#Wayne has his life dangled over him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 28 days ago

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it's the next best thing - part two

part one || part three

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson || ~22k, complete || phone sex || accidental love confessions || there was only one bed || getting together || mutual pining || porn with plot || smut || wet & messy || friends with benefits || oral sex || rimming

This is part two of three of my gift for @eyesofshinigami for @steddieexchange!

Eddie gasps for breath, collapsed on the linoleum of the kitchen, hand still stuck in his pants and phone dangling off the line cord tickling his face as his ragged breathing makes it sway back and forth.

“What the fuck was that?” he says to the quiet of his trailer.

He knows what that was, still has the jizz cooling in his underwear and cock softening in his hand to prove it. He’d just never imagined that his not-so-innocent question would ever lead him to this. Even now, he’s not sure how it’d happened, doesn’t know what had caused Steve to use that tone of voice and hiss sinful things down the line.

He’d just been along for the ride, and now he’s here, shaking with aftershocks and chilled on the kitchen floor. Steve’s little, “same time tomorrow,” ringing through his head.

He gets up to shuffle into his bedroom, too wrung out to do more than wipe himself down with a dirty t-shirt and collapse into bed. They’ve talked five nights in a row by now, but Eddie’s always the one that calls, Steve on the other side of the line sounding begrudgingly entertained, but this? Steve had practically asked Eddie to call, right after talking him through one of the hottest orgasms of his life.

Does he want to do it again?

Sleep is a long time coming that night, leaving Eddie cranky and sulking into his mug of coffee as Wayne shuffles into the trailer after his graveyard shift.

“You’re up early,” Wayne says, collapsing onto the empty chair at the dining room table to remove his shoes with his usual bitching and grunting.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Eddie mumbles grumpily even as he gets up to pour Wayne his own mug.

Wayne takes a sip, humming in satisfaction after he swallows. Only once he’s put his mug down on the table does he pin Eddie with his piercing gaze. “D’ you want to talk ‘bout whatever’s goin’ on?” he asks, not even blinking as he waits for Eddie to answer.

Eddie’s never kept a secret from Wayne, even government-enforced NDA’s couldn’t shut him up. He’s not about to start now. “I had phone sex with Steve Harrington,” he blurts. He feels crazy, eyes wide and manic as he waits for Wayne to spout his wisdom and do what he always does when Eddie has a problem: fix it.

Instead, Wayne picks up his mug and takes another long sip, leaving Eddie to wait on tenterhooks as he savors his shitty cup of Folgers like the pope himself had made it. “Steve’s a good kid.”

Eddie stares, unblinking, long enough that his eyes start to dry out. “That’s it?” he demands, smacking his hand down on the table for emphasis, rattling both of their mugs, Eddie’s coffee sloshing off the edge.

“What d’ya want me to say?” Wayne replies, picking up his coffee, probably to save it from any more of Eddie’s antics. “You like this boy? Talk to him.”

He shouldn’t have expected anything else, really. Wayne’s been team Steve Harrington since he’d found out he’d single-handedly carried him out of a hellscape and put pressure on his wounds until Nancy had hauled ass all the way into the hospital bay.

Keep a guy’s guts inside his body one time, and apparently that’s all it takes to win the parental figure over.

“Wayne,” Eddie whines.

“It’d be one thing if he wasn’t your sort,” Wayne continues, standing up, coffee still in hand as he makes his way toward the bathroom. “But phone sex, Ed? Sounds pretty gay.”

Eddie splutters, mouth hanging open and face heating up as Wayne closes the bathroom door, the sound of the shower starting a moment later.

He should’ve never talked to Wayne.

Still, despite his ratcheting anxiety and sleep deprivation, once eight p.m. rolls around, Eddie calls.

“Thank you for calling Family Video,” Steve answers, but he must know it’s Eddie because his voice hits a lower register than usual. It’s almost…suggestive. “How can I help you?”

“Um!” Eddie squeaks out, face already aflame. “You said tomorrow, so…?”

Steve huffs but doesn’t answer, silence deafening across the line. Eddie stews, socked feet tapping silently against the floor as he waits. “And?” Steve finally asks.

Eddie mentally scrambles, trying to force a coherent thought into his brain. “And?” he asks, voice reedy. “And I—what? Oh!”

He clears his throat, and Steve huffs again. This time it sounds more like a laugh than like he’s exasperated with Eddie. “What are you wearing?” Eddie asks, holding his breath, hoping against hope that it was the right answer.

“Jeans, green sweater, vest, sneakers,” Steve lists out just like he usually does. Eddie lets his breath out, settling into his skin as they continue to wear in the grooves of their usual conversation. But then Steve’s voice drops low and he finishes with a pointed, “no underwear,” and Eddie’s left floating again.

“Fuck,” Eddie groans, clutching the phone tightly as he sinks down to the floor, dick already hardening, only getting worse as Steve laughs. He slides his hand into his pants and grips himself. “At work?”

“No one’s here, baby,” Steve replies, still using that stupid fucking sultry tone that makes warmth pool in Eddie’s gut. “No one will know that just the thought of my dick has you touching yourself.”

“I’m—” I’m not, he wants to say. But he is, grip vice-like around his shaft as he listens to Steve laugh at him.

“You think I don’t know what it sounds like when you push your hand into your pants, Munson?” He asks, sharp, and mean, and so fucking hot that Eddie’s going to combust right here and now. “Your stupid belt’s loud, baby.”

Eddie can’t help the way he whines, hand stroking quickly, just once, like that’ll keep Steve from knowing what he’s doing. But his belt clinks, cuffs tinkling tellingly together, and Steve laughs again. Fuck, Steve’s right: his belt is loud.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, and he sounds soothing now, like Eddie’s a feral cat he’s trying to coax out from behind a dumpster. Eddie feels like one, like he’s one second away from snapping and scratching out someone’s throat. God, this is all such a bad idea. “You can touch yourself, Eddie.”

Eddie in Steve’s voice is worse than baby. It’s soft, sibilant, intimate. Eddie’s hand moves on his shaft, grip light as he closes his eyes and pictures Steve at the front counter of Family Video, big hand wrapped around the phone.

“What about you?” he asks, voice breathy as he continues to move his hand.

“I’m at work.” Steve sounds admonishing, like he thinks Eddie should’ve known better than to even ask. “You want me to get fired? Rather call Keith every night, have him tell you exactly how to fuck yourself?”

Eddie shudders again, grip tightening even as disgust fills him. “No,” Eddie says, and even to himself he sounds bratty. Petulant. Whiny.

“Besides, playing with you is more fun,” Steve whispers, like it’s a secret just between them.

Eddie’s grip tightens, hips jerking as he tries to get more leverage in the confines of his jeans, belt twanging with every minute shift.

“So fucking loud,” Steve says again.

Shame hits him, pools in his gut. It’s like getting picked last in gym before he just stopped showing up, like being pushed into lockers before he hit his growth spurt and made himself the loudest predator in the school, like not graduating for the first time.

“Sorry,” he gasps, cheeks hot as he lets go of his cock, desperate to get the belt off to stop the stupid fucking noise its making and get back to it. “I can take it off, let me just–”

“Stop,” Steve orders, and Eddie freezes, the flap of his belt out of the loops, metal clasp clutched between both his hands. “Leave it on.”

Eddie drops the clasp, it clasps noisily against itself, loud in the quiet of the trailer. He closes his eyes, still frozen, afraid to make another move, lest the sound of his fumbling travel down the line.

“But, you said…” he starts before trailing off, unable to find the words.

“It’s loud,” Steve reaffirms, sending that same spike of shame in his gut. “But I want to hear you.”

Eddie’s breath hitches, and his hand moves on instinct, wriggling back into his pants before going rigid when that same metallic clack twangs as his belt shifts.

“That’s it,” Steve encourages, and his shame turns sharp and hot in his stomach, urging Eddie’s hand further into his pants until he’s got a hold of his cock again. “Let me hear you.”

Eddie moans, eyes closed, head tipped back against the cupboard as he listens to Steve breathe over the line. He’s moving his hand slowly, but his belt still rattles with every upward stroke.

“That’s it,” Steve says again, something dangerously close to awe in his voice. “Little faster now.”

Eddie does, following Steve’s directions without thought as he strokes himself faster, that stupid fucking metallic clanking speeding up right along with him. He squeezes his eyes shut even tighter, focusing on the feeling on his cock as he fucks his hand, trying to drown out his own sound with Steve’s heavy breathing.

“Faster,” Steve demands, and Eddie does it, the sound of his jingling belt growing quicker right along with him. “Fuck, listen to that.”

Eddie whines, speeding up again without Steve’s command, hips rising up off the floor with little aborted thrusts, his hand coming down to meet each thrust with a meaty thwack that does nothing to drown out the sound of his belt or the sound of his own panting.

He gets lost in it, the feel of his own length in his hand, Steve’s words urging him on, heating him up from the inside out. He’s getting close, can feel that familiar warmth pooling in his gut, so close he can almost taste it in the back of his throat.

Eddie can hear the familiar bell on Family Video’s front door jingle through the line, announcing someone’s entry. His hand freezes on his dick, breath stuck in his throat, like the customer will somehow be able to see him if he doesn’t stay still.

“Be right with you!” Steve calls, sounding cheerful and helpful, like he didn’t have Eddie on the knife’s edge of coming in his pants for the second time in just as many days. He’s quiet when he speaks again, words just for Eddie. “I want you to come for me, okay?”

“Steve,” Eddie gasps, but his hand’s already moving, stripping his cock with hard strokes. “Customer?”

He’s turned into a caveman, all one word questions and monosyllabic grunts, Steve’s words and Eddie’s own hand having done away with any higher brain function

“Fuck the customer,” Steve hisses, words so quiet Eddie can barely hear them. “Come on, baby, I want to hear it.”

Steve’s begging now, like all he wants is to listen to Eddie lose his mind, his own pleasure secondary to Eddie’s. Does he know Eddie’s collapsed on the kitchen floor, or does he think Eddie’s in bed, writhing between the sheets, as if he’d ever be able to afford his own line.

He wants to reach into Steve’s brain and scoop out his thoughts, see himself through Steve’s imaginings. Eddie wants to know everything.

And just like that, he’s close again, wishes Steve would live up to the promises he made last time and fill his mouth up with something else.

He’s almost there. He just needs, just—

“Come for me.”

Eddie shouts, loud enough to bother the neighbors as his dick spurts, tip peeking out of his jeans just enough to make a mess of his shirt, come painting white stripes against the black fabric. He strokes himself through it, keeping his grip firm until the overstimulation has him writhing, smacking his head painfully into the cupboard as he falls over, landing fully on the hard floor.

He lost the phone in the race to the finish line, so once he has the wherewithal to remember it, he reaches out blindly, eyes too hazy to be at all helpful, until he finds it and drags it back to his ear.

“Steve?” Eddie asks, voice slurring. The line’s still active, but there’s no response, so he asks again, “Steve?”

Steve doesn’t answer, but he hears the sound of a woman’s voice, unintelligible and tinny, then Steve’s own laugh, louder, but still too far away from the receiver for him to be holding the phone. Eddie catches his breath, listening to bits of an indecipherable conversation happening all the way across town, hoping desperately that Steve hasn’t forgotten about him.

He hears Steve call, “have a good night!” loud enough for Eddie to make out, and then the distinct sound of the bell ringing, announcing the customer's departure. Then, Steve’s voice directly in his ear whispering, “holy shit, Eddie. That was so fucking hot.”

Eddie laughs, breathless and buzzed on Steve Harrington’s attention. God, he wasn’t going to survive this, no matter what Wayne said. But, what a fucking way to go.

He can’t wait.

***

Steve’s whole body is buzzing, dick hard in his jeans. At fucking work. Because Eddie Munson sounds like a porn star when he comes. He wants nothing more than to hustle into the bathroom and take care of himself, but he’s alone, and besides, Robin would kill him if she found out he’d jacked off in the bathroom while on shift.

He adjusts his dick in his pants, tucking it up unobtrusively in case someone else comes in, and he tries to think of anything besides what Eddie’s face must have looked like when he made that sound.

It doesn’t work.

There’s a steady stream of customers throughout the rest of the night, and Steve helps each and every one with a dick hard enough to hammer a nail in with. When he finally gets home, he’s barely through the front door before he’s shoving his hand into his pants and getting himself off, Eddie’s sinful sounds ringing through his ears.

He needs to talk to Robin.

Sunday is one of their rare remaining shared shifts. Keith takes the morning, but the nights are busy with people returning the weekend’s rental before the work week hits them where it hurts. He holds it in his mouth for the first few hours, Robin shooting him squinty-eyed looks between each customer interaction.

He’s waiting for the rush to die down, wants enough time to talk it all through, but as the bell jingles with another customer leaving, the store blessedly empty for the first time all night, it just comes out of his mouth.

“I had sex with Eddie,” Steve blurts.

Robin whips her head toward him so fast that he hears her neck crack. Her eyes are wide and a manic smile is creeping across her face, all her shiny white teeth on display. She looks like a shark and Steve, very suddenly, feels like a raw, bloody steak dropped into the water.

“No, I didn’t,” he says, wincing when that just makes Robin’s smile widen. Is she going to eat him? “I don’t know why I said that.”

There must be something in his voice because her smile droops as all that intensity goes into her eyes instead. She stares him down like she’s trying to find all the secrets of the universe in his eyes. Because it’s Robin, Steve stares right back, wondering what she’s picking up from his face.

“Is this a bathroom floor conversation?” Robin asks, already grimacing. She’s surprisingly squeamish when she’s not high out of her gourd and already covered in piss, vomit, and Steve’s blood.

Neither of them have ever mopped the bathroom floor, and there’s no way Keith has either.

Steve drops to the carpet behind the counter, pulling his knees up to his chest. They’ve never cleaned this floor either, but at least the chances of sitting on piss are lower out here. Robin’s still grimacing, but she drops down with him. Their knees knock together as Robin scoots forward, reaching out to interlace their fingers and piling all their hands atop Steve’s own knees.

“What’s going on, babe?” Robin asks in that sweet voice she only uses when she thinks Steve’s fragile. It always kind of makes him want to cry.

Steve looks down at their hands, attention caught by Robin’s thumb rubbing soothingly against his own, fingertip getting caught with each pass against the wrinkles of his knuckle. He keeps his gaze on her hands as he thinks of what to say. It feels safer, somehow, when he can see how soft she’s being with him.

“We had phone sex?” Steve says and it comes out like a question. Robin squeezes both his hands, biting her lip to keep her chatterbox tendencies contained. “Uh, twice. And it was—it was really good, Robin.”

“Yeah?” she asks, and when he looks up at her, she’s smiling again, a small, private thing that prompts him to finally open up his mouth and say what he really means.

“I really like him, Bobby.”

She squeezes his hand and scooches impossibly closer, like she wants to merge together and they can finally become one person like the kids are always joking. He moves right along with her, one mind in this, until their legs are locked, one wrong move away from one of them sitting in the other’s lap.

Steve doesn’t mind, can never quite get as close as he wants to with Robin. He’d climb into her skin if he could, and knows without having to ask that she’d let him.

“Does he like you?” she asks, quiet enough to be a secret shared between them in the empty store.

Steve looks back down at their hands and thinks about it. Eddie’s stuttering and shy on the phone, stammering over um’s and uh’s just as much as words. Does that mean anything besides him being shy? He sounds eager, too, every time Steve answers the phone. He always has, even before Steve had flipped the script from a joke to overtly sexual. But, he sounds just the same when he talks to Robin—Steve’s seen him walk into Family Video and light up at just the sight of her.

The bell on the door jingles, and because she’s the best, Robin lets go of his hands, pats his knee once, and jumps up to greet them, letting Steve stay out of sight beneath the counter as she assists them.

Does Eddie like him? As a friend, sure, and sexually, yeah, but the way Robin’s implying?

It spins around and around in his head, never quite reaching a coherent conclusion.

When the phone rings at eight, Steve dashes to it, picking it up, and giving his usual spiel, made shy with Robin’s twinkling eyes trained on him.

“Thank you for calling Family Video,” he says, unsurprised when it comes out breathy. “How can I help you?”

“Oh, I can think of a few ways you could help me,” Eddie says, voice suggestive right from the start.

Steve grins, all his worries melting away at the sound of Eddie’s voice. “Robin’s here,” he cautions.

“Ohh!” If anything, Eddie sounds excited, like Robin being here is a good thing, no matter what it means for his virtual sex life. “Put her on, Stevie.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but dutifully holds the phone away from his ear and drolly says, “phone for you.”

Robin speeds over, tripping over the computer’s cord, Steve’s outstretched arm the only thing stopping her from braining herself against the counter.

“Family Video,” she says, even though she, too, must know who it is by now.

Steve’s standing close enough that he can hear Eddie’s cheerful call of, “Birdie!” The rest of his words are lost to Steve, but they make Robin laugh, a quick burst of a thing, like what he said had shocked her.

“At work?” she says, looking at Steve with the put-upon air of scandal. “For shame, Steven.”

He scrambles for the phone, trying to wrench it from her hand until they’re in an all-out brawl that ends with the cord tangled around their bodies, trapping them so they’re pressed together chest to chest. “Give it,” Steve pleads, finally snatching the receiver from her hand and pressing it to his ear, hissing as she grabs a hunk of his hair and yanks.

“You told her,” Steve demands down the line.

Eddie sputters, “I—you—she—“ he stumbles over each word, sputtering in a way that’s almost as fun as it was last night. “I just said I’d hoped to talk to you alone!”

“Oh,” Steve says, looking down at Robin’s beat up converse, eyes glazing over as he realizes—“I told her.”

“Steven,” Eddie says, voice so close to Robin’s own irate tone that Steve can’t help but laugh, heart full. “Why would you do that?”

He’s whining now, and Steve’s grinning about it, can’t help it. He leans toward Robin, hunching down the tiniest bit to hook his chin over her shoulder, safely ensconced in their phone cord cocoon. “It’s Robin,” Steve replies like that answers everything.

Eddie’s quiet on the other side of the line for a moment before he huffs and mutters a quiet, “fair enough.”

Steve smiles, digging his chin into her shoulder just to make her squeal and try to get away. But, they’re still tied together, so she’s bungee-corded right back into him and they both go down in a tangle of limbs and phone cord, knees rammed in places they should never go.

The phone’s been flung a few feet away, Eddie’s tinny voice coming through the speaker asking, “Steve? Did you guys die? Steeeeeevie?”

He’s in the middle of crawling toward it when the front door jingles and he freezes, abdominals working to keep him upright with one arm and one leg stalled out mid-crawl. Behind him, Robin’s also gone deadly silent and Steve knows they’re both thinking the same thing: if they stay absolutely still, maybe whoever has entered the store won’t even see them.

But, then Eddie’s voice calls out “Robin? Anyone?” And if they can hear it this clearly, he must have shouted loud enough to wake up the entire trailer park. Steve turns his head slowly enough that he can feel the stretch of each vertebrate as he finally faces the front door.

There, Mrs. Carruthers stands, staring down at him, nose upturned and wrinkled like she smells something bad. Steve meets her eyes and she sniffs audibly with disdain before disappearing into the shelves.

Steve drops his raised arm and leg and crawls the three quick strides to the discarded phone, dragging a tangled Robin behind him.

When he picks it up, Eddie’s humming loudly, like his new plan is to annoy them into speaking. Steve hates himself a little for finding it endearing. “Uh, Eddie?” he whispers, and the humming cuts out entirely. Steve keeps his eyes peeled for Mrs. Carruthers, unwilling to be caught in a compromising position by her again. “We’ll have to talk to you later, okay?”

“Uh, okay?” Eddie replies, more question than affirmative response, but at this point, he’ll take it.

He drops the phone, and as one, Steve and Robin jump up, hopping around each other to disentangle themselves from the cord as fast as possible. She trips and goes down on her knees, but she’s freed herself from the cord by now, so Steve spins himself free and dashes for the front desk, slamming the phone into the cradle right as Mrs. Carruthers rounds the shelves once more, tape secured in her hand.

Steve smiles his best customer service smile and asks, “Will that be all?”

From where she’s still on the dirty carpet, hidden from view beneath the desk, Robin snorts.

***

Before the phone line disconnects, Eddie listens to the weirdest set of sounds he’s ever heard. There’s a crash that he can only guess is Steve dropping the phone, then there’s some contextless rustling and grunting that goes on for an alarmingly long time. When the dial tone finally rings down the line, Eddie pulls the phone back to stare at it, perplexed.

“What the fuck?” he mutters before finally hanging it up.

The trailer’s quiet—he’d been happy when he thought there was something risqué on the menu, but now that it’s just him, he wishes Wayne was here. Or Robin, or Steve, anyone to fill the silence. Eddie pats his own crotch, mutters a quiet, “sorry, buddy,” to his disappointed dick, and goes to find something else to do.

He fills his night with campaign planning and the devil’s lettuce, the next day with breakfast with Wayne and fucking off so the old man can get some sleep. But that night, he calls Family Video and gets Steve all to himself.

He calls again the next night, and the night after that, and the night after that. He just keeps calling, and Steve always sounds excited to talk to him. Even when he’s at work giving himself his very own pair of blue balls. Or when Robin’s loitering around and all they can do is shoot the shit until the next customer walks in.

It’s enough to give him a complex.

But, they don’t hang out. Steve drives Dustin to Hellfire, held in the Wheeler’s basement now that Eddie’s finally snatched his diploma with both hands. He waves at Eddie where he’s making his way up the drive, smiling like a PTA mom dropping off their kid for a play date.

He doesn’t come inside.

There’s a movie night at Steve’s house, all the kids in a heap on the floor, Nancy and Jonathan sharing the same space in the Harrington’s only recliner, and Robin, Steve, and Eddie all piled onto the couch, Steve in the middle. The scant inches between his and Eddie’s thighs feel like the Mariana Trench.

They laugh and they joke, and it’s all exactly like it was before, like Eddie isn’t calling Steve every night to fuck his own fist to Steve’s surprisingly salacious words.

Eddie’s unraveling at the seams—something piteous and yawning opening up in his heart. He tries not to look too closely at it, doesn’t want to put a name to the feeling lest he ruin this one, shining thing.

Still, when Wayne asks, “you alright, boy?” one night, Eddie blurts, “I’m going to invite Steve over,” like it was inevitable. Like, somewhere in the recesses of his brain, he’s been plotting this, unbeknownst to himself.

Eddie’s more surprised than Wayne is. The old man just snorts, keeps lacing his shoes, running late for his shift as he replies, “make sure I ain’t here for that one, will you?”

“Wayne,” Eddie gasps. “This is how you support me in my time of need?”

“What need?” Wayne says, pulling his lace tight and double knotting it before standing with a groan. “Y’already like each other, don’t ya? People who like each other usually spend time together.”

Eddie gapes at his retreating back, sputtering on retorts that won’t quite come until he finally asks, “he likes me?” to the already-closed door. When he rushes over to it and peers out into the dark of Forest Hills, Wayne’s already in his truck, high-beams blinding Eddie where he stands. “We like each other?”

Wayne backs out, either having not heard Eddie at all, or deciding to ignore his nephew entirely.

It’s raining—Eddie spends a long time staring at the water dripping erratically off the roof, getting stuck in the leaves clogging the gutters.

When he goes inside, he calls the Buckley residence. Robin’s number is written on its own piece of paper stuck to the fridge, with Steve’s beside it, too sacred to hold any other information on it. Robin’s mom answers, but dutifully calls for her daughter, who picks up the phone, already sounding annoyed as she asks who’s calling.

Eddie ignores her question entirely, instead asking, “When’s Steve’s next day off?”

Robin snorts derisively. “Why don’t you ask him?”

“Buckley,” Eddie replies, definitely not whining. She sighs, and he can feel her wearing down already, so he asks, “please?”

It’s silent for long enough on the other line that Eddie worries he’d read her wrong, that she wasn’t going to respond at all, but just as he opens his mouth to continue wheedling her, she says, “tomorrow,” and just as Eddie fist bumps, she continues, “you finally going to make a move?” and Eddie’s back to incoherently sputtering.

She laughs at him, and he reflexively hangs up only to pace erratically back and forth for the next hour, psyching himself up. They’re friends, he can invite Steve over. That’s what friends do, don’t they? Steve can sit on Eddie’s couch, they can watch a movie, or get high, or just chat.

He’d take anything if it meant Steve would be here, smiling at him, no Robin or kids as a buffer.

But when he calls that night, Eddie doesn’t say a word. He just listens to Steve whisper sinful things down the line, fisting his cock, eyes closed so he can pretend it’s not his own hand getting him there. It’s Steve—standing in the kitchen, close enough that his breath sends puffs of air against Eddie’s neck, hand a warm brand on him as he’s tugged to completion.

And when the line disconnects, Eddie stares down at his own spent dick and sighs.

If there’s anything Eddie Munson has always been, it’s a fucking coward.

***

The phone rings, and it’s a few hours early, so Steve doesn’t expect Eddie to be on the other line.

“Do you want to come over?” Eddie asks, leaving off his usual greeting entirely. “I rented Hellraiser, and Wayne didn’t want to watch it with me so…?”

Steve had already watched it with Robin during one of their shifts, pausing it quickly anytime a customer came in and giggling at all the overtly sexual scenes. So, he’s doubtful that Eddie ever planned to watch it with Wayne unless he’d heard absolutely nothing about the movie and failed to even read the synopsis on the back.

“Sure, what time?” Steve asks, not bothering to call him out on his lie. After all, if there’s anything that’ll pop this celibate bubble they’re living in, it’s watching that movie pressed together on the Munson’s couch.

“Uh, now? Whenever you can?” Eddie asks, sounding so much like an eager puppy that Steve grins. “Wayne’s got a double shift so he won’t be back until morning.”

Steve’s heard that same line from enough girls that he’s sure he knows where this night is heading. Excitement bubbles up within him, palms aching to reach out, to finally be able to touch.

“Alright, want me to bring anything?” Steve asks,

“Just yourself!” Eddie tries, all strained cheer. Maybe he’s more nervous than even Steve is. He hangs up before Steve can decide how to respond.

Steve puts the phone in the cradle and turns ideas over in his head. There’s his pair of jeans that even Robin says make his ass look good. Maybe a sweater to soften the effect? But, that’s not really Eddie’s aesthetic, is it? Should he wear black, or would that look like he’s trying too hard.

He stares into his wardrobe, unblinking, brain ticking away at all the options before he turns away, unchanged, and heads to the bathroom to check his hair. Once every hair is perfectly in place, he shoves his socked feet into his sneakers, not even bothering to untie them.

Come as you are is the general expectation for staying in with a friend. And that’s what he and Eddie are—friends. The same thing is expected from a booty call. Either way, he’s dressed perfectly. Putting in extra effort is for dates, and as he has to repeatedly remind himself on the drive over, this isn’t a date.

It’s not.

Steve regrets his decision when he knocks on the Munson’s front door and Eddie stares down at his faded long-sleeved Hawkins High swim t-shirt and old gray sweatpants with a piercing look he can’t read.

“Uh, hey?” Steve says, shuffling uncomfortably on the front step as Eddie shakes himself like a dog and comes back to life.

He’s smiling now, cheeks pink from the cold as he takes a step back, and gestures Steve inside. “Come in, man!” he cries, voice too-loud in the dark of the trailer park.

Steve steps past him, forearm brushing the arm Eddie’s using to prop the door open. As he closes the door behind them, Steve swears he can hear Eddie’s breath catch.

“So, movie?” Steve asks, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, waiting for Eddie to lead him into the living room. Steve dawdles by the couch as Eddie pushes the tape into the player, waiting to see where he’ll sit.

“Have you seen this one yet?” Eddie asks as he settles into his usual seat at the end of the couch.

Robin’s not here, but Steve still plops himself down on the middle cushion, letting his legs spread into Eddie’s space.

“Robin and I had it on when it first hit the shelves.”

Eddie makes a strange, wounded noise, and when Steve glances over at him, he’s staring down at Steve’s knee, wringing his hands. “We can watch something else?”

Steve nudges his knee even farther into Eddie’s space, knocking them together. Eddie’s breath catches and doesn’t start up again until Steve pulls back. “Nah, we watched it at work so I missed some of it.”

Eddie nods jerkily and turns back to the screen. They watch in silence. While Steve’s leaning back into the couch, lounging the way he always does at movie nights, Eddie’s sitting ramrod straight, like someone might come along and grade him on the curvature of his spine.

Steve sits, waiting for Eddie to make a move, but he just—doesn’t. There isn’t even a popcorn bowl they can accidentally brush hands in, or flirty conversation to be had.

Even as Frank and Julia fuck on the screen, Eddie doesn’t reach out. He just blushes and presses himself more firmly into the corner of the couch.

Steve might have misread this situation.

He watches the movie, the space separating their bodies aching like a missing limb, fingers flexing against his own thighs with the desire to reach out. He’s spent so long hearing the sounds Eddie makes that he can’t help wanting to see, wanting to touch.

But, Steve’s used to disappointment; he’s used to making the best out of the unrequited. He can do it again.

The movie ends, and Steve’s ready to make his excuses, get the hell out of here with his remaining shreds of dignity, but Eddie beats him to it.

“Wanna stay the night?” he asks, and when Steve looks back over at him, he’s slouching into the couch now, gaze still trained on the TV as the credits play out on the screen, like Steve’s answer doesn’t matter at all.

Steve’s beginning to suspect he’s misread the situation, again as he watches Eddie literally twiddling his thumbs, unable to meet Steve’s eyes.

“Uh, sure,” Steve replies, and Eddie turns to him, smiling so brightly, like Steve’s continued presence in his home is a gift.

Steve’s heart flops around in his chest, pitter-pattering away as he follows Eddie into his bedroom. There’s something blooming in his chest, bright and hopeful, and dangerous.

It feels alarmingly close to love.

***

His bed’s not big, so when Steve climbs in beside him, both settled onto their backs, Steve’s forearm presses against his own. The point of contact burns—Eddie doesn’t know whether he wants to press into it or jerk away, scalded, but Steve doesn’t move, so neither does he.

No one’s ever been in his bed before.

The scant inches between their bodies feel like miles. Eddie wants to reach past them, let their fingers tangle together. He wants to touch so badly that he has to clench his fingers into the fabric of his t-shirt to stop himself from moving.

Eddie’s room is as dark as it ever gets, his flimsy curtains muffling the brightness of his neighbors porch light. If he squints, he can make out the Steve shaped lump beneath the covers.

He feels like he’s suffocating in the oppressive silence of his room, breaths stuttering as he tries to keep them inaudible, heartbeat rabbiting damn-near out of his chest as Steve lays there immobile, making no sound at all.

It’s so quiet that when Steve sighs, long and low as he settles more firmly into the pillows, Eddie jumps at the unexpected sound. Unlike the sweet sighs Steve had let slip over the phone on their nightly calls, Steve sounds frustrated, disappointed even.

It’s that sound that gets Eddie’s hand creeping across the scant inches between them, moving slowly, like if he’s careful, Steve won’t even realize what he’s doing. The first touch is against Steve’s hip, grazing the fabric of Steve’s sweatpants.

He presses down firmer, feeling the warm body beneath the fabric, and that’s what makes Steve inhale sharply, body jerking. Eddie freezes, fingers trembling as he waits for Steve to say something, to get up and leave, to do anything.

He stays right where he is, slumping further into Eddie’s mattress, springs squeaking as his weight shifts.

Holding his breath, Eddie lets his shaking hand press more fully into Steve’s hip, moving slowly across Steve’s body until it’s tucked beneath his shirt, fingers just barely brushing against bare, heated skin.

Steve jolts again, and Eddie snatches his hand back and cradles it against his own chest like it's a wounded bird, sure that Steve will get up and leave. He’d been fine talking Eddie through orgasms over the phone, but this is one step too far. This is real—Eddie’s hands touching Steve’s skin, meaningless words given weight.

Eddie closes his eyes, unwilling to watch Steve’s shadow detach itself from the bed and slink out of his room like a dirty secret.

It’s a surprise when instead, Steve’s weight shifts, springs squeaking as he rolls over until he’s pushing Eddie into the mattress. Eddie’s eyes fly open, legs falling open on instinct as Steve settles between them, pressing down with enough force that there’s no way he’ll miss how hard Eddie already is.

But then he grinds down with intent and Eddie can feel Steve’s own erection pressing into his hip. He adjusts, lining their bodies up until all that’s separating them is two thin pairs of sweatpants.

The whine that escapes Eddie’s throat is embarrassing. He tries to cover his own mouth to keep it in, but Steve grabs his wrist and pulls it off his face, linking their fingers as he traps Eddie’s hand against the mattress.

“Wanna hear you,” he says, breaking the seal of silence that had shrouded his bedroom.

Eddie bites his lip against the next noise, at Steve’s mercy as he continues moving against him, grinding hard enough that Eddie’s sweatpants start to chafe. He doesn’t care, never wants Steve to stop no matter how much it hurts.

“Come on, baby,” Steve says, bending over him to bite into the meat of Eddie’s shoulder as he ruts down. Eddie’s lip jumps free from between his teeth as he groans, low and almost painful with the force of its vibration. “Yeah, just like that.”

Steve lets go of Eddie’s hand, leaving him bereft until his arms snake around Eddie’s shoulders pulling him closer as Steve buries his face in the crook of his neck. On impulse, Eddie puts his hands on Steve’s hips, pulling him down faster and harder. The bed’s shaking enough that Eddie’s worried his headboard smacking into the wall will break right through the shitty plaster.

They’re loud—his bedroom full of enough lewd sounds that he wishes he’d had a tape recording it so he could play it again and again. The sound of his own embarrassing moans, the way Steve’s breathing has gone erratic, the squeaking of Eddie’s old mattress. He feels drunk off it, mouth hanging open and drooling as he loses himself in it.

This is nothing like the few rushed hand jobs he’s had in Indy. The way Steve’s breaths hit Eddie’s bare skin feels intimate, the way his hands hold onto Eddie like he’s trying to merge them together.

He can feel himself unraveling thrust by thrust, entire body tingling from the tip of his dick to the molars in the back of his mouth.

“Steve,” Eddie gasps out, on the precipice of something he’s not sure he’ll survive, smothered by Steve’s weight and still needing more.

Like that’d been all he was waiting for, Steve leans back, untangling one of his arms from around Eddie to slide his hand into Eddie’s tacky sweatpants, fingers barely closing around Eddie’s cock before he’s gone, lost to the best orgasm of his entire life.

***

Eddie’s quiet when he comes—Steve’s not even sure he’s breathing as he writhes. Steve keeps his grip firm as he strokes him through it, enraptured by the view of the other boy beneath him. His curly hair is pillowed around him, blending into the shadows of Eddie’s sheets. His mouths open and a silent shout as Steve milks him for everything he’s worth, not stopping until the last spurt of hot come has landed on the back of Steve’s hand, and the look of ecstasy on Eddie’s face begins transforming into pain.

Half of Eddie’s come rubs off on the inside of Steve’s sweats as he shoves the now-free hand into his own pants and wraps it around his cock. He doesn’t ease himself into it, fist moving furiously on his dick as he watches Eddie’s eyes squint open beneath him before they pop wide as he realizes what Steve’s doing.

“Holy shit, Steve,” he says, reaching trembling hands out and clutching onto Steve’s hips to pull him even closer, fingers slipping beneath his rucked-up shirt until his fingernails dig into bare skin. “Yeah, yeah, you’re so hot.”

He says it all on one whispered breath, like he doesn’t realize he’s speaking at all, too busy staring down at the way Steve’s sweats tent around his dick, moving quickly as he fucks his own fist. Steve moans, the words and the scrutiny making heat pool in his blood.

It’s only a few more strokes before Steve’s groaning, eyes closed against the feeling tearing through him as he makes a mess inside his sweats. Steve pants, free hand pressed against Eddie’s ribs to keep himself upright, clenching into the fabric of his t-shirt as he tries to catch his breath.

When he has the energy to open his eyes again, Eddie’s still staring up at him reverently, clenching so hard against his hipbones that Steve’s pretty sure he’ll need to pry them off.

“Holy shit,” Eddie says again.

Steve throws his head back and laughs, too high on endorphins to regulate anything. Eddie’s fingers clench against his hips, bringing him closer together and inadvertently sending an overstimulated shiver through Steve as his spent dick is pressed against the inside of his pants.

“Yeah,” Steve says, panting from sex, and laughter, and whatever emotion is sending fireworks bursting through his sternum. “Holy shit.”

Even if his reputation has always been overblown, Steve’s had a lot of sex with a lot of people. It’s never felt like this—like if he doesn’t see the look on his partner’s face as they come, he might die. Like his own dick barely matters, just the sounds his partner makes getting him halfway there.

It’s been a long time since he’s wanted to stay after.

He drops down, slumping onto Eddie’s chest before he rolls to the side, staring up at the shadows drifting across Eddie’s bedroom ceiling. With a good orgasm comes the crash—Steve’s is hitting him quick, pulling him down, down, down, no matter how rapidly Steve blinks his eyes.

“Stevie?” Eddie asks, continuing when Steve grunts in return, “you still awake?”

He closes his eyes, whispers a quiet, “mmmhmm,” even as his body slackens, arm slung over Eddie’s waist, head becoming one with the corner of Eddie’s pillow, close enough that Eddie’s breathing is ruffling the hair on Steve’s head.

“Sure you are, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers.

As he falls into a blissfully deep sleep, Steve swears he can feel Eddie’s dry lips pressed to his sweaty forehead.

***

Eddie’s still out of breath from the best sex of his life, and Steve’s inexplicably already passed out. In his bed. In his arms, using half his pillow like that’s where his head has always belonged. Eddie bends down and presses a kiss to his forehead. If anything, Steve’s breath gets deeper, like a reverse sleeping beauty where Eddie’s kiss has only sent Steve into a deeper sleep.

His heart’s beating erratically, lodging itself in his throat; either this is what love feels like, or he’s having a heart attack. Regardless, his next actions are obvious. He paws blindly toward his extra pillow abandoned at the other side of the bed, strips the pillowcase off, and pushes it into his own pants, wiping the tacky come from his skin. His pants are still wet, so he rubs at them as well, getting as much off as he can lest they stick to his skin and rip his pubes out later.

Once that’s done, he stares at Steve’s peaceful face. It’s outlined in shadows in the dark, but even with the dim light, Eddie can see the dark stain on the front of his sweats. Not giving himself enough time to think further, Eddie pushes the still-clean side of the pillowcase into Steve’s pants.

He freezes when Steve’s breath stutters, knuckles barely brushing Steve’s soft skin as he waits for him to settle once more.

He’s gentle, wiping in small circular motions at warm skin. Steve doesn’t wake, pliant and trusting in Eddie’s sheets as he cleans him up. He wants to look, so badly, that his mouth’s watering with it, but he keeps Steve’s sweats at his hips, covering all that tantalizing skin.

Steve groans, a small, barely-there breath leaving him as Eddie pulls his hand out of Steve’s pants, the other boy now as clean as Eddie can make him without crossing any lines.

The pillowcase is wet, both of their spends mixing in its fabric, heady with sweat and come. Eddie wants to put it in his mouth, suck the fabric until it’s clean, but like looking, that feels like a step too far. The smell hits him though, gets stuck in his nose and makes its home there.

He wants to put it back on the pillow, and sleep on it all night, the tacky fabric sticking to his face, rubbing all over him until it reeks of sex and Steve Harrington.

Little Eddie gives a valiant twitch, but Eddie would rather die than to get up right now to take care of him.

He throws the pillowcase across the room and shares the pillow Steve’s head is already on, the other boy pressed into his side, still sleeping soundly despite all Eddie’s twisting and turning. His skin’s warm and soft curled against Eddie’s own.

He presses another kiss to Steve’s head and resigns himself to a long, futile night of trying to sleep.

It smells like bacon when he wakes up. Eddie opens his eyes, squinting against the sunlight filtering through the curtains, eyes hazy with too few hours closed. Still, he zombie-shuffles his way out of his bedroom, eyes half mast as he stumbles into the kitchen.

Wayne’s sitting at the kitchen table, Steve across from him, talking around forkfuls of food.

“Um?” Eddie says, blinking dazedly as they both turn to him, still smiling.

“Ed,” Wayne says, gesturing Eddie forward with his fork. Eddie follows its movement with his eyes and body, reeled in by that delicious smell. “Your boy made breakfast.”

“Hmm?” Eddie asks, half-asleep and unarmored beside the kitchen table.

Steve laughs, and it fizzes through him like a morning coffee, jolting his synapses to life. “I’ll get you a plate.”

Steve jumps up and rushes to get a plate from the correct cupboard before standing in front of the stove and dishing Eddie up like he does this every morning–like he belongs there. Eddie stares at him, the way his strong shoulders flex beneath his wrinkled t-shirt, how his hair’s fucked up in the back, the way he’s wearing a pilfered pair of Eddie’s own sweats because his had been—

“Boy, sit down,” Wayne orders, and Eddie drops into a chair, a marionette that’s lost the plot of its show.

He’s still wearing the pants he’d fucked Steve Harrington in. They’re stuck to his pubes even after his half-assed clean-up attempt last night. Eddie shifts in his seat, not daring to look down and see if there are any visible stains. It’s too late, and that would just draw Wayne’s eyes right down to where he least wants them to be.

Steve turns back around, plate heaping with hash-browns, scrambled eggs, bacon crisped to perfection, and a perfect golden brown piece of toast. It’s still steaming, made recently enough that everything’s still hot. He stares down at the offering before looking back up at Steve.

He’s having another heart attack.

“Eat your breakfast, Eddie,” Steve says, picking up his own fork again and scooping some eggs onto his toast before taking a large bite.

Eddie follows his lead.

The food’s just as delicious as it looks. Eddie loses himself in it, each mouthful tastes like all the mornings with Steve that this moment could lead to. Steve in front of the stove, making whatever he wants, towel over his shoulder to wipe away any runaway butter. Eddie coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around his waist, burying his unshaved face into his neck and burrowing in just to make him laugh and swat him away.

Eddie will learn to make eggs that aren’t rubbery, if that’s what Steve wants. He’ll make a thousand failed eggs until he gets it just right.

“Don’t like your food?”

Eddie jumps, egg speared on his fork jumping right along with him, falling off his utensil and splattering into his coffee. It’s Wayne who spoke, but his eyes go to Steve first. Steve who’s sending furtive looks his way every few seconds, even as he continues sipping on his own egg-free coffee. He doesn’t meet Eddie’s eyes.

Eddie drops his fork with a clatter, grabs his piece of toast, and crams half of it in his mouth. “It’s delicious,” Eddie says, crumbs spraying out of his mouth.

He doesn’t care about the fucking food. He’d eat sawdust if Steve served it to him.

Steve wrinkles his nose, but he’s smiling again, and finally looks up, gaze warm as he looks at Eddie.

Eddie swallows the toast in his mouth. It hurts his throat going down, not chewed enough to ease the way, but Steve’s smile ramps up into a grin when Eddie takes another bite, so it’s worth it. He even drinks the fucking egg coffee down to the dregs, swallowing the egg at the bottom whole lest he accidentally taste it.

And when he walks Steve to the front door later that morning, they both linger at the threshold, even though Steve’s already running late for his shift.

The trailer’s duller once the beemer drives off, taking Steve along with it.

Eddie sighs, not at all lovelorn.

“Oh boy,” Wayne mutters.

“What?” Eddie whines, turning to glare at Wayne, hands on his hips.

Wayne snorts, getting up and shuffling off to get ready for bed, leaving Eddie to clean up the mess. “I ain’t getting involved in this, boy,” he calls, turning back to smirk at Eddie. “You’ll figure it out.”

Then he just shuts the bathroom door, leaving Eddie to pine away the hours until he can talk to Steve.

According to Jeff’s mom’s Cosmo, you’re supposed to wait three days to call a girl after a first date. But, Steve’s not a girl, and this wasn’t a date, and Eddie’s never played anything cool in his entire life. So, when eight p.m. strikes, he’s going to call.

He always will, as long as Steve keeps answering. Maybe even if he doesn’t.

part three

#SteddieWinterExchange #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #my fic

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 8 months ago

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Whatever the future may hold

Written for the May pop-up challenge of the @steddieholidaydrabbles

Prompt: Graduation

Rated: M

Tags: Omegaverse; omega!Eddie; alpha!Steve; pregnancy; mentions of sex

Notes: Set in the same universe as Whatever you want it to be

Eddie turns the square cap in his hands, feeling utterly and supremely sorry for himself. He's been imagining this day for so long. Snatching that diploma from Higgins's unwilling hands and prancing off that stage into a brighter, better future.

Only now, that future fills him with nothing but dread.

He groans, burying his face in his arms.

It was all going so well.

A while ago, when Carver and his possee found out about his little omegan secret, he thought his life was over.

Except Steve Harrington swooped in like a white, baseball bat wielding knight and saved him, and took him home, and cared for him. Knotted him near damn stupid, too, not that Eddie is complaining.

They've since commenced what must be the weirdest courtship in the history of courtship - stolen glances and subtle gifts and furtive dates at Steve's house or Eddie’s trailer. Eddie has kept his secret safe, and Steve is its biggest protector.

It's perfect. Everything Eddie never knew he wanted.

So of course it couldn't last.

“Eddie?”

Shit!

He must've been so far gone in his head he didn't hear the trailer door open, didn't catch the scent wafting into his bedroom. Pine needles and moss and sunlight.

“Stevie,” he croaks, and his stomach twists.

Footsteps approach. The doorknob rattles once, twice, before Steve realizes it's locked. His scent turns worried. Steve's worried about him. Eddie’s needy hindbrain whines at the thought.

“Eds, lemme in. Please?”

Eddie is unlocking the door before he even realizes he’s moved. Quickly, dread clawing at his guts, he retreats back onto his bed.

“Hey,” Steve ducks around the gown dangling from its hanger by the door. “Wayne called, said you wouldn’t come out of your room? Ceremony’s about to start, what are you- Eddie? What’s wrong?”

Because he has just spotted Eddie, back against the wall, arms wrapped around hunched knees, trembling hand still clasping the cap. Steve is in front of him in an instant, mattress dipping under his weight. His hands cup Eddie’s face, tilting his head up, and Eddie knows he should pull away, he really should. Still, he’s helpless to do anything but let himself sink into Steve’s comforting touch and scent.

“What’s going on?” Steve’s voice is a barely restrained growl. “Carver try shit again? You know you don’t have to worry-”

Eddie shakes his head. His stomach feels like it’s trying to crawl its way out of his throat. “It’s not Carver.”

Steve’s brow furrows.

“But then, what- … Are you sick?” He leans in, nosing the hollow of Eddie’s neck. “Your scent’s a bit off. Should I call a doctor, or-”

“Will you fucking leave it?” Eddie slaps Steve's hands away. The cap hits the mattress with a soft thud. “I'm not sick! Jesus!”

Steve's eyes are full of hurt confusion and worry. It makes Eddie want to laugh and cry and scream all at once.

“But I don't-” Steve stammers. “Why won't you-”

“Because I'm pregnant, okay?”

Steve's words screech to a halt. His eyes grow large, mouth forming a dumb little oh shape. It would be funny, Eddie thinks hysterically, if there was anything remotely funny about this entire clusterfuck of a situation.

“Wha-” Steve starts to say. Shuts his mouth. Opens it again. “I mean how- … I mean … are you sure?”

Like a line from some cliché soap opera. Eddie laughs weakly.

“Been puking my guts out all week. Took five tests, all positive. I'm pretty fucking sure, big boy.”

Silence seeps into the room. For a moment, Eddie thinks Steve's going to continue right on with the soap opera shit and ask when it happened. If it’s his. But Steve knows Eddie has never been with anyone else. Knows they've always been careful - except for that very first time.

Eddie screws his eyes shut and waits.

“Wow,” Steve breathes after an eternity. “That’s … that’s unbelievable.”

Eddie furrows his brow. Steve’s voice is brimming with incredulity, but also with something else. Something that, if Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d put close to … happiness? Hesitantly, he peeps one eye open.

He’s just in time to see Steve launch himself at him, and then he’s enveloped in a bone-crushing hug. Steve’s scent crests over him, heady and familiar.

“W-wait,” Eddie manages to mumble against the rapid staccato of Steve’s heartbeat. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” Steve pulls back just enough to look at him. His smile is so wide, Eddie’s afraid his face might be too small for it. “Why would I be mad? You know I want kids, loads of them!”

“Well yeah,” Eddie stammers. The room is spinning and all he can see is Steve’s smile. “But-”

“And you know I can’t imagine a better person to have them with than you.”

“Well …” Eddie can practically feel himself flush. “I guess.”

Steve leans in to kiss his forehead. “Then why are you so upset, dumbass?”

“Well, I dunno,” Eddie blurts, unable to keep the sarcastic undertone at bay. “Maybe cause I’m barely out of school? Or because we’re not even mated? Because your parents will go absolutely fucking-”

“Fuck my parents,” Steve declares. “This is about you and me. We’ll figure it out one step at a time. First, and most importantly: Do you want to have this kid with me?”

One large hand finds Eddie’s stomach, splaying itself over it, warm and safe. Eddie feels how something inside of him goes soft.

“Yes,” he whispers. “Yes, I’d love that.”

“Brilliant,” Steve beams, and kisses him. Eddie melts into it, but just as he’s about to lose himself in that summer forest scent, Steve pulls away. Eddie frowns as something is placed on his head - the stupid cap.

“And second,” Steve winks, giving his stomach one last gentle pat, “You gotta put on that gown and let me drive you to school. The two of you need to walk in half an hour.”

Poor Steve brought beer for the celebration. He'll need to drink it all by himself, whelp.

They're baaack, and they're having a baby!!! I said I'd write more of these two sooner rather than later, didn't I?

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie brainrot #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddieholidaydrabbles #hype's holiday drabbles 2024 #whatever you want it to be #omegaverse #a/b/o #omega eddie munson #alpha steve harrington #pregnancy

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alwaysurvalentine · 6 months ago

Text

the luck I've had can make a good man turn bad - fic

Written for Day 5 of @steddieangstyaugust - prompt: Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want by the Smiths - word count: 4.1k (this one got away from me) - cw: some cussing, allusions to parents fighting in another room, allusions to money issues, bullying mentioned (nothing graphic)

enjoy! 💛

When Eddie is five years old, his Uncle Wayne takes him to the aquarium. He talks the entire car ride, reading out the road signs they pass and counting the dashes in the road. He’s so excited that he doesn’t have to play the Quiet Game on the way there that he doesn’t even question it when Wayne comes to pick him up.

Eddie’s Mama helped him pack a bag and said he gets to stay with his Uncle Wayne the whole weekend, he’s so excited! Uncle Wayne always lets him stay up late and tells the best bedtime stories.

They’ve been on the road for a couple hours when they end up in a city. Uncle Wayne says it’s Louisville, but all Eddie can focus on is the tallest buildings he’s ever seen his whole life. They can fit millions of people in there! When he voices this, Wayne says only a couple thousand are in there. Which is basically the same thing - but Eddie’s not gonna correct his math when he sees them pulling into a Denny’s parking lot.

“We get to have Denny’s?! You’re the bestest!!!!” Eddie’s already unbuckling his belt by the time Wayne’s at his door, opening it to help him out. “Can I get pancakes? Please, please, please!”

Another chuckle and a shake of the head is his response from Wayne, who’s holding out a hand for Eddie to grab. They cross the parking lot together, Eddie skipping with a toothy grin.

“Well, go on then, find us a table.” At his uncle’s words, Eddie’s brown eyes scan the room. There’s a few tables next to the windows, but most of those already have people there - and then he sees it. The best table ever. It’s closer to the middle of the room but it’s got two booth seats opposite each other. Perfect for him and his Uncle Wayne! He darts over without saying anything and Wayne follows, slower, but still with a quirk of his lip that Eddie’s Mama said means he’s smiling.

He can’t read the whole menu, but he finds chocolate chip pancakes based on the picture on the side - which he points to when he orders from the nice lady named Sarah. When it’s Wayne’s turn to order he just gets nasty coffee. (Eddie snuck a sip of his mama’s cup once - it tastes like dirt.)

“WHAT is THAT?” Eddie yells - tiny finger pointed at the whale shark swimming above them. A couple of people around them turn to look at him when he yells, but Wayne doesn’t seem bothered - pointing at the words on the wall.

“This says it’s a whale shark. They’re the biggest sharks in the ocean.”

“What’s the ocean?”

There’s a stuffed whale shark in the gift shop when they’re leaving. Eddie’s seen so many fish today, but none of them were nearly as cool as the whale shark. His eyes find it, and before he knows it his legs have carried him over to the stack of them. A couple friendly clown fish sit nearby, but nothing interests him as much as the whale shark. It looks like it’s the size of his bed, but he doesn’t care - he has to take this home. Mama and him can lay on it when she sings him to sleep and he can cuddle up with it when Mama and Dad get loud in the living room.

“Eddie? What’d you find?” Eddie grins up at Wayne, smiling big enough to cause his dimples to show. He’s holding on to one of the sharks now, and he was right, it’s bigger than he is. The tail is bent slightly on the ground with his arms wrapped around its sewn gills.

“I love him. Can we get him Uncle Wayne? Mama would love him! I know he’s not as big as the real thing but this will help her believe me when I tell her it was the size of a car! Dad might even like him, since sharks are the coolest animal.”

As Eddie rambles, Wayne checks the price tag dangling off of the shark’s front fin. He knew his nephew was going to ask for something from the gift shop, and if this had been a planned visit instead of a quick phone call from Eddie’s mom type of visit, he might’ve had the money. But as it was, the only thing he knew for sure he could afford was the tiny key chain he’d grabbed on his way over to find Eddie. Now it’s just trying to convince Eddie that the keychain is just as cool.

Eddie’s pouting in his car seat, brown eyes focused on the trees outside instead of singing along to the station Wayne turned on to the radio. He did buy the keychain but that didn’t stop the tears that streamed down Eddie’s face for the first 30 minutes of the ride. The tears have stopped, but Wayne’s heart breaks at each quiet sniffle coming from the back seat.

***

Uncle Wayne is at the door again. Except this time Eddie’s ten years old and he’s the one that called. He can’t stand being in the house all alone. His mom passed four years ago and his dad’s never been the same - not that he was a stand up guy to begin with. Good old dad said he was going out to “shoot some pool with a couple of buddies”, and while this would normally be fine, Eddie’s run out of Kraft mac and cheese to eat.

“Hey, Uncle Wayne. Sorry I had to call, I was just thinking I haven’t stayed over in a little while. Would it be okay-”

“Where’s Al?” As always, his uncle cuts straight to the chase. His voice is gruff, but Eddie’s had plenty of practice now in reading his uncle and can hear the concern laced in his words.

He scuffs his converse against the floor and shrugs. “I dunno. He said he was gonna play pool with some guys.” Eddie looks up again to see Wayne looking around the trailer. He should’ve cleaned up after he called him; the dirty dishes in the sink and the trashcan full of candy wrappers says more than he meant to share.

“Eddie, how-”

“Just forget it. I shouldn’t have called - it was stupid.” Brown eyes meet Wayne’s green ones defiantly, daring him to finish the sentence.

“Alright, c’mon boy. Let’s go get Denny’s.”

The pancakes on Eddie’s plate are drowned in syrup, chocolate chips smeared across the top of them. A cup of black coffee sits in front of Wayne.

“What time does school start on Monday?”

A disbelieving smile starts to spread on Eddie’s face. “I can stay with you all weekend?!”

Wayne nods and sips his coffee, a small smile of his own hidden by the lip of the cup. “We’ll leave a note for your dad, but yeah. I don’t see why not.”

Unfortunately, Al Munson is at home when they get back, and with him comes the end of all of Eddie’s weekend plans. Al pitches a fit, sends Eddie to his room so he and Wayne can “have some words”. Eddie doesn’t know why he bothered sending him to his room when his dad’s shouting can be heard through the whole trailer anyway.

“Don’t need you telling me how to raise my own damn son!”

Wayne’s words don’t carry as well as his dad’s but he can hear some kind of murmur in response.

“Fuck off Wayne, you always thought you were better than me. I don’t care what you think, he lives under my roof so he follows my rules. He doesn’t need somebody babying him!”

Another murmur.

“Get the hell out of my house! Don’t even bother coming back! I don’t care if that brat calls you or not!”

Eddie’s back is pressed against his door, knees tucked to his chest as he listens. He was stupid to call Wayne. Stupid to think his dad would let him go stay the weekend with him. He’s just tired.

He’s tired of having cereal and mac and cheese for dinner. He’s tired of having to eat off of his friend’s lunch trays because his dad hasn’t paid for his school lunches. He’s tired of using duct tape to keep the bottom of his shoes attached because Al won’t buy him more. He’s tired of being left alone for days on end. His dad is right, he can take care of himself - he just doesn’t want to.

He misses his mom.

***

“Eddie? What happened?”

The teen brushes off his uncle’s words and heads into the trailer, bee-lining to his room. Eddie knows he looks rough, but seeing his reflection from the mirror on his dresser tells him not about this with Wayne isn’t going to be an option.

“Eddie, can I come in?” Speak of the devil; there he is knocking at Eddie’s door.

“Yeah. C’mon.” He sits back on his bed, eyes focused on the floor instead of the man stepping carefully into his space, and Wayne lets him sit in silence for a moment before sitting at the foot of Eddie’s bed.

“You gonna tell me what happened? Or are we just acting like your nose isn’t a bit more crooked than it was this mornin’?” Eddie stays silent. “I know you’re about as graceful as a bull in a china shop, but normally it’s your knees coming home bloody - not your nose. If you’re not gonna talk about it, you gonna at least let me have a look?”

“Why does it matter? No one cares in this fucking town anyway. Everyone always has something to say. Oh did you hear that Munson boy had to move because his dad’s in jail? Eddie’s a weirdo, don’t be friends with him. Have you seen his clothes? Doesn’t even have enough money to get new pants when he rips out the knees. Oh well, I heard that his uncle took him in just for the tax benefits - Lord knows it wouldn’t be worth it to have him otherwise. He’s going to be just like his daddy when he gets older, scamming people - don’t listen to a word he says.”

“Shut your mouth, boy!”

Eddie’s mouth clamps shut, teeth slamming together with an audible click. He’s shaking slightly, fists clenched at his sides. He can’t meet Wayne’s eyes.

“You listen to me, and you listen good.” Wayne’s voice is stern but like always, Eddie can hear the affection in it.

“Look at me,” Eddie raises his eyes slowly, jaw tense even if it causes his nose to throb.

“You ain’t nothing like your daddy. You’re your mama through and through, God bless her. And just because people can’t see past their own noses don’t mean you need to be listening to their shit. You’ve been nothing but a good kid since I met you, so unless you committed some crazy crimes that first week of your life then I think I’m good authority on this. I mean it, Eddie, you’re nothing like him. You keep being you, and you never will be him. Now lemme take a look at your nose.”

***

“Welcome to Family Video!” Eddie looks to the counter, eyes locking with none other than Steve Harrington’s before smirking.

“Is that any way to greet me? Your favorite customer?” He saunters to the counter, limp slowing him down only slightly - physical therapy the past 3 months making it possible at all.

Steve rolls his eyes but the huge smile on his face gives him away. “Sorry, let me try again.” And then he turns around, hazel eyes catching Eddie’s again, fluttering his eyelashes. “Oh! Hello Eddie!” He finishes his new welcome with a wink and then leans against the counter. The sun coming in through the windows makes Steve look like a painting, a modern day Adonis. He’s made to be in the sunlight.

“Anyway, what’s the occasion today? Came to finally return Alien?” Steve’s hair is a little floppier than usual, and he’s been letting it grow out since the end of July so it’s curling up slightly at the end of his neck. It doesn’t cover the two moles on Steve’s neck, the perfect place to bite - and Eddie’s getting off track.

“As if. That movie’s basically mine and Wayne’s now. No point in trying to get it back.” Eddie shrugs, shaking his head mockingly. He and Steve know he’s had it checked out for at least a year now. They both also know that Steve waived his late fees the moment he got promoted to manager.

“Just came to bother Hawkins’ favorite babysitter.” Steve’s eyes narrow at him now, leaning away from the counter to peer outside.

“Which one put you up to this? What do you need?” His hands are on his hips, opening the green vest to tease Eddie with the broad expanse of his chest hidden by a light blue polo. Eddie’s mouth feels a lot dryer than it was when he walked in. Okay - stop looking at the silver buckle on his belt, look at something else. Yeah, yeah, the tangled phone cord - that’s interesting.

“Why does it always have to be something?”

Hazel eyes level him with a look that paints a blush on his cheeks, causing Eddie to cough.

“Okay, maybe Will’s got a campaign planned for us to play. Buuuut-”

“But the cabin isn’t big enough for all of you to play in?” Steve cuts him off, crossing his arms over his chest instead. Which does nothing to help Eddie’s blush, eyes now distracted by the bulge of his arms. Which makes him think of Steve’s arm behind his back during the last group movie night. Which then makes him think of Steve offering his arms during physical therapy, easily holding Eddie up as he stumbled along. Which then makes Eddie think of how easily Steve was able to help him into the wheelchair he had for a few weeks.

“-ie? Are you okay? Do you need to sit down for a minute?” Eddie blinks and shakes his head, bringing into focus Steve’s brows furrowed in worry.

“Yeah, no, I’m okay. Gotta head out - Wayne’s waiting in the van. So we can host it at your place? Thanks!”

And then Eddie’s limping back towards the door, thoroughly embarrassed. Leave it to him to get a massive crush on THE Steve Harrington and become a huge idiot in front of him. Screw Robin for making him realize he’d fallen for the guy in the first place, no more late night smoking sessions with Birdie.

“Yeah, okay. Tell Wayne I said hi!” Steve calls behind him and he flashes a smile over his shoulder as he steps through the door.

There’s an open notebook to Eddie’s right and a pencil tucked behind his ear while he sits crouched over his guitar. He hasn’t written anything new in the last 30 minutes, his mind wandering to Steve again. He wishes he and Robin hadn’t decided to play truth or dare last night. If he’d only picked dare! Instead he picked truth and just like the teenage girl she is, Robin had to ask about crushes. And then he just - started talking about Steve and couldn’t stop. Robin got this weirdly focused look in her eyes and then just cryptically said that he should “tell Steve how you feel!” which had him choking on air.

“I’m sorry, what?” Brown eyes widened, staring into Robin’s blue ones.

“You should tell him how you feel!” She’d grinned, eyes red rimmed but nonetheless sincere.

“Birdie…he doesn’t even know I’m like that…what if he acts weird after? I can’t lose him.”

“Eddie.” Robin placed her hand on his shoulder, peering into his eyes, close enough that their noses were almost touching.

“He knows about me. And he’s my Platonic soulmate, knowing this isn’t going to do anything but make things better. He’s a good guy. I promise Eddie, nothing bad is going to happen if you tell him.”

And then she’d backed up to her side of the couch again, reaching for the bag of popcorn they’d made earlier.

“Eddie! Phone for you! Sounds like your boy!” Wayne’s teasing voice calls through the trailer and Eddie almost drops his guitar in his haste to grab at the phone on his bedside table (a perk from being stuck at the house for recovery).

“Waaaynee!” His voice comes out like a petulant teenager but he doesn’t catch his uncle’s response because he’s already holding the phone up to his ear.

“Hey, Stevie.” He’s breathless even though Steve hasn’t said anything, face warming just like earlier.

“Eddie! Hey! So I said I’d host, but you didn’t say what day.”

He can hear the smile in Steve’s voice, can imagine him peering into his fridge with the phone tucked in between his shoulder and ear. Eddie sets his guitar against the end of his bed and leans back against his pillows.

“My bad, yeah, Will the Wise said he wanted to do it next weekend, that work for you?”

“I have to open next Saturday but if you guys are okay with starting around dinner time, that works for me? I can talk to Mrs. Byers and the Sinclairs about doing a sleepover, can you ask Dustin’s mom and see about giving Max a ride? I’m sure Nancy can let her mom know Mike will be staying over. What kind of snacks do you guys need? I can go to the store on Thursday when I’m off. I can rearrange the living room too…I’ll have to tidy up the guest rooms. Maybe Hopper has some extra firewood we could use and have a little bonfire too? I’ll see if Robin wants to come, we could watch some kind of movie while you play.”

Steve’s in his own world and Eddie can almost hear the faint scratch of the pen he knows Steve is using to write out a checklist. The list will help keep Steve from forgetting anything, something that Steve has admitted he’s had some trouble with. Remembering the small things, that is. Has to write down dates and specific plans otherwise the day will creep up on him and he’ll only remember when one of the kids contacts him on the radio. It’s happened more times than he’s comfortable with, and now he writes everything down. Has a notebook near his home phone and even keeps a small handheld notebook in his car just in case. Eddie saw it once, accidentally sitting on it; got to see a page covered in bullet points.

Eddie Physical Therapy MWF 2-3 PM!!

Dustin back from Camp Know Where on Tuesday the 17th

Eddie says to listen to Black Sabbath ??

Will and El staying over on the 3rd so Hopper and Mrs. Byers can go on date

Give Eddie back his vest ???

Oil Change

Ask Eddie

But he couldn’t finish reading the list before Steve had grabbed the notebook to shove into the center console.

“Stevie, sweetheart-” and he swears he can hear a stutter in Steve’s breath, “we can just order a couple pizzas and be fine. Don’t worry about getting specific snacks or anything. I’ll talk to Claudia and you know I’ll make sure Max gets there in one piece. Everyone’s gonna be excited just to play, let alone stay the night and get some of that breakfast casserole you always make for us.” He’s joking with his words and is rewarded with a chuckle from Steve.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll make it only when I get some help in the kitchen. Peeling and cutting all those potatoes is hard work. But yeah, we can order pizza for the group.” The stress has eased from his voice, and the Steve in Eddie’s mind’s eye is ripping away the previous notes to replace it with one that just says pizza for dinner and the ingredients for Steve’s breakfast casserole (potatoes, eggs, shredded cheese).

“Uh-huh. You tell me when you stop needing the potatoes in perfect cubes and I’ll help. Little Stevie Homemaker has to have his food perfect otherwise no one’s allowed to eat it.” He teases again, pulling a strand of his hair to his mouth, chewing on the end slightly.

Steve’s messing with something in the kitchen when Eddie and Max walk in. Max beelines to the living room, circling the coffee table before plopping down on the left side of the couch. Her hair is in two haphazard braids that Eddie knows El will offer to fix as soon as she walks in. She cuts her eyes to him and nods towards the kitchen, a knowing smirk on her face.

“Don’t look at me like that, Mayfield.” He pokes a finger in her direction and squints his eyes. The effect is lost on her though because she’s already turned back towards the TV, remote in hand, while he heads towards the kitchen.

At least three cabinet doors are slammed shut before Eddie steps into the kitchen. Steve’s back is to him, a green T-shirt stretched across his back - his shoulders are tense and Eddie can almost see an exact outline of the boy’s shoulders. He can’t make out what he’s saying, but Steve’s mumbling as he works. There’s a towel covered bowl behind him on the island, but he’s pulling out smaller bowls and setting them on the counter next to the fridge.

“What’s all this, Stevie?” And Steve jumps about 2 feet in the air at his voice, whipping around quick enough that his bangs settle back down on his head while he scowls at Eddie.

“I thought I told you to be here at 6.”

“And I thought I told you that we would order pizza tonight.” Eddie’s looking down at the homemade dough he sees sitting in the bowl he uncovered. Now that Steve’s turned around, he can see that he was pulling bowls out to dump toppings into. A jar of olives, cut green peppers, mushrooms, a bag of pepperoni, and a large bag of cheese - all the makings of a pizza, just no sauce. When he looks back to the boy in front of him, he’s wiping his hands on a gray towel he had over his shoulder. A light blush is on his cheeks, traveling down to the collar of his shirt - Eddie thinks if he didn’t have it on that pretty pink would travel further down his chest. He hears another mumble from Steve but he turns as he’s talking so he misses it, and Steve’s shoulders seem more tense than before.

“What was that? Hey, please?” Eddie rounds the corner of the island and reaches a hand out to rest on Steve’s shoulder, turning him slightly. He’s looking down but lets Eddie turn him, hands slowing their fidgeting with the towel.

“Mario’s pizza has too much grease, and this way all of the kids can put their own toppings on theirs.”

Again, Eddie is reminded of how sweet Steve really is. He’s so glad he’s gotten to know this Steve instead of the “King” he thought the younger man was. His hand travels from Steve’s shoulder with a mind of its own, resting against his right cheek. If he moves his thumb slightly he could cover up the moles right there on Steve’s left cheek. Hazel eyes are hidden from him, Steve’s eyes closed as he leans slightly into the contact.

Eddie really wants to kiss him.

“Stevie…” His voice is little more than a whisper but Steve opens his eyes regardless. The light from the kitchen window highlights the gold in Steve’s eyes and Eddie’s breath stutters at what he sees there.

Does Steve want to kiss him?

Loud knocking shocks both them and Eddie drops his hand like it’s been burned. “STEVE!! Why is your door locked? Let us in!!” Dustin’s voice is muffled only because there’s a door and room between them, and Steve rolls his eyes.

“Let me go let them in, can you stir that for me?” Then he just nods towards a simmering pan on the stove like nothing happened. And Eddie can do nothing but nod once before watching Steve walk away. He hopes he’s not imagining how red Steve’s face is before he leaves the kitchen.

Maybe after the kids leave he and Steve can have a little chat - seems like Robin might be right. If he’s lucky maybe he’ll even get to kiss Steve before the night ends.

But until then, he’ll stir Steve’s homemade pizza sauce and play the most distracted D&D game he’s ever played. He might’ve been through hell and back, with or without the Upside Down, but things might just be looking up for him now.

(Now with a part two!)

#steddieangstyaugust #steddie #stranger things #pre steddie #this one ran away from me #sorry its late #but Eddie just kept having things to share #music monday #valentine writes

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etherealxwitch · 1 year ago

Text

Illict Affairs

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Something changed within Eddie and now he only has time to fuck you and dump you like you mean nothing.

Warnings: SMUT (MDNI), angst, hurt/no comfort, eddie using reader (being bit of a fuckboy), dirty talk, praise kink, teasing, begging, a little degradation, spanking, hair pulling, pet names, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink if you squint

WC: 3.7K

(after months it’s finally done! i hope you enjoy)

Remember to reblog and support the author!

Things were so simple before Eddie made new friends. The two of you would go out in public, hand in hand, lips pressed to your temples. One would never be seen without the other.

It was common knowledge to know what the two of you had going on; the stolen kisses and even more behind closed doors. It was never an official thing between the two of you, but you always hoped it could be.

That all quickly changed once he got more friends. It was now late-night calls, meeting in dimly lit parking lots so he could fuck in the back of his van and then drop you off back home before going to wherever it was that kept him from you.

Eddie used to be so gentle with you. Letting his friends know you were his girl, taking you on small dates. He was still like that, but you only saw that in private now.

And as much as your heart broke being his fling, you couldn’t say no to him. Not when he treated you so well, doted on you, loved on you. Not when he made you smile so big your cheeks hurt. Not when the sex was so good that you could barely walk the next morning.

Eddie said it was this way because he wasn’t good at love, that he could never give you what you truly wanted in life. But you knew that was all a lie. You saw how he loved and cared for you. His eyes were so full of it. You just wish he saw what you saw.

That’s how you ended up where you are now, hurrying to get out the door after he had called you from a pay phone, telling you to meet you at the car shop parking lot for a quickie. You wanted this time to be the last. You even told yourself that as you passed on the perfume, knowing he would complain about the lingering smell once he was finished with you.

Deep down in your mind, though, you know you’ll crave him the second he drives off your street. Your heart will ache, and you’ll repeat the same circle of getting hurt all over.

Did he know how much you hurt being the second choice now? Did he know how much you yearned to go back to the way it was before everything had happened? Did he know your feelings for him?

You were so caught up in your feelings that you didn’t realize that you had made it to the parking lot. Eddie was sitting in the back of the van, his legs dangling as he held a lit cigarette between his lips when you spotted him.

“Finally! I was starting to think you blew me off.” He stepped down from the vehicle, quickly making his way to engulf you in his arms.

That scent, his scent. It’s another thing you crave from him; lingering smoke, musk, a bit of sandalwood. It was the same old cologne that he borrowed from his uncle Wayne and you never got tired of it. You wish you could smell it forever, let it seep through your pores, and stay there.

“No, you know I couldn’t blow you off.” God, how you wish you could. You want nothing more than to say no to him, but you can’t. He’ll always find another way to rope you in.

“Well,” his hands dropped lower, gliding across the plump of your ass. “Now that you’re here…”

Eddie never wasted time.

The heat in your body felt like it had turned up 90 degrees just from having his hands on you. You wanted them everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Slowly, you got out of his hold, crawling into the back of the van. You made sure to shake your ass, enticing him more.

“Oh, so we’re playing that game.” Eddie spanks you, his ringed fingers making you gasp in pain and pleasure. “Remember you started this.”

“Who? Me?” You smiled at him as you laid on your back, watching as he shut the doors once he was inside. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You felt hot and gross all at once. Why were you letting this go on? You could easily walk out those doors and never turn back, but you stayed put. You’re giving yourself whiplash with these thoughts.

Eddie laid on you, his whole body now pressed against yours. You could feel his cock against your thigh, throbbing. “Mmm, I think you know exactly what you’re doing.”

His hands ran up the back of your dress, exploring you and the soft fabric.

“I-I,” you felt so stupid. How did he have this much of a hold on you?

“W-what’s that?” Eddie mocked you. He dipped his head low, his lips pressed against your ear. “Cat got your tongue?”

You tried to find the right words to say, but it was so hard when you could feel his hot breath against your skin. “I know nothing.”

He chuckled against your skin before pulling away, a smirk plastered on his face. “You do know.” Eddie sat back on his calves and started to work on his belt, fingers moving fast to get to the point. “But we can continue to act like you don’t.”

Your mouth suddenly watered with need as he pulled down his pants, his cock throbbed in his boxers. You could even see the wet patch of the precum starting to form.

Seeing that gave you hope, an ounce of it. Maybe he did feel something from you. Maybe that’s why he had this reaction to your body and kept you around for so long.

“Close your mouth, pretty girl.” Eddie reached forward and ran his thumb around your plump bottom lip before sliding it into your mouth. You sucked on it, swirling your tongue around the bad of your finger. His eyes darkened even more than before. “Look at you, always needing something in that pretty mouth.”

“I prefer something other than your thumb.”

With one hand, he pulled his cock from his boxers. The tip was leaking with precum, almost dripping with it. “Come get it.” He moved beside you, leaning against the side of the van, “what are you waiting for?”

The way his words echoed in your head made your legs clench, and your heart ache. Why were you doing this to yourself? Why was he doing this to you?

You turned yourself over and rested your upper body on his jean-clad thighs. Your fingers gently ran across his cock, making him quietly whine. “I gotta have my fun too, right?”

Your tongue darted out, catching a bead of precum that dribbled over your finger. The second the salty taste hit your tongue, you moaned. “You always taste so good.”

“Fuuuck,” Eddie grabbed your hair, pulling your head to the side. “C’mon, don’t tease me like this, sweetheart. Let me feel that warm mouth, yeah?”

“Like this?” You wrapped your lips around the red, angry tip.

“That’s fucking it, that’s my girl.” Eddie guided your head up and down his cock, thrusting his hips to make you gag around his cock. “Awe, is it too big for you?”

You moaned around his cock, him saying my girl shooting through your body and right to your cunt.

His cock felt so good in your mouth, sliding down your throat, and making your eyes water each time you gagged. This is how he likes (you wished it was love) you; his cock in your mouth and your eyes trained on him.

Eddie looked down at you and thrust his hips, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat over and over again. “Such a good fucking girl with a pretty mouth. You love being used, don’t you?”

No, you didn’t, but you’d never tell him that. It would ruin everything that this, whatever this was, the two of you had built.

His cock was fully in your throat, your nose buried into the thick patch of curly hair at the base of it. Eddie's cum filled heavy balls pressed to your chin, your drool dribbling down his balls and between your cleavage.

“Jesus- look at you.” Eddie held your head still as he kept thrusting in your mouth, making you gag until your lungs burned, and his eyes were rolling back.

You were a sight, a sight that Eddie mewled over each time you swallowed around his thick cock.

You pulled your mouth from his cock slowly. Salvia strung from your swollen lips to his spit-soaked cock. Your lips trailed kisses on the underside of it, your tongue darting to lick here and there before you got to his balls.

“O-oh shit.” The hand Eddie has in your hair pulled harder as you sucked his balls into your mouth, letting your tongue roll over the velvety skin. “You’re such a dirty girl, aren’t you?”

You hummed around the heavy sack. He had a certain way with words, always knowing what to say to turn you into putty for him. It never took much, though.

“Fuck, fuck- shit.” He gasped as you brought a hand around the base of his cock to pump it slowly, swiping your thumb over the tip, as your mouth still played with his balls. The wet schlick sound echoed in the small van.

You let your teeth barely graze his balls before sucking them both in your mouth, pulling on them. “Gonna make me cum already, sweetheart.”

All of your movements halted. He couldn’t cum yet, not when you had just met with him for the night. You wanted to prolong this meeting.

“I wasn’t done.” Eddie sat up on his elbows and looked at you, in shock and cock achingly hard. “Just a bit more, sweetheart.”

You wanted to roll your eyes and leave him with blue balls, but you couldn’t. Instead, you looked over at him with your big doe eyes and spread your legs. You had purposefully not worn any panties, your cunt already soaked and glistening in the van's light. “Is it my turn yet?”

Eddie gawked at you, his eyes glued to where you dripped for him. He pushed you back with a hand, slotting his body between your thighs. His jeans rubbed roughly against your clit, and it was enough to have you keen for more.

“God, I fucking love you like this.”

There it is. There’s those stupid words that he always said, that made your stomach fill with butterflies and your heart pound in your chest. If only he truly meant it, if only he could see the love swim in your eyes each time he said it.

“Do you?” You took his hand at your side and guided it up your legs between your thighs. “You feel what you do to me?”

You watched as his Adam's apple bobbed when his fingers ghosted over your slit. He could feel how wet you were, the pad of his finger now covered in your slick.

“Who got you this wet?” Eddie kissed up your neck, stopping to nibble here and there. You were sure to see some scattered hickies tomorrow.

He was pulling the most perfect whines from you. “Don’t go all shy on me now. Answer the question.”

You dropped your head down, not meeting his eyes. “Y-you did.” Your voice was barely a whisper. Not one part of you wanted to admit he did anything for you. You didn’t want to boost his ego.

With a rough hand, Eddie grabbed at your cheeks. He gently pushed them together, causing you to pout.

You now were looking directly into his eyes. The eyes that were so big and beautiful, filled with so much lust that he would probably burst at the seams if possible.

“Speak up.” He licked at his bottom lip before smirking at you. “Who got you this wet?”

Your head rolled to the side, as closed as he kept his skilled fingers on your cunt, barely rubbing. “You, you got me this wet.”

Eddie wanted it to always be this way. You were so quick to tell him that he got you this wet, but he wanted more. He wanted to call you his and hold your hand in public again, but things had changed within him. He didn’t deserve to be loved by you like that.

Sex was the only way that he could let you in anymore, it was the only time that he let a part of him show his all to you. But in his eyes, it was better to hurt you this way than to let you have his heart fully and then rip it away from you.

Everything in your body was betraying you; your cunt, your heart, your head. They all needed and wanted him.

Eddie smirked proudly at you, his fingers circling your clit before dipping into your soaked cunt. “That’s a good girl. Keep it up, and I might let you cum.”

You couldn’t say anything, only whined as his fingers curled right into your g-spot immediately. Your fingers gripped at his arms, your face buried in his neck. “I-oh!”

Your thighs shook around his arm, wanting to close around it so bad, but you knew he wouldn’t let you. He loved to see how much you shook and writhe because of him. Seeing it, seeing you like this boosted his ego beyond words. He felt like he could do everything and anything.

You could hear how soaked you were, the sounds flooding your ears. “Fucking hell! Feels so good!”

“Yeah? You hear that? That’s all you, sweetheart.” The heel of Eddie’s head rubbed perfectly at your swollen clit each time he pumped his fingers. “You’re making such a mess, baby. You gonna clean my fingers when I’m done?”

“Uhuh!” Your heart sped up, and you gasped loudly when he added a third finger, getting you nice and stretched open for his cock. “Oh my god, oh my god.”

Eddie gently kissed your forehead as his fingers slid in and out of your faster, the soft squelch sounds echoing off the van walls. “I can be your god, sweetheart.”

If only he knew just how much you truly worshiped him.

“I- I’m so close,” you were clenching around his fingers, craving that orgasm you needed so badly. “Please, Eddie!” You looked up at him, your eyes full of tears from being so close to cumming.

But just before you could cum, before you could feel the euphoria, he slid his fingers out of you. “W-what the fuck?”

When you opened your eyes to look at him, his dripping fingers were in front of your face. “Go on, clean up the mess.”

Obediently, you slowly wrapped your lips around them. You tasted yourself and moaned, tongue sliding between his fingers to get every bit of the mess you made.

“You follow orders so well. I might just keep you around.”

Oh, how you wished he actually would, and not just for the nights when he was lonely.

You got on your knees, making sure your ass was in there air. Eddie never wanted to see your face when the two of you fucked. Why? You don’t know, but maybe it made sense. Maybe it was better for you too.

“Look at you,” he rubbed a rough hand over the globe of his ass before pulling your hips toward his. You could feel his throbbing cock rut between your bodies. “You already know just how I want you.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice.” You wiggled your hips against him, silently begging.

You gripped at anything you could find when he nudged your cunt open with just the leaking tip of his cock, your eyes already rolling in the back of your head.

“Better squeeze my cock the way you squeezed my fingers, pretty girl.” Within seconds, Eddie bottomed out. His balls were pressed against your clit, hips flushed with yours. “God damn- I won’t ever get used to how tight you are for me.”

You felt so full, his cock stretching you open with the most pleasurable sting. “Please… move.”

“You sound so pretty when you beg for me.” Eddie pulled out, leaving only the tip inside your soaked cunt. “Do it again.”

“Eddie,” you turned your head to the side, looking into his brown eyes as much as possible. “I need you to fuck me, I-I need to feel you as deep as possible. Just-“

Before you could finish your sentence, Eddie had pulled all the way out and slammed back in. Your back arched and your head slumped forward against the floor of the van. “I love it when you say my name. Sounds so pretty falling from your lips.”

With each hard snap of Eddie's hips against your own, you could feel yourself draw closer to an orgasm. Your toes curled and your back arched, the praises spewing out of Eddie’s mouth.

“Such a tight pussy.” His rough hands pawed at your ass, spreading your cheeks so he could watch his cock get swallowed by your cunt. “Best pussy I’ve ever-jesus christ- had.”

Eddie reached forward and grabbed you by the shoulders, pulling your back against his chest. “Say it. Say that this is my pussy.”

“I-It’s…” Your mind was foggy, not only from his cock pounding into the sweet spot that had you seeing stars, but from the fact that he was being so possessive over your body.

“Fucking say it!” A rough hand came down in a harsh spank!, making your thighs shake and your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“It’s yours!” You bit your lip hard enough for the familiar taste of blood to hit your tongue. “It’s all yours, Eddie!”

And it was. Every single part of you belongs to him, or yearned to. He just didn’t see it.

“That’s fucking right.” Eddie shoved you back down to the floor and fucked you with fervor. “Gonna pump you so full of cum that on your way home, it’ll be dripping down your legs.”

You were sure there would be handprint shaped bruises for you to see and feel in the morning, but it wouldn’t be the first time.

“Please,” you arched your back, feeling the coil in your stomach tighten even more. “Please come inside me.”

He bunched the bottom of your dress around your hips and used it as leverage to drive his cock deeper into you. You squeezed your eyes shut as his cock pressed into your g-spot, making you see stars behind your eyelids.

All it took was one more hard, deep thrust and your body shook as your orgasm took over. Eddie’s name was a repeated prayer on your lips, your hands searching for anything to hold onto as every nerve ending in your body was set off. “Oh my- fuck, yes!”

Your thighs shook and your nails scraped along the floor off the van as your orgasm took full control of you. All you could mutter was incoherent babbles as you soaked Eddie’s cock.

The tightening of your pussy and the way his name sounded on your lips as you came was enough for Eddie to spill into you. “That’s it, take it fucking all!” His cock twitched inside you, emptying all he had to give. “My pretty girl, all full of my fucking cum.”

You felt the warmth of it flood your body as he held your hips against his, his cock twitching and giving you everything he had with labored breaths.

“God damn- always cum so damn hard when it’s inside of you, sweetheart.”

After pulling out and watching the mixture of cum leak from your used cunt, he laid his body over yours for a brief moment of actual intimacy. It barely took a second for you to feel that emptiness inside and out. That craving for him to come back and touch you taking over so quickly.

And just as quickly as you answered his call and met him here, it was over. The time you spent together never lasted long anymore. It was long enough for him and you to come undone and then you were out the car door, left with the sulking feelings of hurt and emptiness.

It was quiet as the two of you got dressed, almost too quiet. You took this moment as an opportunity to talk to him, no matter how dumb you may sound after.

“Eddie, can we talk?” Your voice was quiet, a bit hoarse from all the moaning you did just minutes prior.

He saw the glint in your eye when he turned around after adjusting himself back in his pants, he knew exactly what was on your mind. Even though it broke his heart to do this to you, he couldn’t let you in. It would never be like it used to be.

“We’ve been over this before.” He gave you a soft smile before looking down at the time on his watch, “Plus, I have somewhere to be.”

Of course, he does. Sex was the only time he had for you.

“I-I know, it’s just- it’s been a while since we have.” You reached for his hand, any ounce of intimacy to change his mind.

Eddie let you hold his hand for barely a second before he pulled it away to open the back doors and let you out. You’d be walking home alone again.

He slowly shook his head before he helped you out of the van. “Look, you knew what was going to happen before we even started it.” The sound of the doors shutting made you jump. “You gonna go back on your word now, baby?”

The guilt ate at Eddie as he put on this act that he didn’t care.

And you were hurt. Hurt, annoyed, and mad, all at once. Yeah, you knew what this was, but you would think after months of doing the same thing over and over again, he would give you a smidge of something. You just wanted that small amount of hope that the two of you could be something different.

“Don’t,” you stepped away from him and the van. “Don’t call me baby.”

“What?” Eddie chuckled from behind you. “Is this how you’re going to be right now? Didn’t we just have a good time together?”

“A good time? We do the same thing every fucking time you call me up. Why don’t we go out and actually do something fun? We never do that anymore.” You started to look down at your feet, avoiding all eye contact with any part of him.

You heard the jingle of Eddie’s keys as he pulled them out and walked in front of you, his body pressed into your side. “I’ll call you again tomorrow.” You could hear the slight smirk in his voice as he spoke against your ear. “You always answer the phone for me, baby.”

Before you could even speak up, the van had already started and moved out of the parking lot. You stood there, a mess all because of him.

And he was right. You would go against yourself and do this all over again, no matter how many times you got hurt. You could never say no to him.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic

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faggotthatwilldie · 2 months ago

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(Posting drafts)

Maybe this is a new concept, maybe it isn’t but in my mind, this is how and when Battinson met the first two bat kids, this is probably super bad but I’m obsessed with Battinson and a bit of light in his life if you can’t tell.

Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson, age 12 - Bruce tried to investigate a series of crimes that happened to lead to the circus, specifically the flying Graysons and some shady dealings to do with the families in the circus. Upon being stopped at entry in his Batman get up and realising that security would stop at nothing to prevent his entry, he goes home, then comes straight back as Bruce Wayne. He is promptly questioned, gawked at and then let through, he lingers oddly until the act finally starts and he slips off behind the tent, hiding behind various props and cages as he makes his way through; that is until he hears three gunshots outside the tent.

Unconcerned about being caught and solely focused on the safety of whoever was shot at, Bruce books it out, steps out of the flap and manhandles the first man he sees, a few more rounds shoot into the sky and Bruce is now distinctly aware of the two adult bodies plummeting through the air and going down to the ground fast, also now aware that their son, up in the air and dangling on the trapeze, will be falling down shortly after. Bruce can see the shots, the two adults are already dead, if he can save the child, maybe that will soothe the ache in his heart that he had failed, once again, to protect the people of Gotham. He realises that he has to pick one, let the criminal go, or save the kid. Once Dick falls, Bruce is there to catch him and upon closer inspection, a few bullets almost hit him, so close to puncturing skin and yet the worst he got from it was a scratch on his arm.

Once Bruce leaves and inevitably comes back as Batman, he spots Dick, just standing there, eyes trained on the white sheets over his parents’ bodies with the same hateful, guilty look that Bruce had that fateful day. He puts a hand on Dick’s shoulder and tells him assuredly that he will find the man who did this, that they would be put away forever, but Dick says nothing.

As the case progresses and the Graysons’ and all of the other circus families’ secrets unfurl and reveal one big, terrifying truth, Dick is in Gotham orphanage, eyes always down, vengeful and angry, angry that the very man that had saved him had let the man who killed his parents roam free. So he decides to do something about it, he sneaks out and finds Wayne manor, not too hard to do considering the size of it, still, the gloom and terrible foreboding feeling of a building that big and the state of the outside so unwelcoming was hard to shake off.

Dick manages to climb over the face and pull himself through a window that was left open just a crack for air, he moves through the manor, he is clumsy and he doesn’t know what to do but he’s determined as hell to give Bruce a piece of his mind, and in his head, rip him to shreds. Bruce was already aware of his presence from the moment he’d entered his home but tailgating the poor kid for so long felt cruel, so he turned a corner and allowed Dick to find him. His face stayed solid and his eyes did not move from the small frame of the boy in front of him, who was now screaming a slurry of sentences pushed together in the moment. He can see the tears running down the poor boy’s face and can only remember how raw his parents’ deaths felt, how raw they still feel. Bruce kneels down, is promptly punched in his nose, then takes the boy in his arms, ignoring the flailing and angry yelling and sobbing, beating down a cold heart twitching with fire. Dick calms down eventually and erupts into sobs again, just asking one question over and over again, “why didn’t you stop him?”.

Bruce is not heartless, he did stop him, so he goes on a limb, the most reckless decision in his time as Batman. He shows Dick all of his work, shows him who the Batman is, who Bruce Wayne is. In the weeks that follow, Bruce knows that Dick doesn’t have any interest in revealing his secret identity and being pestered by him to join and be his ‘sidekick’ is getting annoying, but Bruce enjoys the kid’s presence, it makes the dreariness of Wayne manor a little brighter to have a kid around.

And without help or guidance, Bruce decides to go out on another limb and ask the kid if he’d like to have Bruce as his guardian, Dick had told him about the orphanage, how terrible it was, Bruce wants nothing more than his little buddy safe and happy in the dangerous world of Gotham. Dick accepts and after six or seven months of constant jabbering and asking to tag along, Dick is Robin, fully trained and equipped with any item of defence that he may need, except for a gun, Bruce would not hear the end of it from Alfred if he gave Dick a gun, he wouldn’t hear the end of it from his consciousness either.

Jason Todd, age 13-14 - One day, Jason is dared by a bunch of his street friends to get into Wayne manor and ding dong ditch Bruce Wayne. At first, he refuses point blanc, convinced from rumours that there were gun men lined and concealed around Wayne manor that could and would shoot anyone down that came near the house. But after a while, he is dared multiple times and told that it’s just a rumour, Jason does it.

He shakily gets his way up the fence and down the court and god he’s almost shaking. It’s raining and Jason is a little sick and oh so cold but he does it, he knocks on Bruce Wayne’s door and before he can even go to run, Bruce opens the door. Jason freezes and puts his hands up, closing his eyes instinctively, completely convinced there was a gun to his head, mumbling out a couple of words along the lines of ‘I got dared’ and ‘I’m sorry, can I just go?’. But upon opening his eyes again, he sees Bruce Wayne with an umbrella, and his adopted son, Dick Grayson - five years older than him and sort of intimidating in the papers - lingering awkwardly behind, as if he and Bruce were in the middle of something.

Jason gingerly takes the umbrella and whisper-shouts a ‘thank you’ before stumbling down the pathway back to the gate and now seeing a butler opening the gate to let him out. Jason is so unbelievably confused but he takes it as a win as he gets about ten high fives and a very valuable resource for living outside.

A week later, Jason is dared to go into Wayne manor’s backyard in another game of truth of dare, and in true dumb teen nature, Jason pretends that he isn’t absolutely terrified to go back, not because Bruce seemed scary or anything but because he was nice to him so something had to be off. He manages his way over the fence, then books his way around the house, trying to avoid all the cameras while his friends watch him go around the corner of the manor, he runs straight into Dick Grayson just out of view. Jason screams almost immediately which both startles and amuses Dick to no end, but this, unsurprisingly, causes Bruce to come out of nowhere from behind Jason and let out a grunt towards Dick that meant something vaguely like ‘pick him up’, so, holding up his hands in playful defeat, Dick grabs Jason by the shoulder and pulls him up.

Bruce gives Jason a few sentences of things along the lines of ‘you’re going through a lot of trouble to get into my house.’ and ‘if you’d like, I could show you around if you’re that interested.’ Jason isn’t sure if his offer is out of politeness or genuine but he doesn’t take it up, but staring at the beautifully shaped hedges and the gorgeous view from just the window in the house, he wished he had. Over the course of a few months, Jason is subjected to more dares relating to Wayne manor, born out of the street kids’ curiosity and caution towards Bruce, each one more invasive and outlandish as the last, during this time, Dick moves out and Bruce is much more lonely again and so so very much appreciative of the little scoundrel that keeps breaking into his house, all is well.

Until August 16th, Jason’s 14th birthday, he is dared to take the wheels off of Bruce Wayne’s car, he denies it fiercely at first, even getting into a physical fight with his closest friend because the kindness that Bruce showed him, giving him gifts and snacks whenever he broke onto Bruce’s property despite the implications, it wasn’t meant to be paid back by stealing from him. But with enough goading and peer pressure, Jason crumbles and gives in. While he’s undoing the first tire, Bruce appears behind him and with a grunt, Jason jumps and the bolt falls to the floor. Then he begins to panic and realises this might mean that Bruce is going to call the police on him and he’ll never be able to see his friends or come back ever again. So he frantically apologises, scared of being hurt, arrested or possibly worse, but Bruce doesn’t seem angry, well he doesn’t seem happy either but Bruce never seemed happy.

A hand comes out and Jason takes it after a few minutes of apathetic and confused eye contact between him and Bruce and he is pulled into a lovely warm hug and god is it all he’s ever wanted. Jason starts sobbing and buries his snot-filled face into Bruce, all while still apologising and feeling a gentle calloused hand go through his hair oh so softly. After half an hour of this, Bruce invites Jason inside and for the first time, Jason accepts and is swiftly shown around the manor’s massive complex. And it is as gorgeous as Jason imagined, as gorgeous as he’d seen through the shitty degraded pictures on his friend’s broken and hardly working phone and he has never been happier in his life.

For his birthday, he spends a meal with one of the richest men alive and they’re talking and Bruce is so very nice to him that he almost doesn’t want to go home, well whatever home he has on the streets. So before night falls, Jason spills that he’s homeless, that his parents are most likely dead and that he lives with a pack of street kids, all in an attempt to see if Bruce could do anything for him, if he could help him in some way, Bruce was so lovely to him, he’d be able to do something, right? Bruce’s empty nest syndrome is worsening by the moment and the people of Gotham loved their little songbird, so he invites Jason to stay the night and picks one of the many guest rooms to put Jason in, strategically making it the biggest and best endowed to impress the child that was excited by an umbrella with no holes or stains on it.

I love Battinson and Jason Todd if you couldn’t tell, it’s my kryptonite. I’ll probably do the other bat kids from Cassandra to Damian.

#batman #battinson #bruce wayne #dick grayson #richard grayson #jason todd #robin #batman and robin #red hood #nightwing #batman 2022 #the batman 2022 #the batman #batfam #batkids

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steddielations · 1 year ago

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flight of icarus spoilers

Something so heartwarming and gut-wrenching about the development of Wayne and Eddie's relationship:

So, Eddie lives alone in his dad's house (on and off, he goes to stay with Wayne for long stretches throughout his life, but at the start of the book he's 18 and has been there alone for months, by his choice) and Wayne checks in on him and brings him food.

Eddie mentions that Wayne's own shelves are pretty empty, but he always makes sure Eddie's are at least half stocked with things like tv dinners that he knows Eddie can eat easily. Eddie says "Wayne has a pet theory that I can't feed myself, so every two weeks or so I'll come home to find him shoving microwave dinners and canned soup onto the cluttered shelves and into the moldy refrigerator."

When Al shows back up, he belittles this, and says he’ll make Eddie a real meal (mind you he left Eddie with nothing but stale peanut butter and flat soda for days when he was 8) which then turns out to be a big spaghetti dinner over which he manipulates the shit out of Eddie, and dangles the prospect of them moving to California together in front of him, saying they'll make a tradition out of Spaghetti Saturdays. To which Eddie responds, "Like a real family?" (ouch) Of course, that doesn't happen.

But then!! When Eddie moves in with Wayne at the end of the book, he notices that Wayne made an effort to stock vegetables in the fridge. Vegetables. It surprises Eddie and they end up wilting because Eddie just doesn’t know how to react to such a clear act of care towards him. And I just hope they had plenty of family dinners after that (Excerpts below)

(ignore my highlighting it’s irrelevant)

Al leaving Eddie ⬇️

Wayne’s empty shelves ⬇️

Al belittling the food Wayne brings ⬇️

manipulation for dinner ⬇️

Eddie doesn’t know how to react to Wayne’s care (vegetables) ⬇️

#it's all connected in my mind #am i going to make it about steddie and say that the first time steve makes eddie any sort of food he just. crumbles #eddie munson #wayne munson #al munson #flight of icarus #character analysis #stranger things #mp

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quinns-shadowy-arts · 1 year ago

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No More Running

Day 7 of @steddielovemonth‘s Steddie Love Month Event! Rating: General CW: None Tags: Fluff, Getting Together, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a romantic WC: 1,122 Prompt: “Love is what makes you brave” submitted by @sidekick-hero

Note: Guess who came down with a cold. Me. Guess who ignored their many deadlines to write this. Also me. Sorry if this isn’t the best (and is also very late), but I’m pretty sick and can’t breathe out of my nose. I wanted something soft to make me feel better, so I wrote this. Enjoy!

He wasn’t going to run anymore. That’s what Eddie promised himself when he woke up from surgery after being dragged out of the Upside Down. He wasn’t going to run, and he hasn’t. He hadn’t run from Wayne, he hadn’t run from the somehow alive Jim Hopper, he hadn’t run away from the aftermath of Vecna, and he wasn’t going to run from this.

Eddie’s been developing feelings for Steve since he made that promise. Waking up to learn that the Steve Harrington bridal carried his half dead body out of hell really does something to a guy. Not only that, but Steve is one of the sweetest guys Eddie has ever met. Long gone is the King Steve of Hawkins High; replaced by a loving, caring, and smart man.

Steve had been there for Eddie through the whole recovery process. He helped with proving that Eddie was innocent, he helped Eddie with bathing, and he helped Eddie with cleaning and wrapping his wounds.

Steve also helped Eddie with processing the trauma of Spring Break. He held Eddie’s hand and talked him through panic attacks. He stayed awake with Eddie when sleep seemed like a monstrous task; the fear of what he’d dream fraying Eddie’s nerves and keeping him awake.

Steve was also just an amazing person overall. He had an amazing sense of humor; making Eddie’s ribs ache with the laughter he tugged out of him. Steve was smart, he could read people’s emotions like no other. He knew exactly what Eddie was feeling by looking at him for only a couple of seconds. Steve could pull the real reasons as to why Eddie was quiet out of him when no one else could.

He was easy on the eyes, too. His chestnut hair looked glorious, styled or not. His eyes were kind and genuine; but could turn bitchy in a way that sent heat down Eddie’s spine. Steve’s hands were big and spotted with freckles and moles, like the rest of his body. His skin was sun kissed and hairy. Everything about him made Eddie want to pounce on him.

Everything about Steve had made Eddie fall head over heels in love with him. Eddie knew about Steve’s woeful dating history; knew about Steve’s failed loves. How people have used Steve for a quick fling or bragging rights before tossing him to the side.

Eddie wanted to give Steve the world. Eddie wanted to worship Steve the way he deserved; to kneel at his feet and kiss up his body, to whisper praises into his ear, to pump Steve full of love and want, and maybe some other things besides love, too. Eddie wanted to make sure Steve knew that he deserved better than those past flings could have ever provided.

That’s why Eddie is stood outside of Steve’s font door, holding a bouquet of deep, ruby roses. Eddie had put on a black button up and black jeans. His wallet chain still dangled on his hip, complementing the silver of his rings. He had tied his hair up into a bun, leaving some framing pieces around his face. He spent a while on doing himself up, had wanted to look good for Steve.

He leaned forward and knocked at the door. Steve always teased him about not using the doorbell, but Eddie liked knowing that Steve knew it was him at the door based on his knock alone.

Eddie heard shuffling from behind the door before the sounds of the lock being opened filled his ears. His heart picked up its pace, knowing how close Steve was. Eddie sends out one last prayer, despite not believing in any type of greater being, that Steve felt the same way he did. And if he didn’t, to at least keep Steve in his life for as long as possible.

The door swung open, Steve stood in the doorway in grey sweatpants and a Hall and Oates T-shirt. He looked absolutely gorgeous like this, soft and relaxed. He had obviously been lounging around before Eddie had come knocking on his door.

“Hey, Eds!” Steve said, a smile stretched across his face. Eddie’s gut filled with warmth. His heart stuttered with the overwhelming love he felt for this man.

“Hey, Stevie. I hope I’m not bothering you?” Eddie said. Steve shook his head,

“Nah, man. You’re not bothering me.” Steve looked down,

“What’re those for?” Steve looked back up and made eye contact with Eddie.

“They’re uh, they’re for you, actually.” Eddie turned his head away. He could feel his face warming up. He held the roses out for Steve to take, hopefully he’d take them.

Steve grabbed the bouquet, pulling Eddie’s attention back up. Steve’s own cheeks and ears flushed.

“Why? Is there an event or something that I’m missing?” Steve sounded shy and a bit nervous. Eddie shook his head and smiled at Steve.

“No, I just wanted to get you flowers. Could I talk to you, actually?” Eddie asked, he shuffled his weight from foot-to-foot as he spoke. He was nervous and scared about confessing his feelings to Steve. He really hoped that this wouldn’t destroy their friendship.

“Sure, yeah, come inside.” Steve said, stepping away to make space for Eddie. Eddie stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He turned to Steve, straightened his back and gathered all of the courage he could muster.

“Steve, you’re my best friend. You mean so much to me. You’re so kind and amazing.” Steve’s blush deepened at Eddie’s words,

“You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met. You’re strong, not just physically, but in every aspect of the word. You are so observant, you can always tell when I’m upset. You can read me like a goddamn book,” Steve chuckled and looked down at the roses in his hand, he was never really good with accepting praise.

“You are my everything, Stevie. And I’ve developed a lot of feelings for you, So, would you like to go out with me?” Eddie finished. Steve’s eyebrows had raised with surprise, his mouth forming an “o” shape. Steve blinked, then his mouth fell back into a smile.

Steve walked up to Eddie, dropping the hand holding his flowers to the side. He placed his free hand onto Eddie’s face. His thumb swiped over Eddie’s cheek before pulling him in.

Their lips smooshed together and a fire lit up in Eddie’s chest. Steve’s lips moved against Eddie’s, their lips forming a rhythmic push and pull. After a minute, Steve pulled back. He smiled at Eddie, both their faces still red and warm to the touch.

“I would love to go out with you, Eddie” Steve whispered against Eddie’s lips.

Eddie’s so glad he didn’t run from this.

#steddie ficlet #steddielovemonth #steddie #fluff #getting together

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cookeybg · 8 months ago

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Gotham Possesses

A cryptid Batfamily AU in which Gotham is the main character and follows its journey to consciousness as it follows its Bat and Birds. Chapters are short and a bit gloomy.

Main Characters: Gotham, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne

Honorable Mentions: Joker, Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, Mr. Freeze, Riddler, Cobblepot (Penguin), Two Face (Harvey Dent), Superman (Clark Kent), Superboy (Jon Kent)

No romantic relationships

Stuff to know: Cryptid Batfamily, grim, Melancholic mood, Angst, this chapter has mentions of drug use, murder and unsolicited touching

Word Count: 933

[Here's my table of contents]

Chapter 10 - Gotham Watches

Death. That’s what happened when their warmth seeped into me, emptying, leaving behind a husk, a body no longer needed. Death. I had been born because of it, awakened. Death. It hung over me, clung to my Bat and our Birds. It tittered in the jester’s presence, in his arrival, in his exit. In the wake of a bullet fired. In the hands of anger and in the perception of love. In the tumbling of a dear butler, a father, when his neck snaps as he lands crooked. A kiss to the lips and he’s back, dazed, in pain, bound to me and the manor he holds so dear. Tethered to my shadows, forever serving in our love for our Bat. He moves on, dusts himself, there is dinner to be served. It is the thing that the living must always meet, the thing I greet and make my own. Their souls and warmth fuel me, a near endless supply. It is a curious thing, to watch them. I float around a young girl, she sits in the dark, I’m her only company. She is not afraid, not happy, used to it. She was told to never turn on the light, never answer the door, the phone. When she was alone she was to stay hidden and wait. A door opens quietly, she stiffens, then relief as her mother calls for her in a tired voice. I move on. I linger in a building where the jester laughs maniacally in his glass cage. He suddenly stops and stares, his gaze following me, his smile widening, unnerving. I stay away. Slither past the female jester, the blue cold man, the green woman who sprouts life on my soil, the man who mumbles riddles, the female cat whose too familiar with my Bat. All uninteresting, captured. Much more fun when they are free. I slip through old brick loosening the mortar. I caress a young woman, passed out on the cold floor. Her skin nearly as cold as the stone. She smiles as her final, shuttering breath escapes, a needle tumbling to the ground. My senses alert me to look up. I see a red cape fly by, avoiding me. As he should. His presence casts a heavy shadow, my Bat does not see me when he’s near. Leaves with him for periods at a time, far from my gaze. More often than not my Bat tells the red cape, whose skin is far too warm and whose smile reflects the sun, to stay away. It’s satisfying. I dance in the clubs, enjoying the manic thrum, the unbridled joy of its patrons. Some if not most, using something to increase their vivacity. Not all will make it through to morning. A hooked nosed man in a black hat smiles from the second floor window. Plotting, monocle gleaming.

A boy steals a half drunk bottle that his father was hugging in his sleep. The boy tosses it out the window, the sound of shattering glass echoes down in the street, not uncommon. He huddles under his blankets a bag of frozen peas pressed to his let eye. His mother won’t be back for another few hours. I hear the mumbling of a man, arguing with himself. A silver coin gleams under the dim light of an abandoned building. He shoots his gun when the coin lands, a body falls to the ground, warmth seeps into my earth, salty. Another body to be sunk into my harbor. Laughter distracts me away. I sweep in on a lovers cuddling, enjoying the images playing on a screen. His arm loosely dangling over her shoulders. Her gaze is reminiscent to how I stare at my Bat. The man will be gone by morning, he was never planning to stay, he will not let her know. Life glows within her belly. New potential. I sink down into my depths. There’s a meeting, men and women in white masks. Myths, creatures that should not exist. Watching, just as I do. Abominations that must be purged, a new mystery for my Bat. I waft upward through the grates. I watch a man, shivering, digging through the trash amongst the rats. Searching for something, maybe food, maybe something to numb. Unsuccessful, he moves to another dumpster. I wrap around the clock tower, a red headed woman sits typing furiously on a computer. She also watches and observes as much as I do. I help her steer the cameras in the right direction. A female bat stands beside her, stitched mouth, silent. My first bird sleeps contorted, on the manor’s couch. Tired from a long grueling night. My second hugs his knees to his chest, woken from his sleep. I encourage him to calm and close his eyes. My third hasn’t gone to bed, wide eyed and wired, placing theories on a board. My fourth has escaped, our bond shows me that he is in another city, asleep next to a body far to warm to be human, far too bright. My Bat, with labored breathing, is forced to dream. Forced in bed by the older man. I shape my shadows into hands, they aren’t perfect, sharp ends. I slide them down his overheated chest. My shadows press into his skin, ecstatic with the proximity. I lick his wounds to try and heal them quicker. He tastes sweet. He is not bound to me, not yet. I wait in anticipation for when we can be one, and settle on his side content. I will continue to watch, I doubt I will ever tire of it.

The end!

I hope you have enjoyed Gotham Possesses. I will be posting it on Ao3, maybe tomorrow. I'm a bit sad about it ending but also proud of myself. This is the second thing I wrote that I posted and was super nervous to do so. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with reading this and endured my lack of editing.

I will be planning a series of POVs from the birds. I hope you look forward to them :)

Please feel free to comment, I get rly happy when I see your reactions.

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albatmobile · 1 year ago

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Cardinal Sins Chapter 1

𓅪 Living with your vigilante boyfriends for the past year has been amazing, well, almost. Butting heads, old wounds resurfacing and a deadly threat still looming overhead could threaten the sanctity of everything you've ever fought for. Will you finally overcome your tainted past and survive the trials and tribulations, or will your relationships and your faith crumble under the pressure?

Rated: M | 6.5k fem!Reader x Jason Todd x Roy Harper [masterlist] Previous in Series: Art of Rehabilitating Snowbirds

Chapter One: Everybody Wants to Rule the World

It’s only been mere hours since Bruce had handed you three sets of keys.

You’d met him in the lobby of your current place after you got a random text that he was in the neighborhood.

“The keys activate the elevator,” he said as he dangled a set of gold keys in front of you before handing the rest over. “These act as keys to your new place.”

“Mine?” you questioned with a raised brow.

Time has really flown.

You, Roy and Jason had been dating for a year now and your lease at your old apartment was coming to an end next week.

Bruce smiled, patting you on the shoulder. “The lease is in your name,” he revealed.

“That’s too much!” you exclaimed. You shook your head, making to give back the keys but he simply refused the action with a chuckle.

“You’re practically one of my own.” Your heart thrummed in disbelief at Bruce’s reassurance. “It’s the least I can do, seeing as I own the place and all.” You didn’t know why, but you though you saw a twinge of pride in his eyes. “Alfred’s cooking a Sunday roast for the family,” Bruce said before opening the lobby door. He began to walk backward out of the building, facing you all the while. “The four of you should stop by the manor once you get settled in. The movers should already have new furniture all set up, so it’s just a matter of unpacking.”

Ever since freshman year of high school, you’d found your life intertwined with everyone who’s stepped foot in that manor.

Damian had taken you in as a stray within your first week at Gotham Academy. Soon so did Tim, your lockermate and Stephanie, his on-again off-again girlfriend. After that, you were over at the manor daily and spending the night nearly every night of the week.

Jason had been unexpected, having quite literally crashed into your life. After him, Roy had been an easy addition; that is, as soon as you got through Jason’s prickly exterior. They were both a little over two years older than you, but it hadn’t stopped you from chasing after them.

When Jason and Roy had disappeared before their graduation, you hadn’t realized you wouldn’t hear from them for another 5 years. That’s right- it wasn’t until nearly two years ago that they finally reached out to reveal what had kept them from you for so long. Though, it hadn’t actually been that easy because, well, Jason and Roy are also Red Hood and Arsenal.

You showed up at their apartment door to find Roy with a bionic arm and a kid and only much later did you figure out their secret identities.

Soon after they reappeared in your life, your parents did as well. Them and a barrage of Gotham’s finest criminals, which ultimately ended in a dockyard fight with you and the entire Bat Family.

“Sounds good,” you reply, waving him goodbye with a smile as he saunters away with his Bruce Wayne persona. “Thank you for everything, Bruce!”

At his name, flocks of people turned around and began to pull out their phones. He’d turned around to shoot you an annoyed, yet obviously mirthful look at the fact that you’d started a media frenzy.

You stood there a moment longer, watching as he avoided questions with grace before disappearing into his flashy Lamborghini with a small wave back.

Now, here you are piled into a fancy elevator with Jason, Roy, Lian and a shit ton of boxes.

“Old man never gave me shit,” Jason grumbles as he turns the key in the penthouse slot.

You were surprised by the generosity as well.

You’ve always considered Bruce a father figure ever since he stepped in to help you fight, well, your actual father. That dockyard battle for example??? Yeah, that shit had all been organized by your biological parents.

Ever since your conception, it had been planned that you would be Gotham’s reckoning.

Your parents had created a trust fund for Gotham’s criminals to funnel money, meaning your death had been planned from the start. All the while, you were to be used as a lab rat for the Joker’s experiments, which were to then be used on the organization’s enemies.

Picture this: 15 years old, wearing a ballgown your mother had stolen to the Wayne Gala only to get beaten and injected by the Joker and his goons. Now, picture 20 years old, surrounded by your found family while your actual family tried to murder you for the

Talk about trauma, right?

Lian giggles at Jason’s curse, leaving Roy to glare in the raven’s direction.

“Oh, so the safehouses he paid for don’t count now, Jay?” Roy asks playfully. In response, Jason merely glares at him, undoubtedly saving Lian’s ears from any further cursing.

Recently, Lian’s taken to repeating everything. Literally everything. From the weather report, to Titus’ barks, to curses and anything and everything she hears from her superhero cartoons, she repeats it all.

You can’t help but feel stuck on what Bruce said when he’d handed you the keys.

“He said I was ‘practically one of his own,’” you relay to them, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as you look to Jason for an answer.

“Told you,” Roy mutters under his breath, seemingly to no one and everyone at the same time.

Ever since your biological family had given you up, you’d felt misplaced and unwanted. Yes, you had Jason, Roy and Lian, but you wanted a parental figure, something you’d never had. Part of you was starting to feel like Bruce was that, but you could never be too sure. The man kept his cards close and his emotions closer- practically the paragon of a closed book.

“I do, you know,” you trail off self-consciously, rubbing at your forearm for comfort, “view him as a father figure.” You’re not sure who chokes first, but both of them immediately begin coughing. “I mean, like, in the least weirdest way possible!” you attempt to rectify your statement, but it’s too late. Your cards are on the table.

You see, while Jason isn’t biologically related to Bruce and neither are you, you both see him as a father, which does tend to make things… odd.

“Well,” he drawls, “that didn’t sound grammatically correct in the slightest.”

Of course he’d deflect.

You let out an annoyed sigh, “Fuck you.”

So, the honeymoon period is definitely a thing.

For real.

Not that it wasn’t currently still going on, nor do you doubt the feeling will ever truly wane with two men like Jason and Roy. All you’re saying is that cracks in the relationship and points of contention have been becoming more obvious. You tell yourself that it’s only natural this happens, though you’re not entirely sure since this is your first long-term relationship.

One point of contention being: Jason dodging any and every serious conversation.

Example: right now.

Even Roy, who seems to rely on humor to get out of tough situations can sit down and talk it through. Jason, on the other hand? He needs a lot of coaxing and it’s not the way you roll.

“Hey,” Roy rubs your shoulder with his bionic arm before the two of you can start squabbling, “we’re just glad you have family and to be your family. Technicalities and all.” He gives your shoulder a light squeeze as the elevator comes to a halt.

The doors open to reveal a penthouse not even Damian could dream of.

“Holy shi-!” Roy starts. However, Jason’s elbow to the chest prevents Roy from finishing the curse, though Lian already has it memorized.

“Oh, shit!” she squeals as she breaks into a run. She manages to dodge Jason and Roy’s attempts to collect her and calm her down by squirming and ducking under all the new, read: expensive, furniture.

“Looks like the latest edition of Architectural Digest in here,” you whistle lowly as you take in the expansive room with wall-to-floor windows.

Roy’s too busy following after Lian, grabbing falling lamps and vases that she’s run into to respond.

Jason still seems stuck on your irritation in the elevator, but, as usual, he says nothing. All you want is validation from him that you belong in his family, yet he refuses to give it to you and you can’t pinpoint why.

“Since when have you read that shit?” Jason asks, sounding dubious.

You know moving’s hard, so you take it easy on him.

For now.

“It’s called manifestation, whore.”

It’s at this exact moment, of course, that Lian sprints into the main living room with an attached kitchen and dining room.

“S’called manifestation, roar!” Lian screeches with a devilish smile.

“Oh, thank fuck she heard that wrong,” Roy groans before hurriedly running past you and Jason, who are still stationed in the entryway.

“Oh, thank fuck!” she giggles maniacally as she crawls out from under the couch and makes her way back over toward you and her daddy.

As she’s passing, you reach down, catching Lian in your arms. She attempts to keep running even in your strong grasp but eventually tires out like a wind-up toy reaching the end of its winding.

Eventually, she settles down for a nap in her new lily pad styled bed. The whole room looked straight out of Princess and the Frog with dreamy shades of green, purple, pink and blue scattered throughout. To complete the dreamy look, tiny pixie lights were strung up and cascaded their twinkling glow down the walls.

While she’s conked out, you, Jason and Roy set to work on unpacking the few boxes you’ve brought. It doesn’t even take two hours, but it’s enough to leave you exhausted.

You plop down to your new sectional with a tired huff.

Jason and Roy are in the same boat.

Jason groans as soon as his body hits the couch, “God, I can’t wait to not fucking do anything.” He closes his eyes and rubs at the bridge between them. “We’re staying on this couch and ordering pizza.”

“Pizza,” Roy tiredly agrees from next to you. “Definitely pizza.”

“I forgot to mention,” you clear your throat, catching both of your boyfriend’s attention as you do, “we’ve got dinner at the manor.”

•••

When you get to the manor, everyone’s already mulling about, laughing as they help Alfred set the table.

Once you’ve greeted everyone and handed Lian off to Dick and Wally, everyone helps themselves to a plate from the kitchen and takes a seat.

It’s truly a full house with your family of four and Bruce and Alfred, of course. Dick brought along his fiancé Wally, while Damian seemed to have a similar idea as Jon is also milling about in the kitchen. Barbra’s here, but what you can’t figure out is why Tim and Stephanie seem to have both brought Conner Kent to dinner.

You vaguely remember him from the college party all those years ago, but since when had either of them been that close to Connor? As far as you’d heard, Tim and Stephanie had been official ever since the dockyard battle, soooo what the fuck is Kent doing at Sunday dinner? Everyone seems to be thinking the same thing, but with him being a half-blooded Kryptonian and all, no one raises the question.

“You wanna talk embarrassing?” Dick scoffs. “Wally, over here, decided last Hanukkah,” Wally groans, shaking his head in his hand, “that it’d be a good idea to do a ‘Secret Santa’ for it.”

“Dick, dude, do you even know the definition of embarrassing?” Roy goes into a whole reenactment of the coffee shop debacle, back before you knew about them being heroes. By the time Roy gets to the main part of the story, nearly everyone’s in tears. “And then she smashed a toilet lid over his head, swear,” Roy has to catch his breath, “funniest shit I’ve ever seen in my life. Jay went down like a ton of bricks and the whole time I had to stay in character.”

Where Dick, Babs and Steph are doubled over laughing, Jason looks like he’s already planning where to hide your other boyfriend’s body.

Damian tchs, “Pathetic, Todd. You allowed an untrained girl to disarm you so easily?”

“You,” Jason brushes him off easily, “you, I don’t want to hear from.”

“Refusing to hear the truth?” Damian scoffs. “Even more pathetic than I thought.”

Connor looks around the room, gauging everyone else’s reactions, though everyone’s already used to their constant bickering.

“No one likes you, pipsqueak,” Jason sneers like the true older brother he is.

“I like him,” Jon pipes up, smiling sheepishly when Jason’s heavy glare falls upon him from across the table. “But you are being a bit over the top, Dami. You should apologize.”

You’re pretty sure, no, you know it’s Dick who ‘coos' at their interaction and you can’t help but agree.

Jason’s glare drops as he, instead, nods approvingly Jon’s way.

Throughout your friendship, you and Damian had been in a tangled web of miscommunications, hormones, and wrong-doings. Once Jason and Roy came back for good, you knew you and Damian were meant to remain friends. Damian and Jon, on the other hand? They’re definitely made for each other.

Damian, honest to god, pouts at his boyfriend before turning back to sneer at yours.

“Todd,” his voice rumbles lowly.

“Brat?” Jason’s smirking now.

Damian mutters some unkind words under his breath he’s lucky Alfred’s too old to hear before continuing, “I apologize. It appears I’ve taken things too far, though your skills still are very much questionable to me.”

Jason huffs, “Whatever.”

The subject quickly shifts.

"So, the three of you are official, then?" Bruce asks. His tone is perfectly even as if he's just genuinely wanting to know, if not to understand Jason better, but Jason doesn't see it this way.

The raven straightens in his seat, puffing out his chest in preparation for the conversation as he does so. "Yup," he responds tersely.

"So, you're poly," Bruce says as more of a statement than a question.

"Still bi," Jason says as he slowly sips his water. He’s pointedly staring his father down as a silent warning to fuck with him and find out.

Bruce's brows furrow in light confusion. "But you're in a polyamorous relationship." Again, his tone is genuinely curious, not accusatory, but Jason is always used to being on the defense around the man.

"Half my life, I’ve seen you show up with multiple women on your arms, Bruce. You really didn’t think that’d rub off on at least one of us?" Jason smirks as if begging Bruce to tell him he's wrong. "Fact of the matter is, it doesn’t make me any less bi, just like how that didn’t make you any less straight."

Bruce nods pensively, "I see."

Jason looks genuinely surprised that it didn't devolve into one of their usual petty arguments. He nods back, thus officially ending the conversation, or dare you call it, a genuine bonding moment between the two.

Tim waits a moment for the chatter that follows to die down a bit before he brings up what everyone’s been dancing around.

“I’m sure you’ve all heard the rumors that, uh,” Tim shoots an uncomfortable look at you and Jason, “Joker’s back. A few of my sources say if he hasn’t broken out already, he will soon.”

You watch as Jason’s fists clench under the table, noting how Roy’s hand immediately chases after to soothe it.

Dick shakes his head before reassuring, “He’s as good as locked up. Bruce, Damian and I checked out Arkham last week. He hasn’t moved since they put him in there after his Thanksgiving bombing.”

Tim still seems unconvinced, however. “He’s still making moves, then.”

“Do you want him to escape, Tim?” Jason sneers. “Because that’s what it’s sounding like.”

Connor bristles, though Stephanie’s gentle hand on his shoulder has him backing down immediately. Your brow raises, thinking back to Roy’s similar gesture with Jason just moments ago.

Jon looks as completely bewildered as Conner does as they observe the Bat Family semantics. Meanwhile, Wally and Roy look like they want to step in but, ultimately, don’t want to get involved in family drama. For Barbra and Stephanie, this is all just another Sunday.

“Master Jason,” Alfred’s wise timbre stirs from the end of the table not occupied by Bruce, “Master Damian. Is it too much to ask for just one civil dinner?”

“Sorry, Alfred,” they both grumble in unison.

Soon, everyone begins catching up once again.

Alfred cuts Lian’s roast for her at the same time Roy cuts her potatoes, Jon keeps leaning over to whisper things to Damian that draw a small smile. Dick, Wally and Roy reminisce about the Titans, eventually going over their wedding plans with Barbra and Stephanie’s excited input, while Tim and Jon argue horror movies with Jason and Connor.

And there Bruce sits, all the way at the end, hands clasped as he watches it all.

Your stomach is warm, filled with the inexplicable feeling of love in the room.

You listen in on it all with a huge grin that’s been present on your face ever since you arrived. You go to drink your water when, suddenly, your hand falters.

One moment, you’re there in Wayne Manor at the dinner table with your family and now you’re….

You look around, watching as groups of men swarm a truck. A group of two men presents you with a box, which, when opened, reveals a stem.

You blink.

Suddenly, you see people in some kind of uniform running all around you. When you look to the right of you, you want to stumble back, but your body only continues to run.

Joker?

You must’ve been out of it for a while because, when you come to, you’re left with 13 pairs of concerned eyes on you.

“Uh,” Stephanie chucks a potato from her fork from across the table at you, “are you having a "That’s So Raven" moment, or are you and the dickwad’s using a remote-controlled vibrator?” You shake your head, mind still clearly picturing what you’d just seen. Stephanie’s words, however, go unnoticed. Suddenly, you hear her saying your name, “You good?”

You blink.

You’re back in the manor, back at the dinner table, but your mind is clearly elsewhere.

“What?” you ask, looking around the table at everyone’s concerned faces.

Jason’s brows are furrowed in a silent question of ‘are you okay,’ while Roy’s hand rubs gently at your back.

Are you okay?

You clear your throat and force a smile you know won’t pass in a room full of detectives, but, hey, what can you do?

The last time you had a vision that intense had been…

Your brain screams with a sting of sharp pain that leaves you clutching the tablecloth for relief.

In the dockyard, Joker had injected you with two syringes. Immediately following the initial toxin, you’d been met with a vision right as the Joker made his escape in the helicopter. Though you’ve tried hard to remember what you’d seen in the past year, for some reason, it had never been clear until now.

Joker’s hands, the glaring lights of the city below, the scrawny man beside him…

“Yeah,” you clear your throat again as you force another smile. “Acid reflux,” you shrug to solidify your false excuse.

The table’s conversation slowly stirs again, though Jason and Roy’s eyes never leave the side of your face. You’re not ready to meet their eye contact, knowing you won’t be able to meet their concern.

“So,” Bruce begins, “I’ve heard you’ve been somewhat involved in their operations for some time now. Have you thought about what your future involvement may look like?”

“What do you mean?”

Bruce takes a coy sip of water. “I mean, are you content with staying behind the screens? Or, is there a plan to eventually join them in the field?” he asks.

Point of contention #2: neither of your boyfriends ever wanted you involved in any confrontation.

Sure, behind the screens as ‘their own personal Oracle,’ as they called you, was fine. Anything else? Nope. No. Nada. They wouldn’t have it. Total double standard, but they’re too fogged in their love for you to care.

“Says the man who threw three kids into the field before they’d hit puberty.”

“Believe me,” Bruce says tonelessly, “you’d hit puberty, Jason.”

“Old enough to see through the bullshit, maybe,” Jason snaps back easily. “Dick was fucking 8, Bruce. Damian, 10. You don’t care about the logistics, let alone the safety. I do,” he glares at his father, “and I don’t want my family getting hurt.”

“Jay,” Dick frowns, making to put his hand on Jason’s for across the table, but Jason easily retracts his hand. “I love you and appreciate you, really, I do,” he puts his hand over his heart, “but I don’t need you to stick up for me. We’re all working on our issues; it takes time, but I know we’ll all eventually get there.”

Damian seethes quietly across from you, though you know it’s in defense of his father.

“Get there eventually?” Jason snorts, throwing out his hands dramatically. “I’m sitting here, a few years off of 30 and still fucking going through it. You think she needs to go through this contention, too?”

“She,” you start with purpose, “is not a child.” You reference his earlier rebuttal. “And she can stick up for myself! Uh, I mean, herself.” You shake your head in annoyance before starting over, “I’m a grown woman and I appreciate you wanting to look out for me, but that’s so hypocritical when you’re both going out every other night to do the very thing you don’t want me doing, isn’t it?”

It’s deadass quiet.

Like, you’ve never heard the manor so quiet with this many family members in it.

“Speaking for me,” Barbra’s sweet voice stirs slowly as if she’s picking and choosing her words carefully, “I went from Batgirl to Oracle, not the other way around like you.” You nod, interested in where she’s going with this. “Being Oracle has made me so much more aware of everything, regardless of physical training; being Oracle comes with its own set of skills none of you possess and that gives her an edge.” Your heart swells. “We’ve all seen her on the battlefield and seen how she can handle her own under pressure,” Barbara finishes.

“You’re a strong woman,” Stephanie concurs, saying your name as she does so.

“At the end of the day,” Roy finally speaks up from beside you. “What you’re all saying is true and we can’t stop her. It’s her decision and we’ll support her either way.”

An actual end to the contention?

Your head snaps over to catch Jason’s reaction, but he’s glaring at the painting behind Tim’s head.

“I guess we’ll just have to see how it goes,” Jason finally mutters. His teeth aren’t necessarily gritted, though it sure sounds like it.

No one speaks, there’s only the clinking of forks and Alfred’s low humming to occupy the large dining room.

“Well,” Bruce’s domineering voice suddenly captures the attention of everyone at the table in an instant, “if you’re going to be going on missions, you’ll need to have a suit.”

He gives you a pointed look that you can’t help but smile at.

“I...” you trail off, looking down at the mahogany dining table. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“I’ve got that part covered,” he says with a small, warm smile. “You’ve got an appointment with the new co-chair of the R&D department. Right, Damian?”

Damian glares from a few seats over, correcting his father, “Head.” No matter how old he gets, he never outgrows his signature scowl.

“Of course.” Though, Bruce’s correction goes largely ignored by his youngest son.

“Tomorrow, 10 o’clock sharp,” Damian’s eyes narrow your way, “don’t be late.”

•••

You arrive at 9:55 in the morning out of nerves and sheer excitement.

Jon’s already there to greet you with another man you’ve seen around at a few Chrismukkahs at the Manor. The raven is quick to explain that Damian got caught up in a meeting and introduces you to the gentleman in the suit.

“Meet Luke Fox,” Jon says. He stands a few inches taller than the darker gentleman in front of you, but he’s still quite a bit taller than you. “He co-chairs the department alongside Damian.”

The man in front of you offers a smooth smile and a firm handshake to match. “I know I’ve seen you at parties, but I don’t think we’ve ever been formally introduced,” Luke greets you.

You nod. “Definitely nice to finally put a name to the face.”

He then proceeds to give you a tour of the entire floor dedicated to R&D, though you haven’t been able to get one thing off your mind.

Luke seems to sense your staring and turns around to smirk. “What?” he asks.

“You said co-chair,” you say, leaving him to nod politely. Meanwhile, Jon seems to know exactly where your line of questioning is going. “Why is Damian the head?”

“Have you met the kid?” he responds. You and Jon both snort. Luke flashes his badge at a scanner on the wall before dragging the two of you through another long hallway. “My dad, Lucius Fox headed this department for decades before he was finally made CEO about three years ago,” Luke fills you in.

Suddenly, Jon cuts him off as a loud gust of sound affronts your ears.

“Woah!” Jon exclaims suddenly. He grabs your hand and pulls you over to one of the windows in the hallway. It looks into a lab where someone’s using a flamethrower to torch a small piece of odd-looking metal.

“This is the innovation section of the floor,” Luke explains. “Right now, they’re testing on something called Nth Metal.”

“Neat,” Jon says, sufficiently satisfied with his answer and finally allows your group to move along.

You fall back into step with Luke and Jon.

“So, when did you start at R&D?” you ask.

Luke scratches at the back of his head. “Probably around that same time,” he chuckles. His laugh is as charming as his professional disposition. “Damian and I seem to know what the other doesn’t, so it’s been good to have him around.” Luke leans in like he’s telling you a secret. “Well, that and I get paid more, but he doesn’t need to know that,” he confesses. You smile easily, failing to hide your laugh. It’s something Jon catches immediately and quirks a brow at, but Luke continues on like nothing happened, “Co-chair just means I can spend less time leading and more time nerding out.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was a Wayne heir right alongside Damian. Hell, you know Luke’s probably 10x more professional compared to Damian’s order-barking leadership style. With what Luke said, though, it seems like they’re a pretty functional team.

“Trust me, Luke,” Jon sidles up beside you like a coy cat. “This one knows all about nerding out.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, sending him an admonishing glare. He merely rolls his eyes, snickering all the while. “Besides, you know this is the nerdiest thing I’ve done in a while.”

Regardless of your previous warning, Jon takes it upon himself to catch Luke up on the past, oh, six years of your life? Well, as long as he’s known you for, that is, so Sophomore year and beyond.

You’re all rounding the corner to come face-to-face with a giant vaulted door, but Luke seems to move swiftly past it.

Too swiftly.

Your eyes narrow slightly, tuning out Jon’s excited chatter to catch every detail you can.

There’s a giant red ‘ACCESS LEVEL: 84T BADGE ONLY. TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED,’ sign that takes up a majority of the door, but there’s a smaller print beneath it.

You quickly glance ahead. Luke and Jon are still just in front of you, but you’re clearly lagging. You shoot one more glance at their retreating forms before taking a look at the fine print.

You shake your head, confused, but Luke seems content to get as far away from the door as possible.

“Ah,” Luke says a little too smoothly for someone who just rushed past a super-secret vault, “here we are.” He inputs a lengthy code, then scans his retina before the door finally budges to reveal the impressive space.

The design room is huge, yet somehow, there’s not an inch of free space. Mannequins and large rolls of fabric take up a majority of the space with the rest taken up by drawing boards and fancy-looking sewing machines.

“Not gonna lie,” Jon says, nudging you as he guides you further into the room, “Luke and I have kind of taken on this project by the horns, so I wanted to be here when you went over design ideas!” You look down at the table and begin shuffling through Damian’s sketches. He laughs when you shoot him a teasing brow, “No, I did not sketch those. You’ll never let me live down my drunken art skills from Damian’s penthouse party, will you?”

You snort, “It was so fucking bad, Jon.”

“Rude.” Jon bumps into you playfully. “Oh, wait! Go back a page,” he insists and you easily comply. “Okay, the body of this sketch,” he trails off as he searches through the pile. Luke easily hands him a sketch that compliments the previous pick. “Oh, for sure, with these ears.”

“So, you haven’t entirely figured out the final design yet?”

“Of course not!” Jon says at the same time Luke speaks up.

“Wouldn’t really be your suit if you didn’t actually have a say.”

You can’t argue with that logic.

With that, you peer over their shoulders at their mismatched collage, realizing that you don’t have any critiques. “Well, I like what the two of you have done so far, but what about functionality?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Luke agrees with a nod, stepping back from the table pensively. “What weapons would you be comfortable with?”

You think back to Jason’s advice. The one that’s rung clear in your head from the moment he’d said it.

“Nothing that I wouldn’t want used against me.”

Jon shoots Luke an inquisitive brow as if to ask if he has any ideas.

“I think we can work with that,” Luke says before he begins on a rough sketch. It’s obvious to you now that Damian was the most likely culprit behind the original drawings on the table.

For the next few minutes, you and Jon both chime in with ideas as Luke switches between erasing and drawing. When he’s finished, Jon nods excitedly. Once you give the thumbs up, Jon uses quickly arranges the final look.

“Okay,” Jon sets down the last paper with a wide grin. “What about this?”

“Honestly,” you squint down at the selection but are, ultimately, unable to put it all together, “Damian probably needs to sketch it out for me to fully see it.”

Before you can even finish your sentence, Damian’s signature deadpan scowl graces your line of sight.

“I heard my name,” Damian says, making his dramatic entrance as he sidles up beside the two of you. Jon ruins the entrance, however, by giving him a sweet peck on the lips that sends Damian into a brief state of shock. He blushes, obviously startled by the action and clears his throat before greeting you both by your last names to cover it up, “Glad to see you’re still punctual.”

“Glad to see you’re still not,” you tease easily.

He ignores you in favor of flipping through the selected pages. “Oh, good. You’ve both shown her the sketches.”

Jon nods excitedly and begins explaining the new design. You watch in amusement as they work together seamlessly to transfer the three of your ideas to paper via Damian’s hand.

After another hour of planning, you hold the final design in your hands.

Damian clears his throat, catching your attention, “I’ve been preoccupied with some other cases recently, but I wanted to get back into what happened last year.” You nod, feeling very much in the same boat. Jason and Roy seem eager to put it in the past, but you have the gnawing feeling no matter how much they try to bury it, the situation will resuscitate regardless. “Deadshot’s a good place to start. He might have a good lead that you can follow.”

Deadshot.

The same man who’d been sent to kill you not even a year ago.

“Great,” you trail off. Meanwhile, Damian seems like he’s biting his tongue. “What?”

He sighs, looking over at you with his hazel eyes for the first time since he’d greeted you, “You don’t have to do this, you know? It’s not fun and games being a hero; people die. Heroes die every day. That’s what you’re getting into when you put on the suit.” Damian’s staring deep into your soul, stealing your breath as he does so with the sheer intensity of it all. “This isn’t a comic. There is no next page, there is no second run and there is no do-over. This is real life,” your name is barely a whisper. “You already came so close last time…” he trails off. “Just be sure this is what you really want.”

Before you can open your mouth to defend yourself, Jon butts in.

“I just got my powers. I’ve been going out almost every night on patrol and I’ve never once heard this talk from you, so why are you giving it to her?” It’s not a jealousy thing, but rather Jon pointing out his hypocrisy. “You think that just because I’m half Kryptonian doesn’t mean all of that doesn’t apply to me, too?”

You glance appreciatively in Jon’s direction as Damian takes in his words.

Damian starts an apology, then trails off again, looking at Jon for confirmation on what to do next before finally giving in. “I apologize,” he finally manages. Damian’s briefly meets your eyes, then looks back at the design. “Do you have any questions?”

You smile lightly, accepting his apology easily. Luke, however, appears dumbfounded by words he’s obviously never heard from the Wayne heir. “How long do you think it’ll take?”

“You’ll have it sent to your new apartment before your next mission, trust me. Are you sure this is what you want?” Damian scans your face up and down.

Whether he means the suit, or the hero life, you don’t know. What you do know is that you’re ready for it all.

You look it over for a moment before asking, “Does it come in red?”

•••

You want that lead.

You text in your group chat with Jason and Roy about Deadshot as soon as you get out of Wayne Tower.

Jason responds instantly, ‘Meet us at the park.’

The park wasn’t an unusual place to meet.

You try to go on walks and let Lian run around the playground there every day if you can, seeing as it’s just a block away from the old apartment. Now, it’s a bit more of a trek to get to, but it’s well worth it.

When you arrive, you’re expecting to see Jason, Roy and Lian. What you’re definitely not expecting to see is Deadshot. You don’t see Jason or Roy anywhere, so you immediately take up a defensive stance.

“Still got that spark, eh, kid?” Deadshot smiles placatingly at you and steps aside to reveal Red Hood and Arsenal sitting peacefully on the bench. “Not here to kill you this time, beautiful.”

“Watch it,” Red Hood’s robotic tone warns from behind as he stands up. Deadshot’s hands immediately surrender, though he’s wearing an obvious smirk.

“Can’t hate the player,” he teases.

“I can,” Red Hood threatens lowly.

The heart-stopping click of a gun’s safety being turned off is enough to wipe the smirk from Lawton’s face.

“Now, now. Let’s play nice.” With this, Deadshot tilts his head off to the right where, off in the distance, you notice a security guard. “Wouldn’t want anyone stepping in on our fun, now, would we?”

It’s a thinly veiled threat and you know it.

Luckily, Arsenal steps in calmly. “We’re just here for information,” he says.

Deadshot scoffs in amusement, crossing his muscular arms, “Didn’t think to wine a dine a gent? Just went straight to threatening?” He sighs dramatically, “What’s this profession coming to?”

“Listen,” you speak up. Everyone seems startled you’ve spoken, so you take their moment of surprise to get what you came here to get. “We need to know who hired you.”

The evening was coming on with the sun nearly being set as you all stood there in the desolate park. Tiny songbirds spouted out as they settled into their homes for the evening while a chorus of crickets chirped a cacophonous background melody.

“You’re cute,” Deadshot starts, regaining his smirk as he continues. “But we both know you’re not that naïve,” he chuckles, stepping away from Hood and Arsenal to come closer to you.

Immediately, your boyfriends flock to your side, but Deadshot pays them no mind. He backs you against a tree, putting a hand right beside your head to trap you.

“What’s your game?” you ask before your partners can intervene.

“Well, ring-a-ding-ding,” Deadshot drawls with a slight purr. “That’s what I’m looking for now, right?” He smiles at you like he knows he’s about to get whatever he wants. “An exchange is only fair in this business, right, gorgeous?”

He makes to tuck a stray piece of your hair behind your ear, but you smack his hand away before he can even get close.

“I know all about your little Task Force X operations.” It’s your turn to smirk. Though you don’t necessarily know what you’re talking about, it’s only half true. You’d uncovered very little information on the government run association from hacking into your parents organization a year ago, but you know with certainty that Task Force X involves Deadshot. “Now, talk,” you demand.

His face instantly drops and his voice deepens. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, little girl,” the mercenary threatens.

You don’t dare look over Deadshot’s shoulder where Arsenal’s undoubtedly holding Red Hood back from doing something stupid. No, instead, you focus on the mercenary who’d been trying to kill you a year ago.

“I’m not a little girl,” you hiss, putting all your power into pushing him away from you. He stumbles backward, nearly tripping over the bench they’d originally met on in the process. “And I do know what the fuck I’m talking about.” You come up on him and send him flipping over the bench anyway, advancing on his fallen form before he even has time to draw his guns. You straddle him, pinning his arms above his head as you knee him in the chin. “TALK!” you demand menacingly.

“You know,” he drawls, “even when you think you’re not giving me what I want, you’re still giving me exactly what I want.” As if to prove his point, Deadshot bucks his hips up. You know it’s an attempt to throw you off, but you hold steady and land another knee on him- this time to his side. “Hgg!” he laughs through his pained grunt.

“Information,” you insist. To cement your statement further, you knee his other side as you continue to straddle and pin him. “Now, Lawton.”

He scoffs, “You’re don’t get to call me that. Not unless you actually give me what I want, gorgeous.” You continue to glare at him until he rolls his eyes and continues, “You do realize I’m letting you do this, right, doll?”

You wring his wrists at the same time you knee his side with all your might, unleashing a yelp from the man.

“Yeah,” you twist his wrists tighter until his face twists up in pain, “that’s exactly what’s happening here. Besides,” you start with an airy tone, “I thought you said I was giving you exactly what you wanted.” You turn your head menacingly at him, “Now, which is it, Lawton?”

You give him your best intimidating look, which is apparently enough to finally break him.

“Fine, fine,” he winces at your grip. “Black Mask hired me.”

You finally break eye contact with Deadshot to peer over at your partners. You motion down with your head at him and they nod, so you release him.

When he stands, he rubs distastefully at his wrists.

“What did Sionis want with her?” Arsenal asks.

Deadshot sighs, “It was a two-parter. Protect the package, kill the girl.”

“What package?” Hood demands.

“Dunno,” Deadshot shrugs disinterestedly, side-eyeing you, “they switched out hired guns halfway through. Picked up the damn thing from Gotham Botanical Gardens, but that’s all I have to offer. Merc’s honor.” He places a sarcastic hand over his heart, but regardless, you believe him.

Red Hood and Arsenal go over a few other things with him, but all you can think of is your vision. You’d seen a rose and Deadshot’s lead was, well, leading you to a garden.

It couldn’t be a coincidence, right?

“Not that this hasn’t been fun catching up, but I have a girl at home waiting for me,” he snickers at your horrified look. “Don’t look so jealous, beautiful; it’s just my daughter. Anyway, au revior.” Deadshot gives a half salute before disappearing off into the night.

By now, the sun had completely set, though you weren’t itching to get home just yet.

You looked between Red Hood and Arsenal with your hands on your hips, noting they seemed to be thinking the same thing.

“We need a plan.”

A/N: my first sequel!! super excited to share this with you and to introduce the badass on the cover!!!

keep an eye out for the next chapter where more will be revealed! in the meantime let me know what you think!

[next] || masterlist || pinned || ways to support

#my fic: cardinal sins #reader x jason todd x roy harper #jason todd x reader #reader x roy harper #reader x jason todd #cover characters created by stais-world but would stronglyy caution against working w them #x reader

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lolahasmoxie · 1 year ago

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Free Pass (E.M.)

So I was able to swing seeing Metallica when they stopped in Phoenix, and this popped into my head, waiting to get home after the second show. (Seriously, that Uber/Lyft surcharge was no fucking joke. Also, I may need a metal boyfriend.)

WORD: 1.2K

WARNING: language, implied smut, pregnancy

The third image from @themunsonator5000

The concert had been a smashing success.

You and Wayne had saved up to gift Eddie concert tickets to see Metallica in Indianapolis, complete with a hotel room for the night so you both wouldn't have to drive back in the dead of the night. You and Eddie arrived early to get as close to the stage as possible, slowly inching your way to the front until you were almost at the stage by the time the boys went on. You had thrashed and moshed, sang at the top of your lungs to every song, and at one point, you were simply watching Eddie have the time of his life.

After the show, and after you had caught Kirk's guitar pick, Eddie gave you a piggyback ride across the parking lot to the van. Your bare legs were sticky with sweat, your feet sore in your high-top Vans. Bare arms sticking out of a cut-up oversized tank top were wrapped around Eddie's neck as he rambled about every highlight of the show. You both made out in the van for a bit as you waited for the crowd to thin out, and you stopped at the diner next to the hotel for fries and shakes.

It was almost 2 a.m., and Eddie was still talking about the concert. You just smiled at him, thinking you would have to thank Wayne for helping you make this happen for your favorite boy.

"You okay, Babe?" Eddie asked in between bites of fries. "Awful quiet over there."

"Just happy; I'm glad you had a great time, that's all."

"Of course I did; this is like the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me." he said before reaching for your hand and squeezing it three times, his code for 'I love you.' "And once we get back to the room, I thoroughly intend to show you just how grateful I am."

You feel your face warm under Eddie's intense gaze and quickly find yourself giggling when he makes a loud purring sound at you. When Eddie goes to take a sip from his shake, you reach into your purse and pull out the guitar pick you had caught earlier, a sigh leaving you as you hold it tenderly.

"You look like you're holding the holy grail."

"It basically is. I will cherish it until my dying day."

"Okay, Gollum."

"Mock me if you will, Eddie, but this isn't just any guitar pick. It's a pick from Kirk Hammett...KIRK. HAMMETT. Now you know I will love you until my dying day, but if the opportunity with Kirk Hammett ever presented itself to me, I would leave you in a heartbeat."

Your eyes meet, and Eddie's mouth gapes open as a fry dangles from his hand. He places the fry back on his plate, and for a second, you think you may have finally crossed a line with him.

"Eddie, you know I'm not serious,"

"You would like let me watch though, right?" There were many responses you had mentally prepared for, and your jaw dropped because you know Eddie like the back of your hand. He is serious.

"I'm sorry; I just told you I would leave you for Kirk Hammett. Seriously, will I let you watch, that’s your response?”

"It’s not like I’m gonna be happy about it; but it's like you said, it's Kirk fucking Hammett. The lead guitarist for Metallica. Frankly, I would consider it an honor bestowed upon our family if he were to rail my woman.”

You stare at Eddie blankly for a minute before you start laughing. Eddie seems pleased with himself as he watches you try to compose yourself.

"Okay, I promise you;” you giggle as you wipe the tears from your eyes, “If I ever get the opportunity with Kirk, you can absolutely watch him defile me."

FOUR YEARS LATER

You're backstage talking with Gareth and Jeff before the show. Life had been very good to you, Eddie, and the band. The right concert at the right time had led to some bigger venues, which had led to the right person seeing a show, which then led to being asked by Metallica to open for them on the Midwest portion of their tour.

You were listening to Jeff when you heard your name being called. You turned and smiled when you saw your husband walking towards you.

"Hey babe, everything ok?"

"Come with me, please?" he asked, and you excused yourself before letting Eddie lead you through the backstage area. You walked past security and staff and then towards some rooms you knew were for the bands. When you finally stopped, you looked up at Eddie; he knew you had questions. he simply leaned down and kissed you. "Trust me, ok?"

You nodded as he knocked on the door, and then a tall man opened it and ushered you both inside, and before you knew it, you were standing in a room next to Eddie and across from Kirk Hammett.

"Hey man, this is my wife, Y/N. Baby, this is Kirk." You're shocked and can't find words, even after Kirk comes over and takes your hand in his.

"It's nice to meet you," he says with a smile. "I've been looking forward to meeting you, especially since your man here is always talking about you. I can see why, though."

You're pretty sure your face is on fire as you stare at him; it’s easy to stare though. Especially since he has those big brown eyes that are so similar to the ones you fell in love with at thirteen in small town Indiana.

"Would it be cliche to say I'm a huge fan?" Kirk chuckles.

"A bit, but it's still nice to hear."

"When we saw you in Indianapolis on tour, she caught your guitar pick. She still has it in a jewelry box at the house. Told me that night that if she ever had the chance with you, she'd leave me in a heartbeat." You're mortified at Eddie's confession, and you turn to glare at him but stop when you hear Kirk laughing at you both.

"Oh man, I've heard that a couple of times. But something tells me that I'm the one who doesn't have a shot." Kirk's eyes glance down. You're wearing biker shorts and a Corroded Coffin t-shirt since it's the middle of summer. The shirt is tied up to rest over your growing baby bump, and Eddie can't help but place a large, warm hand on top of it. When you glance up at him, he's looking at you with pride and adoration, like you're the most precious thing on the planet. The smile you return to him comes naturally, only looking away when a tour manager comes in the room looking for Kirk.

"Well, Lovebirds, I have to go take care of this. Eddie, I'll see you on stage, and you," he pauses as he puts a hand on your shoulder, "if you need anything, and I mean anything, just say the word. We need to make sure you're comfortable if you're gonna join us on the road." Then, just as soon as he appeared, he was gone.

You and Eddie walk back to find the boys, Eddie's hand firmly holding your own.

"So baby," he asked. "Did you like my surprise?"

"You guitar players are going to be the death of me, I swear." Eddie merely grins before he leans down and gives you a soft kiss. You only stop when you hear Gareth calling for him.

"You gonna be on the side to watch?"

"Of course," you say as you push his hair behind his ear. "There isn't anywhere else in the world I want to be." You watch Eddie walk away, and as he catches up with his high school friends so they can live out their dreams, you're just glad that Eddie left out the part where he was going to watch.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic

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bluejaysandblackbats · 8 months ago

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Phantom Grin

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: Bruce Wayne visits his son's grave on the night of his resurrection. Will it change Jason's fate, or is it all simply inevitable?

Chapters: 17/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Alfred Pennyworth, Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain

Relationship(s): Jason Todd/Original Character

Additional Tags: Canon Divergent AU, Jason Todd Has Chronic Pain, Jason Todd is Disabled, Barbara Gordon is Oracle, Resurrected Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne Get Along

Chapter Seventeen: The Breaking Point

Bruce slept in Jason’s room beside him, jolting awake with every movement. After two nights and a day, Alfred pried Bruce from the room to talk to everyone downstairs. “I checked with the church,” Tim explained, “There was a Sister Irene named Indigo there, but she disappeared without a word three years ago. There’s no way Jason knew her before he died.”

“The sisters and a friend filed two missing person’s reports. Were you able to get a description of the area Jason thought he was in?” Barbara questioned.

“I can follow him,” Cass offered.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “He sleeps… It’s been a week since that migraine wiped him out, and I thought—. Jason sleeps. He barely eats. He wakes up in pain because he hasn’t taken his meds… And he doesn’t want me to know he’s in pain, but I see it—. Why haven’t any of you asked me how he’s feeling?” Bruce asked. He pushed his hair back.

“Bruce, we thought it’d be better if we—.” Tim grew silent as he looked at Jason standing at the top of the stairs. He stared straight forward, shaking his head as he mouthed something. Bruce and Tim read his lips and Bruce jumped over the couch to reach him.

“Jason, no!” Bruce shouted. Jason climbed on the stair rail and sat with his legs dangling. “Jason!” Bruce darted up the stairs and yanked Jason off the banister. Jason fell on Bruce and jolted awake with a gasp. He immediately started trembling. “I’ve got you.”

Jason’s ears rang as he rolled away, prying loose from Bruce’s hold, before crawling to his room and slamming the door. “Jason, are you okay?” Bruce asked.

“Stop asking if I’m okay!” Jason screamed.

Cass pushed past Bruce and let herself in. She shut the door behind her. Jason sat between his bed and dresser, rocking and holding his head. “Here,” Cass whispered, giving him a hand pie from her pocket. Jason didn’t look up, so Cass took his hand and placed the packaged pie in his palm. “You should eat.”

Jason looked up, and Cass nodded. He opened it and took a bite. “Thanks,” Jason mumbled.

“Do you want me to bring you dinner?” Cass asked. Jason shook his head.

“Don’t go,” Jason whispered. Cass nodded.

“I’ll stay… But it would help if you ate dinner,” Cass replied. Jason reached for his phone and texted Alfred. Cass smiled, watching as Jason finished his pie. “Hug?”

Jason nodded as he leaned into her open arms. “Do you want me to follow you when you leave?”

“What?” Jason asked.

“When you leave the house… Do you want me to follow you?” Cass questioned.

“Why are you asking me?” Jason questioned.

“I want to know what you want,” Cass replied.

Jason didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say. Cass’s honesty threw him for a loop. Maybe he wasn’t in the right mind to answer… If that was the case, he’d need to be closely supervised for the rest of his life. Jason’s stomach growled. Alfred knocked and entered with dinner for both of them, rustling a hand through Jason’s hair before leaving. Jason ate his mashed potatoes first, stopping to sip water and catch a glimpse of Cass and her warm, watchful eyes. “You’re just hungry,” Cass reassured him. He flashed her a smile.

Eating settled his nerves, but he still felt on edge. He ate his corn and reached for his bag of meds. Cass stopped it from knocking him in the head, while he sat it beside himself. He took his pills and washed them down with water.

Jason couldn’t sleep, so he wandered the halls of the manor until he heard the tap of a pebble against the window. Jason stopped in the hall and looked out the window. Indigo waved, and Jason shook his head. She clasped her hands together before gesturing for him to come outside. Jason sighed and crept downstairs and out the back door. He caught Indigo in the garden and shook his head at her. “What are you doing here? You left me in the church basement and—. Your lip,” Jason whispered. He wiped the blood from her lip with his thumb. Indigo smiled at him and shook her head.

“Jason, have you put two and two together because I can’t tell you—.”

Bruce shouted Jason’s name, grabbing Jason’s attention. “Come with me,” Indigo whispered.

“But—.”

“Jason, are you ready to go?” Indigo asked. Jason choked on his objection, powerless as Indigo dragged him away from the manor. “Hurry. You’re gonna wake up soon.”

“Huh?” Jason asked.

Jason woke up inside an abandoned apartment’s bathtub, gagging at the smell. His shirt and hair were plastered to his skin. His ears rang as he tried to stand up, and his legs buckled underneath him. Soaked from head to toe and disoriented, Jason crawled through the pitch-black room, trying to feel for a door before he found his phone on the ground. Jason tried to call Tim, but he could only remember Bruce’s. “Jason?” Bruce questioned.

“Dad, I don’t know where I am,” Jason mumbled.

“I’m having the call traced right now,” Bruce replied, “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“I saw Indigo in the yard. I blacked out… I need a change of clothes,” Jason replied.

“What happened to your clothes?” Bruce questioned.

“They’re wet. My clothes are wet,” Jason answered.

“Why are you wet?” Bruce asked. Jason smelled himself and immediately threw up. “Jason—?”

“Blood. I think it’s blood. Oh, god,” Jason heaved.

“Jason, try to relax—.”

“Relax? Dad, I fucking blacked out, and I woke up in a bathtub. I smell like blood and vomit, and you want me to relax ?” Jason scoffed.

“Jason, Huntress—. Helena is the closest to your location… You haven’t met her yet, but she knows about you,” Bruce replied, “She’s three minutes out. Stay on the phone with me.”

“How much time did I lose?” Jason asked.

“At least three hours. I yelled for you three hours ago,” Bruce answered, “Did you dream?”

“No, I blinked and woke up in a tub… I have to take this off. I—. Dad, what if I—?”

“Jason, don’t do that. We don’t know if you did anything—.”

“I’m covered in blood, and I’m not bleeding. I think we have to do this ,” Jason replied, “Why do I black out whenever I see her?”

“Jason, let’s talk about that when you get home,” Bruce replied. Jason and Bruce argued back and forth until a loud thud startled Jason, but he lay in the tub, trying to conceal himself.

“Jason? Jason, it’s Huntress,” she called. Jason sat up in the tub.

“I’m in here!” Jason shouted. She entered the bathroom and shined a flashlight, disorienting Jason. “Do you have something I can wear? I can’t go out covered in blood—.”

“You’re not covered in blood,” Helena replied, “You’ve got puke on your shirt, and you’re soaking wet, but there’s no blood on you.” She gave him a sweatshirt and sweatpants to wear. Jason blinked hard and looked at his clothes. There was dried blood in the shower, but no blood on his clothes.

“I smelled—.” Jason sniffed himself, but he couldn’t smell blood anymore. “I don’t—.”

“Get dressed. I’ll wait in the living room,” Helena interrupted. She stood outside while Jason climbed out of the tub and changed. He walked toward her, still shaking as he searched for something to say. Instead, he burst into tears. Helena smoothed his wet hair down and sighed. “You didn’t kill anyone… A lot of people are worried about you.”

“She asked if I put two and two together and told me I was about to wake up,” Jason cried, “But I felt—. I haven’t had a normal interaction with her since she left the church. I convinced her to leave. What if something happened?”

“Sorry, but I’m not in the loop on this. Do you wanna explain outside?” Helena offered. Jason nodded. “Let’s talk on the roof. Can you climb?” Jason nodded, following her outside. The night breeze pulled him back, calming him.

“I felt lost and guilty a few months ago, so I started attending a church in the city… And that’s where I met her. She was a postulant—. A—.”

“I know what that means. Go on,” Helena reassured him.

“And I liked her… I knew I had a crush on her the moment I saw her, which felt wrong. So, I avoided her. I could’ve gone to another church, but I was drawn there. I felt comfortable there. Her name at the time was Sister Irene… I told her something I wouldn’t have told anyone… And she prayed with me. But, she eventually told me she wasn’t a Catholic. She didn’t even—. So, I convinced her to leave. We developed a—. We kissed. That’s all… But everything after that moment has been strange.

“I had a migraine that was so intense, half my body went numb. I’m sleeping all the time and blacking out and—. And the nightmares about dying and being buried keep getting harder to wake up from,” Jason explained, “This isn’t normal. I know it’s not.”

“Have you ever considered that you’re not losing your grip on reality?” Helena questioned.

#fic #phantom grin fic #Jason Todd #Bruce Wayne #Dick Grayson #Alfred Pennyworth #Barbara Gordon #Tim Drake #Cassandra Cain #Jason Todd/Original Character #Canon Divergent AU #Jason Todd Has Chronic Pain #Jason Todd is Disabled #Barbara Gordon is Oracle #Resurrected Jason Todd #Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating #Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne Get Along

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blancheludis · 4 months ago

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Whumptober 2024, Day 11: loneliness

Fandom: Batman, Superman Characters: Tim Drake & Conner Kent, Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd Tags: Suicidal Ideation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Friendship

Summary:

"You do know these things can kill you," Conner says as he finds Tim with a cigarette between his lips, legs dangling over the edge of the roof. He sits down right next to Tim, their shoulders touching. The warmth is welcome. The small smile is, too.

Tim offers the cigarette to Conner and, only when he accepts it, does he say, "I don't think I will live long enough for the occasional cigarette to matter much."

- Tim is tired all the time and, when Conner is not there, feels like loneliness will swallow him whole. But Conner is there, as often as he needs to be, ready to catch Tim if he falls. Or jumps.

Conner brings them to a roof in a city Tim does not recognize. It is better this way. Less chance of being observed. Superman could find them without any effort at all, and Bruce would not be far behind, but they would have to know to look. Nobody is going to miss them for the length of a cigarette or two. Probably not for far longer than that.

Tim sits down right at the edge, legs dangling, watching the traffic pass by underneath. He likes high places. Everything looks smaller, less pressing. It makes himself feel smaller, too, although he usually does not need the reminder. There are no walls pressing in from all sides, though, no people demanding his attention, no paperwork stacking up. This is the closest he can come to peace anywhere. Up on a roof in a strange city, the night air cold around him, a trusted friend at his side.

"You do know these things can kill you," Conner says as he sits down right next to Tim, their shoulders and thighs touching. The warmth is welcome. The small smile is, too.

Tim makes a show of lighting the cigarette and taking the first draw, smoke filling his lungs. Then he turns to Conner, one eyebrow raised, and offers the cigarette to him.

Only when Conner accepts it, does he say, "I don't think I will live long enough for the occasional cigarette to matter much."

He is not sure where that comes from, but it is true nonetheless. Life has been trudging forward painfully. A carousel of work and training and fighting. Of too much coffee and too little sleep. Of solving one case only to get three new ones. He is moving in circles, never managing to take a single step out of it. Usually, he does not have time to think about it, but it is nagging at the back of his mind, and sometimes he just needs a break.

"Stop talking like that," Conner chides, glaring at Tim even though he refuses to meet his eyes.

"What?" Tim shrugs and takes the cigarette back. "You know our fatality rate is stupidly low. That has to change at some point." Or, at least, someone has to stay dead.

Conner nudges him, waits until Tim looks up. "But not with you."

"It's not like I'd get a choice," he says and wonders, in the same breath, what he would do if he did. The edge seems just a bit closer, pressing against his legs.

He puts the cigarette back against his lip, breathes out smoke and follows its whirls up into the sky. A few stars twinkle back at him, unmoved, expectant.

Conner is a solid presence at his side. "It was your choice last week to jump off that building before you knew whether your grapple had connected securely," he says, his voice strangely thick. It is not an accusation. Tim knows those, hates them, because he always does his job.

He pauses, thinks about the exhilarating feeling of jumping into empty air, of actually falling, the world rushing by. It is different than flying with Conner. That, too, is without boundaries. But sometimes, Conner's arms holding him safe feel restricting, like censure.

A car honks down on the street, ripping him out of his musings; making him aware of how close he is to the edge.

"What is this?" Tim asks with a small smirk. "An intervention?"

But Conner does not smile back. "Does it need to be?"

Tim all but pushes the cigarette back into Conner's hand, breathing around the last of the smoke in his lungs.

"It's not like you're staying back and safe, either," he says off-handedly, like it does not upset him when his friends are reckless, when he recognizes his own restlessness in them. "That guy we suspected to have krypto on him? You charged without thinking twice about it."

He knows he hit a sore spot when Conner leans just slightly away from him, not losing contact but swaying with the insinuation.

Very carefully, Conner says, "I did think about it."

Tim looks at him, does not give him a chance to hide. "And I calculated my risks before jumping."

Conner sighs, a weary sound dragged up from deep down. He tries a smile and ends up with a sharp-edged grimace. "We're pretty messed up, aren't we?"

Pressure builds behind Tim’s sternum. He is not sure whether it is laughter or something worse. Not willing to take the chance, he pushes it back down, practiced in the art of hiding himself away.

"That kind of comes with the job. And it wouldn't be the worst thing," he then says with another shrug, focussing on the street below. Quietly, he adds, "If it were me, I mean."

He feels Conner growing tense beside him, feels supporting warmth turn into shock. "Tim."

But Tim shakes his head. They usually do not mince their words. Everybody else does enough of that.

"What?" he asks, completely unrepentant. "B has Damian as heir. They have Oracle for the tech stuff. The rest of the family is getting along most of the time." He goes quiet, less confident. "They'd hardly notice."

Everything else is a fact. That last thing is personal, if no less substantial. Sometimes, he wakes up at night, unable to breathe, unwilling to call out, absolutely convinced that no one would come even if he did. Even in the light of day, he hardly finds enough proof to counter that fear.

Conner reaches out and holds onto Tim’s hand, warm and solid, impossible to ignore.

"I'd notice," he promises quietly, squeezing until Tim's finger tighten in turn.

"Cheers to that," he says but means it.

In this entire world, Tim has three brothers, two of which only tolerate him on a good day, a father who likes to call them soldiers before he would ever call them sons, a team of heroes that has his back in a fight but otherwise expects him to be functional and self-sufficient, and Conner. His ray of sunshine in a drab, grey Gotham winter. The only one who hears Tim's perfunctory I'm fine and pushes past it. He hates him for it, at times, sure, because sometimes pretence is all that is keeping him upright. But he has learned that it is important to have someone with whom he can allow himself to fall and know he will be caught.

Conner is silent as they pass the cigarette back and forth until it is gone. They watch the traffic, the stars. They are both breathing.

"Clark has Jon, too," Conner then says, not looking at Tim as he puts the stub out on the roof. "I mean, I'm not sure he'd notice either."

Tim hums and pulls his legs up from over the ledge, puts his head down on his knees, sideways so he can watch Conner instead of the world around them. "We could quit," he says, more an offer than a dream.

Conner looks back at him, steadfast, open. "As in moving out and going to college, right?" he asks, just a bit of tension behind the words. "Not as in jumping off roofs."

Their hands are still holding onto each other and Tim leans closer, smiling. "I'm not actually suicidal," he promises, not allowing himself to really think about it.

Smiling back, Conner says, "Could have fooled me."

It is the truth. Probably. Tim does not want to die. He has a number of contingency plans in case he is too hurt to continue working or killed in the field. Too much responsibility weighs on his shoulder for him to not make plans. Historically, Bruce does not do well with losing one of his children. Tim is not convinced that his loss would impact the family as much as Jason's did. Damian, for one, would be ecstatic. But Tim is still doing his part. He has his patrol routes, his cases, the company. He has a job to do. Several, actually. Dying would throw a wrench into a well-oiled machine and Tim hates being disruptive. He also hates being nothing more than a tool. That is what he signed up for, years ago, when he went to knock on Bruce's door and refused to leave. Some foolish part of him still hopes his role will change, though, that he could be accepted for who he is, not for what he can bring to the table.

"Are you happy?" Tim asks, banning all thoughts of dying from his mind.

That is a terrible question to ask someone whose life has been largely determined by others. Raised in a lab, plucked out by Superman who had made his displeasure about having a clone very clear, delegated to being a sidekick in vigilantism. None of that leaves much room for normalcy. Still, if Conner can get over that, then there is still hope for Tim, whose only hardship in life is that no one deems him worthy of love.

Yet, Conner says, "I don't know." It still sounds like a lie. "Are you?"

"No," Tim replies without hesitation. He is not in the habit of lying to himself. He does enough of that to other people. "This was never about being happy, though."

Conner laughs at that and mutters under his breath, "Absolutely messed up."

---

Superman waits for them when they get back. Or, perhaps, he is just in the wrong place at the wrong time, walking through this particular hallway in the exact moment that Conner and Tim come down from the roof. One look is enough to pull his lips down in disappointment.

"You snuck out to smoke?" he asks, eyeing them critically.

Of course, he would smell the cigarette smoke, even after they flew twenty minutes back here. Of course, he could not let it go. He is only marginally better than Bruce in needing to control everything.

"No one saw us," Conner tries to reassure him.

Tim hates the way Conner’s shoulders automatically straighten. He does the same thing, of course, but he learned that from his parents to properly represent the family name out in public. Conner does not need to look like the perfect heir for galas or news articles. He learned because Superman is as liberal with his critique as he is unsatisfied with every move or word out of Conner.

"That's not -" Superman's face closes off, dismissing whatever he wanted to say. Instead, he turns towards Tim, expression stern. "Smoking will kill you."

While Tim still contemplates whether it is safe to roll his eyes, Conner steps forward, half between Tim and Superman. "It was my cigarette," he says, chin raised and back even straighter.

Superman can pull off disappointment better than Bruce. The very picture of this golden, selfless hero furrowing his brows at them as if they set out to personally affront him, is really effective. Batman, on the other hand, is better at putting fear into people's hearts. Together, they are a good team. Superman pouting you really shouldn't do this, with Batman hovering behind him growling or else. Tim is unmoved, having had enough time to get used to both of them.

"You're not immune to all poisons," Superman lectures the boy he cannot bring himself to call son.

"You can hardly compare cigarettes to poison," Conner replies as nonchalant as he dares.

Superman crosses his arms in front of him, showing off his impressive mass. "I very much can. You will stop immediately," he orders, steel in his voice.

There is only one answer Conner can give. "Yes, sir."

Completely ignoring Conner's protective stance, Superman then looks back at Tim. "I'll talk to Bruce about this."

That is just great. Exactly what Tim needs. Another lecture. Another fumbling conversation that will leave both Bruce and him hurt and painfully aware of everything that is lacking between them.

"That's not -" Tim tries because he has to, but stops quickly when Superman cuts him off.

"You are still children," he explains as if that has ever meant anything. "It is our responsibility to take care of you."

Tim bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. Of course. They are not allowed to smoke, but going out to fight criminals and aliens is all right. Heaven forbid they forget to eat their greens. It might make them so slow they cannot dodge the next killing laser beam pointed at them.

Superman had not cared Conner was a child when he pulled him out of the lab, watching his every move and threatening to lock him back up if he did so much as put a toe out of line. Bruce did not care Tim was a child when he pummelled him into the training mat every day for weeks in preparation for becoming Robin. Their age is only ever an excuse when it is convenient for the adults around them.

"Of course, sir," he pushes out between clenched teeth. It is not his best attempt at sounding accepting, but he does not want to. It does not matter either way. Both of them are good enough soldiers. They follow directions when it counts.

---

It takes barely an hour for Bruce to knock on Tim's door. He even waits for Tim to call him in, which is more accommodating than Tim expected. It gives Tim time to arrange himself out of his slouch into something more straight-backed at his desk. When Bruce opens the door, he does not come in but remains leaning against the doorframe, looking Tim over like he is cataloguing all the ways he is lacking.

"Smoking?" he asks, more of a rumble than an actual voice. It irritates Tim immediately.

"It's not like we're chain smoking," he snaps, temper flaring. "It was one cigarette. Everybody tries that once."

Bruce is not a human lie detector, no matter how it sometimes seems. In this case, it is not about lying, however. Whether it was one cigarette or five or a hundred, he still snuck out to do something forbidden. This is like that time Tim had champagne at a gala and had to endure an hour-long lecture about how important it is to stay sober in case something happened. A drunk vigilante is worse in an emergency than no one turning up at all. It is all about control. Mind-altering substances and addictions are in clear contradiction to that.

"You're not everybody," Bruce says, making it sound more like an accusation than a reminder. "You should know better."

No, Tim thinks. They are not like everybody else. Their life expectancy is already reduced and smoking really is the smallest problem on the list.

Tim sits up straighter. "We already told Superman that we'd stop."

Bruce clenches his jaw. "And he didn't believe you."

Of course, not. Tim has no intention to let others dictate his every step. It is not so much about the stupid cigarette than about getting out, away from everything else. The Manor, the company. It is easier for them to sneak out at night and fly somewhere no one knows them. It is easier to sit on a roof than to brave a crowd of strangers. If Tim were to tell Bruce that, sometimes, they go out for pancakes or ice cream, he would surely find some fault with that, too.

"What will you do, then?" Tim cannot help but ask. It is never a good idea to provoke Bruce, but he is so tired of sitting back and saying yes, sir. "Build us a small smoke alert and pin it to our clothes?"

He expects Bruce to growl at him, to argue right back. Instead, he comes into the room and sits down gingerly on the edge of Tim's bed, looking ridiculous, tall and dark, in the small space.

"What's going on with you, Tim?" he asks, uncharacteristically gentle.

Immediately, Tim's mind flies back to the edge of the roof, to the street looming beneath his dangling feet. To the air rushing past him as he fell, grapple unused in his hand. There is no way Bruce can refer to any of that. The only one who knows is Conner and even they have not really talked about it, beyond the careful acknowledgment that it exists.

"I'm not a child, B," Tim snaps. The easiest way to deal with Bruce is to irritate him to the point where he leaves rather than puzzle through a difficult emotional situation. "I'm not taking drugs. I'm not doing anything that endangers our missions. I just went out with a friend of mine to have the absolutely normal teenager experience of sneaking a smoke."

Bruce's expression darkens. "You -"

But Tim talks right over him - which might actual be proof that he might be slightly suicidal, after all. "I know we're supposed to be better," he says, ignoring that thought. "Well, we're not. What are you going to do about it?"

This is the point where Bruce is supposed to get up, growl something about responsibilities, and maybe to order him to come to a training session later. Instead, he puts both his hands in his lap, carefully unclenched, and looks at Tim, expression almost gentle in its openness.

"Do you need me to do something about it?" he asks, completely serious. No hidden accusation, no threat, no disappointment.

"No," Tim replies, reeling as he tries to understand what is happening here. They do not do this. He needs them to stop doing this. With just the tiniest pang of regret, he pushes on, "I need you to not control every last bit of my life."

Still, Bruce does not look upset. "Is that what you think?"

With a sigh, Tim slumps back in his seat. "No," he admits. In fact, he is usually the one who needs the least oversight. Bruce trusts him not to be a problem. "You just don't need to make such a big deal out of this."

Bruce inclines his head, not quite an affirmation but also not a protest. "You can talk to me, you know that, right?"

Sure. If he wants a few grunts in response and a pointed reminder to be better. Or, it turns out, whatever this is. Neither of them is good with feelings, and less so with talking about them. They are meant for business deals and strict schedules. Usually, that is enough. Tim is not sure why he feels so unmoored. Why he picked now to push against boundaries he never even wasted a second thought on before. Nothing has changed.

"Can I sleep now?" he asks, wondering whether he should just say thank you, whether that would not make Bruce back up quicker.

"I - yes, Tim," Bruce says, and now he looks disappointed. "No more sneaking out, please."

Tim does not promise anything and he knows Bruce notices it. He does not comment on it, but it does not feel like a victory.

---

They meet on the roof of the WE building. It is not the most secure meeting place they could have chosen, but it is all Tim can fit into his lunchbreak and there is a secluded area where they should not be immediately visible for prying eyes.

Conner takes one look at him and sits down close, shoulder slotting against shoulder as if there is no other way to sit.

"No smoke today?" he asks lightly and catches Tim's eyeroll with a grin.

"It's more of a whiskey day," Tim shoots back.

One of these days he is just going to quit. He will walk out of his fancy office, leave the door open, and just leave. Let them all argue with each other. They do not need him for that.

Conner pokes him with his elbow and teases, "I'd think you wouldn't have to come up here for that. Don't your corporate friends all stash something in their desks?"

"What's with the prejudice?" Tim asks, but knows exactly where Lucius has hidden the good stuff. There is a sharpness in his voice that he did not intend to be there.

Conner notices it, too, of course, but he does not look offended. Instead, he remarks casually, "You look like you want to fight someone. Or sleep for the next two weeks."

Sleep sounds wonderful. There is enough fighting going on in their lives. Patrol has been busy the past days. Always some new emergency right around the corner. Even now with a whole bunch of them running around Gotham, there is always something to do.

"I'd take a break," he says and closes his eyes for just a moment. If he is not careful, he could nod off right here, feet dangling once again over a deadly drop but leaning safely against his best friend.

Shifting his posture, Conner lets Tim fit more comfortably against him.

"Your personal taxi is at your service," he then offers quietly. He means it, too.

That is what Tim loves about Conner. In a world with so much double speak and games being played, Conner is always honest with him.

"I wish it were that easy," Tim says, looking at Gotham sprawled out underneath them. They could just push off the edge and leave the city, fly somewhere no one knows them, somewhere no one wants anything from them. By now, he can understand why his parents spent all their time in remote places digging for forgotten artifacts. Nothing has ever sounded more tempting to Tim.

"Isn't it?" Conner asks but sounds serious, like he is really ready to bring Tim far away from here. "How about you come to the farm for a few days? We can fix up the fence together. There's nothing but sky and corn out there. No crowds, no emergencies."

No convenient high-up roofs either for the bad nights, Tim thinks before the enormity of the offer really hits. Conner sometimes talks about the farm. About the kindness of Superman's parents. About having a home, a place full of warmth where he can just be himself. But, also, about how easy it is to get lost out there, to drown in all that endless space. Both of them know loneliness intimately. How it takes and takes and takes. How it leaves an emptiness behind that feels impossible to fill, even when other people are around. Sometimes especially when other people are around.

Tim can imagine it, both of them out there. Quiet nights with an actual starry sky above them. No noise except for their own breathing. No training or fighting or dragging himself out of bed for another round of heated board meetings.

"I can't just invade Superman's home," Tim argues before the thinking can turn into longing.

But Conner catches him, like he always does. "Ma and Pa won't mind." With uncharacteristic shyness, he adds, "In fact, they'd be ecstatic if I brought a friend home."

Friends. Family. This started out as a mere working relationship. Both Superman and Batman were glad they could hoist their kids off on each other to get some breathing room themselves. Now, Tim cannot imagine his life without Conner anymore. Even so, it is often too much.

"How aware are they of -" Tim gestures broadly at all of Conner.

"Pretty much all of it," Conner assures him. "It's not like we're sneaking around at night."

No. Superman and Superboy are heroes for the light of day. They do not incorporate vengeance like Batman does. They do not hide in the shadows.

Tim finds that he wants to say yes. Wants it with every fibre of his being. Life has become this downward spiral he is not sure how to claw himself out of again. Every day the same, rinse and repeat. He needs a break or he will snap. Or jump.

"B will never say yes." Tim looks at Conner, wants him to take them anyway.

And Conner smiles. "We'll see about that."

---

Tim is late for patrol. If not for the inevitability of Bruce's disappointment, he would be late every night. Like this, he can get ready in peace, without Damian's insults and Bruce's terse instructions. He can put on his gear in silence and head out when he wants, not having to wait for anyone else.

Of course, it is too much to ask that the peace lasts.

Tim is just about to put his mask on when Jason comes down the stairs, munching on a half-eaten cookie. Jason likes to be late to patrol, too, because it gives him a chance to catch up with Alfred without anybody else interfering. He does not stick to anybody else's schedule, though, so Tim had hopes to escape him. When is he ever lucky, though?

"I heard life is not exciting enough for you and you're sneaking smokes right under B's nose," Jason says by way of greeting as he saunters over to his bike. He is already mostly dressed and can therefore put his entire unwanted attention on Tim.

Unimpressed, Tim points out, "You're smoking."

Jason probably smoked before Bruce ever picked him up from the streets. He should be careful with the hypocrisy.

"I also kill people when they annoy me." Jason shrugs like he does not have a care in the world. "You're the prodigal son."

Laughter tumbles over Tim's lips unbidden. He stops it immediately, but the damage is done. Usually, he is better at pretending that he has everything under control. Usually, people do not insist on talking to him about anything other than work.

"Did B put you up to that?" Tim asks, feeling exhaustion running through him like a tidal wave.

"Hell, no." Jason scoffs, but he never takes his eyes off Tim, seeing far more than he is supposed to. "I overheard him and Dick talking. They're worried."

They are all a bunch of hypocrites. Bruce had already started his grand plan for vendetta against crime in Gotham when he was Tim's age. Dick moved out and did his own thing at eighteen. Jason went and died only to come back and make a name for himself as a crime boss. Damian is a trained assassin. How is Tim getting caught smoking more concerning than all of that? They do not know anything else. About the lack of sleep, the bone-deep tiredness he cannot shake, his sudden fascination with high-up places.

"Well, tell them they don't need to be," he drawls in a close facsimile to his usual aloofness.

"Tell them yourself," Jason shoots back immediately. There is no heat behind the words, however, no implied threat. Instead, he just keeps watching Tim, digging deep, searching for all the things Tim does not want anyone to find out. Then, like a switch being flicked off, his expression grows bored, his shoulders slump. "So, little Superboy?"

It is such a rapid change that Tim feels like he got whiplash just standing there.

"Don't you have friends you can bother, Jason?" he asks, not sure he can deal with brotherly teasing any better than with concerned suspicions.

Swallowing the last of his cookie, Jason asks, "Does he carry you bridal style when he whisks you away for a smoke break?"

Tim finally puts his mask in place and glares at Jason through it. "This conversation is over."

Expression still uncaring, Jason says, a little sharper than necessary, "I heard he didn't have the greatest childhood either."

There it is, Tim's temper, always simmering too close underneath his skin these days. "I don't know what you're insinuating, but -"

Jason raises both hands in surrender. "Nothing, Timbo," he drawls, almost managing to sound unaffected. "Take care of each other. I fear the rest of these idiots don't know how."

With that, he pulls his helmet on and starts his bike. He drives off before Tim can even think of a response. What was that? Jason pretending to care about him? The world is currently not ending, so that is a resounding no.

Shaking his head, Tim finishes his preparations and waits a full five minute before he follows Jason out. He really does not have any energy left for strange conversations with his family.

---

"How is it that my entire family is hounding me about one stupid incidence, but you're good to do whatever you want?" Tim rants the next time they meet.

They are not on a roof but sitting in the very back of a small coffeeshop in Metropolis. There are no other customers and the waitress left them the entire coffee pot instead of walking over every time Tim empties his mug. She has learned her lesson after the third time.

"Don't worry, Clark had a friendly conversation with me, too," Conner says with the kind of helpless amusement that means he has long since accepted that Clark only cares when it suits him. "Although it was more about not corrupting you than me dying of lung cancer."

Tim almost chokes on his coffee. "Corrupting me?" he echoes, feeling strangely insulted.

Between the two of them, Conner is the innocent. As a lab-grown clone who got swept up by Superman of all people afterwards, he barely had any chance to develop the kind of habits to corrupt anyone else.

"Funny, right?" Conner asks with a roll of his eyes. "I didn't tell them it was you who likes to choose the highest building in any given place to have your crises."

They should not joke about that. Not even when no one else is there to listen. "Conner," Tim chides quietly.

Instead of letting it go, Conner asks, "Have you thought about the farm?"

It feels like Tim has not done anything else. In countless meetings with board members or investors, Tim has imagined getting up and stepping into a cornfield, just leaving everything else behind.

"Yes," he admits carefully.

"And?"

The coffee mug is empty again, so Tim busies himself with filling it up. Once he cannot stall anymore, he asks, "Next week? I cleared my schedule."

Conner raises both eyebrows as he stares at Tim. Surprise looks good on him. Separates him from Clark.

When he is quiet for too long, Tim looks away. "What?" he quips, trying to calm his mounting heartbeat. "You pulling back the offer?"

"Not at all," Conner reassures him quickly. He still looks at Tim with a strange intensity. "I just realized that things must be worse than I thought. You sound actually eager."

Heat creeps up Tim's neck. Things are not that bad. He is just really, really tired.

"Well," he says, trying for flippant but falling somewhat short. "You've painted a pretty picture."

Suddenly, Conner grins, and there is his best friend, happy and eager. "Yes. You'll love it. No tech, lots of manual labour. Cows."

Tim finds himself smiling back, wider than he has in months. "Is it too late to back out?" he asks, just because that is expected of him. He is not a country boy. He needs asphalt and glass fronts and computers, not dirt and animals. More than that, however, he needs a change of scenery.

"Definitely," Conner says, full of cheer. He kicks Tim's shin in light warning. "I'll call them as soon as I'm home."

"Only if they're really all right with it," Tim says but, by now, it only token protest.

He has not yet asked Bruce, and right now he finds he does not want to, either. Lucius knows, which means the company will keep running without him. The other bats can take over his patrol for a few days. He does not need permission. He will let Bruce know before he leaves and not take no for an answer.

Conner's grin widens as he points out, "They raised Superman. Do you really think I could pressure them into something they don't want to do?"

Above all else, Tim does not want to intrude somewhere else he is not wanted. "I just want to make sure," he says but he trusts Conner. Trusts him with his life and everything else, too.

Without a trace of hesitation, Conner says, "I'm sure."

What more could Tim ask for?

#whumptober2024 #no.11 #loneliness #dcu #fic #suicidal ideation #emotional hurt/comfort #depression #tim drake #conner kent #bruce wayne #clark kent #my writing

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