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firewasabeast · 4 months ago

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Twelve Christmases

Chapter tags: drunk parent, abusive behavior, physical abuse (slap across the face)

Read below or on ao3

Day 2: 1993

“Before you go today, I have a bit of homework for you all.”

Mrs. Davidson was met with a classroom of groans.

“I know, I know,” she said, “but this is a fun one, I promise. Over Christmas break, I want you guys to write about your dream Christmas when you grow up. If you could choose anyway to celebrate, what would you do? Who would you be with? How many presents would you want under the tree? What foods would you cook? You can write it as a list, or a story, or an essay. However you want. Just make sure you write something.”

She looked at the time on her watch. “Alright, the bell is about to ring, so you can start gathering up your things. I hope you all have a very merry Christmas, and I will see you all in 1994!”

*****

Tommy slammed his door shut, locking it quickly before his dad could reach for the knob.

It had been a terrible day. The worst Christmas of Tommy's life, he was sure.

Michael spent every Christmas out at the bar, drinking the day away. He'd come home at night, usually, and spew out a few angry words before passing out on the couch.

But the bar he always went to decided to close this year for Christmas.

A part of Tommy had been excited. His dad would get to watch him open his presents for the first time!

It didn't quite work out that way though.

Instead, Michael had gone to the store on Christmas Eve and bought two cases of beer. He'd started drinking that night. Turns out, before he got to the point of passing out, he was loud. So damn loud.

Tommy spent half the night waking up up to bottles clanging, or his dad yelling at the TV.

By the time the sun started coming up, things had quieted down. Tommy crept down the hall to see his dad sprawled out on the couch. One arm flopped down the side of the couch, the other halfway down his pants.

He looked over at the tree where, at some point during the night, nearly half their ornaments had fallen off of it. Michael was known to dance with inanimate objects when he got drunk, so that's what Tommy figured had happened.

“Tommy,” his mom whispered from behind him. He turned to see his mom peeking out of the bedroom. She looked as tired as Tommy felt. She had dark circles under her eyes and had lost so much weight that she nearly swam in her size small nightgown. Her smile didn't reach her eyes anymore.

Still, she beckoned Tommy to her. “I kept your presents in here, Baby,” she said as he came into the room. “Didn't want to put them under the tree last night with your dad.”

She shut the door behind Tommy and locked it. “You sit on the bed,” she instructed, going into the closet.

He did as he was told, still feeling just as excited to have his presents in the bedroom instead of in the living room next to the tree.

She came out of the closet with three gifts in her hands, smiling as she handed them to him. “I couldn't get everything you asked for,” she said, kneeling down on the floor to watch him open, “but I think you'll like it.”

He smiled back at her, taking a deep breath. He always needed a moment before he opened his gifts. He'd get so happy it sometimes felt hard to breathe.

The first gift was Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pajamas. Tommy had seen them at the mall one day and begged for them, but Vicky had told him no. He'd been so upset, having no idea she already had them stored away for Christmas.

The next gift was a remote controlled monster truck. His eyes had gone super wide with that one! He hadn't expected it at all. He couldn't wait to get outside and play.

The third present was an art set. Tommy had gotten into drawing dinosaurs and zombies lately, and Vicky wanted to make sure he kept drawing.

As soon as he was done opening his presents, he wrapped his mom in a big hug, thanked her, then asked if he could go outside and play.

“Just make sure you're quite when you're in the living room, okay? Shut the door gently.”

With a promise, and one more hug, Tommy had been on his way.

Everything was fine until Tommy got back home. He was smiling up until he reached the top step and heard his parents arguing through the door. He wanted to turn around. Leave for a few more hours and come back.

It was too late though. His dad saw him through the window and came straight to the door, tossing it open and all but yelling for him to come inside.

“I was here for you, Tommy!” he exclaimed, his words slurred as usual. “Here ta watch you and you didn't even let me!”

“Michael, he has no idea what you're talking about,” Vicky replied. Her voice stayed calm, measured... tired.

“Well 'e should! I stay home to watch my boy open 'is gifts an I don't even getta see it!”

“I thought you stayed home because the bar was closed today?” Tommy questioned. He knew right away that was the wrong thing to say.

His dad came over and jerked the remote controlled car from his hands.

Vicky sighed. “Don't break it,” she said, already walking over to get it from him.

He pointed down at Tommy once Vicky had taken the car. “You'll get it back once you apologize,” he said, teeth nearly gritting together.

His day was already ruined, and it was all his dad's fault.

Tommy was angry.

“Apologize for what?” he asked, matching his dad's glare.

“For being dis- dis- disrespectful!” Michael exclaimed.

“I wasn't being disrespectful!” Tommy fought back.

“Tommy,” Vicky warned.

“Hey! I loved you 'nough to stay home and see my boy op'n gifts!”

“You don't love me!”

The back of Michael's hand met his face so hard, and so fast, that Tommy stumbled backward before falling flat on his butt.

His dad had never hit him before.

He'd gotten angry. That happened a lot.

But he'd never hit him.

“Tommy!” Vicky exclaimed, hurrying over to him. Before she could even reach out and check on him, he was flying to his feet and running down the hall to his room.

He heard footsteps behind him. Knew it was his dad. But he slammed the door and locked it.

Michael banged on the door a few times. Begging for Tommy to open it, let him talk to him. The slap seemed to sober him up pretty quickly.

Tommy ignored him. Brought a hand to his face, touching it gently. His cheek felt like it was on fire. He moved his jaw around, trying to loosen it up a bit.

Once Michael gave up at his door, Tommy walked over to his desk and sat down. His eyes stung as he grabbed a pencil and a piece of paper and started on his homework.

One day I will have my own house. I will have a family. We will celabrate Christmas. We will be happy. Maybe mom can come be at my house with me. We will have lots of food on a big table. We will laugh and play games. My dad will not be there or he will be there but be diferent. Christmas will be like it is in the movies with people smiling and there will be lots of snow. I just want a grate day where mom doesn't feel sad. I will get my kids whatever they want and tell them it was Santa. I wish I still beleived in Santa. I will also have big monster trucks in my front yard and a big pile of dirt to play in. That is a prefect Christmas.

He stayed in his room the rest of the day, using his new art set to draw a make believe land where the monster didn't win.

*****

On his first day back at school, Tommy overheard a few kids in his class talking about what they wrote for their assignment.

“I said that one day I'd live in a big, huge mansion with like fifty cars and I'd get even more cars for Christmas, and I'd drive them wherever I wanted to go,” one boy said.

“Well, I wrote that when I'm older I will make Christmas a whole month and people will have to give me presents every single day.”

“I wrote about the food my mom and dad cook and how when I'm older they can't tell me not to get more dessert. I can just eat, eat, eat whatever I want! It'll be great.”

One of the kids turned back and looked at Tommy. “What'd you say?” they asked.

“Oh, um, I- I forgot to do it,” he replied. Before class began he reached into his backpack and took out his paper, crumbling it up into a ball and tossing it in the trash.

He didn't care if he got an F. Christmas was stupid anyway.

#bucktommy #tommy kinard #911 abc #911 #12 days of tommy #day 2 #you'll have to give me a bit for day 3

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pascalispretty · 29 days ago

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I Call It Walking

Javi Gutierrez x F!Reader

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1817

Tags: pining, unrequited love, dark implications, stalking

Summary: It feels like fate that you find his letters. But sometimes, fate needs a little nudge.

A/N: Hoo boy, this one was a struggle, so please be gentle! Written for @jolapeno's Dear-Uary challenge, I'm sorry it's so late. Thank you to @misscharlielulu, @penvisions and @notjustjavierpena for looking this over for me 💙title from 'An Unhealthy Obsession' by the Blake Robinson Synthetic Orchestra. Inspired by that song and the 1993 movie 'The Crush' (ao3).

Dearest,

I have been thinking about you all day. This film shoot has been going on for so long, and I feel like I have hardly seen you. Still, you looked beautiful. You always do. It’s one of the many reasons why I sit here alone with my pen instead of telling you how I feel in person. One kind smile from you and I would hardly know what to say – the pen and paper are far less intimidating, and far more forgiving.

Long shoots on location are more difficult than I anticipated, I suppose. It’s beautiful here – exactly what I imagined when I was writing the script – but I feel like I barely see you. It’s been hard, being stuck in my hotel room working on rewrites when I want to be out exploring the island with you.

Indeed, I should be working on the love scene right now, instead of writing about my own love life. My feelings for you give me so much to tap into; it will make it hard to watch when they get around to filming it. I’m not sure I will be able to watch Alicia telling Cary why they can never be together. It will remind me too much of reality.

I will take the coward’s way out, again. Nick tells me that I should just tell you myself, but I could never say any of this to you. I couldn’t bear no longer having you in my life. And so I will roll this paper up and throw it out to sea in a bottle, like all the others.

Mournfully,

You smooth the letter out again, the paper stiff and crinkled from where water had seeped into the bottle. The ink is still clear. His words are still clear. His handwriting is careful—neater than you expected, given the barely legible scrawl he leaves in the margins of the scripts.

He put time into this. Effort.

All for a letter he tossed into the sea, as if he never wanted anyone to read it.

But you had. Of all the people on the island, you had found it. That had to mean something, didn’t it? Fate was funny like that. Selective. Deliberate.

You trace the loop at the end of his J, your fingertip lingering there. It had been past midnight when you’d come home from the beach, and you don’t know how long you’ve sat here for, contemplating the letter in front of you. You should go to bed—makeup wants your ass in the chair by five-thirty sharp, and you have a long day of filming ahead.

Instead, you start from the beginning and read it again.

Dearest Javi,

I don’t quite know where to begin. God, I still remember the first day we met. You looked so handsome in your orange shirt, so happy to be on set. I was so intimidated to meet you before I saw you. I read the script and thought you must be some kind of half-mad genius, intimidating and exacting.

It was no wonder, really, not when the script came with annotations referencing films I’d never heard of from sixty years ago. It was worth the effort it took to track them down though; you have impeccable taste in film. I’m not ashamed to tell you that I wept like a child when Aunt Lucy came to the door at the end of Paddington 2.

And then I met you, and you were so kind and warm. You weren’t intimidating at all, though it was clear you were the genius I thought you were as soon as I read the first page of the script.

Even a letter you never intended to be read is like poetry.

I should apologise, I guess, for fishing the bottle out. I was in one of the hammocks, reading, when you came down to the beach. I wondered what on earth you were doing, wading into the water with your pants rolled up around your knees!

After you threw the bottle into the sea, I got curious. I know, I know, curiosity killed the cat. I swam in and got it – you really should have thrown it further if you didn’t want anyone to read it – and got your letter.

I couldn’t believe what I was reading – I never expected you to feel the same way about me as I do you. You’re brilliant, and I’m just some nobody they cast because Helena dropped out. But one of us has to make the first move, so – I really like you, Javi. I think you’re handsome and funny and the most talented writer in a generation.

I’ve written my number on the back. I really hope you’ll call.

All my love,

Your Alicia

You wait.

You wait and wait and wait. Every time your phone chirps, your pulse leaps – only to crash again. Spam call. Group chat. Pervy costar from your last TV show. Never him.

It’s only when the director snaps at you to turn the fucking thing off and leave it off set that you realise he might not call you.

At first, you tell yourself that he’s busy. You’re busy too – there’s only a short time left before the cast and crew will be packing up to move to the other side of the island to carry on shooting, and he’s spending a lot of time working on rewrites of the final scene.

You don’t envy him that. From what you heard, the studio execs and the producers are arguing over the ending, crows picking over the bones of the script. The studio wants a happy ending, something sugary sweet for the audience to sigh dreamily over. You can’t imagine this movie having a happy ending, not when the way Javi wrote it is so perfect.

With everything that’s going on, you don’t get the chance to observe him closer, to see whether he got your letter and is simply ignoring you. You know that Javi wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t just ignore something so heartfelt without acknowledging it at all.

When you do see him, he’s usually got a notepad or laptop in hand. More often than not, he has Gabriella with him, hovering over him as he writes. You’re not entirely sure why Gabriella’s here, accompanying him like a second shadow to set and to dinners and to the beach.

With no sign that he’s received it by the time production has moved across the island and settled into the new digs, you resign yourself to it having gone missing. It could have gone astray in the post, or been lost in the move, or taken by someone else.

And so you find something else to send to him.

Dear Javi,

You’ll have to forgive the postcard, it was all I could find on short notice. You haven’t been on set much, but I hope you’re okay. It’s been strange, moving to a new part of the island; half of my costumes seem to be missing in transit. It made me wonder if my letter had gotten lost in transit too?

Hoping to hear from you soon,

xxxx

Sweetheart,

Another location, another stunning beach I barely get to visit. It makes me miss all of our talks up by the cliffs. It was the best cure for writer’s block. I’ve started taking walks by the beach whenever I get an hour or two to myself, but it isn’t really the same. The rewrites are finished, at least. When you come back from settling affairs back home, we’ll have to celebrate.

I’m not sure I could have gotten them finished on time without your support. It was so good of you to answer my calls, even when it was the middle of the night for you back home. Remind you to give you a pay rise soon. It’s the least I can do, really.

Love, Javi

The second letter hits you like a truck. Your breath catches in your throat, and your fingers tremble where they grip the paper. It had clearly been intended for someone else, some other woman. It only takes you a few days of careful observation to realise it was likely meant for Gabriella.

It’s hard not to keep noticing her once you’ve started. She’s always clinging to Javi; laughing with him over lunch or leaning over him as he scribbles notes on the script. She’s a constant, looming presence.

She had also clearly stolen your letters.

It hurt when he’d never responded to the first, though you put that down to some postal mishap, the chaos of the entire crew moving to the new location. But when you get a chance to ask him if he’d gotten your postcard, he just looks at you blankly.

You make him smile easily enough after that little mishap, crack a joke about ‘You’ve Got Mail’ that makes him laugh and gets the two of you talking about 90s rom-coms until Gabriella, predictably, escorts him away. She looks him over with concern, as though you might have done something to him, as they walk away.

It stings. You can make him laugh so easily. You could be so good for him.

But Gabriella won’t let you. She clings to him like a second shadow, always there to stop anyone else getting too familiar with him. You don’t miss the looks of pity she shoots at you when you’re not looking, the condescension making your jaw clench.

The grand, tragic scene plays like a dream. You’re up on the cliffs, the waves crashing below you, the wind in your hair. By the time you’re done, you can hear crewmembers sniffling, see the makeup girl blink away a tear.

Most importantly of all, Javi is beaming at you from behind the monitor. You want to bask in the glow of his smiles like a cat curled up in a patch of sunlight. He starts to get up out of his chair, to come over to you.

But then Gabriella rests a hand on his shoulder, whispers something in his ear. And he turns away from you.

The island you’re filming on is quiet. Safe. The cast and crew all like going for wanders along the coast. It’s peaceful, walking along the pale golden sand and listening to the waves. The beach is hemmed in on one side by dense, green foliage, where exotic, colourful birds come to roost in the day.

Now, though, the only thing in the trees is you.

The trees rustle softly, shifting in the evening breeze. Somewhere behind you, a bird takes flight. But Gabriella doesn’t hear a thing.

She just keeps walking. Oblivious.

You curl your fingers around the branch in front of you, steadying yourself. The bark is rough beneath your palm.

You take a step forward. She still doesn’t hear you.

You take another.

#javi gutierrez #javi g #javi g x reader #javi gutierrez x reader

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horror-aesthete · 5 months ago

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The Dark Half, 1993, dir. George A. Romero

#horror aesthetic #horror movies #the dark half

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deerfests · 1 year ago

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#my gifs #smoking /#long post /#this gifset is purely and utterly self indulgent #the dark half (1993)#q

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adore-laur · 1 year ago

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DEVOTION

— please enjoy harry & sawyer getting freaky in miami (inspired by this ask)💃

——

MIAMI, 1993

People are packed into the arena like sardines. August humidity suffuses the air, a cacophony of chatter overlaps, and infectious energy pulses in the room as everyone waits for Sade to hit the stage in all their sensational glory.

In the general admission area, Harry stands behind Sawyer with his arms protectively draped over her shoulders. Her footing shifts occasionally as she fiddles with his rings. He can sense her anticipation—she's been looking forward to this concert for months. When he gifted her the tickets on her birthday, she wept and kissed him with a hunger he had never experienced from her before. As much as he spoils her, she goes the extra mile to show him her appreciation.

Once the lights go out, Harry can't wait to see her vivacious eyes and dazzling smile.

Sawyer looks ravishing tonight. Her black cropped tank top has a variety of enticing little cutouts—no bra underneath, he might add—and she's wearing low-waisted denim shorts that hug her ass most temptingly. There's a reason he opted to stand behind her—two, actually. One, he doesn't want any dudes getting a sneak peek at his girl. And two, he doesn't need anyone to see his hardness through his leather pants.

She curled her hair with natural-looking spirals and teased it with spray. Her long, wavy mane has always been a hassle to manage in the summertime, so she cut it collarbone-length. Her front bangs are tightly clipped back, and she wears gold hoop earrings. She’s truly a stunner.

Prior to leaving, Harry watched her as she got ready for the concert. They live together in a swanky Orlando penthouse, where simple things like her clothes hanging in the closet and makeup supplies cluttering the bathroom sink make him unbelievably happy. While he gently reminded Sawyer that they needed to leave soon for the three-and-a-half-hour drive to Miami, she applied her mascara and teased him by showing her cleavage while bent over the vanity. Despite his provocative urges, he managed to resist giving in.

When Sawyer turns to look at him now, the room reduces to just her. Lucious lips are stained with a pomegranate-red gloss. Skin glowing with moisture. Dark eyes filled with warmth. It’s breathtaking to behold the sheer beauty of her features. Time and time again, she hypnotizes him. He's beginning to think she can cast spells on his lovesick soul.

Sawyer taps his bicep before standing on her tiptoes to reach his ear. In an instinctive move, Harry touches her hip and leans down to better hear her.

Fanning herself, she says, "It's muggy in here. I'm going to buy a water bottle and braid my hair in the bathroom."

"I'll go with you."

"But you have to save our spot," she reminds him.

Though he nearly protests, he reluctantly nods and caresses the slick skin of her bare middle back. "Fine. You have your phone?"

"In my purse. I'll be fast."

Harry kisses the spot between her eyebrows before letting her go, keeping her locked in his gaze until she disappears past the lower seating sections. In crowds, regardless of size, he doesn’t like losing her. During baseball games, it’s less worrying since she always sits in the same section in her reserved seat, but in Miami, he's extra cautious because it's an unfamiliar city. Sawyer can stand up for herself since sass and stubbornness are intertwined in her Aries DNA, but Harry remains fiercely protective of her. She's a certified sweetheart, conspicuously beautiful, and also quite gullible to a fault—if anyone attempts to take advantage of that, they'll have to answer to him.

While she's gone, Harry observes the venue. There are people from all walks of life surrounding him. The staggered seating sections flanking the floor are filling quickly, and it's reminiscent of playing at Tinker Field, where he would watch fans fill the bleachers from the dugout.

In a few weeks, the minor league season will conclude, and Harry is looking forward to taking a much-needed break from pitching and traveling. He's thankful he didn’t have a game scheduled today, which gave him and Sawyer the chance to step out for a date. It aches to know she's missed him a little more after such a long season. Due to her full-time job, she can’t always travel across America with him or attend home games, but they’re able to make it work by cherishing their time together. Next month, they plan to celebrate their second anniversary in Seville, Spain. They'll sunbathe on the scenic beaches, relish a couples massage, and take romantic strolls through the city's idyllic parks.

And, if Harry doesn't chicken out, he'll ask her to marry him.

Fondly smiling at the thought, he watches two girls strut toward him, parting the crowd like the Red Sea. They're wearing variations of the same outfit—metallic miniskirts, frilly halter tops, and chunky heels. Based on their strikingly similar features, they must be twins. Twin One holds a Canon camera, while Twin Two laughs into her hands.

Harry waves politely before shoving his hands in his pockets. The moment a fan recognizes him, he knows it. There’s a strange shift in the atmosphere when he temporarily loses his shield of privacy. It's unavoidable when fifteen thousand people are gathered in a Miami venue. It comes with the territory of being a famous Florida sports figure.

"Are you Harry Styles?"

Here we go.

Feeling abnormal but pushing past it, he says, "In the flesh. How's it going, ladies?"

"Oh my gosh, we love you," Twin One gushes. "You're hella cute. You play for the Sun Rays, right?"

"Sort of. Our team name changed recently. We're now the Orlando Cubs."

"Oh, cool," she says distractedly. "Anyway, we want a picture with you."

With a sharp inhale, Harry nods once. “Sure, no problem."

It doesn't bother him to take pictures or sign autographs. Most people are respectful and genuinely honored to meet him. Rarely, however, do people demand things from him, like right now. Then he feels prickles of discomfort. It makes him feel as though he's being exploited. It makes him feel fictitious.

As the girls swarm around him and touch him like he's a wax figure with no boundaries, Sawyer nudges her way through the crowd, water bottle in hand. As she processes the situation, her movements slow and her shoulders drop slightly. She has her hair in two messy braids, with the shorter layers springing loose. She looks effortless and... annoyed. Yeah, Harry is all too familiar with that look. He has been on the receiving end of those slanted eyebrows, those gritted teeth, and those assessing eyes. How will this play out?

When she sees Sawyer, Twin Two strokes his arm suggestively. Thankfully, they see her as a mere stranger rather than his girlfriend. His mind flashes back to past discussions about keeping their relationship as private as possible, and he decides not to sacrifice that for such a meager moment. No chance.

"Can you take a photo of us?" It was wise of her to ask, rather than demand. Otherwise, Harry's friendly mask would have definitely slipped.

Sawyer purses her lips as she meets Harry's gaze. "Do you mind?" he asks, his expression hinting at a secret message.

By taking Twin One's camera, she recognizes his unspoken signal and cleverly leaps into her role. God, he's thankful for her. He knows it's challenging to deal with these bizarre occurrences that pop their bubble, but she handles them all so gracefully. When they get home, he’ll shower her with affection.

Sawyer raises the camera to her eye and says, "I'll take a few."

Harry straightens his posture and awkwardly places his hands on both girls' upper arms. His muscles tense uncomfortably as their hands slither around his waist and linger near his stomach. Amid three flashes, he’s suffocated by the pungent smell of perfume and spearmint gum.

“There you go,” Sawyer says, giving the camera back and forcing a smile.

They browse the pictures before staring at Harry with a sickening amount of adoration. "It was awesome meeting you," Twin Two says, biting her lip. "We'll see you around at the next Sun Rays game."

"Cubs," Sawyer mumbles around a fake cough. Only Harry catches it, and he restrains himself from grinning proudly and kissing her senselessly.

"Nice to meet you both," he says, briefly touching his heart. "Enjoy the concert, yeah?"

They nod, blush, and giggle simultaneously before walking off, staring back at him a couple of times before fading into the sea of strangers. Harry releases a breath he didn't know he was holding and concentrates on Sawyer drinking from her water bottle. He's about to apologize for the unnatural situation, but the venue goes dark, and the audience erupts with deafening cheers.

The joy he expected to see in Sawyer's eyes isn't there. Silently, she crosses her arms and faces the stage with a blank expression. Harry curses at himself—he knows it isn't his fault and that it's just how Sawyer is. She takes things to heart and lets them stew until her skeptical thoughts overflow without a lid. The fact that she didn’t witness the entire interaction has made her understandably upset. Harry regrets not saying no to the fans.

First on the setlist is "The Sweetest Taboo"—sonically sensual, intoxicatingly groovy, and a fantastic way to open their show. Everybody dances to the exquisite beat and sings along to the lyrics. The energy in the room soars to an unimaginable level. It's contagious.

Harry grips Sawyer's hand so the crowd doesn't swallow her whole. She turns and smiles softly, finally bobbing her head to the music. Slowly, she loosens up, unfurling the passionate girl he knows lives within her. The one who loves to dance.

She looks resplendent as indigo lights glide across her face. Her body begins to move—the shape of her swaying hips and the pinch of her waist are irresistible. Harry settles behind her and follows her smooth movements, grinding against her backside. The warmth of his hands rests on her ribcage, and they dance, getting lost in the ecstasy of experiencing live music.

With each song, they forget about the world outside and fall more in love with each other.

——

Harry and Sawyer leave the arena on a high after being captivated by Sade's sultry voice and entrancing stage presence for over an hour. The parking lots are already congested with people trying to beat traffic, so they decide to wait until it calms down.

As soon as they get into the car, Harry starts the engine and turns on the air conditioning before reclining in the driver's seat. With exhaustion swimming through his bones, he sighs contently. It was a magical concert, but he's not looking forward to driving back to Orlando. He'll need to stop by 7/11 for an energy drink and some snacks. Fortunately, tomorrow is Sunday, so they can both sleep in and laze around the whole day.

Sawyer unbraids her hair and removes the clips, then shakes her head cutely to loosen her wild curls. She looks tired as well. They danced the night away together, not caring who saw them. He told her to climb on his back a few times so she could get a better view of the stage. During the romantic slow-tempo songs, she hugged and kissed him sweetly, and he swears he almost got down on one knee right then and there.

"I love you, baby," Harry says, watching her take off her Doc Martens. "Tonight was divine."

A smile spreads across Sawyer's face. "I love you too. Hey, listen..." She reaches over to caress his cheek and thumb the corner of his mouth. "I'm sorry about my buzzkill attitude at the beginning."

Shaking his head, he kisses her palm. “You don't have to apologize. I appreciate how you handled those girls."

He hopes to forget about what happened. Honestly, as soon as the concert started, he forgot all about them. There was only one thing on his mind: Sawyer and the mesmerizing way she moved.

"I just... I got jealous," Sawyer confesses sheepishly.

Harry frowns in astonishment. Jealousy is a rare emotion for Sawyer. They’ve been dating for almost two years, and he can count on one hand the number of times she has been outwardly jealous. Since he only has eyes for her, there's no rhyme or reason for her to feel this way.

What a new and fun development, Harry thinks to himself. He loves how their relationship continues to surprise him.

Harry, however, has been caught having jealous fits many times before. Like that instance when Sawyer was invited to lunch by her so-called "cubicle neighbor." Harry is her forever lunch date, not anyone else. Even when he can't be there in person, he'll call her office fax number and keep her company while she munches her cucumber salad. Harry's jealousy grew when he discovered some guy was trying to steal that from him, so he ordered an impressive bouquet to be delivered to her desk the following day. It didn't take long for everyone to get the hint. Then there was that time when they were watching The Bodyguard, and Sawyer kept squealing girlishly over Kevin Costner's character. Okay, so he literally took a bullet for the woman he loved. Big deal! Harry smothered his jealousy by obnoxiously pretending to be Sawyer's bodyguard while exiting the movie theater and then proceeding to sing "I Have Nothing" off-key the entire way home. She just laughed, which was his goal in the first place.

"Why'd you get jealous?" Harry asks.

Sawyer's brow quirks. "Well, when I'm subjected to taking pictures of two pretty girls who are all over my boyfriend, it doesn't necessarily feel good."

"I know," he says, frustrated with himself. "I should've refused them. They kind of trapped me."

She pouts sympathetically before climbing over the console and straddling his thighs. "My sweet sunray. You're too nice."

Harry pulls her closer by hooking his fingers through her belt loops and tugging. "I'm sorry you were jealous."

"I shouldn't have been. You know why?"

"Tell me." Reaching around her, he turns up the volume of the radio to drown out the sounds of cars honking at each other. The cassette tape they listened to on the drive to Miami is still playing on loop. "Paradise" by Sade sets the mood.

"Because you're mine," Sawyer says with conviction.

Spreading his legs on the seat, he smirks. "Say that again, angel."

"You're mine. No one else's."

"Ditto," he replies, rubbing his palms along her suntanned thighs. "You've got my devotion."

His bodacious girl bites his bottom lip until it stings, then says, "Prove it."

"Good fuckin' lord," Harry murmurs against her mouth before diving in. He kisses her ravenously while fumbling to unbutton her shorts, eventually helping her shimmy out of them. Sawyer shoves her hand down his pants and grasps his bulge, stroking it purposefully. He gasps and slides his pants down halfway, revealing his tented boxers.

"Are you mine?" she asks, sitting right on his cock and sending shockwaves of sex drive down his spine. Her body's heat is addictive.

"Yes," he says breathlessly, kissing her flushed neck. "I'm your man."

"Then act like it. Show me who you belong to."

A shocked laugh escapes as he greedily grabs a handful of her ass. "Sawyer Alejandra, what has Miami done to you? Ay, Dios mío!"

She smiles seductively. "It's Sade's fault."

"Is that right?" Harry cranks the volume up even more before allusively sliding his hand under her top and cupping the swell of her breast. It fits perfectly, and when he teases her peaked nipple with his thumb, Sawyer's palm slaps against the window as she grinds against him. The glass is fogging with the A/C running, sweat drips down his back, and the song's driving bass line pulsates loudly through the speakers. It's filthy what they're doing, considering potential onlookers surround them. It's a good thing the car has tinted windows.

The thrill of their sexual escapade pulses through Harry's body. As he kisses Sawyer's heaving breasts through her top's cutouts, the pleasure becomes borderline intolerable. His lips search for any sliver of skin, and in response, she tugs at his hair and whimpers softly. Her skimpy lace underwear is damp, and he switches his attention to her clit. He rubs it with his knuckle, causing Sawyer's hips to momentarily stutter before she leans into the movement and stamps sloppy kisses all over his face, her cherry-flavored lip gloss transferring to his cheeks, nose, and jaw. They're as sweet as sugar.

"Almost there," Sawyer whispers, running her hand across his broad chest. Her fingers grip the material of his bejeweled sleeveless top to keep herself balanced, and Harry would let her rip it apart if he hadn't spent several hours meticulously hot gluing rhinestones onto it.

After kissing down her stomach and blowing air onto her belly button ring, he teases two fingers past her wet entrance, and it's all she needs to unravel completely. As she orgasms, she leaves love bites on his neck and moans. Her body language is desperate; the arch of her back and the tightening of her thighs against his own help her through her release.

"Nice and easy, baby," Harry murmurs, squeezing her waist. "Take your time."

From the gratifying pain she inflicts on the tender flesh of his neck, Harry comes in his boxers, his pelvis jerking as goosebumps rise over his skin in transient tidal waves. It feels equally divine and unholy to do what they just did. Tiredness kicks in as they both breathe heavily. Gradually, the condensation on the windows disappears. Sawyer's handprint is the last thing to vanish, and the sight will undeniably haunt his memory in the most marvelous way.

Harry opens the glovebox and finds the stash of napkins. After cleaning Sawyer and himself, he pulls his pants back up, shuts the radio off, and says, "I've made up my mind."

"About what?" Sawyer asks, sitting sideways on his lap so she can stretch her legs. In just her cropped top, underwear, and adorable ruffle socks, she's a masterpiece. And all his.

"I'm going to marry you one day," he says. It's something he's known for a long time. He hopes that easing her into the topic will make him more confident about proposing next month.

Sawyer pinches his earlobe. "Don't say dreamy things like that."

"Oh, that’s bogus," he retorts. "You say heart-stopping things to me all the time without even realizing it. Especially after sex."

"Not marriage-related things!"

"Does that mean you don't want to marry me?" he asks, fishing for a reaction.

When she goes quiet and stares contemplatively at him, Harry's stomach swoops. He knows her exceptionally well, which means he knows she tends to shy away from substantial conversations regarding their future when they're sprung upon her by his spontaneous nature. Perhaps it's too early to propose a lifelong commitment, but hasn't she imagined sharing a life with him before? The moment he kissed her for the first time, he fantasized about settling down, buying a house away from the city, tying the knot, and having curly-haired babies.

Eventually, Sawyer says, "I would marry you in this parking lot right now if you asked me to."

Harry feels an internal splash of relief and plays it cool by saying, "Please raise your standards."

"Are you saying you wouldn't want to marry me in a parking lot, lover boy?" She tosses her version of his question back to him with a frisky smile.

"I'd find you and marry you in every lifetime. How's that for an answer?"

She’s speechless for five full seconds before lurching forward to hug him, her heart hammering. "You're crazy. I love you so, so much."

"I adore you," Harry whispers. He reaches for the 'S' pendant hiding under his top's neckline and pulls it out. "I'm forever yours."

Sawyer kisses him repeatedly and says, "Forever."

During the journey home, she falls asleep with her head in his lap, holding his hand while he drives. His thumb absentmindedly strokes her ring finger, and he feels a surge of emotion and excitement knowing he will get to spend the years to come by her side.

Years filled with being deeply devoted to her.

——

#harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x oc #harry styles au #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles #adore-laur #harry and sawyer #southpaw series

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mybutcheredtongue · 1 year ago

Text

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

harry potter timeline sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER TWELVE (see full series list here)

1993

"Oh, look, I see Harry coming this way," you say, pointing to the pair of footsteps with the label 'Harry Potter' moving in the direction of Remus' office.

Remus looks over from where he was fiddling with his suitcase.

Sure enough, Harry then knocks on Remus' open office door and you wave at him from your seat on his desk.

"Saw you coming, Harry," you say with a smile, pointing at the map.

"I just saw Hagrid," Harry says, looking at Remus. "And he said you'd resigned. It's not true, is it?"

"I'm afraid it is," Remus replies. He starts opening his desk drawers and taking out the contents. You pick up some of the papers, tapping them against the table to align them up, before handing them to Remus.

"Why?" says Harry. "The Ministry of Magic don't think you were helping Sirius, do they?"

Remus swiftly crosses the room and closes the door behind Harry.

"No, Professor Dumbledore managed to convince Fudge that I was trying to save your lives." He sighs. "That was the final straw for Severus. I think the loss of the Order of Merlin hit him hard. So he — er — accidentally let it slip that I am a werewolf this morning at breakfast."

You cough loudly, poorly concealing a muttered "Prick".

"You're not leaving just because of that!" Harry exclaims.

Remus shares a glance with you, smiling wryly.

"This time tomorrow, the owls will start arriving from parents — they will not want a werewolf teaching their children, Harry. And after last night, I see their point. I could have bitten any of you...that must never happen again."

"You're the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had!" says Harry. "Don't go!"

Remus shakes his head and doesn't speak, continuing to empty his drawers.

"Believe me, Harry, I've already tried," you say with a sigh. "Can't change his mind."

Remus gives you a look, before returning to Harry. "From what the Headmaster told me this morning, you saved a lot of lives last night, Harry. If I'm proud of anything, it's how much you've learned. Tell me about your Patronus."

"How d'you know about that?" Harry says, distracted.

"What else could have driven the Dementors back?"

Harry relays his tale of the Dementors and how he cast his Patronus to save himself and Sirius, and you beam proudly at him.

"Wicked."

"Yes, your father was always a stag when he transformed," Remus says to Harry with a smile. "You guessed right...that's why we called him Prongs."

Remus throws his last few books into his case, closes the desk drawers and turns to look at Harry.

"Here — I brought this from the Shrieking Shack last night," he says, handing Harry his Invisibility Cloak. "And..." he hesitates, then shoves the Marauder's Map into your hands. "I'm not your teacher anymore, Harry, so I'll leave the map in better hands."

You glance down at it, scoffing, before handing it out to Harry. "I couldn't care less what you do with it, Harry. I've no use for it, anyway. I doubt I'll be doing half as much sneaking around as yourself, Ron, and Hermione."

Harry takes the map and grins.

"You told me Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs would've wanted to put me in danger."

"Danger is a strong word," you say with a slight chuckle. "Perhaps get you into trouble is a better way to say it. I'm sure James would've been highly disappointed if his son never got up to a few rule-breaking antics."

"Seconded," Remus agrees.

There's a knock at the door, and you see Harry hastily stuff the map and the cloak into his pocket. It's Dumbledore. He doesn't seem surprised to see you nor Harry there.

"Your carriage is at the gates, Remus," he says.

"Thank you, Headmaster."

Remus picks up his old suitcase and empty Grindylow tank. You hop off the desk, dusting off your trousers with the palm of your hands.

"Well, goodbye, Harry," Remus says, smiling. "It has been a real pleasure teaching you. I feel sure we'll meet again some time. Headmaster, there is no need to see me to the gates, I can manage..."

He glances back at you, as if to say the same thing, and you immediately roll your eyes. "Can't shake me that easily, Moony."

He sighs knowingly.

"Goodbye then, Remus," Dumbledore says soberly. Remus shifts the Grindylow tank slightly so that he and Dumbledore can shake hands. Then, with a final nod to Harry, he leaves the office and you grin, heading out after him. You turn quickly, placing a hand on the edge of the doorframe and peek your head in through the door.

"Harry, would you come to my office later? I'd like to talk to you about a few things."

He nods, and you grin, turning back to catch up with Remus.

"Oh, Moony, give me that," you scold, grabbing the Grindylow tank and shifting it up to be able to carry it comfortably. "Why have four hands if two aren't being used?"

He chuckles, your footsteps clicking in sync against the stone floor.

"Merlin, school'll be so boring without you," you groan. "I'll miss you."

He gives you a small smile. "I'll miss you too. I'll miss Hogwarts — I really did quite like teaching here."

"It is nice, isn't it?" You agree. "It's nice to have a routine every day."

He hums in agreement.

"I wonder who'll replace you next year," you say thoughtfully. "Hopefully someone who can hold a conversation. I'm getting sick of getting caught in a chat with Professor Binns. It is actual torture — I mean, how can you be a ghost and still be boring?"

Remus chuckles. "You're acting as if you don't remember his classes when we were kids."

You groan. "Don't remind me! Merlin, if I had to go through another one of those I think I'd actually jump off the Astronomy Tower..."

A few students give a parting wave to Remus and he smiles sadly back at them. You finally arrive outside at his carriage, and he turns to you.

"Goodbye," he says, smiling forlornly. "I truly think this past year has been one of the best in a long time. It was nice to spend my evenings with a good friend."

You grin at him, placing the Grindylow tank on the ground and throwing your arms around him. He has to drop his suitcase to be able to return the hug.

"For me, too," you say. "I'm so thankful that you're in my life, Remus."

"And I am thankful you're in mine."

You pat his shoulder, smiling. "I love you, Moony. Safe home — and make sure you write to me in the next few days, yeah?"

He smiles. "Of course. I love you too. And before you say it — I'll find him. Shouldn't be too hard."

"You're an absolute gem, Moony," you say genuinely. "Now, get going!"

He chuckles, picking up the suitcase and putting it onto the back of the carriage. You hoist the tank up and place it beside it, patting the top.

"Bye!"

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

"Come in, come in..." you say with a smile as Harry enters your office, taking a seat in the chair in front of you. You sit down behind the desk, removing Dubh from her sleeping spot on your chair, who lets out an agitated meow. She quickly settles on your lap instead, curling up again. She really does nothing but sleep.

"Well, Harry. Remus told me everything up until he transformed, so you don't have to worry about telling that tale to me again. I'm sure you're tired of telling it."

You were livid when you found out about Peter. That slimy, disgusting, selfish little traitor. He was your friend! To think you let him into your home, to think you ever had faith in him!

Truth is, you always just thought he was a little...socially inept. He was never very good at talking to girls, and perhaps that was for the best. Bit of an odd bloke. But he was Sirius' good friend, so you had faith in his character.

What a fucking waste.

That pathetic man threw away everything for himself.

He ruined James' and Lily's lives.

He ruined Harry's life.

Sirius.

Remus.

Your life.

You could've had a happy life with your husband and your best friends if he hasn't spoiled it all.

You were so angry. It took quite some time for Remus to calm you down.

He nods. "Professor...if you knew Sirius was innocent this whole time, why didn't you tell anyone?"

You give a bitter chuckle. "I did, Harry. Of course I did. But what proof had I? I wasn't there. All I had was a strong belief in my husband. That counts for nothing in the judicial system. I mean — everyone believed he was guilty. Half of 'em thought I was just as mad as him."

"Sirius asked me how you were," Harry says thoughtfully. You furrow your eyebrows and he continues, "He thought I would have been living with you, not with the Dursleys...'cause you're my godmother. So why didn't you raise me instead?"

You sigh, giving him an apologetic smile. "I...couldn't, Harry. Well — not at the beginning anyway, I was a right mess then — but also because I wasn't allowed. The Ministry reckoned I'd try and kill you — which is like, I know my cooking's not great but it's not lethal — "

Harry snorts and you smile.

I just made my godson laugh!

"Not to mention Petunia totally hates me," you add. "With a passion. Couldn't visit, 'cause she'd have an absolute conniption if I stepped foot in her lovely, pristine home. Didn't write, either. Thought it'd be weird if you only got letters and never actually met me..."

Harry nods, though he's clearly not entirely satisfied yet. "Why didn't you tell me once I started school?"

"Wasn't allowed to do that either," you sigh. "You were already adjusting to so many new things...Dumbledore told me to wait. So I did, I waited a whole year, and then last year he again told me you weren't old enough yet. I was a bit angry at that, honestly...I'd already had to deal with eleven years of no contact with my own godson...but Dumbledore is much wiser than I, and I trust his judgement. And well, this year —of course — would have been a bad time to reveal I married Sirius..."

Harry doesn't say anything and you sigh. "Harry, dear, I really am quite sorry. I wish I could've properly watched you grow up."

Harry just shrugs awkwardly, looking away from you. "What...what were my parents like?"

You smile reminiscently. "Oh, Harry, just the best. Like the best people you'd ever meet — and I know they'd be so proud of you. They'd be so proud of you, Harry, so proud. And I'm very proud of you too."

Harry struggles to contain the smile stretching his lips.

"Lily was my best friend growing up. She was practically my sister. You wouldn't meet a kinder person, and she was also hilarious. I can't count the amount of times I genuinely thought my chest was going to explode from laughter with her," you tell him with a big grin. "And — and James, Merlin, now we used to fight like siblings. I remember one time, he decided to give himself frosted tips without telling anyone, and they were horrendous. Like, actually atrocious and he was so adamant that they were cool and they weren't. I honestly think I passed out from laughing. Oh, wait, hold on — I have a photo here somewhere — "

You pull out the key from your pocket, unlocking the bottom drawer of your desk and pulling it open. You grab a small stack of photos from inside and start to shuffle through them.

"Aha!" You exclaim, pulling a particular one out and grinning at it. There in the photo, is James Potter, his hair tousled and with the most horrendous frosted tips you've ever seen. He's grinning proudly though, and in the corner you can see a red-faced Sirius, doubled over in laughter.

You hold it out to Harry, and he takes it very gently, as thought it's more delicate and precious than glass. He beams at the photo, grinning just like his dad.

"Ah, Harry, you are the image of your father," you say happily. "Would not recommend frosted tips for you."

Harry chuckles, still looking at the photo happily. He gazes at it for a bit longer, before reluctantly handing it back towards you and you quickly shake your head.

"Keep it, keep it! I probably have a copy at home somewhere," you tell him, pushing back the photo. You lean down again and pick up the rest of the photos, handing them all to Harry. "Keep them all. I have loads more at home, I should bring the rest of them in to you."

The look on Harry's face warms your heart. He looks so happy, excitedly taking the photos and rifling through them. You crane your neck to see which ones he's looking at and begin to explain each one.

"Remus and Lily with their Prefects' badges...if you look close, you can actually see James ogling Lily in the background."

"Prank gone wrong..."

"Ooh, prank gone right!"

"My sixteenth birthday, that is. There's everyone...including my then-boyfriend, Alan. You don't have to squint to see the scowl on Sirius' face."

"Everyone spent a week at James's over the summer..."

"Oh, yeah, there's your godfather."

"What's wrong with him?" Harry asks.

You snort, looking back at the photo of Sirius stumbling around and pretending to use his wand as a microphone. "Drank too much firewhiskey. Don't even think about copying anything he does, by the way! Sirius is an idiot."

"I...wasn't planning on it," Harry says sheepishly. He flips the next photo, revealing a happy Sirius kissing a woman wearing a wedding dress —

"Oh, I'll take that one!" You say quickly, grabbing it and laying it face down on the desk.

Harry's cheeks redden slightly and he lands on the final photo. Your graduation photo.

You don't say anything for a second, gazing at it fondly. "Our graduation," you say softly.

Harry looks at it curiously, eyes wandering over the faces in the photo. He points at Alice, asking, "Who's she?"

You smile. "Alice Longbottom. Neville's mother."

Harry raises his eyebrows, looking back at you in surprise. "You knew her?"

"Very well," you say. "Alice, Lily, and I were the greatest friends. And Frank, Neville's dad, too...we were all like a little family." You point to Frank with your pinky finger.

Harry's eyes then focus on Wormtail, and you can see his jaw visibly clench. "Is that..."

"Yep. Wormtail."

He looks like he's nearly about to rip the photograph, so you gently take it from him, picking up a quill off your desk and dipping it in your ink well. You scribble out his face. Some small part of you knows you shouldn't do that. That this is someone who was once your friend. Someone you trusted. Someone Sirius trusted.

But you do it anyway, and hand it back to him.

"There...no reminders now," you say softly. He nods, taking the photo again and giving you a small smile.

You glance down at your watch, sighing. "You better get going if you want dinner. Come chat to me anytime, alright, Harry? I'd love the company."

He smiles, standing up from his chair.

"And take all those photos! I'm sure Ron and Hermione would like to see them too."

"Thank you, Professor," he says gratefully, carefully gathering up the photographs and leaving the room.

You flip over the photo once he leaves, gazing over the wedding photo again. You smile wistfully.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

→⁠→ read chapter thirteen here!

→ all kinds of interaction are appreciated ♡

hello lovelies! sorry that it's been so long since the last upload — the past week or two has been like a bit hectic haha. I really hope you like this chapter, and thank you all so much for the overwhelming support I've been getting recently. I love you all!! 💌

as always, a big thank you to my taglist loves for all their kindness and support:

@carpe000diem @wholelottalove05 @izuoyarmin @hyperspeedo

#sirius black x you #sirius black #sirius black x reader #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #angst #angst with a happy ending #the marauders #fanfiction #hp #fanfic #marauders

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novacorpsrecruit · 1 year ago

Text

To save a metalhead

Somewhat inspired by Totally Killers. Ficlet that word count is 30K in my mind (actual wc: 1,862).

“Is … uh … he here?”

The curly haired boy awkwardly played with the silver rings on his hands, too big for his fingers. He looked anxious standing in front of the scoops counter. Robin was sure part of it was because of the look she was giving him. She’s tired of these kids flooding their work. She sighed. “Steve! Another one of your children is here!”

Steve popped through the double doors, hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. His expression was replaced with confusion. “This one isn’t mine.”

“Steve,” the kid said with relief. “Holy shit. It worked.”

“Do I know you?” Steve asked, arms crossed over his chest.

“No. Not yet, I mean —“ the kid’s eyes darted between Steve and Robin. A look of recognition flashed in his eyes. “Holy shit. Robin!”

Robin looked at him with her eyebrow raised. She didn’t know him. He looked familiar sure. His curly dark hair, big doe eyes. His ear was covered in piercings, but he couldn’t be older than 15. He had light freckles spreading across the bridge of his nose. She knows she’s seen that big goofy smile across his face —

“Is Dustin here?” The kid asked. “Henderson?”

“Who’s asking,” Steve asked at the same time Robin called out for Dustin. Dustin came through the double doors.

“What’s going on?” Dustin asked. “I nearly have the code cracked —“ his words dropped, suddenly aware of the new company. “From the cereal box! With the decipher. You know. The children’s toy.”

“Dustin,” the kid said. “I need to talk to you.”

“Who are you?” Dustin asked wrinkled his brow. “We’re in the middle of something.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, arms crossed. “Deciphering cereal codes.”

“Yeah. Busy,” the kid let out a laugh like he’s heard that excuse before. “Alex. Munson. I’m looking for my da— Eddie. Eddie Munson.”

“Who?” Dustin asked, brow wrinkled.

“Eddie Munson?” Steve asked.

“I knew I recognized you,” Robin nearly shouted. “Alex Munson. I thought you graduated.”

“No, I —“

“Alex Munson,” Steve repeated, brow furrowed. “Sure, you are.”

“What do you mean by that?” There was a familiar wrinkle of ‘Alex’s face.

“Alex Munson passed two years ago,” Steve said. “He was Eddie’s older cousin. They had a half assed memorial for him at school and showed a video of Nancy Reagan during health class.”

“Two years ago —“ the kid ran his hands through his hair. “No, no, no, no — it’s supposed to be three. What day is it?”

“What?”

“Day and year,” the kid said.

“July 3rd, 1985,” Dustin supplied. Steve elbowed him.

“Shit,” the kid exhaled. “I’m too early.”

“You gonna explain?” Robin asked.

The kid’s eyes darted between the three, before he settled on Steve. “My name is Alexander Robin Munson. I was born in 1993. I’m from the future. I’m here to save my dad.”

“Isn’t this the plot of that new movie?” Robin asked Steve. Steve shrugged. “With Alex Keaton?”

“What do you mean save your dad?” Dustin said. “If your dad died, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Does your dad die?” Robin asked.

“Is Eddie your dad?” Steve asked.

“Yes, no, I mean —“ the kid ran his hands through his hair. “Yes. Eddie Munson is my dad. In March of 1986, something happens. You — he never told me what happened. But you all were there. D— Dustin, Steve, you guys blame yourselves for it. Dad just — never was the same. He’s in a lot of pain. And I thought —“

“If you came back you could help him,” Steve said. “What was your plan?”

Alex opened his mouth, closing it instantly.

“You didn’t have a plan,” Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Great. You don’t know what happened, other than that Dustin and myself blame ourselves for what happened. But you know that your dad, Eddie Munson, ends up in a lot of pain.”

“He died,” Alex said softly. “You brought him back.”

“Great,” Steve exhaled. “Don’t let Eddie die in 1986.”

“Who the hell is Eddie Munson?” Dustin asked, brow wrinkled.

“He runs the dungeons and doofuses club at Hawkins High,” Steve said. “I’m sure that’s how you’ll meet him. I don’t understand how I’m involved in this mess.”

“I don’t understand how I’m involved,” Robin said. “Look, Alex. It’s July. If that happens in March, then you’re gonna be here for eight months waiting for something to happen. And who knows if you’ll mess up the time continuum or whatever. You need to get back and we need to —“

“Crack a cereal code,” Alex supplied, pushing past Dustin and Steve into the backroom. “Yeah. I heard.”

“Hey!”

“I’m stuck here for 24 hours,” Alex said, taking a seat at the break table, gesturing to the white board where Robin had written out the Russian code and its English translation out for the boys. “Might as well try to crack your dumb cereal code.”

The cool of the porcelain toilet bowl felt nice against Steve’s face. In any other situation, he may have been grossed out about puking his guts out in a public bathroom. But right now, the cool surface was comforting. “Sound off,” he mumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, wincing from his split lip. “Steve. Here.”

“Robin,” Robin’s voice weakly carried from the stall over. “Present.”

“Alex?” Steve called over to the stall next to him. A moment passed. Steve sat up. “Alex?”

A soft laugh came from the other stall. Starting as a small giggle before breaking out into a full on laughter fit.

“Alex?” Steve called again, sliding underneath the stall wall to join Alex in the stall. His thin frame was positioned between the toilet and the wall, his head leaning against the wall. He looked worse for wear, a broken nose, bruising underneath his eyes. He had a matching split lip, and by the way he’s wincing while he’s laughing was a sure sign of a broken rib or two. Steve remembers hearing the clanging of metal as his earrings hit the floor, but Alex’s hair concealed his bloodied ears. Steve and Alex took the brunt of the Russian torture. And if Steve feels bad, he was sure Alex felt worse. “Alex?”

“I came here to save Dad,” Alex laughed. “And ended up saving Pops instead.”

Steve wrinkled his brow. “I need you to explain that, Alex.”

Alex’s laughter slowly died off. He looked at Steve, a look that Steve was sure he’s given the kids before. A look that made it all click for Steve. “I have two dads,” Alex said softly. “Eddie and —“ he gestured towards Steve with a soft laugh. “You.”

“Me,” Steve repeated softly.

“Step dad?” Robin asked from the other stall, her voice was uneasy, as if she knew the answer. Steve knew the answer. His heart pounding in his chest.

“No,” Alex answered, his voice shaky. Tears formed in his eyes. “No.”

“Hey, here,” Steve reached out for Alex pulling him into his arms. “You’re safe, okay? I got you. I got you.”

Alex buried his face into Steve’s shoulder, letting out a sob. “I knew — I knew the fourth wasn’t a great memory for you — but I didn’t — I didn’t —“

“There’s a reason you didn’t know,” Steve said, catching Robin as she slid under the stall. “I didn’t want you to know about the monsters. Wanted you to have a normal life.”

Alex let out a laugh. “You know dad. Normal isn’t in his vocabulary.”

Steve laughed. “Kind of. Not — not personally.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Robin said. “But you’re taking having a 15 year old with Eddie Munson pretty well.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, running his hand up and down Alex’s back. “I mean — you’ve seen Eddie.”

“Gross,” Alex said.

“Gross,” Robin agreed.

“What?” Steve said. “You don’t have a crush on Eddie Munson?”

Alex glanced towards Robin. She cautiously looked at Alex, seeing a look of understanding.

“I don’t have a crush on any guy, Steve,” Robin said. “I … like girls.”

“Oh. Really? Good�� great!” Steve let out a laugh. “Great. Alex, Aunt Robbie. Robin, Alex.”

“We’ve met doofus,” Robin laughed. She let out a gasp. “Oh my god, you named him after me. His middle name.”

“Yeah,” Steve grinned. “We’re friends. Right Alex? Friends?”

“Right,” Alex smiled back. “Best friends.”

“Holy shit,” Steve said. “I have a son with Eddie Munson and time travel is real.”

“Kind of,” Alex said. “Henderson invented it.”

“Dustin?”

“He was supposed to come back,” Alex said. “I beat him to the machine.”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve said, holding Alex tight. He felt his grip falter against Alex. Steve looked down at Alex as he flickered like a ghost. His body fading into transparency. “Alex? Are you — you’re disappearing. Did we — did we fuck up the time line?”

“I’m going home,” Alex said. “My time’s done. I had 24 hours. I’ll — I’ll see you soon, Pops.”

“Alex —“

“Remember March 1986,” Alex said, fading in Steve’s arms. “Save dad. Keep him safe.”

“Alex —“

“Love you, Pops,” Alex said, disappearing. His voice echoing in the bathroom. “Keep him safe.”

Steve didn’t think much about it when he told Dustin and Eddie to stick to the plan. The whole plan didn’t feel right. As if he was missing something. “Don’t be cute, or be a hero, or something. Okay? You guys are just -- ”

“Decoys,” Dustin finished for him. They’ve been over this a thousand times since they created the plan. “Don’t worry, you can be the hero, Steve.”

“Absolutely,” Eddie said. “I mean. Look at us. We are not heroes.” He gave a soft smile to Steve, trying to calm his nerves. Steve could read past behind the mask Eddie wore. He was nervous.

Steve pressed his lips together and nodded. He still wasn’t sure about this. The whole plan was fool proof… but something felt wrong. Something was missing. He stepped back, turning to walk towards the girls.

“Hey, Steve?”

Steve turned around, Eddie much closer than he was moments before. Eddie mapped Steve’s face, his lips frozen, as if they lost the words they wanted to say. His eyes, big, emotional. Like a baby deer, looking for safety and comfort. Eddie looked away, towards the trailers, before glancing back to Steve. “Make him pay.”

Suddenly, it clicked for Steve. He remembered the same doe eyes on Alex months ago, begging Steve to save his dad — to save Eddie.

Something happens to Eddie here. Something that kills him, and Steve has to bring him back.

Steve has to give Eddie a reason to stay safe.

Eventually, they would get together. Alex was born in 1993, it shouldn’t hurt if they got together a little sooner, right?

He reached forward, pressing his lips against Eddie’s in a rushed kiss. His hands go to the bottom of his vest, zipping it up. “If you’re gonna do something stupid,” Steve mumbled against Eddie’s lips. “Be smart about it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie nodded, his cheeks blushing. “Okay, Big Boy, I’ll see you soon.”

If I had time I’d flush this out!

If you want older cousin Alex Munson lore, I have a character study of Eddie Munson on Ao3.

12/16/24 edit: I expanded this ficlet to 13,000 words if you wanna read it on Ao3

#steddie #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #stranger things #steddie fic #//myfic

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