in your eyes and you can no longer bear the sting.

“Pussy feels so fuckin’ good baby. Was meant to take this cock, hm?” He says through gritted teeth, and you can’t help but agree with him.

His hand slides up your back and reaches your hair, pulling it so your head tilts upward.

“So fuckin’ pretty like this. Love the way you feel around me.” He confesses, taking his thumb out of your tight muscle before wrapping his other arm around your torso once, only to pull you upright this time.

He’s pistoning into you as you lean back onto his body. His hand wraps gently around your throat as he scatters more kisses onto your jawline and up your earlobe.

“Can I?” He asks, and you choke out a meek yes.

His large hand wraps all the way around your throat, squeezing the sides. Joel turns his head down to look at you, all helpless as he fucks you relentlessly.

Your jaw hangs open and your eyes are squeezed shut, relishing in the all-consuming feeling of Joel.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

You open your eyes as you plead his name, feeling another orgasm burning within you.

He moves his fingers up from your throat to grab at your jaw, forcing your mouth open as he spits into it.

“Swallow.” He commands, and you don’t question him one bit.

He likes seeing you like this—submissive and practically breedable—and yet, he barely knew you. He knew he wanted that to change after this, though.

“Joel I’m gonna come.” Your voice is hoarse and desperate, trying so hard to keep the feeling of pleasure at bay.

It was no use, though. The way he was looking at you made you want to fucking risk it all, and when he finally bent his face down to kiss you, you knew it was a wrap.

You both moaned into each other’s mouths as your tongues tangled together, tasting each other and exploring one another.

It wasn’t long before the coil finally snapped for you, and seconds later, him as well. You both panted heavily as you were submerged in the post-coital bliss.

“You did so good, baby. Hopefully I lived up to your expectations.”

You huff a laugh at his words as he pulls out of you and shuffles himself down onto the couch, pulling you on top of him. He kisses the top of your head as he plays with your hair, a strange feeling blooming in his chest as you both enjoy the presence of one another.

One thing’s for sure and two things for certain:

You’re everything he’s wanted, and he didn’t even know how to tell you. There was no way he was letting you go now.

tags: @endlessthxxghts @punkshort @ilovepedro @nostalxgic @party-hearses

@joelsgreys @ozarkthedog

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x oc #tlou one shot #tlou imagine #joel miller tlou

1K notes · View notes

strwberri-milk · 2 months ago

Note

Hii!! I love your writing for LADS 🫶🏻🙈 may I request you write for Sylus talking to the most famous or beautiful woman of N109zone or of princess mafia in a exclusive event while the reader is watching them afar with her jealous energy? Then right after; the reader feels needy, possessive, wanted love and smutty 🔥, don't want to talk to Sylus, and it leads to miscommunication/don't get the wrong idea trope. You can add Luke and Kieran as cameo to make the situation worse telling the reader about Sylus and the girl's history together with a sense of humor that doesn't make the reader feel any better then Mephisto there CAW CAWLING over the fact seeing the reader turns red in frustration 😡😂 I really appreciate and love your work! Hope it be a little long word count (with bulletin points) if you write/accept this request! 🙏🏻

this is so booktok coded and you can interpret that however you wish bc i have Strong opinions about booktok and the current state of media literacy - but unfortunately i am a sucker for the trope and even if this isnt super duper smutty i do love a good jealousy plot - just as a heads up as I say w longer requests - i wont do everything and smut is harder for me to write so in interst of you not waiting months for a request we're gonna go a little off of what your reuquest was bc i also got confused reading it - which is why i always recc not to be too detailed bc then i get pigeon holed and focused on the wrong details :( - ive also combined these two requests bc theyre p similar to me!

You are fully aware that Sylus needs to work with a lot of people for his job. He's got powerful connections because of these events and you've never had a feeling that he was unfaithful. However, that doesn't mean that you can't help but feel insecure when you see how beautiful some of the people he works with are. You know that he loves you and he makes it very clear with his actions but the way he easily smooths things over with that dulcet tone of his.

You're resigned to having to spend the evening with Luke and Kieran - not exactly a punishment but also not the greatest as they give you the whole scoop on everyone Sylus talks to. The way their breaths catch and the quick darting of their masks to you lets you know that there's something else you're not being told but they refuse to let you in, citing respect for the boss' privacy. You know that you won't be able to get them to snitch on him at this rate, forced to watch as he continues to butter her up for whatever reason. You saw the way that others looked at her and for a moment you wondered if he was looking at her the same way, trying not to overthink things because you're also aware of how much he loves you.

You watch angrily as Sylus wraps his arm around her, whispering something into her ear that makes her laugh. The twins look at you and despite being unable to see their eyes you know they're just as confused as you are. They don't stop you when you get up to leave, deciding to follow you. They know his personality well and know that it seems a little out of character for him to be so forward during a meeting.

You decide to go back to his home, locking yourself in the bedroom as you deliberate on what to do. You know you could confront him if you really wanted you but part of you doesn't even want to do that - you feel like you'd be more content to see him grovelling and begging for you to forgive him but you also know he really isn't like that. So you decide to ignore him.

He comes home later that night, fully intending to explain himself but when he sees you fast asleep he simply decides to slide into bed with you. He holds you through the night, not knowing how upset you are with him. In the morning you're gone and he finds that he can't seem to reach you. You run around with your tasks for the day, barely saying hi to him in passing. He knows you're not that busy so it makes no sense to him.

He ends up having more meetings with the woman, much to your anger. After an especially long meeting he finds you standing outside of his office, an angry expression on your face that he just can't take seriously as he finds you adorable. He leans down to give you a kiss and you end up yelling at him about how you know he's giving her more than just his business.

You actually didn't know anything - just that he was far too friendly to her and you wanted to see what he would admit to. He immediately starts to set the record straight, telling you that there's no way you seriously believe he's looking at anyone that isn't you. You cross your arms stubbornly, telling him that isn't going to work on you.

It ends up not mattering when he picks you up to throw you onto his bed, covering you in kisses as he digs his nails into your hips. You can't escape his hold, bent this way and that way as he teases you for really thinking that he sees anybody that isn't you. He calls you possessive names, moving against you in ways that make you see stars over and over again.

Safe to say your new silent treatment to him is not because of you not wanting to speaking to him. Your voice is hoarse, body barely able to leave the silken sheets on your skin as he continues to dote over you with reminders that it'll always only be you.

#love and deepspace x reader #l&ds x reader #sylus x reader #l&ds sylus x reader #lnds sylus x reader #lads sylus x reader

363 notes · View notes

boreal-sea · 3 months ago

Text

Who is Tim Walz?

Kamala Harris has apparently picked Tim Walz as her running mate. He seems good, based on his record. He's also responsible for the widely spreading "Republicans are weird" meme I've seen quite a lot of.

He has a good record. Just like I did for Kamala Harris in a post that has become quite popular, I will do a simple review of things I like from Tim Walz' political history. Again, as with Harris, this is just from his Wikipedia page. Let's go!

House of Representatives

Opposed increasing troop numbers in Iraq

Co-sponsored a bill to raise Minnesota's minimum wage

Voted for stem cell research

Voted to allow Medicare to negotiate pharmaceutical prices

Voted against the act to Prohibit Federally Funded Abortion Services

Voted to advance the ACA

Has received a 100% rating from many progressive organizations like Planned Parenthood and the ACLU

Was a member of several caucuses, including the LGBT Equality Caucus

Governor of Minnesota

Signed into law police reforms after the murder of George Floyd

Had Minnesota join the National Popular Vote Interstate Compact, meaning that all of the state's electors will vote for whichever candidate wins the popular vote nation-wide.

Under his governance, Minnesota passed laws for requiring paid leave, banning non-compete agreements, cannabis legalization, abortion rights, universal free school meals,

Political stances

Pro cannabis

Against bailout bills that loan taxpayer money to large banks and auto manufacturers

Was a former teacher for many years, and is very pro-education and supporting public schools. He is against merit pay for teachers (this is a good thing), and supports lowering tuition costs

Used to be pro-gun, but after Parkland he changed his mind, and as Governor he signed a bill mandating universal background checks

Pro-LGBT - has voted for LGBT rights many times, including as Governor, where he signed bills banning conversion therapy and protecting gender-affirming care

Supports veterans rights and support

Supports abortion rights and women's rights

I am going to copy-paste the entire section for his views on the Israel-Hamas war, because I don't want people claiming I am taking anything out of context. Overall, he has views that echo my own in many ways:

Walz condemned Hamas's October 7 attacks in Israel and ordered flags to be lowered to half mast in the following days. After the 2024 Minnesota Democratic presidential primary, in which 19% of voters cast "uncommitted" ballots, Walz took a sympathetic view toward those doing so to protest President Biden's handling of the war in Gaza, calling them "civically engaged". Of the protests against U.S. funding of the war in Gaza, Walz said: "This issue is a humanitarian crisis. They have every right to be heard... These folks are asking for a change in course, they're asking for more pressure to be put on… You can hold competing things: that Israel has the right to defend itself, and the atrocities of October 7 are unacceptable, but Palestinian civilians being caught in this… has got to end." Walz also said he supports a ceasefire in Gaza.[100]

#tim walz #election 2024 #USPol

294 notes · View notes

ilovetoxicfictionalmen · 6 months ago

Text

EVERY DOG HAS ITS DAY

Pairing - Jackson Rippner x fem!reader

Summary - You’re house sitting your friend’s whilst her family vacates. Her dog manages to get you into a dangerous situation.

Warnings - Noncon, dubcon, stalking, groping, humping, f! touching, animal abuse?

Word count - 2.2k

Notes - Jackson, oh Jackson. How your toxic soul has my weak heart. @paradiseprincesss hope you’re hungry !!

“Calm down Spike!” You exclaimed as you were yanked down the pavements with an overstimulated boxer charging on the other end of the leash.

What was meant to be a simple daily walk had turned into an endless brutal game of tug and war which you were pathetically losing. The rope around your wrist will leave a permanent mark if this animal doesn’t lead you to a fatal encounter by how dangerously you were crossing the roads.

Firstly Spike’s eyes were set on a pigeon, then when the harmless bird flew off into the clouds, Spike’s mind and impulses were full steam ahead. How long had it been, a mere few minutes or almost a third of an hour? If you knew he’d be such a nuisance you would have convinced your father to walk him, or even stretched beforehand.

They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die, and you believe it almost did. It all happened so quickly, you yanked back the leash with all of your strength which made Spike halt at the intersection of two suburbian streets as you fell onto your behind. The black Mercedes Benz slammed on the brakes, the tyres screeched as the bumper stopped shorter a footlong to your face.

All sound was muffled to your eyes as all you could hear were your thoughts. The driver kept his hand on the horn, his jaw clenched as his blue eyes bore into your soul. Spike barked at him viciously, his paws locked into place as if he was prepared for battle. When you realized the man had no intention of releasing his heavy palm, your eyes darted around the empty streets and you hobbled up and had to beg Spike to calm down whilst tugging him away. Awkwardly you waved your hand in apologies as you tried to steer Spike back to his home.

However, you quickly noticed that the same car rolled behind you, he was tailing you and it made your heart pound in your chest. Every time you looked back, his eyes were locked onto you, his brunette hair parted to either side of his forehead. Spike took no notice in this, his attention elsewhere now.

When you ended up having to cut through a small field in between to homes to get to the opposing side of the suburb, you desperately tried to get Spike to run again to force you to run as fast as you could. But he strolled away gradually, breathing heavily with his mouth hung.

Every few seconds, your head shot back to ease your anxieties of the Benz finding you again. For a moment, you feared you had lost your way. You were housesitting your best friend’s house whilst her family was vacating interstate.

When you noticed the familiar double story home, you hurried inside, giving one last look before you shut the door. Spike plotted down the hall and you breathed out deeply, your back pressed against the wooden door. Just to ease your anxieties, you poked your head out of the window, confirming the empty road.

As the sun slowly set, you sat in the guest bedroom, your coursebooks in hand as you had Mozart gently playing on your laptop. You breathed out, your pen tapped on the paper as you read through your essay draft.

Spike started barking again and you grunted out as you slammed your laptop shut. This dog will be the death of you. As you jumped up from your seat, you headed towards the alfresco when your movements paused after you heard Spike cry out.

Within a snap, his noises had silenced. It was too quickly to be considered normal and you felt your heart rate begin to pick up again as the fear washed over you. In nothing but your pajama shorts and tank, you slowly tiptoed towards the massive window sliding doors. The back light was turned off, which you remember keeping on. You could hardly see out there, as your finger rested on the switch you gulped as you flicked it on.

Spike laid unconscious on the deck. A heavy gasp left your lips as you lunged towards the sliding door but you froze in your steps as you saw him in the corner of your eye. He sat at the outdoor dining table, a cigarette in between his lips. Quickly you recognised him, the driver from earlier today. He looked to be in the same suit as earlier today, he leant back in the chair as he casually waved towards you.

Just when you were going to bolt for the home phone, he pulled out a clean knife from his jacket as if he already knew your next move. It almost sparkled and the stranger pointed it at Spike, a mere few meters away from him. Frozen in your feet, your body wobbling like jelly as you looked back at Spike. Your eyes searched for a pool of blood, a slight sensation of relief as you couldn’t spot it.

When you dared to look at him again, he stood from the chair and inhaled deeply before flicking the dart towards Spike. The man approached the door and tapped on the glass with the tip of the blade. Naturally, you sobbed out as he tilted his head towards you.

“I’m not going to hurt you” he assured, the blade vanishing back into his jacket as if to ease your distress. “Unless you don’t unlock the fucking door” he grinned to you, his hand propped against the glass over his head.

Your eyes were darting from him to Spike like a table hockey puck in play. As you cried, you begged for Spike to get up and run away. But to your stress, he continued to lay still.

“Come on baby doll, it’s cold out here” he said smugly as he rubbed his shoulders dramatically.

As your hand rested on the lock you tried to make sense of the situation. Were you really going to let this dog be the death of you? Or was this frightening stranger true to his word about not hurting you. An unrealistic idea came to mind as you forced yourself to unlock the door.

He wasted no time in pushing open the door and stepped inside. Typically you took three steps back. As he closed the door and locked it, he slowly looked back over to you.

“You know, your parents should have taught you better about road safety” he grinned as he took a step towards you.

In a flash, you bolted for the kitchen and grabbed the biggest knife in the block. He laughed as he approached you and pulled his much smaller yet much sharper knife back out of his jacket. You pointed your knife at him sternly as he backed you into a corner. Whilst staring at you blankly, the blade spun and flipped in his hand elegantly. It made your hold shake, there’s no way you’d win this.

“What do you want from me!” You mewled out as you found your body slowly slipping back against the cupboard doors. He didn’t answer you as he intimately stepped to you. “Please don’t hurt me!” You begged for mercy.

The knife slipped from your hold and it clanked onto the floor. Quickly, your body curled up into a ball as you rocked yourself. You sobbed viciously as your heart pounded all the way up to your head.

“Don’t give me a reason to baby doll” he cooed as he squatted in front of you after kicking the kitchen knife away. You buried your face into your forearm and his cold hand petted your soft hair. “Look at me” he ordered kindly.

Fearfully you peaked back up to him. He held his hand out, his knife had vanished once more. You blinked as you stared at him up close. You didn’t realize how charming on the eye he was, it made you gulp harshly. “Please… My parents are going to be home any minute” you lied pathetically, sniffling heavily.

“Baby doll” he tutted as he gently shook his head towards you. “This isn’t even your fucking house” he laughed, casually pointing his finger to one of your friend’s family portrait on the wall. “Now come on, no more tears… Only little girls cry, I want you to be a big girl for me tonight” he condescended as he gestured for you to grab ahold of his hand.

“What do you want?” you asked weakly as you grabbed ahold of his hand.

“To talk” he nodded as he lifted you up. He petted your hair to the side and smiled softly to you. “Well, for a little bit anyways” he added, a gentle shrug of the shoulders.

Your eyebrows furrowed but you didn’t question him as he led you to the lounge room. Your gaze landed back on Spike, who was perfectly still just as before and you found yourself weeping again. He wrapped his arms around you from behind as he shushed into your ear.

“Relax, relax, a simple sedative… I hope I got the dosage right, I usually sedate people, not dogs” he whispered into your ear, smirking to himself as you weakly resisted against him as you whimpered out.

Your head shot down, the guilt of Spike being too much for your conscience. He guided you to the couch and pulled you onto his lap. Your body squirmed on top of his, but he kept you locked in.

“What are you doing?” you whined.

But he only hushed you and thrusted his hips up. Instantly, you felt his growing erection underneath you and you froze on him.

“You gave me a massive fright today, you know that?” He sighed, his hands on your hips as he rotated them in a circular motion.

Your body shivered as you felt your teeth chatter. “I’m sorry… I tried to control him” you explained through heavy breathing.

“Yeah I know. A little too strong for you, aye?” He chuckled, his hands squeezing your hips harshly. You nodded your head quickly as you tried to focus your mind elsewhere, but it was pointless by the way he was rubbing his cock against your core. “But then, you know… You just looked so sweet and fragile that I just wanted to make sure you got home safe…” he admitted as one hand ran up your spine.

“You took an interesting short cut. I thought I wasn’t going to be able to find you. But then, I saw you in the distance, running up the driveway” he laughed softly as he hand slid to your breasts.

You gasped out as both hands kneaded them before they slipped underneath your thin tank. His fingers rubbed circles over your nipples and your head fell back next to his and you tried to silence your clear as daylight arousal.

“No bra? Naughty girl” he groaned by your ear, his tongue slithered around your earlobe.

After a moment of groping you, his hands slipped down from your torso as you trembled on him, based on a horrific mixture of fear and desire.

“I want to apologize” he suddenly professed.

“What?” You panted.

“For scaring you. I’ll admit, I lost my temper a little bit… You just scared me so bad, baby doll. How would I have felt if I didn’t brake in time?” He explained himself, his smooth jaw nuzzled against yours.

But during this confession, his hand slipped into your shorts, right into your panties as he stroked your wet pussy.

“I’m sorry for scaring you too!” You cried out, your heart thudding against your ribs as you found yourself rocking your hips.

“No, no… You don’t have to tell me how sorry you are, you just have to show it” he moaned, a smug look on his face as a digit easily slipped inside of you. “We can do it wherever you want to, baby doll… Here, in the kitchen, we can get into my car if you really want and I can take you for a ride. It’s an expensive car” he grinned as he forcefully flexed his hips up making you cry out. “But if you want me to make it special for you, take me a bed, any bed. I’m not picky…” he exhaled as his free hand moved back up to your tits.

“No, please!” You objected, logic dripping out of your aroused state. You were willingly grinding yourself on a stranger, an intruder, a man much older than you. You were in your senior year of high school for crying out loud. It forced you to try to free yourself from him. It only made him laugh and he wrapped his arm around your waist as he pressed his nose to the side of your heated face.

“Baby doll… Look at yourself, you’re trying to fuck my hand right now” he pointed out.

All you could do was sob out in humiliation as his fingers pumped inside of you. Your ass rubbed against his hard on whilst he kissed your bare neck.

“My name is Jackson by the way” he introduced himself, a satisfied grin on his lips. You told him your name through a heavy gasp as his fingers went knuckle deep inside of you. “I already knew that” he whispered into your ear as he felt your walls clench tightly around his hand

Every dog has its day, but unfortunately for you, today was not that day.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #smut #dark smut #jackson rippner smut #jackson rippner x reader #jackson rippner #red eye 2005

349 notes · View notes

deancasbigbang · 2 months ago

Text

Title: This Impossible Happiness

Author: FriendofCarlotta

Artist: sidewinder

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Dean/Cas

Length: 50467

Warnings: undefined

Tags: Alternate Universes, Multiple Versions of Dean and Cas, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Post The Winchesters 1x13, Second Chances, Getting Together, Getting Back Together, Mutual Pining

Posting Date: October 22, 2024

Summary: In one universe, Dean Winchester is pushing thirty. He’s just danced at his little brother’s wedding, he likes his job at the garage, and he goes on the occasional hunt with friends and family. He’s also desperately lonely for someone to share his life with. One day, he finds a mysterious package outside his door. It contains a news clipping about an urban legend that just might be real, and a book by Professor Castiel Novak, who happens to specialize in that same urban legend. In another universe, Castiel Novak’s roadside motel is slowly dying, its business hollowed out by the interstate system. Dean Winchester, the man who asked him to run away together years ago, is only a painful regret these days. Until the day a mysterious letter Castiel doesn’t remember writing brings Dean back to his doorstep. Out there in the multiverse, a man and an angel look for each other in all the wrong places. In the meantime, they might as well help a few other versions of themselves figure things out.

Excerpt: The motel is where the memory of Castiel’s father is still alive, in the memorabilia stuffed tightly into Carver Edlund’s Chamber of Horrors — the roadside attraction housed in the small building next door to the Scenic View. It’s nothing but a single room stuffed full of objects that belonged to his father, along with a few life-size recreations of monsters from his books. But it still attracts visitors from time to time, thanks to a single billboard on the interstate. The motel is also where Castiel’s memories of a different man live. And, though Castiel doesn’t like to admit it to himself, those are the memories he clings to the hardest. The summer Castiel turned twenty-five — nearly five years ago now — a drifter washed up at the Scenic View. He’d been traveling the country doing odd jobs for over a year, and he happened to be a big fan of Carver Edlund’s novels. Even all these years later, whenever Castiel dusts the display of his father’s old typewriter inside the Chamber of Horrors, he can still hear Dean exclaim over it, his voice bright and sugar-sweet with delight. Whenever Castiel freshens the paint on the monster replicas, he can still see the childlike glee on Dean’s face when Castiel encouraged him to touch the scarred face of Hatchet Man or the Wraith’s wicked spike. The ghost of Dean’s memory is why Castiel always lingers a little longer than he needs to over the daily cleaning and upkeep of the Chamber of Horrors. It’s also why he saves one of the motel rooms for last — after both the Chamber and all the other rooms have been seen to. Room 8 was Dean’s room. It was here that the two of them became intimate for the first time, on the fourth night of Dean’s stay. As Castiel approaches the door, he pauses — as he always does — with his hand on the doorknob. He remembers how Dean was still nearly a stranger then. A mysterious being of light and laughter who’d come into Castiel’s drab, dreary life to make him forget all about how he’d left college to care for his father through the long illness that eventually took his life. Castiel had wanted him so very much. Every time Dean glanced at him from under his eyelashes or made a flirtation so subtle that it could plausibly be denied, Castiel refused to let himself respond, to believe that someone so lovely could ever want him. And yet, Dean must have read Castiel’s yearning in his eyes, because on that fourth night, shy glances and blushing remarks became an arm slung over his shoulder and the tip of a nose, nudging bashfully against Castiel’s stubbled cheek. It’s pathetic how well Castiel still remembers the details of that night and every night that followed. It’s even more pathetic how, every time Castiel turns the knob of Room 8, he half-hopes to find Dean waiting for him inside, sprawled decadent and freckled atop the covers.

DCBB 2024 Posting Schedule

#dcbb 2024 #fic preview #2024 promo #deancas #destiel

120 notes · View notes

griefabyss69 · 8 months ago

Text

Rituals

Written for @steddiemicrofic!

[ AO3 ] [ Tips post ]

‘PIN’ wc: 388 | rated: M | cw: They're fiiighttiiinnng~ (it gets gay don't worry)

My take on a classic!!!

Steve's knee is between Eddie's thighs but it's not like that.

His hands engulf Eddie's, pin them above his head—not in that way.

Their faces are close, breath mingling, panting as they try to catch it, but, again—it's not what it looks like.

Even though Eddie's shirt has been scraped up to his armpits, even though Steve's lips are wet with spit, even though Eddie can feel his heartbeat in his dick.

"Say it again, I dare you," Steve threatens, softened by the way he's still breathless.

Eddie would, he'd spit it right back in his face, but he can't remember what he’d said, all he can think about is his hope that Steve doesn't look down or press in harder or read his mind and figure out what this is all doing to him.

Visually it reads like a fantasy he'd have while in class back when they were in school. In reality, he thinks he'd maybe get his face punched in if Steve caught wind of anything going on inside of him right now.

Still, he can't keep his mouth shut, that'd be letting him win.

"Make me," he says in the snottiest voice he’s got, grinning at him.

Steve stops for a moment, confused, though his fingers tighten between Eddie's instead of loosen.

"Why would I make you say something I don't want you to?" He asks, and Eddie sighs, rolls his eyes at him.

"So we can keep fighting, dumbass, obviously you're really into it," he says, bluffing his way between danger and trouble like a motorcycle speeding down the interstate during heavy traffic.

Steve's mouth drops open with the intent to speak, he’s clearly offended, but he's got nothing to say to that. It makes Eddie lift one of his thighs just to see, curious.

"Hey! Watch it!" He yells, and at first Eddie only finds disappointment, until Steve goes to shift away and it makes Eddie's leg brush against the inside of his thigh.

Oh shit. Bingo.

"What, you want me to watch your dick, Harrington? All you had to do was ask," he says, wrinkling his nose at him. "Didn't have to pin me all hot and heavy like this."

"Fuck," Steve hisses, and shoves into him with his whole fucking body. "Shut up."

Eddie laughs, licks his teeth.

"Make me."

#steddiemicroficmarch #griefabyss69 writing #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic

213 notes · View notes

seat-safety-switch · 2 months ago

Text

One of the most confusing experiences of my life was when I was briefly working for that billionaire that got killed. I can't remember his name either. It keeps happening, right? Isn't that weird? In this case, it wasn't weird at all.

When all of it started, it was the usual kind of thing. My secretary got a call about a potential new client, and he came running into the workshop. Now, you have to understand two things: I like to work on my own, and I like to work with absolutely no interruptions. In particular, I especially do not deal well with surprises. I didn't fire him, because I think that "firing people" is a concept of the old, dead world of work. However, I think he knew that what he had done was wrong. And when his eyebrows grow back in, I'm sure he'll look appropriately contrite.

Turns out the client was an eccentric billionaire. He wanted me to hunt down a Plymouth Belvedere that had belonged to his grandfather. There was a considerable chunk of cash involved in it, and of course my per-diem was negotiated to be fairly close to my mortgage payment. I left immediately for the Inland Midwest. Yeah, that's a new name for me, too. Ever since the United Nations occupied Iowa, we've not been allowed to use the slur "Flyover Country" to refer to it anymore. That, and the surface-to-air missile batteries stationed at the border, are probably why my client didn't want to search for himself. Didn't stop me – I snuck in the back door, by driving down the interstate at a remarkable rate of speed in a clapped-out Dodge Dakota, just like the locals do.

Did I find the Belvedere? Absolutely not. It's folly to think that you could locate an individual car, even with my remarkable powers of shitbox deduction. Based on sampling the dirt (by taste, I'm not some kind of weirdo) I determined the 100-kilometre range in which it had once existed, but it was long gone. Likely pushed into the crusher sometime in the 80s.

This was not what my client wanted to hear, and he hired, on the spot, many functionaries to scream at me on his behalf. That contract was iron-clad, though, and I took my cash and left his endlessly-undulating office tower made entirely of seamless, perfectly-reflective mirrored glass. Temporarily made insane by sheer proximity to this much wealth, I immediately put the money into the stock market, and lost it. Turns out that the market responds poorly when one of their own is hit by an Iowan intercontinental ballistic missile. They had finally tracked down where I had parked that Dakota after raiding their strategic stockpile of Weber carbs on the way home.

I had to buy another car to get home, and it turns out that there was a pretty sweet Belvedere for sale nearby, not even two blocks from the smoking crater containing the singed molecules of the billionaire. Lucky find!

137 notes · View notes

sidekick-hero · 10 months ago

Text

Love from the other side

(steddie | rated: M | wc: 6.2k | tags: Vampire Eddie Munson, Nurse Steve Harrington, Mild Gore, Blood Drinking | AO3)

"Steve, we've got a major crash on the Interstate. Multiple vehicles involved. You're on triage duty. Patients will be arriving in five minutes,” Robin, the head nurse in the ER, tells him in a calm voice. She's Steve's best friend, but even he's sometimes surprised at how calm Robin can be in critical situations. He's seen her fret over the prospect of asking out a girl she likes, and her freak-out before her first date with Nancy is now something of a legend between them.

But ask her to handle a crisis and she's cool as a cucumber.

Steve sighs and nods. That means it's going to be a long night. He's already been on for ten hours, two more and he could have gone home to his cat and his warm, soft bed. But they're understaffed as it is, and with so many new patients in unknown condition coming in, he'll be here for at least another five hours. Maybe more.

He makes his way to the triage area of the ER and braces himself for what's to come.

When he finally makes it home, the sun has already risen and he's dead on his feet.

He stumbles through the front door of his apartment and is greeted by Garfield, his tabby cat, who continues to weave through his legs as he takes off his shoes, almost tripping him. He meows pitifully at Steve.

"Yeah, yeah, you poor thing. You'r treated worse here than in a shelter. Warm and cozy and dry with a human to open your tins and feed you."

Garfield meows again, this time more demanding, emphasizing the urgency with which he wants food.

Throwing up his arms, Steve relents. "Fine. Heaven forbid I get to change into something comfortable first."

As soon as he places Garfield's bowl in front of him, Steve is all but forgotten as the cat digs in. "You're welcome," he says to his beloved little freeloader, not expecting a response. He's talking to a cat, after all, but it still helps make the apartment feel less empty.

And there's no one to judge him for it. Not since Robin moved in with Nancy and he had to find a one-bedroom apartment that he could actually afford on his own.

It's not that he begrudges them their happiness, far from it. But coming home to an empty apartment and talking to his cat instead of another human being got old pretty quickly. Worse than that.

It has become lonely.

"Pull yourself together, Steve, and stop whining," he chides himself, still talking out loud.

Steve sighs. He can see himself ending up a hermit with twenty cats who never leaves the house. Deciding it's best to just go to sleep before his thoughts turn any more self-pitying, he bends down to scratch Garfield's head and tells him, "I'm going to bed."

Garfield continues to ignore him as he sips the milk Steve has placed in front of him.

Steve is off for the next two days and spends the time mostly sleeping, doing laundry, and stocking up on food after realizing he didn't even have a slice of toast for breakfast.

He also goes over to Robin and Nance's for dinner, since he's not a hopeless hermit yet. Between the three of them, they go through three bottles of wine and end up swapping stories and inside jokes until his stomach hurts from laughing so hard.

It doesn't make coming back to an empty apartment any easier.

His next shift is another night shift, and it's surprisingly quiet for a Friday night. So far, the worst he has had to deal with is a nasty cut on a drunk frat boy's forehead after the guy fell through a glass door. Steve's still surprised he didn't hurt himself worse. Head wounds bleed like crazy, though, so he looked like he had been attacked by a serial killer when his equally drunk buddies carried him to the emergency room. Seeing that only one deep cut needed stitches, while the other, shallower cuts on his arms and face would be fine on their own, had put Steve in a surprisingly good mood.

So good, in fact, that he carelessly remarked to Carol, the other nurse on duty with him, "Looks like a quiet night for once."

You could have heard a needle drop in the silence that followed his statement, and Carol looked ready to murder him. He had just violated the most important rule in any hospital.

Never, under any circumstances, say the "Q" word.

"Fuck. Oh God, I didn't mean..."

"Too fucking late, Harrington." Carol huffed before stalking off, probably to complain about him to her boyfriend, who was also the hospital director's son.

Less than twenty minutes later, all hell broke loose.

A dance floor at a local club had collapsed, resulting in several dozen serious casualties, all arriving on stretchers, crowding the triage area as Steve worked on autopilot. Assess, prioritize, assist.

In the midst of the chaos, another ambulance arrives and he goes over to talk to the paramedics about taking the patient to St. John's instead because they are at capacity, which really means they were past capacity an hour ago.

One look at the patient tells him there is no time for that,

The man on the gurney was only a few years older than Steve and had a gaping wound on his neck. He was white as a sheet and there was too little blood around a wound that looks like it hit a major artery.

"What the fuck?" He can't help but ask and the paramedic shrugs with a puzzled look on his face.

"I don't know, man. Found him like this and whoever called it in left before we got there."

Rolling their new patient in with hurried steps, Steve wonders if there was anything they could do. The wound needed surgery, and they needed to get blood and other fluids into the man as quickly as possible. Judging by the slow and shallow breathing and the sluggish pulse, his system has already started to shut down.

They lost him before they even got to the operating room. Steve doesn't even hear about it until hours later, when everyone who had been on the dance floor has finally been taken care of and a bone-deep exhaustion replaces the adrenaline-fueled energy in his body. He's not proud of it, but he's too tired to spare the news more than a brief burst of sadness.

Over the next weeks, seven more patients with gaping neck wounds come into the ER while Steve’s on shift, all drained of too much blood to make it past the first ten minutes under their care.

Whispers about a killer roaming the streets of Hawkins have started circulating as the number of victims rises steadily and Steve has started to sleep with a baseball bat under his bed. Just in case.

It’s early Tuesday night, four hours into his twelve hours shift, when another one comes in, this time a young girl around Steve’s age with long strawberry blonde hair and a pretty face. On her neck Steve can make out a gaping wound, just like the others had shown.

But this one is bleeding, profusely.

And the girl is awake, looking up at Steve with wide, terrified eyes.

“Hey, you’re safe, it’s gonna be okay, we’re going to take care of you,” he reassures her over and over as they make their way inside, ushering her to get surgery immediately. When he gives her his warmest reassuring smile she even tries her best to smile back.

Steve hopes she makes it.

She does. Against all odds, considering that the last two dozen victims with similar injuries have all died, she makes it.

Her name is Chrissy Cunningham, and when Steve reads the name on her file, he remembers her. She was a year behind him, a cheerleader. They never really talked much, but he remembers that she was kind and talked to him after everyone else on the team and the cheerleading squad had stopped doing so.

He's glad that she survived, and he promises himself that he will check in on her as soon as his shift is over.

If it hadn't been Chrissy, if it hadn't been someone he knew, he probably never would have met Eddie.

At the end of one of those weird in-between shifts at four in the morning, Steve changes into a pair of sweatpants and his favorite hoodie before heading over to the observatory area where they had to put Chrissy for now because a whole wing of the building is under construction due to some asbestos in the walls. She's already in stable condition, only needing fluids and antibiotics because they have no idea what bit her, so they're letting her sleep it off for now and hopefully find a room to put her in the next day.

The halls of the hospital are quiet at this time of night, especially outside the ER, and it's almost eerie. It feels like no one is here but Steve and the thought makes him shiver. All this serial killer talk is really getting to him, he thinks.

Reaching the area separated only by screens, he sees a figure standing by her bed. He can't make out much, but it appears to be a man, judging by his height, and he's leaning over the bed, talking softly to Chrissy. The man, if it is one, but the deep timber of his voice makes Steve think it is, is not wearing scrubs, but jeans and a hoodie, and Steve is pretty sure he's not hospital staff.

Suddenly, he remembers that something - or someone - must have inflicted the injury on Chrissy's neck.

"Hey, who are you, and what are you doing here?" he shouts as he runs over to the bed, and the figure turns to face him.

It is a man, with wide, dark eyes in a pale face framed by equally dark, messy curls.

"Shit, shit, shit," the man curses and bolts, moving faster than should be humanly possible. One moment he's staring at Steve like a deer in the headlights with his big bambi eyes, the next his shoulder slams into Steve, knocking him to the ground as the mysterious figure disappears from view.

He pushes himself upright and rises from the ground with a determined effort, because even though the guy doesn't look like it, it feels like he's been hit by a brick wall. When he regains his footing, he shakes off the impact and makes his way over to Chrissy to check on her.

She's awake, but too weak to sit up, though she tries.

"Shh, hey, don't strain yourself Chrissy, it's all right, he's gone. You're safe," he reassures her, a hand on her shoulder to keep her from moving too much and aggravating her wound.

"No," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, shaking her head slightly. Just when he wants to reiterate that yes, he's really gone, she continues. "He's safe. He saved me."

"What?" Steve asks, taken aback by her statement. He can tell that even the few words she has spoken have taken a toll on her, draining what little strength she has regained, but he can't help it, he needs to know what she means.

"He...saved me. Pulled him...off. Off me. Would have...killed..." she trails off, her eyelids fluttering shut and Steve lets her be.

Pulling up a chair, he sits down next to her to keep watch, just in case her savior decides to come back.

The next day Chrissy is more lucid. She's also in her own room and has already given a statement to the police when Steve comes in for his shift.

It doesn't matter though, he still has to ask her what happened, needs to know who the strange man was who continued to haunt Steve's dreams after he came home sometime in the early morning.

"I don't know who he is, Steve. He just showed up while Jason...while he," she is visibly shaken by having to remember the events of last night and Steve thinks he should tell her that it's okay, she doesn't have to tell him. But he doesn't. It feels like she needs to say it as much as he needs to hear it.

Steeling herself and taking a deep breath, Chrissy continues, "While Jason was biting me. Mauled me, really. I think he would have torn my throat out if this man had not shown up. He slammed into Jason, ripped him off of me, and they both went down. There was a struggle, I could hear it, but everything hurt so much I couldn't move my head. It went on for a while, I don't know how long. Time was really weird. And then the guy was looking down at me, telling me to stay still, that he was going to call an ambulance, and that I just had to hang in there. He pressed something against my neck and it hurt so much, but the pain kept me there, y'know? So I wouldn't float away and never come back. He told me to stay with him and I did. Until we heard the ambulance. Then he told me he was sorry, but he had to go. And then he was gone and the paramedics took me away."

Chrissy looks very pale after telling her story, the dark rings under her eyes more pronounced than when he first entered the room. But before he can let her rest, he has one more question.

"What was he doing here?"

To Steve's surprise, the question makes Chrissy smile. "An apology, because this is no way for a lady to be left in the lurch."

Steve has no idea what to do with this information, so he just takes Chrissy's hand and squeezes it gently.

"You'll be out of here in no time, Chrissy. We will take good care of you, I promise."

"I know. Thanks, Steve."

He turns and walks away, leaving her to get back to sleep, knowing that it will be a long time before he will be able to do the same.

What the fuck is going on?

They find Jason Carver, or what is left of him, the next day. It's all over the news. No one knows why he attacked his girlfriend or who killed him. The reports leave out a lot of the gruesome details, just saying that he was torn to pieces when they found him.

Steve, of course, can't let that be all. He has to know what happened, so after his shift he sneaks down to the morgue to take a look at what is left of Jason, a guy he only knew in passing, since Steve had already left the school when Jason became captain of the basketball team, taking Steve's old position.

What he finds is a body that is badly mangled, just like the news said. There are deep wounds, chunks of flesh missing, his right arm torn from his shoulder. Though it's hard to swallow, it's not the first time Steve has seen a body destroyed almost beyond recognition. What makes him recoil from the dead man in front of him is the fact that Jason Carver's body is already decomposing as if he'd been dead for several days, maybe weeks, instead of not even 48 hours.

Steve leaves the morgue even more confused - and frightened - and heads home with the image of Jason's tattered, rotting body burned into his eyelids.

Over the next three weeks Steve sees four more victims with the same torn throats and bloodless bodies. None of them can be saved like they saved Chrissy.

He doesn’t see the mysterious man again.

It's late June when Steve's life changes forever.

The sun has only set an hour ago and the air is still warm as he walks home from his shift. Robin and Nance's car broke down the day before, and they live on the outskirts of town, so Steve gave them his car until theirs is fixed in a few days. The weather is nice and he doesn't mind walking the three miles to his apartment.

He's almost home, maybe ten minutes away, when he hears someone whistle.

There's a man standing at the entrance to an alley a few feet ahead of him, and since he's the only one around, Steve assumes it must be him whistling at Steve. The guy is hot, there is no way around it, about Steve's height with an athletic build and a haircut that reminds him of the 80's, his blond hair styled into a mullet.

"What's a pretty guy like you doing out here all alone?" The man asks as he gives Steve a slow look. It's supposed to be seductive, Steve thinks, but it just comes off as sleazy. Which is a shame, because the guy has a pretty face, long lashes, full lips, delicate features. Steve's also going through a bit of a dry spell lately, but he's not desperate enough to hook up with a slimy sleazeball like that.

"None of your business, really," he replies, walking a little faster than before. Something doesn't feel right, he thinks, feeling the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

"Aww, don't be like that, sweet thing. I just wanna talk, I swear." Steve is almost past the guy when their eyes meet and he feels himself freeze. "Why don't you come closer so I can smell you better?"

Even as he thinks, "What the hell is wrong with this guy?" he feels his body turn toward him and his feet propel him forward. He feels himself panic, but it's a distant thing, like an itch under his skin that he can't reach no matter how hard he scratches.

When he's in front of the stranger, so close that their chests almost touch, the man leans in and sniffs Steve's neck like a dog at a slab of meat. He hums deep in his chest and Steve feels the wet touch of his tongue against his skin. It's enough of a shock that he can get his body to react, to fight back, but it's no use. The moment he moves, the man growls menacingly at him.

With his feet still rooted to the ground, Steve feels like he's underwater, his senses dulled and his limbs heavy, weighed down by the tons of water around him. He fights it with all his strength and it takes all he's got to put his hands on the man's chest and push him away.

It's not even close to a hard push, but the man clearly didn't expect Steve to fight back at all, so he stumbles back a bit anyway. Unfortunately for Steve, it only makes him angrier.

"Looks like you got some fight in you after all. Too bad I don't like my food to fight back," he snarls, and before Steve knows what's happening he feels his back slam into the wall behind him, darkness surrounding them on all sides.

He struggles against the hands holding him down, but it's no use, their grip steely and unyielding.

The once pretty face has turned into something twisted and ugly, a grotesque imitation of a human face, and when the thing in front of him opens its mouth, all Steve sees are teeth. Long, sharp teeth.

Steve screams, but not a sound comes out of its mouth.

As those teeth sink into his neck, the face of the man who saved Chrissy's life pops unbidden into his mind. Steve has seen it in his dreams more than once, and it's strangely comforting to think of it now, in what Steve is sure will be his last minutes alive. As if this is all a fucked up dream and Chrissy's mysterious savior will come for him, too.

White hot pain races through his body from where the thing that looked like a man sunk its teeth into him and it's only that pain that makes him believe what he sees next.

One moment he's in mind-numbing agony, almost wishing for death to come and end his suffering, and the next the oppressive weight of that thing is gone, its teeth no longer in Steve. With nothing holding him up, he crumples to the ground, his head dazed and his body shaking like a leaf.

To his right he hears the sounds of a viscous battle. Growls and snarls, flesh hitting flesh, flesh hitting brick, the sound of bones snapping. He's too weak to even turn his head, and part of him is glad for that.

The fight seems to go on forever and Steve feels himself slipping in and out of consciousness. His heart has stopped pounding and his pulse has slowed to about 60 beats per minute, which is good. Not too slow, his system is still going strong. It was cardiac arrest after immense blood loss that had killed the other victims, but so far that doesn't seem to be Steve's fate.

At least not if the wound on his neck that is still slowly bleeding is taken care of soon.

He doesn't dare press his undoubtedly dirty palm against it yet. Hell, he's not even sure if he can lift his hand that far. But something has to be done about the bleeding, sooner rather than later.

As if his savior had heard his thoughts, there is a final, stomach-churning sound of flesh and bone ripping, followed by silence, the fight finally over.

And then there he is, as if his mind had conjured him, the man who saved Chrissy. The man with the big brown doe eyes and the pale skin and the messy curls. There's blood on his face now, and... other things Steve doesn't want to think about.

Steve is safe now, he feels it deep in his soul. He doesn't know how he can know that, how he can trust a complete stranger to keep him safe, but he does. His eyelids flutter shut, the tension finally draining from him completely.

A cool hand on his cheek and a warm, deep voice, tinged with what sounds like fear, pull him back.

"Hey, no, no, no. Steve, you need to stay here with me, okay? Stay with me, sweetheart."

"You know my name," Steve mumbles, fighting the heavy rocks that weigh down his eyelids as he looks at the pretty face in front of him. His eyes dip lower and there's more blood on the man, his clothes torn and his skin exposed. "You're hurt."

"You're very observant, Stevie. Come on, we gotta get you to the hospital. You'll be as good as new in no time." He smiles at Steve and Steve is helpless not to smile back. There's the tease of a dimple forming in his cheek and Steve lifts his hand with Herculean effort to touch it. When the man notices the gesture, the dimple forms fully, deep and alluring. A cold hand catches his before it reaches its target and Steve whines in protest.

The man chuckles fondly. "Here, lemme help you," he says, bringing Steve's hand to his face, the dimple still waiting for Steve to touch it. The skin is soft under his hands and cold too, like it's a winter night and not the end of June.

"I'm gonna pick you up now, Stevie. It's faster than waiting for an ambulance. Just close your eyes and we'll be there before you know it."

Steve feels himself lifted from the ground into strong arms and instinctively turns his head into the man's chest, enjoying the vibration of his soft laughter at the gesture against his cheek.

Then they're moving, and fast. One second he wonders how someone covered in blood and other unspeakable things can smell so good, and the next the lights of the hospital burn bright and painful in his blurry eyes.

"He needs help, now," he hears the man say to someone, his voice firm and demanding. It makes Steve shiver in his arms. And then he's placed on a gurney and his savior leaves with the whisper of cold lips on Steve's forehead.

It's only much later, when he's recovered enough to form coherent thoughts, that Steve realizes two things.

He doesn't even know the name of the man who saved him.

He never heard a heartbeat as his head was pressed against the man's chest.

Steve is released two days later and Robin insists that he stay with her and Nancy for a while. There's really no arguing with his best friend when she's got something on her mind, so he doesn't even try. He's too tired anyway.

His sleep is shit, plagued by nightmares of sharp teeth and blood and bodies being torn to pieces.

He also dreams of the mysterious man, and while these dreams aren't nightmares, they're still confusing, even unsettling, because they leave him feeling hollow. Like he has lost something. Which is ridiculous, the man was never his, he doesn't even know his name.

As he spends the next week at Robin and Nancy's, being pampered and doted on, he has no idea how close he is to learning the name of his savior. That and much more.

After finally convincing his best friend that he can manage on his own, that he needs to go home, that Garfield misses him even with Robin or Nancy stopping by to feed him, it is both daunting and a relief to see Robin's car drive away from where he stands in front of his apartment building.

The nightmares haven't stopped, and he admits that the prospect of being alone in his apartment scares him, but he can't live on his best friend's couch forever. Besides, even there, the nightmares would wake him up shaking and panting, waking Robin and Nancy more than once in the middle of the night. Alone in his apartment, he won't wake anyone with his whimpering and screaming.

Garfield is already waiting for him when he comes through the door, weaving through his legs and meowing at him. Surprised at how much he missed the tabby menace, Steve leans down and takes him in his arms, burying his face in the soft fur.

"Hey baby, sorry for leaving you alone for so long. But Aunt Robbie told me that she and Nancy took good care of you, playing with you and petting you. Probably spoiled you rotten, huh?"

Garfield meows again and pushes his head under Steve's chin, rubbing against him and purring like crazy. Steve smiles into his fur, thinking that he's glad to be home, even if it's still empty except for the purring cat in his arms.

He puts Garfield back down and makes him something to eat before heading to his bathroom to take a long, hot shower and change into something more comfortable. When he pushes open the door and steps inside, he is too stunned by the sight that greets him for any real reaction other than a sharp intake of breath.

On the floor is the man who has taken over most of Steve's dreams and many of his waking thoughts as well.

The man lies still and Steve can see dark stains on his clothes and he just knows it's blood. It could be someone else's, but somehow Steve is sure it's the man's own. Within seconds, he's on his knees next to the unconscious (please just be unconscious) figure, his knees smarting from the way he just fell onto them on the hard and cold tiles.

The man is on his stomach, his face turned to the side, away from Steve, so he moves to turn the man over. He's surprisingly heavy, a dead weight under his hands (no, no, no, not dead, just unconscious, his mind chants), but Steve is nothing if not persistent, and he finally manages to turn the man onto his back.

"Oh God," Steve groans as he can finally assess the damage. There are wounds all over his body, deep gashes on his thighs, his torso, his arms, even his face. "What happened to you?"

"Ten against one. Not...fair," the man replies, his voice barely audible and his eyes still closed. Steve has to lean in to make out the words, but him talking also means the man is still alive, though Steve isn't sure how much longer.

Taking the man's wrist, Steve looks for a pulse to see how far his system has already shut down, but... there is no pulse to be found.

He remembers not hearing a heartbeat when his cheek was pressed against the man's chest, so he presses his ear to where the man's heart is, waiting for the sound of its faint beat.

Nothing.

Steve leans back and searches the man's eyes, half-open now and clearly alive.

"How... you can't be alive. You don't have a pulse, your heart isn't beating." He is stammering, but it's a lot to take in. It shouldn't be possible. It's not like he wants the guy to be dead, but for all intents and purposes, he should be.

Bloodied lips pull back into a faint smile. "Sweetheart, not even the most beautiful sight like you could make my heart beat again. Although it really tries for you."

Despite everything, the way this guy flirts with him while he lies in his own blood brings a crooked smile to Steve's face.

"There, that smile? If it could, my heart would be beating out of my chest right now." Steve can tell the man is trying for levity, but he's fading and fast.

"As charming as you are, you're also bleeding all over my bathroom floor. With no pulse or heartbeat. And I don't even know your friggin' name! So forgive me for asking, but what the fuck?"

"Sorry for the blood on your floor, I tried to patch myself up, but I must have passed out. Embarrassing, really. Didn't think you'd be back so soon. I'd get out of your hair, but... well, you know. I don't think I can move." The words start to slur halfway through, and those beautiful brown eyes keep disappearing behind heavy eyelids. Steve has to do something, quickly, before his savior dies.

"Eddie," the man croaks, his voice barely audible. Steve wouldn't have heard it if it weren't for the intent way he stares at him.

"What?"

"My name. Eddie."

"Eddie. Okay." Steve nods his head, the hand still wrapped around Eddie's wrist grabbing his hand instead, squeezing it gently. "Eddie, we need to get you to the hospital now."

It looks like Eddie tries to shake his head, but gives up halfway, exhausted. "No. They can't help me."

"But they can! Someone needs to sew up your wounds, and you've lost too much blood, you need a blood transfusion and fluids and - why are you laughing?"

"You're right, I need blood, but not the way you think."

The image of sharp teeth flickers behind his eyelids, a gnarled face snarling at him. The feeling of those teeth buried in his neck, white-hot pain shooting through his veins.

"What... Eddie, I don't..."

Eddie's face turns toward him, his nostrils flaring as he takes a deep breath, as if smelling the air.

"Come closer so I can smell you better."

Two different voices growling and snarling, not just one.

Strong arms lifting him off the ground as if he weighed nothing, carrying him nearly three miles. "It's faster than waiting for an ambulance."

"You're not human." Steve whispers. It's not a question.

Eddie answers it anyway. "No, I'm not."

"You're... You're a..." He can't say it, can't even think it.

"A vampire, yes." Eddie says it for him and everything falls into place. The neck wounds, the drained victims, the sharp teeth and the inhuman strength and speed.

"You want my blood." Steve has no idea why he's stating the obvious instead of running as fast as he can, but something tells him he's still safe with Eddie.

"So observant." Eddie chuckles, but it sounds wet and weak. "Yeah. But I won't take it, don't worry, Stevie."

In his mind Steve goes over the things he knows.

Eddie is a vampire. A vampire who killed another vampire to save Steve’s life. To save Chrissy’s life.

Eddie is dying. He may already be dead, but it looks like vampires can die again. Permanently.

Eddie wants his blood.

"Would it help you? My blood, I mean." That's the only thing he's not sure about. The most important thing, at least.

It looks like an inhuman - invampire, Steve thinks - effort, but Eddie manages to shake his head firmly.

"Steve, no."

"Would. It. Help?" Steve insists.

Eddie, the stubborn asshole, presses his lips together and refuses to look at him. That's answer enough for him.

Still holding Eddie's hand in his, he lifts his other hand to Eddie's mouth and presses the inside of his wrist against the closed mouth.

"Come on, Eddie. Drink." Another shake of the man's head only strengthens Steve's resolve. "Eddie, please. You saved my life. Let me do the same."

The stubborn ass continues to refuse, so Steve does the only logical thing. He stands, grabs his razor, and slides the blade across his wrist, just deep enough to draw blood from the otherwise shallow wound.

He presses the wrist back against Eddie's lips and this time he feels the man tremble.

"Please drink. I want you to. Let me help you." Moving his wrist and smearing his blood over Eddie's full lips, Steve pleads again, his voice breaking. "Please, Eddie."

It's the last please that does it, and the next thing Steve feels is the white-hot pain of teeth sinking into his wrist. Still smiling through the pain, he squeezes Eddie's hand. "That's it, you're doing so good. Take what you need."

And Eddie does. He drinks and drinks and drinks until the world goes fuzzy and black spots start dancing in front of Steve's eyes.

"Eddie," Steve slurs before everything goes dark.

When Steve comes to, he's in his bed.

His wrist is wrapped tightly in a pristine-looking white bandage, and he's wearing his pajamas. He has no idea how he got here or what happened, everything is kind of blurry. Steve tries to sit up, but almost immediately the world starts spinning and he groans in protest.

That's when the door to his bedroom opens and his mysterious savior walks into the room with a bowl in his hand.

Eddie, his mind supplies. His name is Eddie and he was dying the last time Steve saw him.

"Are you okay?" Steve asks him, his voice full of worry and he gets a sad smile in return.

"Stevie, I'm the one who should be asking you that." Eddie sits down next to him on the bed but doesn't touch him. He looks tense and Steve wonders why. Though most of what happened is a blur, he remembers holding Eddie's hand and Eddie calling him beautiful.

"I'm fine. A little dizzy, but fine. You were the one bleeding all over my bathroom floor. What happened, how are you even standing, how long was I out?"

Eddie reaches out and takes Steve's cheek in his hand. "You saved my life, Stevie. That's what happened. And you almost got yourself killed, you self-sacrificing idiot. So even though it saved my life, I have to ask you, beg you if I have to, to never do anything so stupid again."

Steve puts his own hand on top of Eddie's hand on his face and looks him in the eye as he tells him, "You saved my life first and risked your own as well. So I guess the pot is calling the kettle black here."

He's rewarded with a dimpled smile. "Fair point. Now that we're even, can you promise me you'll never do anything like this again?"

"I dunno. Can you promise not to try to save me again if I'm in danger?" He knows it's a low blow, but if it helps him get his point across, he's not above playing dirty. Besides, part of him really wants to know. The needy part, the scared part.

"You know the answer to that," Eddie says, brushing his thumb across Steve's cheekbone.

"Isn't that a little unfair?"

"Yeah," Eddie whispers, and Steve realizes he's so much closer than before. "But I don't care if it keeps you safe."

Steve feels his heart thunder in his chest, his eyes darting from Eddie's to the other man's lips and back again. Licking his own lips, Steve asks, "And why is that?"

Eddie's lips are only a breath away from his own, and he tastes his answer as much as he hears it.

"You know that answer as well."

Before Steve can say anything else, Eddie's cool, smooth lips seal over his and every thought in his mind is forgotten. There's only Eddie.

Later he'll ask about the other vampires. About all the dead people in the emergency room. He'll ask who Eddie is, why he's running around town saving people, and who hurt him so badly.

But all that can wait, at least until Steve is done drinking down the delicious sounds falling from Eddie's mouth.

This is a little birthday gift for my dear friend @yournowheregirl. Alice, I know you love vampires so I tried my best to give you some. Time ran out on me but I still hope you like it 💜

I hope you had the best birthday ever because you deserve nothing but happiness.

Edit: I forgot while posting to say that this is heavily inspired by a wonderful podcast I highly recommend, Not quite dead. Give it a listen folks!

#steddie #steddie fanfiction #vampire eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #Nurse Steve Harrington #my writing

293 notes · View notes

hotluncheddie · 5 months ago

Text

For the lovely @sidekick-hero as part of @steddiesummerexchange

Using the prompt 'meet ugly' which was so fun and pushed me to do some new stuff! so thank you! i hope you enjoy!! 🫂

Ao3 | wc: 6.2k | rated: M | cw: panic attacks | tags: 90's AU, No Upside down, Meet-ugly, Platonic Hellcheer, Background Buckingham, Rockstar Eddie Munson, Yoga Instructor Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson needs a hug

₊✩‧₊

‘Munson, this, there’s nothing here man.’ His manager sighs, looking over Eddie’s scribbled notes.

Eddie sucks another lungful of his cigarette. arms and legs crossed on the too soft office sofa, foot tapping.

He knows.

Of course he knows.

It’s shit.

All of it.

Disjointed song ideas and cord progressions that don’t work outside of a shitty blue grass wannabe and the weird none metal bullshit that somehow got him here; that people keep insisting is grunge.

‘You have till mid June, ready for Lollapalooza in July. Label said so.’ And Jake is a good guy, a good manager, but Eddie wants to rip his skin off and never see this ugly fucking Chicago office building or anyone in it. Ever. Again.

He wants to write. He wants to create, and perform.

But he can’t.

It all shit. There’s nothing here.

He speeds down the interstate. Foot pressing on the accelerator, pressing steadily harder and harder. The speedometer ticking up 10mph, more, 20, more.

‘Shit, fuck.’ Eddie curses, trying to light the cigarette at his lips. Lighter sparking but no quick catching flame, just the click and fizz, dead. ‘Stupid. Fucking.’ He sniffs, scrubbing at his eyes, tears leaving sticky tracks across his cheeks.

‘FUCKER!’ He shouts, throwing the shitty bic lighter out of the passenger window, into the inky blackness, scrubbing at his eyes again.

He can’t fucking see. He needs a fucking cigarette.

He’s running out of gas, fast. Rain starting to fall, heavy and sleeting. His hissy fit can’t last forever, but the itch is still under his skin. Mind blank to anything that could be remotely useful. He’s so creatively drained it’s a joke. A mean fucking joke handed out by god himself.

Because Eddie had his whole life to write that album. To pour his brain out and stick it together into a mangled beautiful little thing.

And now he’s expected to do the same thing. In months.

And he knows. He knows, it’s possible, and it’s been done, and he has thoughts and feeling and music left inside him.

But it’s hard. And he’s scared.

Eddie doesn’t think he’ll ever write another song again. Dry to the bone. Like his Dad always expected. Always knew. Knew he had nothing in him. Good for nothin’.

Snot drips onto his top lip. He, he can’t see. ‘Fuck.’ He whispers - he.

The lights of a gas station shine up ahead.

Tiredness dripping down into his bones, suddenly.

Eddie pulls off, parks off at the side.

Punches the steering wheel till his knuckles go bloody.

‘W-wayne ‘m sorry, I, I just can’t Wayne.’ Eddie stutters into the receiver. The distance between then crackling. Cold wind rattles the glass walls of the little gas station payphone.

‘Ed’s? I need ya to take a breath for me kid.’ Wayne’s voice sounds deeper through the phone, more smoky.

Eddie’s hands are shaking so hard he shoves one up under his armpit, can barely feel his fingers, tucking his elbow in close and squeezing. Stomping his feet, trying to ground himself into this time and space. He breaths in through his mouth and nose, shuddering as he tries to get as much air as possible into his frame. Blood pumping loud in his ears, and he still can’t fucking see.

‘That’s it son, and again for me.’ Wayne says, in the same tone he says most things; calm and plain, for as long as Eddie can remember.

He only heard his uncle raise his voice a couple of times, and never once over Eddie. It was always the disappointed looks that would get under his skin, keep him on the straight and narrow (or, not straight, and mostly narrow), kept him safe.

The main one that Eddie remembers, was when his dad came.

His dad came to try and get him, take him home, wherever that was, whatever that meant. Wayne lost his shit, as much as Wayne can. Held his hunting gun too close to his dads heart and told him brother-in-law to ‘Get! Out!’

Eddie had hidden behind the arm of the sofa, crouched and only daring to peak over when he heard his dad huff, punching the doorframe once and stepping back to leave. ‘Fine, fine!’ He’d spat. ‘Don’t want the kid anyway.’ He glanced at Eddie then, a dark sort of indifference in his eyes. ‘Fucking useless.’

That darkness fills Eddie now, coating his lungs and stopping the air flowing through. His Dad’s right, he can’t be anything, not really. Doesn’t have it in him.

Part of him is still there, cowering behind the couch. A coward, still now. Maybe always.

‘You stop that right now Eddie y’hear? You might be yer Daddy’s son but you’re in no way him. Ain’t no way.’ Wayne says, stern.

Eddie sobs, palm pressed across his eyes, fingers digging into his temple. ‘Fuck.’ He fucking, he just can’t.

‘M’sorry Wayne. M’sorry. It’s so stupid but I nearly fucking killed him Wayne, if I wasn’t there he woulda’ got away, woulda’ got away fine.’

‘If you make one more excuse for that sack of shit Eddie I’m coming up there myself to talk it outa’ you.’ Wayne says. ‘You were a kid Ed, didn’t do nothin’ wrong other than trustin’ your own Daddy.’ Wayne’s voice softens, making sure Eddie’s still listening. ‘What happened wasn’t your fault kid.’ He says, like it’s final.

‘Okay.’ Eddie takes a wet breath, shivering. ‘Yeah, okay Wayne, I hear ya.’ Closing his eyes, squeezing the receiver and rolling his forehead across the cool glass of the booth.

‘You ring Chris for me now Ed, tell her you’ll be home soon. And I’ll ring tomorrow once ‘m off, leave you a message if you’re not in.’ Eddie sniffs again, a few more tears slipping down his cheeks.

‘Ok Wayne.’ He agrees, it’s easier. He’s so tired. ‘Night.’

Eddie sneaks through the door, not sure if he wants a whole pity party right now. He kind of just wants to go to bed.

Chrissys head pops up over the couch, looking at him with wide, wet eyes.

Maybe he does want a little party, actually. He feels tears well in his lashes again.

‘Hey Chris. I um, sorry for leaving. It uh, it’s bad again.’ He admits, voice cracking.

‘Eddie.’ She soothes, coming around to him by the door and wrapping him in a hug. Holding him so tightly in her skinny arms. Too good for him. ‘I’m sitting with you while you ring the doctor tomorrow okay? And you’re coming to yoga with me Thursday.’ She says, wiping Eddie’s tears with her sleeve. ‘And I don’t want any buts mister.’ She mumbles darkly, squeezing his waist when Eddie snorts.

‘Fine. I, fucking, anything to not feel like this anymore Chris.’ He sighs, he’s so tired. ‘Even fuckin’ yoga.’ And he knows she can hear his eyes roll but she just squeezes him again, humming.

He buries his face in her neck. Taking deep breaths, till the shuddering goes away.

They’re in the coffee shop below the yoga studio. Eddie’s anxious, already itching for another cigarette even though he finished his last one right before entering the cafe, not five minutes ago, shivering against the cold wind. He didn’t sleep last night, or get any words out, he just watched the shopping channel all curled up on the couch, biting his nails and wishing for something to come change him.

But he’s here, as much as he doesn’t want to be. He trusts Chrissy, and the last call with the label about the very none negotiable schedule for a new song release in conjuncture with the tour has him ready to try anything.

Even fucking yoga.

‘I just don’t see how this is going he help Chrissy, it’s just breathing and shit.’ Eddie says loudly, stress making him obnoxious, the bell above the cafe door tinkling. ‘It’s not gonna help me get stronger. Plus it’s wrapped up in all that pseudoscience bullshit. Just trying to make money off unhappy people and their shit.’ He’s staring down and the flyer in his hand. They were on the counter and Chrissy had shoved it at his chest as she ordered. Probably a queue for him to shut up.

‘Who the hell even is Stevie anyway?’ Eddie asks, flapping the paper around. It’s pink, with bold black writing and the outline of a striped flag in the corner. Hm.

But no, gay yoga is still yoga, Eddie won’t be converted that easily.

‘Chrissy, hey!’ Comes a deep voice from behind him, making Eddie jump. When he turns his arms fall limp at his sides.

Golden skin and soft brown eyes. Hair that curls around his ears and sits on his head in a highlighted swoop; kinda messy, like he runs his fingers through it. Little gold hoop in his ear, neck covered in moles. Beautiful.

They’re around the same height but this guy is broader, thick and sturdy with a layer of squish over his muscle, a layer of chest hair over his pecs, peaking out of his tank. He could suffocate Eddie with those thighs. Eddie could take great pride in holding all that bulk down, making him scre-

‘Stevie! Hey!’ she beams. ‘Eddie meet Steve Harrington. And Stevie, this is Eddie Munson, my best friend.’ Chrissy say, introducing them and pulling the stranger into a side hug.

Eddie can’t think straight.

This, is Stevie?

The barista calls his name, Eddie coming back to himself to turn and grab his order. Plaster some kind of smile on his face in leu of an actual human greeting.

Chrissys looking at him, smiling like she knows something. Knows more than Eddie does.

He sips his tea. Doesn’t look at her.

‘…Well nice to meet you man, I’ll see you both in there.’ Steve says, pointing his thumb towards the door. ‘just wanted to say hi. Gotta go prep some more pseudoscience bull before it all starts.’ He says, clapping. Smiling at Eddie like a fucking Stepford wife. Eddie gapes at him. Steve winks.

Eddie’s mouth snaps shut.

Slimy fucking guy. Eddie seethes, sipping his tea, watching Stevie leave. He looks like he could be the son of any of the record execs that’ve tried to fuck over Eddie’s music. Breathing down his neck to get another hit album, like Eddie has any control over that, can get himself to write anything like that again. Like he can handle the plans for a tour next spring, into the summer for festivals, said they want new songs to keep the fans interested. Fucking Steve looking at him like that, all spotless and put together and prefect and Eddie cannot fucking let this guy beat him. Not today.

‘What does that look mean?’ Chrissy asks, amused.

‘Means that I’m about to have the best fucking yoga session that guy has ever seen.’ Eddie says, still glaring at where Steve had just been. He hooks his arm through Chrissy’s and heads for the door.

The studio is a renovated townhouse with hardwood floors and long windows. There’s a wall of mirrors and a bar across one wall, aerobics equipment stacked in the corner.

Eddie finds a spot with Chrissy nearer the back, but the rooms really not that big, he can see Steve’s set up at the front just fine.

Chrissy leave his side to go pay, and apparently flirt with the tall freckled girl who’s taking said payments. Standing in the corner with a clipboard and a laugh that ends in a snort. That must be Robin, Chrissys long time yoga crush, and by the way Robin playful taps Chrissy on the head with her pen, she’s not doing too badly.

Looking around Eddie’s surprised that there’s other people like him, with tattoos and some more visible piercings.

Older ladies with pink in their hair. A younger guy with a cane and a Prince shirt on. People of different sizes, colours, shapes.

Steve is making his way around the room, talking to people, he knows most of them by name.

It’s. It’s almost nice.

But when Eddie looks at Steve all he sees are the jocks who spat on him in high-school. The rich kids who said they couldn’t be friends because their parents found out he lives in a trailer. People who look at him with awkward, dead eyed pity when he mentions his uncle but not his parents.

Steve walks over, snapping Eddie out of his head. ‘Hey, so Chrissy knows how it goes. But Eddie, I want you to take it easy tonight, okay? First session means you should be careful.’

Eddie leans back on his palms, festered. ‘Don’t think I can handle it Steven?’

Steve doesn’t take the bate, neutral face barely twitching. ‘Have you done yoga before?’

‘No’

Steve crosses his arms. ’Then no, I don’t think you can handle it actually. Last thing I want is you disturbing my class because you pulled a muscle being dumb, kay?’

Eddie just grunts, smiling at him in a little closed lipped sneer. Jerking his head and clenching his jaw.

Stevie just rolls his eyes, walks away.

Eddie hates him.

Fucking yoga. How hard could it fucking be…

Eddie muscles are burning. He takes it back he takes it back.

But he can’t let Steve know. Can’t bare to see that smug little smirk on his face again.

‘Stay here if you're comfortable. But, if you want a little push tonight’ Steve says to the room, eyes flashing to Eddie in warning. ‘Move with me.’ And he bends down to touch the floor, hands then coming away, held in place by his core.

‘Fuck’ Eddie grunts, tries releasing his hands but he comes too close to toppling over. His palms are sweating and his hair is sticking to his neck. Fucking yoga…

‘Just breathing and shit right Munson?’ Steve says as Eddie spaces out on his mat, session over. Eddie can see more thigh at the angle, up the stupid fucking shorts Steve’s wearing. A little patch of sweat on his tank, sticking to his chest hair.

‘Whatever Harrington.’ He grunts, forcing himself to sit up. Not looking Steve in the eye.

Everything hurts. Even his fucking brain hurts from trying to imagine the smooth lake that Steve talked about during the ending meditation. Eddie couldn’t seem to imagine his without a ghostly pirate ship bobbing in the middle of the water.

Fucking yoga.

‘I hate him.’

‘Yeah sure, next thing you’ll be pulling his pigtails’ Chrissy rolls her eyes. ‘You don’t even know him, and I heard how well you slept after the session, your snoring woke me up Ed’s. Don’t give up just because the teacher is hot.’

‘He is not hot!’ Eddie seethes.

He is so hot. So, so incredibly hot.

Chrissy raises one eyebrow.

‘Fine. I’ll keep going. but I hate him. ‘

One session, a few weeks in, Eddie feels it.

He dips down, back bending, coming out of downwards dog. Flowing onto his palms and toes. He breaths, feels his blood flow in his veins and his lungs fill. Rising back up and feeling the stretch in his feet, in his shoulders and hips. He breaths through it, moving with himself, connected to himself.

Mind blank, room gone, just him and his breath. The smooth voice of Steve telling them to repeat. Eddie does. His eyes close and his mind smooths out. He flows.

He doesn’t look at Steve again. Misses the glint in his eye, noticing the space Eddie holds on his mat, the tensions that’s been released. Misses Steve’s smile.

Eddie breathes in. A chord progression plays in his mind.

He breaths out. It plays again.

It works perfectly with that scribbled line he re read this afternoon.

Eddie breaths in.

He goes home and writes.

Winter eventually thaws and Spring begins slowly, slush still gripping to the sidewalks as the sun peaks through thick clouds.

Eddie continues to work on demos, that don’t quite hurt so much to look at anymore, and goes to yoga once a week.

Twice a week for a couple weeks now, while Chrissy is away visiting family. Eddie doesn’t want to disturb her too much by phoning. But he misses her, the apartment too quiet, and empty.

He gets to class early. Kind of exited to feel the stretch in his muscles tonight, see if he can hit the lower warrior stance he’s been working on. Any excitement sifts into annoyance though, once he sees Steve, mingling, in a bright pink shirt and shorts that sit way too high up on his thighs. Eddie’s not a prude, but, does he really need to see so much leg hair and smooth inner thigh when he’s trying to work out? Trying to relax?

‘Ready to feel the burn Munson?’ Steve asks as he saunters past him, clicking on the boombox as he goes

‘Bite me Harrington, ‘m not in the mood.’ Eddie says. annoyed. Always annoyed that Steve is still as fucking handsome as last time. Always so annoyingly handsome.

He misses Chrissy.

He’s annoyed

Steve’s shorts are too fucking short…

Steve’s smug smile does not go unnoticed when Eddie actually falls asleep during the wind down meditation. Steve had skipped the ending applause and instead ushered everyone out quietly, leaving Eddie to sleep for a solid 20 minutes while he packed up.

Eddie has glared, not able to extend any gratitude to that being the best sleep he’s had all week, his cheeks bright red at being caught. But Steve’s smugness seemed to be thawing with the ice. A softness to his eyes as he bid Eddie goodnight; once Eddie had wrapped himself back up in his winter coat for the walk home.

Eddie couldn’t help but say goodnight back. ‘See you next week Harrington’ Didn’t seem to sound so bitter anymore.

Eddie watches Chrissy try and show Robin an old cheer move, somehow moving topics once Chrissy had added her money to the pot. Robin’s arms don’t seem to stay straight for long enough, too distracted so she looses form. Chrissy giggling and reaching over to grab her wrist and squeeze.

‘You two been dating long?’ Steve asks, suddenly next to Eddie and joining him in watching the two girls dance around each other. Eddie gives him such a look of confusion and judgment that Steve puts his hands up in defence.

‘I’m joking dude, Rob’s been crazy about her for months. Too bad she’s too chicken shit to ask her out.’

‘I know, I’m honestly just glad she’s real, Chris wouldn’t shut up about her.’

‘Tell her to make it obvious, would you? More obvious that she would expect, Robbie needs that.’ And Steve is smiling, eyes sparking as he looks at them.

Eddie nods, and he doesn’t know why he feels the need to say what’s he’s going to, why he needs to explain. Why he feels like Steve needs to know, but.: ‘We uh, both swing away from each other on the ol’ spectrum, just so, so that we’re clear.’

And Steve is looking at him. At the side of Eddie’s head, because he refuses to see what kind of face Steve is making.

‘That right?’ Steve says quietly. ‘Well, good to know.’

Eddie.. he. ‘Good?’

‘Yeah good.’ And Steve’s voice is soft. And Eddie still doesn’t know why but, he blushes.

And Steve’s moving away and calling Robin to start the session.

Eddie doesn’t look up from his mat.

He can’t be in the apartment anymore. Going stir crazy, buzzing, trapped in his own head. Its too early, class doesn’t start yet. But Eddie needs out.

Chrissy isn’t going tonight, working late. The weatherman said there might be a thunder storm in the early hours. the rain already started, pelting his windows and sending a deep swirling ache dripping through Eddie’s nervous system.

It’s raining so hard he can barely see in front of him but he manages to slop to the studio in one piece, waterproof and face dripping all over the floor.

It’s warm, once he’s through the doors, the now familiar soft yellow lighting and smell of hardwood greeting him.

He can hear laughing from the usual room. Moving closer can hear Robin and Steve giggling about something.

Eddie slips through the door, not really sure what to do but he’s almost ready to admit that he craves the soft light of the familiar yoga room.

He slips through the door and the first crack of lightning snaps in the distance.

Steve is in a head stand, giggling and telling robin to knock it off, whatever she’s said making him almost loose his balance.

Upside down Eddie can see Steve’s back, his T-shirt up around his shoulders.

There’s old raised lines of jagged scars all along the planes of skin and muscle. Sewn back together and healed all wonky.

Eddie’s mouth is dry as he stares at them. The muscles moving under Steve’s skin, the softness at his hips. Eddie gulps.

His dad setting the stupid boat house on fire, once he’d heard the sirens, not leaving enough room between himself and the gasoline. Throwing the lighter while he was off balance. The flames licking his arms and face. He told Eddie to run. Eddie did.

Eddies mat slips from his fingers and smacks against the floor. Steve coming down from his position and turning around, shirt falling back and covering him. ‘Sorry, sorry.’ Eddie stammers, not sure what about. His hands are sweating. Steve, with skin like that. He’s not his Dad, he’s not.

Eddie doesn’t even know if his Dad is out of prison. The lightning cracks again, closer. It was raining the day of the verdict, the courthouses grey brick so waterlogged it looked black.

Eddie can barely look at him. Who even is this guy?

‘Hey man, you okay?’ Steve asks, voice soft and Eddie needs to leave. He needs to leave.

‘Water.’ Eddie slips back out of the room, into the hallway and he speed walks down the corridor to the water cooler. Thudding his shoulder into the wall next to it and sliding down into a crouch. Thunder claps and rattles its deep booming cry.

His breath is shaky, a little too fast. When he closes his eyes he sees the black smoke and orange flames licking the forest skyline as he ran. Feet pumping and sweat dripping into his eyes. His dad told him to run. So he had. Leaving him there.

Eddie can barely breathe. He’s already run for so long, the sirens faint and distant. His dad’s cold eyes on him in the hospital; burns unit. In court. Wayne dragging Eddie home in tears. Soaking wet.

His head jerks and smacks the wall behind him. Pulling him back to the present. The wet slap of his hair against his cheek. Eddie can’t breath, his hands are shaking and, and.

Steve is crouched in front of him, lips moving but Eddie can’t hear him over the blood rushing in his ears.

Steve counts on his fingers; one, two, three. Holding them up for Eddie to see. Then his other hand reaches forward and pokes Eddie in the sternum over his slimy waterproof. Steve breaths in, fingers counting again. Steve hold it, fingers. He breaths out, fingers.

For the next round Eddie follows, hands shaking and cupping over his ears. He breaths in, unable to hold it but he breaths everything in his lungs out. Does it again. Following the count of Steve’s fingers. He has a plaster over his thumb. Eddie wonders what happened. Eddie’s breaths in, holds it for three, breaths out.

Eventually Eddie can breathe on his own, still shaky, but consistent. The thunder and lightning having moved off into the distance.

Steve gets him a cup of water from the cooler, handing it over slowly and Eddie grips it in both hands. ‘You scared me there Munson.’ He says without heat.

‘Yeah I, sorry.’ Eddie cheeks burn, it’s been, a long time since he’s had one like that.

‘S’okay. I know these are pretty scary.’ Steve motions to his back, shifting to sit against the wall next to Eddie. Sad sort of smile pulling on his lips.

Eddie panics. ‘No, no that. They’re, they’re not.’ Because they really aren’t. He just, he wasn’t expecting it.

‘I’m kidding Eddie, you’re good.’ Steve says, smiling for real now, small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Those will look pretty as he ages, Eddie’s thinks. He nods.

Steve nods back, eyes Eddie, flicking over his face. ‘You wanna do class tonight? I can take you home?’

‘Oh uh no.’ Eddie drains his water. ‘I mean no, I want to do class. It um, it helps.’ He stares into the little plastic water cup.

But in his peripheral, Steve is smirking, smug as shit and Eddie tries to scowl. But he just ends up hiding his grin behind his hair.

‘Let me give you a lift home after though, yeah?’ Steve asks, bumping their shoulders together. ‘Storm isn’t due to let up until tomorrow and I can’t have one of my best students getting sick.’ Steve says, standing up from the floor with an ease that Eddie still envy's. Holding his big hands out to haul Eddie up.

It takes a second to reorient himself, Steve is, Steve is pretty strong. ‘Uh, thanks. Thank you, Steve.’ He manages, squeezing Steve’s fingers once.

‘Don’t mention it.’ And Steve’s eyes are soft and kind and endless.

Eddie pulls away. Slips down the corridor and back into the studio.

Steve’s car is nice. A beemer that’s a few years out but it looks like he takes care of it. The interior cream and the leather soft, it’s tidy, and there’s an air freshener hanging from the mirror, a pinup of a sailor. Eddie flicks it, smirking.

‘Gift from Robin. We used to uh, work at a sailor themed ice cream shop. The uniforms were, really somethin’.’ Steve says with a pained sigh, pulling into the street.

Eddie smiles, aggressively forcing his mind away from Steve in any kind of sailor uniform, steering towards safer territory.

‘Can I?’ He asks, motioning to Steve’s little box of tapes at his feet.

‘Have at it man.’ Steve says, squinting slightly and turning up the speed on his wipers.

Eddie picks the new Queen tape, Steve has a decent collection, a lot of pop and some 70s rock. Eddie nodding his head slightly to “innuendo”.

He sneaks glances at Steve as he drives. His hand big and veined where it rests on the gear shift. There are raindrops stuck in his arm hairs and the bomber he slipped on is dark across the shoulders. He doesn’t really look anything like those record execs, or their sons, probably. His socks are mismatched and there’s a spot of stubble on his upper lip that he must’ve missed this morning. He runs a yoga studio and is aggressively accommodating when he teaches. He always learns clients names before the end of their first session and he loves his best friend.

Eddie feels his fringe sticking to his forehead, half sweat half rain. The car windows are slightly misted and he blinks a few times to clear his eyes. ‘Thanks, uh, thank you. For the lift man. You really didn’t have to.’

Steve smiles at him, glancing away from the road. Some of his hair has tucked itself into the his little hoop earring, something in Eddie’s chest softening. ‘Do you want to talk about it? Earlier?’

Eddie, he doesn’t. Not really.

‘It was raining the day my dad got sent to prison. Thunder and lightning by the time my uncle could got me home.’ Eddie settles on, voice thick.

‘Fuck, Eddie. I’m so sorry.’

‘’S fine. I’m, he wasn’t that great of a dad.’ Eddie huffs, he really doesn’t want to get into that.

Steve glances at him, smile sad. ‘I’ll cheers to that man. But yeah, still.’ He shrugs.

‘Thanks. Um, if you take a left here my place is just at the end.’ Eddie says, quietly, tired.

They arrive at the base of his apartment, the rain hammering on the roof and blurring the glow of the yellow streetlight. Eddie moves for the door, hand on the mat between his knees.

‘Oh hey, wait, uh.’ Steve says, moving in a little closer.

He reaches out, fingertips brushing the soft skin below Eddie’s eye. ‘Eyelash.’ He murmurs, holding the little hair up for Eddie to see. ‘Make a wish.’

Eddie swallows, feels the ghost of tear tracks still crusted over his cheeks. A boy just touched his cheek. He sniffs.

When he was a kid and his dad remembered his birthday he’d get Eddie a slice of pie from the diner. Linda who worked there always managed to find a candle out back for him; squeezing his shoulder and giving Eddie a smile that only read a little bit like pity. His dad would tell him to make a wish and ask for money, or fame, or for Al to one day own a new Mustang.

Eddie always wished for the same thing.

For something to change.

Figured something had to give.

Now Eddie thinks about it, again, and maybe evrything has changed. Maybe everything is exactly what it looks like, and he’s here, in the centre of it. And there are parts, parts that are quite beautiful.

He breathes in, opening his eyes and watching the eyelash flutter away on his breath. Eddie wishes to be able to see it.

‘Mind if I touch you?’ Steve asks from behind Eddie. ‘You almost have it.’

Eddie starts, muscles shaking a little. ’Sure, sure Stevie.’ He whispers.

Steve’s warm finger press gently under Eddie’s arm so he lifts it slightly. Then on his shoulders so they dip minutely lower. Finally his palms wrap around Eddie’s waist, twisting him so he’s facing forward more fully.

Eddie breaths out the air he’d been holding, long and slow, sinking into the pose.

‘That’s it. Perfect.’ Steve soothes and moves on to the next person.

Eddie falls asleep that night with the phantom press of palms on his waist.

It’s raining again, but, no thunder. On a Tuesday, the session that Chrissy and Robin can’t make. The session that only Eddie attends in his now comfortable bi-weekly yoga routine.

The night that it’s also routine for Steve to drive Eddie home.

Tonight Steve wore a long sleeve and track pants to class. It’s not that unusual but, it’s warmer out now. So, a little unusual for Steve really, who’s usually sweaty during class even with ice clinging to the windows.

He’s quiet too, doesn’t roll his eyes at Eddie playing one of the handful of tapes that he’d squirrelled into the car for these short rides. Doesn’t bat Eddie’s hand away from the temperature dials, telling Eddie to zip his coat up if he’s so frail.

Tonight Steve is just quiet, moving the class into child’s pose three times. Leaving the ending meditation in silence. His breath wavering on the classes final group goodnight.

‘…Steve? Are you okay?’ Eddie finally asks, the quiet too suffocating, the downward pinch of Steve’s mouth making Eddie’s heart feel heavy and rotted.

‘Hm? Yeah, I’m just. Bad day, scars itch.’ And Steve smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He looks almost sadder.

‘Can, uh. How did? I mean, you don’t. But.’ Eddie stammers, he’s never been much good at comforting but if Steve needs someone to listen, he can do that. Wants to.

Steve sighs, pulling up next to the sidewalk, Eddie’s apartment just at the end of the street, cutting the ignition so it’s just the two of them, and the rain.

‘They’re from a car accident. When I was 18. I, shouldn’t have been driving, it was so stupid. I wasn’t drunk or anything just, upset. Had a fight with my Dad, bad one. This other car was driving, pulling up along side me. It was this asshole from my high-school asking to race. I said yes like an idiot. But I was so, so angry. At everything. I thought, winning maybe, winning and wiping that smug fucking look from his face. Would like, help?’

Eddie doesn’t really know what to say, or do. Steve is picking at the skin on his knuckles, the joints going red and raw. So Eddie takes his hand, holding his finger between both of his own; smoothing his thumb over its ridges.

Steve sniffs, corner of his mouth tucking up, bottom lip wobbling. ‘Anyway, we’re driving way too fucking fast and then there are these kids, suddenly, biking on the road. And, and this asshole, he speeds up. Planned on running straight into them, I could see it in his, cold fucking eyes. And I just, I swerved. Went right into him. Better me than those kids u know?’ Steve runs his free hand through his hair, laughing in a way though could just as easily be a sob. ‘He got off without much of a scratch, but uh, my door crumpled against a tree and like, fucked up my back a load, got these scars and aches and stuff now. Didn’t get charged with anything, luckily. Those kids actually vouched for me, babysat them here and there and, now we’re actually friends, as much as they annoy the shit outa me.’ And Steve’s cheeks are red, wetness glistening in his lash line, threatening to spill. He sniffs again, scoffing and turning his head away.

Eddie pulls their joined hands into his lap, so Steve turns back towards him again. He’s hunched; looks young, and scared, and tired.

‘But, yeah. I dunno why I told you all that honestly but. I guess. Anger only gets you so far, usually somewhere stupid. That’s my, uh, my pro tip I guess. Harder to forgive but way better for you.’

The silence stretches again, more comfortable this times. Eddie runs his thumb over the downy hairs on Steve fingers, over the scar by his thumb. Massages his palms, digging fingers into sinew.

‘You know, I hated you that first session.’ Eddie says, tired of the ache that Steve’s tears are causing in his ribs. Tired of being angry, tired of being scared.

‘Yeah.’ Steve scoffs, rolling his eyes, grin stretching slow and sweet. Like it’s a good memory, a memory to savour.

‘Yeah. Too fucking handsome for his own good this guy. And charming, and rightfully cocky; you’re good at your job Stevie. Really good, and it pissed me the fuck off.’ Eddie says, his own smile stretching.

And Steve laughs, a honking snoring ugly little thing and it makes Eddie heart swell, his cheeks flush and his cheeks hurt from smiling so big.

Steve is looking at him, tears gone.

‘You wanna go get something to eat? The diner around the corner does really good cheeseburgers? My treat?’

‘Yeah Eddie, I’d, um, I’d really like that.’ Steve says.

‘We’re going to get coffee, don’t wait up.’ Chrissy shouts at them, linking arms with Robin and pulling her down the street.

Robin sends Steve one wild grin, honking a delighted snort of laughter and following Chrissy.

‘Well.’ Eddie says at Steve who’s grinning like a loon.

‘Home?’ Steve asks, twirling his keys on his finger.

Eddie nods and get in, so used to the smell and the feel of the car now. The way Steve drives with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping on the window ledge or fiddling with the temperature or gesticulating as he talks. Eddie comfortable in the passenger, curled up in his sweater and squeezing the mat between his knees. Some rides home he realises he didn’t even take a glance out of the window, eyes set on Steve the whole time.

‘Hey, do you want to come up?’ Eddie ask.

‘Come up and do what?’ And Steve’s smiling at him, cocky and confident and sweet and Steve.

Eddie leans forward, kissing the corner of Steve’s mouth, which is a little stubbly from his moustache coming in. Where he smirks and licks his lips before a difficult pose. He’s Steve Harrington, and Eddie kissed him.

‘Hey Wayne.’ Eddie smiles, squeezing the receiver.

‘Hey kid, you all packed.’ Wayne sounds tired but relaxed and Eddie nudges the box by his foot, full of merch ready to load in the van come morning.

‘Yeah, just a few more bits, Steve just left so, got distracted.. you remember Steve, he my, the uh, the yoga instructor?’ Eddie asks, cheeks flushing.

‘Mmm I ‘member Steve. You sweet on him boy?’

‘Yes Wayne, he is!’ Chrissy shouts as she walks past.

Eddie jumps and almost hisses at her like a cat. She, where did she even come from?

Wayne’s smoky laughter draws Eddie back to the phone. ‘I. God Wayne are you 12?’ But that just makes him laugh more.

‘I’m going okay? Love you old man, I’ll call when I can.’

‘Love ya too ed, be safe. I’ll come visit once you’re back. Wanna meet this Steve everyone keeps going on about.’

Eddie huffs but he can’t help smiling, imagining Steve and Wayne together.

‘You deserve someone good Ed, ye understand?’

Eddie blinks, blinks back tears. The things he has around him now, the people, the tools, his music. What he’s been given. What he always wished for.

‘Yeah, yeah Wayne, I think I do.’

₊✩‧₊

Tag list: @pearynice @scoops-aboy86 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @cheesedoctor @chickensinrainboots

@marvel-ous-m @tangerinesteve

title form 'Today' but The Smashing Pumpkins

#hotlunch #steddie #steve x eddie #my fic #steddie summer exchange #steddie fic #rockstar eddie munson #yoga instructor Steve harrington #<3

140 notes · View notes