#eddie has no chance to escape

[corroded-hellfire]

I just need pre-relationship AYW!Eddie all pent up and feral for Reader. I need him whimpering when he touches himself after Reader leaves for the evening. I need him trying to picture anyone else besides his kids’ babysitter but he keeps picturing Reader.

Your wish is my command! 😘

Warnings: male masturbation, smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), older!eddie, babysitter!reader, the longing is real

Words: 2.4k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Go to sleep now,” you grumble playfully, ruffling Luke’s curls as he smiles up at you from his bed.

“One more story?” Luke asks, though his voice betrays how sleepy he already is.

“Come on, buddy,” Eddie says from the doorway. “She’s been nice enough to stay for dinner and read you two bedtime stories already.”

A smile that steals Eddie’s breath grows on your lips as you turn to look at your boss.

“You make it sound like such a hardship,” you quip.

“I don’t think your union allows for overtime,” Eddie replies.

You let out a soft giggle and Eddie feels his insides begin to melt. It’s catastrophically unfair, the effect you have on him. Not in his whole life has Eddie met someone who so effortlessly turns him on and makes his heart race. As impossible as it is to ignore the feelings, Eddie tries not to linger on them for a few reasons. One, you’re a complete pipe dream. There is no way you, beautiful, intelligent, compassionate, and hilarious you would ever see a man over a decade older than you in the same light that he sees you. Two, and which he admits is arguably the bigger reason, is that he’s married. Sure, it hasn’t been a real marriage in…God knows how long. But it’s still a legally binding marriage that he hasn’t even attempted to separate from. Not for lack of want, though. It’s hard to see a point when it would cause the breakup of his boys’ family, and for what? So Eddie could be all alone in some smaller unfamiliar home that he struggles to afford on his own while caring for his sons, only getting to see them half the time he does now? No. He basically is doing it all alone right now, with the lack of input from Brittany, but at least Luke and Ryan are in the home they know and the two combined household incomes can give them a pretty good life.

Unfortunately, all the logic in the world can’t cure Eddie’s addiction to you.

“Close your eyes, sleepyhead.” You stand up from the edge of the four-year-old’s bed and lean over to press a kiss to his forehead.

The way you bend down towards the boy gives Eddie a spectacular view of your ass. He’s forced to dig his nails into the palms of his hands to suppress the groan that so desperately wants to escape. As much as he internally chides himself, Eddie can’t tear his eyes away either. He gets so few chances to just look at you, that he can’t bring himself to cut this precious time short.

“Night night,” Luke says through a yawn.

“Night, pal,” Eddie says.

You boop your index finger against the little boy’s nose before standing up straight and heading in Eddie’s direction. The two of you exit into the hallway and Eddie closes the door almost all the way–leaving it open just a crack to allow some of the hallway light in.

The two of you are silent as you walk to the living room, both silently dreading that it’s time to part for the evening. You swipe your bag up from the couch and slip it onto your shoulder.

“I guess I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow,” you say, reluctantly taking steps toward the front door.

“Thanks for staying longer than you had to,” Eddie says, walking you to the door like always. He feels like he should add the words “for the boys” to the end of his sentence, but he can’t bring himself to. As much as the boys adore you, Eddie knows he is without a doubt the happiest one that you stayed for dinner and until bedtime.

“It was fun,” you tell him. “I always have fun here.”

“Always?” Eddie teases, raising his eyebrows. “Can I remind you that you said that the next time Luke has a meltdown?”

“Sure,” you reply with a chuckle.

The electricity in the air threatens to spark at any moment as Eddie reaches around you to open the front door.

“Drive careful, sweetheart,” he says.

“No,” you tease with a playful smirk. “I’m going to drive recklessly. Run all the red lights.”

“Don’t give me reason to worry,” Eddie mumbles, knocking his shoulder against yours.

“Aww,” you coo. “You worry about me?”

Heat rises to Eddie’s cheeks and he desperately wills it to move back down his body.

“Alright, smart ass.” Eddie wrinkles his nose up and pretends to shove you out the door.

With a laugh, you playfully stumble down the walkway a few steps, acting as if his push was that strong.

“Oh, fine!” you lament over-dramatically. “I’ll be a good girl! Bye, Eddie.”

A good girl. Suddenly, Eddie wishes that heat and blood would stay in his face instead of rushing to his groin like it currently is.

“Bye, sweetheart.”

The moment you’re safely in your car and Eddie hears the engine start, he closes the front door and groans in time with the locking mechanism clicking into place.

“This just feels cruel,” he mumbles to himself as he rests his forehead against the cool wood of the door. He lets himself stand there until he hears your car rumble down the road and off into the night.

It takes a Herculean effort to push himself up and head deeper into the house. Out of habit, Eddie glances at the clock on the wall to see if Brittany will be home soon or not. It’s useless though—there’s never a set time she comes home. Who knows where she is or what she’s doing? Or who she’s doing. The pseudo-schedule the household used to follow has fallen by the wayside, so Eddie mentally tells himself to ignore it altogether. Easier said than done, of course.

When Eddie steps into the hallway it’s silent. No sounds of Luke sneaking out of bed to play with his toys or Ryan fumbling for his flashlight to read beneath his covers. Heaving a sigh, Eddie decides he might as well take care of the situation in his pants.

Despite Brittany not being home, Eddie locks the bedroom door behind him. Luke has also started the bad habit of opening any and every door without knocking first. So, better to be safe than sorry.

“Okay, think of someone else,” Eddie says to himself as he rids himself of his clothes. “Anyone else. Not her.”

It shouldn’t be hard to think of another woman to get himself off. Hell, for the entirety of Eddie’s teenage years, he could’ve jacked it to almost any woman and it would be great. Now he can’t seem to get this one specific, unattainable woman out of his mind.

He shucks the last of his clothes off and lays down on his bed, wracking his brain for someone who can get the job done. Julia Roberts? Nah. Jennifer Aniston? No. Cindy Crawford? Nope. Nicole Kidman? Maybe….no. Aunt Viv from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air? The first, not the second one. Still no.

“Fuck,” Eddie groans, letting his eyes fall closed as he wraps his hand around his semi-hard shaft. He licks over his lips and tries to let himself relax. The only way Eddie is going to be able to take care of this problem is to think about you and he knows it. He also knows he needs to hurry up if he wants to finish before Brittany comes home.

The mere thought of the woman who sleeps next to him at night has him softening slightly in his hand. A snort of laughter comes out, Eddie finding that humorous. Objectively, Brittany is beautiful, but knowing the rot and decay that lays just beneath the surface ruins any attractiveness Eddie could ever find in her anymore. Even though he already knows what will happen, Eddie immediately switches his thoughts over to you to see the effect. It’s instant. His cock comes to life at the very thought of your name.

No shit, Eddie thinks to himself as he opens his legs a little wider. Because she’s literally a fucking goddess. God, those eyes. Eddie’s hand grips himself a little tighter and moves down towards the base.

“Say you’re a good girl again, baby,” Eddie mumbles under his breath. Fuck, he can’t believe he was lucky enough to hear those words come from your lips. Jesus, he can hardly imagine being lucky enough to come home to you at the end of the day. Walking in the door after work and seeing you is already what he looks forward to all day, he can’t fathom how he would feel if you greeted him with a kiss and stayed there with him and the boys all night. And once the boys go to bed it’s time for some fun.

“Please.”

The word tumbles from Eddie’s lips but he’s not entirely sure what he’s asking for. You to be there with him? You to be by his side always? You to be here, naked, with your hand around him instead of his own?

Okay, Eddie thinks, shifting to make himself more comfortable. There we go, think about coming home to her.

He begins to slowly stroke his cock up and down.

Eddie imagines walking through the front door and kicking his boots off. Your voice hums sweetly from the kitchen and it brings a smile to his face.

“What smells so good, huh?” he asks as he strolls into the room.

The sight he’s greeted by is almost enough to bring him to his knees. You stand at the counter, facing him, an apron on and a bowl full of cake batter held in your hands.

“Welcome home,” you say.

Dark brown eyes follow your every move as you slowly dip your forefinger into the batter and pop it into your mouth. Eddie finds himself holding his breath as you slide your finger out from between your plush pink lips at a torturous pace.

As if the first time wasn’t enough, you dip your finger back in, but instead of putting it in your mouth this time, you point your finger up and stick your tongue out to lick every speck of vanilla batter off of it.

“Oh, fuck me,” Eddie moans.

With a soft laugh, you set the bowl down and look up at Eddie through your thick eyelashes.

“Funny. I was going to say that to you.”

A rough growl reverberates from Eddie’s chest as he moves forward to grab you by the hips. It’s only once he has his hands on you that he realizes not only are you wearing the apron—you’re wearing only the apron.

“God damn, baby,” he mutters. Calloused hands slide back just slightly and come into contact with your bare ass. He drops his head forward to rest against yours with a helpless whine.

You giggle, tilting your head up to brush your nose against his.

“I like the sounds you make,” you tell him, voice thick with lust.

Before he responds, Eddie presses a few gentle kisses along your bare shoulder and up the side of your throat.

“I want to hear your noises, too.”

“Hmm,” you hum. “I don’t think that’ll be very hard to manage.” You reach up with your left hand and tug on the tied apron string resting on the nape of your neck. The front of the apron falls down, leaving your entire torso exposed to Eddie.

A guttural groan meets your ears as strong hands grab you by the waist and help you up onto the counter. Immediately, you spread your legs and Eddie stands between them, the two of you fighting with the apron to get it all the way off you.

Eddie tosses it over his shoulder as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling the two of your bodies as close as possible.

“Eddie,” you whine, reaching up to bury your fingers in his unruly curls.

“What baby?” His breath brushes against your lips, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Need you.” Using your grip on his hair, you pull Eddie’s face down to crash against yours.

Mouths meet, lips dancing, tongues exploring, and teeth clashing. Strong yet gentle fingertips dig into your skin, yearning to hold you as tight as humanly possible. Nothing is close enough.

Eddie pulls back just enough to playfully nip at your bottom lip.

“Being such a good girl for me,” he rasps.

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you run your nose along the edge of Eddie’s jawline.

“Wanna be so good for you. Wanna feel you, Eddie. Pretty please?”

A smug smirk grows on Eddie’s face as he reaches between your two bodies to unzip his navy blue coveralls. You shove the material down his hips as Eddie whips his white undershirt off over his head.

“Ready for me, princess?”

Eddie lines himself up with your entrance, glancing up at your face as he waits for your approval.

“God, yes!” You nod emphatically, wiggling your hips in an attempt to get him inside of you faster.

Eddie grins at your eagerness, putting both of you out of your misery as he pushes inside.

“Fuck,” he groans.

“Oh!” You whimper, clinging to Eddie’s shoulders.

The sweet little noises spilling from your lips only encourage Eddie. He pulls almost all the way out before thrusting back into your tight wet heat. It feels as close to euphoria as Eddie’s ever felt. He wants to spend forever between your legs, but it feels far too good to last long.

“Feels so good,” you whine.

“Yeah, baby?” Eddie asks. “Like when I…oh, fuck.”

Eddie doesn’t have time to imagine what he’d say next before hot cum starts to pour over his fist.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mumbles as his orgasm works its way through his body. His hand keeps going, milking his cock for everything that it’s worth.

Once he’s well and truly spent, Eddie lets his boneless body sink into the mattress. His arm flings over the side of the bed and his fingertips brush against his t-shirt laying on the floor. Blindly, he picks it up and wipes his coated hand off before wiping the cum off his abdomen, legs, and anywhere else it went.

“Holy shit,” Eddie sighs. His head falls to the side and his eyes slip closed. A goofy smile comes to his face as his mind returns to you. “Fuck, I’m so gone for her.”

[steddieas-shegoes]

i don’t know why i can’t take my eyes off of you

for @steddielovemonth day one using You and Me by Lifehouse

rated t | 1186 words | no cw | tags: future fic, second chances, mutual pining, idiots in love, songwriter Eddie, teacher Steve

🛒🛒🛒🛒🛒🛒🛒🛒

Steve’s walking down the frozen section of Melvald’s when time stops.

Not literally. The watch on his wrist is still ticking. The clock on the wall at the front of the store is still moving. People around him are still grabbing their groceries.

But Eddie Munson is standing in front of the ice cream section like he belongs there.

Eddie left Hawkins five years ago.

He kissed Steve on the lips, then the forehead, and left.

Steve’s thought about it, about him, every day since.

Eddie hasn’t noticed him yet. Maybe Steve should leave before he does. Last he’d heard, Eddie was working at a recording studio as a songwriter, halfway making his dreams come true.

He’s happy, or at least that’s what all the kids have said when he’s brought up. They don’t know about the kiss, at least Steve doesn’t think they do. He’s never told them.

It’s busy enough in the store that Steve’s pretty sure he can sneak away before Eddie sees him. He starts to back away, but immediately bumps into an old woman.

“I’m so sorry, are you okay?” He’s asking, and she’s brushing him off and saying she’s fine. He feels terrible.

“Steve?” Eddie’s voice is like music, always has been a melody made specifically for Steve.

“Eddie,” Steve says as the old woman walks away. “Hey.”

Steve forgets he’s in public as the world around him fades and all he sees, smells, wants, is Eddie.

“I didn’t know you were still in Hawkins,” Eddie says quietly, leaning forward on his toes. He’s got a new battle vest, though it looks well-worn. Steve wonders if he knows that his old vest is hanging in his closet, if he knows that Steve pulls it out every once in a while so he can put it on and feel a little less alone.

“Yeah. Never left.” It sounds worse than it is. Steve always said he’d leave when all the kids left, but once they did, he didn’t know where to go. It’s not like he could follow them around, couch-surfing across the country a month or two at a time, burdening them with his self-imposed loneliness.

“You look good,” Eddie says, changing the subject.

Leaving Hawkins was a touchy subject for Steve the last time he’d seen Eddie. It still is. Eddie must sense that.

“So do you,” Steve breathes out. He does. He looks healthy and happy, something Hawkins had completely drained from him before. “What are you doing back?”

“Just visiting Wayne. Usually he comes to see me, but he insisted he didn’t wanna deal with the ‘big city’ this time. And I’m the best nephew, so I said ‘sure, old man, I’ll go back to the town that hates my guts!’ And here I am trying to find my favorite ice cream at the store. They don’t have it,” Eddie shrugs. He rambles when he’s nervous, still. “He hasn’t mentioned seeing you around or anything, though.”

“Yeah, I guess we don’t cross paths much,” Steve laughs awkwardly. He can’t remember the last time he saw Wayne. Must’ve been around Christmas, when Steve was helping Joyce with her decorations while Hopper worked overtime and Wayne stopped by to drop off some lights. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s good. Stubborn as hell. Won’t retire even though he could,” Eddie shakes his head. “Think he’s scared of being bored.”

“Or lonely.”

The words escape Steve before he can hold them back.

Eddie’s face softens, but it’s not full of pity. Everyone always gives Steve this look, like they know he’s putting on a brave face. Not Eddie.

“Wayne’s always been content alone. He’s got friends, and he calls me when he has something new to argue about,” Eddie leans in closer. “I don’t really worry about Wayne. Other people, sure.”

“Like who?” Steve swallows.

“You settle down yet?” Eddie asks in response.

Steve’s so shocked by the question, he doesn’t answer.

“I figured the kids were just being nice by not telling me if you did, but you’re not wearing a ring and you’re grocery shopping alone, so…” Eddie rambles again. Steve feels his heart flutter in his chest.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Are you dating someone?”

Steve shakes his head. “Haven’t really found anyone interesting.”

“Interesting? Since when does Steve Harrington want someone interesting?”

Since the most interesting person he knows kissed him and then left. Since everyone else is boring in comparison to you. Since he realized he was dumb to let you go.

“I guess what I thought I wanted is different now. Has been for a while,” Steve shrugs.

It’s strange how easily Steve becomes wrapped up in Eddie’s orbit, how quickly everything else didn’t matter the moment Eddie started talking to him. It’s just the two of them.

“Excuse me,” a man says to their left. Steve jumps back and apologizes for blocking where he needed to be. Eddie’s eyes never leave Steve.

When the man walks away, Steve clears his throat.

“How long are you in town?”

“How long will it take me to convince you to come back with me?”

Steve chokes on his next breath. “What? Come back with you? To…”

“New York or Chicago. I’m getting a promotion and they’ll let me pick where I wanna go. I’ve been leaning towards Chicago because more of the music I enjoy is making a mark there,” Eddie explains. “And there’s plenty of options for you there, too. Dustin said you just finished your teaching degree.”

“Dustin talks about me?”

“Only when unprovoked,” Eddie grins. “Have you been waiting for me?”

It’s blunt, but Eddie always has been. Steve can hide a lot of emotions from people; It’s been a survival tactic for most of his life.

He’s never been able to hide shit from Eddie.

“Not on purpose.”

Eddie looks at his basket of items. He was really only here for a few things, but he saw his favorite cookies were on sale and he couldn’t resist stocking up. He looks between the basket and Eddie’s eyes.

“You wanna come to mine for dinner?”

“Is dinner cookies?” Eddie laughs, poking at the package closest to the top.

“That’s dessert,” Steve laughs, too. He finds it easy. He never thought it could be this easy after the time that’s passed, the distance they had between them.

“First dessert.”

“What are we, hobbits?” Steve asks.

Eddie’s jaw drops open. “Steve, please. Not in public.”

“What?”

“I didn’t know you read it!” Eddie groans, but he’s smiling, so Steve’s not actually worried.

“I’ve read a lot of things! I’ve been waiting for you, remember?”

An announcement starts in the store— someone’s car is blocking a delivery truck entrance— and they both take a step away from each other. They were much closer than they should be in the grocery store.

This is still Hawkins, and people already don’t like Eddie. Looking cozier than two dudes normally would might be dangerous for both of them.

“So. Dinner?” Steve asks again. It’s easier to remember there are other people around with some distance between them.

“Sure. Dinner.”

Time starts again.

[lyjen]

Behind Closed Doors | Eddie Diaz

Summary: Two years ago, (Y/n) managed to escape her abusive, bad, drug business ex-boyfriend by snitching him. But now, after all she’s been through, he found her. He’s back and filled with rage. He decides to shoot his shot when (Y/n) is babysitting Chris as Eddie’s at work.

Request: @megafandomsxassemble

9-1-1 Masterlist

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

(Y/n) smiled at the sight of Chris fastening towards the shelter where the jaguar lives in the Los Angeles zoo. Eddie’s fingers were intertwined with (Y/n)’s as they walked through the zoo, Eddie pressed his lips against the side of (Y/n)’s head. “It’s nice, seeing Chris happy” (Y/n) said as she glanced over at Eddie, who had his eyes locked on Chris.

“I haven’t seen him this happy in a while.” Eddie said without letting Chris out of his sight. “What about you? You’re happy to be back at work?” (Y/n) couldn’t help but ask.

Since Metro dispatch had been caught fire, Eddie finally got the chance to put on the turnout gear again, and he finally got back to the 118, he seemed happier. But it still would be nice to hear it from himself. “I’m not made for sitting behind a desk, making tweets and calling with journalists. The one eighteen is where I belong.” Eddie started as he now finally glanced back at her.

“I have a job that I love, a kid that I love, and an amazing girlfriend who I also love. So to answer your question: yes. I’m happy.” he continued as he ended his words with a smile he sent her.

They slowly walked closer to Chris, as the sound of a vibrating phone mixed with a ringtone started to fill her eardrums. She let her free hand open her bag, and fish out her phone while Eddie waited for her to decide if she wanted to answer or not.

“It’s Buck” she said as she looked over at Eddie, “Do you mind if I-?” she added as she motioned her head towards the phone. He shook his head, “No, sure.. go ahead. I’ll go and keep Chris some company.” Eddie said as the grip of his hand got looser, and their hands disconnected.

Not even a few seconds later Eddie was going towards Chris, and (Y/n)’s thumb clicked the green button to accept the call. She held her phone against her ear as she greeted her brother.

“Hey sis, I feel like this is a bad time to call, is it?” Buck sounded through the phone, she laughed at his sudden reaction. “No it isn’t, but it’s nice you’re still trying to use your twin abilities. Even though it never worked.” she answered her twin brother through the phone.

The Buckley family didn’t really count on two babies after they tried to save Daniel. But when the doctor checked, they found baby A and B. Another chance to save Daniel, that’s what they thought. But even though Buck was a match to his older brother, the bone marrow cells failed to graft causing a relapse of symptoms one year after the two were born.

“I was just calling to check on you, what are you up to today?” He asked, it was sweet of him to keep on checking on his sister every now and then. Even though they saw each other almost everyday. “Um, Eddie and I took Chris to the zoo. Ever since they’ve renovated it and fixed everything after the black out, he has been begging us to go.” she explained as she slowly scanned the environment she was in and paced back and forth.

“Can’t say no to the boy, can you?” Buck chuckled through the phone, making her laugh again. He knew his twin too well. “Yeah, it’s the puppy eyes he makes that wins me over. I don’t know about Eddie, I think he can handle it better than me.” she explained, as she looked at her feet and back into the scene she was in.

“You okay though? I mean it has been a while since you’ve been with someone since..” Buck stopped finishing his sentence. “You know who..” he added, he wasn’t going to say the name of her ex-boyfriend, it was like his name was cursed. It made her stop pacing around, and close her eyes for a second.

Blake.

That was the name he didn’t want to say or use.

Blake seemed like a good guy, and he was… at least until he had (Y/n) wrapped around his finger. No one knew what happened behind closed doors until (Y/n) managed to get out, and told the truth.

*

Arlington, Texas, US

“I’m sorry we barged into your house like that.” A male voice filled the interrogation room she was in, as he placed a cup of water in front of her. (Y/n) just looked at the man who was standing across from her, while she was sitting in a chair made of metal. Her hair was messy, she was wearing her oversized flannel, she basically looked like shit.

When the silence in the room became louder than the two persons, the man decided to break it, continuing his story. “We’re trying to locate your boyfriend, Blake Dyer.” he continued his last sentence.

Only hearing his name sent a shiver down her spine and her blood ran cold. Of course they were looking for him. Her mind screamed: red flags, red flags when she ever laid eyes on him. But something about him made her heart beat faster. Can you even call that a boyfriend? A guy that abuses you and hits you for every small thing you do wrong?

She swallowed as she looked down to her hands, pushing the fabric of the flannel sleeve over her fingers, hiding her skin, her anxiousness, her being scared for what was going to happen if he would’ve found out if she started talking to cops. What if Blake found out she was here instead of at home? He’d hurt her, not only with words.

She wanted to leave, but part of her desperately wanted to call out for help.

“(Y/n), do you have any idea where we can find him? Did he say anything? Talk to someone? Every little detail could help us.” The man leaned his back against the wall, as he tried to get something out of her.

“I don’t know” she whispered, barely audible. Her eyes were locked on her hands as she fidgeted the flannel fabric between her hands and fingers, everything to avoid eye contact with the man that was across from her. Making the man sigh, she wasn’t saying much, but at least he got something out of her.

“He’s hurting you, isn’t he?” he asked her, and that was the moment she locked eyes with the man immediately. She shook her head as if her life depended on it. Slowly, he stepped closer, “The bruises on your arms and the wound on the side of your head are telling me a different story.” he said, looking into her eyes. The fast reaction to his question, and the fear in her eyes spoke volumes.

She wanted to nod, so badly to the question he asked before, tell him everything she knew about him. But, what if they couldn’t find him and he found her instead?

“We can help you, (Y/n). Get you out of the city, state, anywhere, somewhere safe.” he said, as he couldn’t step any further forward because of the table. She didn’t know where to look, but when he told her that, she was intrigued.

This was it, this was her ticket out of the shit hole she had been in for months, unable to escape. Blake had been telling her she couldn’t leave, despite that, she had tried. Multiple times, but somehow every attempt, he found her. At some point he even broke her arm, and completely knocked her out.

“But we can only do that, if you help us.” he added as he moved past the table and crouched down to be on the same height as her. He could see she was thinking, weighing the pro’s and con’s, the thousand scenarios in her head.

“I can give you some time to think about it.” he offered, but when he said that she shook her head like she was trying to give herself a concussion. “No-” she said a bit too loud, as she cleared her throat. “I’ll help, but you have to promise me that he can never find me.” she answered.

The man pressed his lips into a thin line, trying to tell her without any words that she was doing the right thing. “You help us, and we’ll help you. I promise.” the man held out a hand. For a second she hesitated, but she pushed her arm through the sleeve from the flannel, and gave the man a hand.

He gave her a small nod, “So what can you tell us about Blake Dyer?”

She told them everything.

*

It wasn’t until a loud sigh left her mouth, when she remembered that name. “I’m.. okay” she told Buck through the phone. She had been going to therapy a lot since she fled from Texas and came to California. The police had helped her get out of Arlington, and out of Texas. This whole entire story about Blake ended about two years ago.

And that’s how she ended up in Los Angeles, luckily she didn’t end up living on the couch at her brother’s place. But a small home she rents with help from the Texas police.

“Are you sure?” Buck’s voice sounded concerned as he heard her voice through the phone. She was happy her brother was checking on her and her feelings, something they both had missed when she was with her ex in Texas.

“Yes.. Buck, it’s not like you have to check up on me every time you drop that name. He’s in the past, I’m not in Texas anymore.” She told him she was okay and she didn’t lie, but that weird tingly feeling inside of her stomach every now and then when someone dropped that name, wouldn’t go away.

“Okay, okay.. excuse me for being actually concerned about my sister.” Buck reacted at her words. “But tell me, things between you and Eddie..?” he continued, he wanted to make sure she wouldn’t over step her own boundaries, not that he didn’t trust Eddie, but she was wounded, hurt. And she took the time to heal, but it was scary for her to just step back into something new, when she didn’t really know what true love was. How do you know if you can truly trust someone? How do you know if he’s the one, when someone before him completely broke you mentally and physically?

“We are fine, we talked together, and both agreed we are going to take things my speed.” she said softly, as she nodded to herself that she was doing good. “Baby steps” she added to the sentence. She couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Chris and Eddie being together, looking at the information sign of the animal.

“Oh he better, because I swear if he pushes you, making you go over boundaries, I’ll beat his ass, maybe even kill him.” She laughed at her brother’s words, he was determined to keep his sister safe now. He missed the signs back then, and he wasn’t going to let anything happen to her now that they had found each other again. Her eyes were now focussed on her feet as she turned on her heels, continuing pacing through the small part of the zoo she was.

Her eyes wandered from her feet, up to the connected paths of the zoo. But instantly, her stomach turned at the sight of one of the ten maybe hundreds of people walking through the zoo. It was like when you suddenly hear your name being called by a teacher to speak in front of the class, when you’re incredibly shy.

Know that feeling? That’s exactly the one she had at this point.

Maybe she was starting to hallucinate after he was brought up again, and this was all playing in her head. A guy, who looked just like Blake, walked by. Maybe it was Blake? No, it couldn’t be. Maybe some kind of döppleganger? Blake couldn’t be here, he was in prison for at least seven years with all the evidence they found back then.

Only two years had passed. This wasn’t possible. This had to be a look alike.

The questions were instantly running through her mind as her brother kept on talking to her on the phone.

The shock of seeing some döppleganger, made her instantly look in another direction. But when all of those questions were running through her mind, and she tried to answer part of them, being sure that it wasn’t him, she looked back to double check.

But he wasn’t there. He was gone. Was she imagining things?

Panic was starting to creep into her chest and mind, as she looked around to see if she could find the guy again.

“You should see Chris-” Buck was telling his sister about how Chris is starting to become a real architect because of one of the projects he needed to make for school. But (Y/n) wasn’t listening anymore. “Hey Buck, I’ll call you back okay?” she said, and lowered the phone in her hand. “What? oh yeah, sure-” His voice was audible as the phone made its way down. Before Buck could end his sentence, he got hung up.

She shoved her phone back into her purse not even a second after she ended the call as she fastened her steps towards Eddie who was still with Chris.

“Eddie?” The sound of (Y/n)’s voice sounded through his eardrums. Eddie could tell only by hearing her voice that something was up, her breathing was fastened. He glanced at her as he looked to his side, she seemed upset.

Eddie turned himself towards her, fully facing her now as he had his right hand on the shoulder of his son.

“Hey, is something wrong? Who called-” A worried look was spread over Eddie’s face as he looked at the girl, trying to keep her cool, but it almost looked like she could have a panic attack any moment now. “Can I borrow you for a second?” she asked, as loud as a whisper.

She didn’t want to start spilling her guts when Chris was next to them, trying to enjoy the zoo animals in the area. Eddie nodded, “Sure.. just one second.” he said as he held up his index finger. He turned to Chris who was still fascinated by the animal on the other side. “Hey bud, we’ll be right there if you need us. Stay here for me, okay?” he said as he leaned his head next to Chris’.

“Okay” Chris simply said as his eyes were focussed on the animal, practically drowning in the sight or maybe drowning in fascination. Eddie gave his son a small pat on his shoulder as they took a few steps back, not too far away from Chris, but far enough so he wouldn’t hear the conversation.

She stopped as she placed her face in the palm of her hands and sighed. Eddie stopped in front of her, as he waited for her to start the conversation she wanted to have so badly. After a few counts she disconnected her hands from her face. “Maybe I’m hallucinating, or maybe I am not and.. ” she gasped as she avoided eye contact with him.

“And you’re probably going to say I sound insane.” she rattled as her mouth was moving faster than her mind. “I’ll decide for myself if you sound insane. Now, what’s wrong?” He asked softly, as he grabbed one of her hands and rubbed his thumb on the inside of her hand, trying to calm her down.

“I was on the phone with Buck, he was checking in on me like almost every other day. But then, his name popped up again. And I… thought I saw him.” she didn’t rattle this time, it was still a little bit faster than a usual sentence, but the touch of Eddie helped her calm her nerves a bit.

His eyebrows furrowed at her words, “Who?” She kept referring to “him”, Eddie knew all about her story from the beginning to the end and all the details in between. “Blake” she whispered, as she suddenly looked around like somebody was going to shoot her at any second now. “What? I thought he was in jail? And in another state, right?” He said.

“But I swear I saw him standing right there.” (t/n) said and pointed at the exact same location she saw him earlier. Eddie’s eyes follow her finger as he scans the entire scene they were in, it was like he was hunting for monsters in Chris’ room when he was younger. “(Y/n)..” her name fell off his lips, as he looked back at her, his thumb still tracing over the palm of her hand.

“You think I'm insane don’t you?” She concluded before he could say anything else, as she pulled her hand from his touch.

“No, no, no that isn’t what I’m saying.” Eddie Saïd as soon as she turned her back to him and placed her hand on her forehead. “I just-..” Eddie continued, stumbling. How was he going to say this? He needed her to get out of her own head.

She turned back around, facing her boyfriend again. “Listen, he’s behind bars for at least seven years, that’s what the officer told you back then. Only two years have passed now, and besides that, he’s not going to be able to find you. They covered your tracks back there and they knew what they were doing.” He told her as she was still a bit overwhelmed and stressed.

She wasn't focussed on anything he told her, at least that's what it looked like. But she was listening. Eddie’s hands reached out for her shoulders, as he placed both his hands on it.

“You’re still processing your trauma, and you will be maybe for your entire life. Hallucinations are part of that too. Believe me, I still have them too from the army and it sucks.” Her eyes were locked onto his as his words entered her ears. One of the hands that was on her shoulders, moved from her shoulder to her own hand.

He gently grabbed her hand, “But I’m here with you. I’m real.” He said, and placed her hand onto his own chest, as one last attempt to calm her down.

It's quiet for a moment as (Y/n) didn’t know what to do. “Eddie.. I-” she stumbled as Eddie stopped her mid sentence. “Just focus on my heartbeat okay?” He said as she nodded.

It looked weird for every single person passing by, but yet it did something calming to her. Her breathing became slowly normal, and the panic that was rushing through her veins left her body. “Good?” Eddie softly asked as he noticed her body became less and less tense.

She let out one last loud sigh, with her eyes closed as the sound of Eddie’s voice entered her ears, “You’re safe.”

______

(Y/n) pressed the freshly washed shirt to her chest as she folded it and placed the t-shirt in the laundry basket. The tv was playing in the background as she continued folding the other pieces of just washed and dried laundry, that was on one big pile lying next to her on the couch.

She glanced at the clock in the living room. It was getting late, Eddie was on shift since early in the morning, and wasn’t coming home until the next morning: he was on a twenty four hour shift.

While Eddie was on shift, (Y/n) agreed to stay over at Eddie’s place to look after Chris. (Y/n) didn’t mind, it gave her the time and place to get to know his son when he wasn’t around. Sometimes Chris and (Y/n) would play video games together, and other times they would have a movie night.

But that wasn’t the case right now, Chris was upstairs doing his homework as (Y/n) was doing some chores. It made her feel useful, she didn’t just want to sit her ass down and scroll through her phone or watch trash television.

(Y/n) fished a navy blue t-shirt from the pile, as she tried to undo the shirt from the ball form. But the second she wanted to fold the t-shirt, a loud sound sounded from what she guessed was the kitchen. She was startled by the sudden sound and she was standing upright, old habits.

She had spent years being wary of every little sound from outside. That’s why she had cameras installed outside her home, and a 360 camera inside her home. Just to give her a feeling of security.

She scanned the entire scene she was in, and her eyebrows furrowed as another sound was coming from the exact same location. It couldn’t be Chris, right? If he came down stairs she should’ve noticed it. Cautiously she made her way towards the staircase, with every step she took, she scanned the environment, so she could see any changes if there were any.

When she reached the start of the stairs, she cleared her throat, “Chris you’re doing okay?” she asked not too loudly, she needed to know if he was upstairs or not. Her soft voice sounded through the house.

“I just started with math homework” Chris answered her question. She felt the anxiety rising on the inside of her body, Chris wasn’t the one she was hearing. It was something else. It made her stumble over her words as she tried to stay calm towards Chris. “Oh okay, If you need any help, just ask.” She told him as she felt her hands starting to sweat. “I will, thank you.”

She let out a deep breath as she made her way towards the kitchen, trying to find the source of the sound. (Y/n) stopped at one of the walls that were connected to the kitchen, placing her shoulder against the wall as she peeked along the wall, into the kitchen.

All of the curtains were closed in the kitchen, and the doors and windows were closed and locked. But her eye fell on the shadow that was visible on the backdoor of Eddie’s house. The curtain was right in front of it, but it looked like someone was trying to break into the house. Someone was trying to pick the lock.

(Y/n) fished her phone from her pocket, as she started searching for the app to see the live feed of the camera in the backyard Eddie had installed. He might not have been a fan of camera’s, and smart equipment, but it was important for him that his girlfriend felt safe in his house. And if that meant that Eddie had to install one or two camera’s around the house, he’d push his own feelings aside and did that for her.

She selected the app and waited for it to get the feed. The sound of someone trying to pick the lock was still continuing as she opened the live feed of the camera. At first, she couldn’t see anything since the person was wearing a black hood. But then the person turned around and for one quick second.

(Y/n) paused the infra red camera and quickly started to investigate the person that was in the backyard. She zoomed in, but her heart dropped as soon as she saw the tattoo’s on the guy’s hand. The hand was covered in some weird wave tattoo, and the other hand were a compilation of multiple smaller tattoos.

Blake. He had found her, and was here to get his revenge.

Her hand immediately was placed on her mouth as she tried so hard not to make any sound. She had to get to Chris, and get him to hide. She had to call for help. She didn’t even think, and sprinted towards the staircase she was just a minute ago. She had to multitask at this point.

Just as she stepped onto the first step of the stairs, she tapped Eddie’s contact and placed the phone against her ear. She rushed up the stairs as she impatiently waited for Eddie to pick up his phone. But she gets send to voicemail. “Hey this is Eddie-” a grunt left her mouth as she clicked the red button to stop the call. “Fuck” she muttered under her breath.

He must be on a call, that’s why he wasn’t answering her.

She looked to her left as she saw Chris, his bedroom light shining into the hallway. Soundless as possible she tried to make her way to his room. She stepped into his room and closed the door behind her. Making Chris look confused at her as he dropped his pencil. “Chris, I need you to do something for me.” she said as softly as she could.

“What is it?” he asked her as he watched her move through his room looking for a good place to hide. “I need you to hide with me.” she said, as she opened the folding doors in his room, opening his closet where his clothes hung.

“What?” Chris asked then, looking like she had gone insane. “Listen, I don’t have much time to explain. But someone is breaking into the house.” (Y/n) explained as she came closer to him and lowered herself to his height. “I know it sounds scary, but I’ll be with you the entire time.” she continued.

Chris nodded, “Okay” he said as he stood up from the chair and (Y/n) assisted him to get into the closet. Chris sat down in the corner of the closet as (Y/n) quickly, but soundless tried to turn off the lights. Like a jumpscare, her heart dropped when she heard the door downstairs click open.

When she managed to turn off the lights, she unlocked her phone that was still in her hand, and she tapped on Buck’s contact. Pressing the phone against her ear as she took place next to Chris, and closed the folding doors.

“Come on.. Pick up.” she mumbled as she grabbed a dark blanket out of one of the bags that were on the ground next to (Y/n) and placed it one handedly over Chris.

Eddie grabbed his phone from his pocket, as he let his turnout coat slide off his shoulders. and placed it back on the rack where he just had placed his helmet in too. “That fire was a beast” Eddie said as Buck finally made his way to the rack too and placed his helmet on it. “Another reminder why you should not infact store fireworks in your garage.” Buck laughed as a ringtone filled their ears.

Making Eddie check his phone, to see if anyone was trying to contact him. “Oh- (Y/n) tried to call me a few minutes ago.” he said as he waited for Buck to get his phone.

Buck immediately fished his phone out of his pocket as he felt the vibration in his right pocket where his phone was. He held his phone in his hand as he looked at the name who was trying to reach him. “Speaking of the devil” Buck laughed as he accepted the call and placed his phone to his ear.

“Buck. He found me. He’s here.” she blurted out in a whisper as softly as possible, hoping that the tv downstairs would compensate for the soft voice that came from the closet.

“Wow, wow, wow, slow down. What’s happening?” Buck asked as he tried to focus on his sister’s soft voice through the phone. The sobs through the words weren’t helping either. But the sound of her voice, and the cries, gave him a bad feeling the second he placed his phone to his ear.

“Blake is in the house. I’ve got Chris. Please. Get here now. I don't-” she sobbed as she placed her own hand in front of her mouth, trying to suppress the sound of her sobs.

The name he hoped to never hear ever again, fell off her lips, and that’s when he realized. He had found her. The back of Buck’s hand immediately flew against Eddie’s chest as he just looked confused. “Blake is in the house?” Buck repeated his name as he wanted some kind of confirmation. But he could only hear her muffled, quiet sobs and cries.

Buck’s mind was running a thousand miles an hour as he thought of all the kinds of scenarios that were going down right now. “Okay, (Y/n) I need you to hide and stay on the line until we get there okay?” He said, looking at Eddie as he nodded.

Eddie had a fire burning in his eyes as soon as he heard the name Blake and his location. She had been right about one week ago when they were in the Los Angeles zoo and she almost had a panic attack. Her abusive ex-boyfriend was back, and from what Eddie knew, about her telling the truth to the cops. He was sure Blake was back to get revenge.

His hands balled into fists as he squeezed them so tight together, his nails actually almost punctured through the skin on the inside of his hands as he made a sprint down the lower level of the station. He immediately aimed for Bobby, “Bobby I need to borrow the BC.” he said while thunder was projected onto his face.

Bobby was just looking at his phone, checking for any messages as Eddie stood right in front of him and dropped those words. And Eddie wasn’t asking. “Eddie what’s going on?” Bobby asked him as a frown appeared on his face. What ever just happened in those one or two minutes of time that he didn’t see the much younger firefighter, he went from neutral, to all worked up.

“Family emergency” he just answered, not getting into the details too much. Because even Eddie didn’t know what he was going to do if he’d get the chance to get his hands on Blake. But there was this fire burning on the inside of him, why was Blake back? Why couldn’t he just move on? Hell, why was he even out in the first place?

When Buck came rushing towards the two, Bobby could see the panic in his eyes. The kind he had never seen before. Sure he had seen Buck scared before, but this was different. Bobby switched looks between Buck and Eddie, “fine take the BC” he said, and not even a second after he finished his answer, they were already running towards the car.

“(Y/n) Hold on okay! We’re on our way!” Buck’s voice sounded through the phone as she pressed the phone closer to her ear, she pressed her lips tighter on each other as she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she felt her heart trying to jump free from her chest.

She had to calm herself down, she didn’t want him to give away their hiding spot. And she certainly didn’t want to be the reason he found them, if something were to happen to Chris, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever be able to forgive herself. A warm hand was connected to hers as she closed her eyes for a second and looked down to her lap, trying to focus on her breathing.

(Y/n) glanced to her side, it was too dark to see, but she was sure Chris his hand was placed on hers, he was trying to help her. She couldn’t help but smile weakly through her tears, her phone was still connected to her ear and she heard Eddie was calling 9-1-1 while Buck was still on the phone with her. He knew she couldn’t talk back, but every now and then he told her their location, or to hold on, anything to soothe her.

She muted the audio from Buck and Eddie and placed the phone onto the floor in between Chris and herself. (Y/n) let her hand slide through Chris’ hair and pressed a kiss onto the top of his head, trying to soothe him and herself. She didn’t dare to say anything.

It was too quiet on the first floor they were on. But the second she thought that, she could hear the door of Eddie’s room next door open harshly, making the doorknob bouncing into the door. Followed by something made of glass falling down to the ground. She guessed that were the photo’s Eddie had in his room.

Every frame that fell into pieces made her flinch at the sound. The photo’s probably made him even more angrier. He had been in prison for the last two years, while she was just continuïng with her life, trying to rebuild it. While he had been suffering.

“(Y/n)!” Blake’s voice called out, “I know you’re here!” he added, he sounded aggressive as his words were being followed by another shatter of glass and a loud bang. The way her name left his mouth made a shiver roll down her spine, and made her even more terrified. She hadn’t heard his voice for months, years, but him screaming, made it even more real.

Secretly, she hoped this all was a terrible nightmare and she’d wake up any second by now. But no matter how hard she tried, the dream, or nightmare wouldn’t end. “You really think you can hide from me?” he laughed as (Y/n) heard the door open even more closer to them. He had opened Chris’ door. He was in his room.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” he continued calling out as (y/n) could hear the heavy footsteps walking over the creaking wood. Her hand was pressed over her mouth as she soundless helped chris underneath the blanket. Tears were blurring her vision, as she heard the footsteps coming closer and closer.

Just when the footsteps seemed to leave the side of the closet they were in, she inaudibly let out her breath she was holding. She looked at the small ball Chris was, almost morphing into the wall. He was doing so good, he was such a brave kid.

But she felt her heart drop as soon as she felt a grip around her ankle, and before she knew what was going on, she got dragged from the closet. A high pitched yelp left her mouth as she got dragged through Chris' room. “Missed me? Bitch.” he groaned as he kept on pulling her leg. (Y/n) tried to kick her free foot against his body to let her ankle go.

They left the room and the second she saw where he was heading, she grabbed the first wooden baluster from the staircase to stop him from pulling her down the stairs. She held on like this was her lifeline, as she felt her body almost split into two as Blake kept on pulling on her leg.

She screamed as she used all of her strength to keep a hold on the wooden baluster. But then, Blake dropped her body by letting go of her ankle.

The second he did this, she tried to get up. With emphasis on tried, because the moment she got onto her knees, a fist full of hair was being grabbed. The tears welled up spontaneously in her eyes as she felt the pain on her head. “Look at you now with your oh so perfect little life.” He said, as he slowly came closer to her face.

He glanced at the photos that were hanging on the walls of the small hallway. “I see you got yourself a new boyfriend, but I got some news for you.” he laughed as he yanked her hair down even more down, so had to look at the pictures on the wall and was facing Blake at the same time.

(Y/n)’s eyes watched Blake’s hand reach down to his pocket. Further than that, she couldn’t see since he was forcing her to look at his face. But a fast high pitched sound filled her ears. The sound of something metal.

“You’re leaving him.” he continued his sentence as he admired the object in his hand for a moment, keeping it out of her line of sight just a little bit longer. Tears were streaming down her face, mixed emotions, the feeling of her hair being pulled from her skull, the fact that she was facing her ex that she had betrayed by snitching him to the cops.

She was gasping for a breath as she tried to keep her emotions under control. She could smell his awful breath, as his face came close enough. He hushed her cries, “Ssh, it’s okay. I don’t want to end this right away. I just want to enjoy this moment a little bit more.” he said with a smile and a laugh. Blake placed the sharp metal he just fished from his pocket underneath her eye.

It was a knife.

Blake used the blade of the knife to wipe away one of her tears that were tracing down her cheeks. Making her heartbeat in her chest even more. “You took everything from me.” he started as he investigated the tear on his blade, mixed with some small hairs from her skin you’d be barely able to see with the naked eye.

“And now.. It’s time you pay it back.” he added as he scanned her entire body once more. “Only better..” Blake ended his words with a whisper and folded the knife again and placed into his pocket. He wanted to let her suffer even more than she already had now and he wasn’t just going to kill her off right here and now. Not when the party was just getting started.

Her lips were pressed into a thin line as she looked at Blake full with anger. She didn’t answer his words. But she couldn’t help but spit into his face, she had to get out of his grip. The hairs were starting to hurt even more and more. The spit splashed onto his face, and without saying anything, he forced her onto her legs, and yanked her head into one of the photo frames that were hanging on the wall.

His hands were still tangled into her hair as he banged her another time into a second photoframe. Blood was now dripping from her nose as the second time her nose touched the glass first instead of her forehead. “You thought you could run from me hm? You dirty snitch.” he groaned, as he grabbed her chin and cheeks with his free hand. Squeezing it like she was a little baby.

The blood from her nose was making its way down to her lips. She could taste the iron as she felt her entire world spinning in front of her eyes. He roughly pulled her on her hair once more and gave her a hard push, making her lose her balance.

(Y/n) tried to get a grip of the balustrade of the staircase, to stop herself from falling down. But she couldn’t. It felt like she was free falling for a second, but then, her back connected with the wooden stairs harshly. The moment she felt herself falling down the stairs, all she could think of, was protecting her face.

She held her lower arms in front of her face, trying to keep it from getting hurt even more. Her body harshly fell down every single step of the staircase. She could practically feel the bruises start to form themselves onto her body as gravity finally let go of her body.

Face down to the ground, belly touching the ground, she opened her eyes. It felt like she just got out of a merry-go-around from the playground when she was younger. Her entire world was spinning, and it almost made her vomit. She groaned as she slowly tried to pushed herself into the table pose like yoga.

Her ears were ringing but she could hear slowly, harsh, loud footsteps that were approaching her. Just when she thought she had the energy to stand into the table pose, a heavy foot was placed onto her back, pushing her right back where she was. Almost like she was in the army and the trainer wasn’t having it. Except, this wasn’t the army, this was Blake. The ex boyfriend who wanted her dead.

She gasped as her body fell flat onto the floor again. She just felt him making a small circle around her. But then, the side of her body was hit by a sharp, deep, pain. He kicked his foot into her side like she was a football. Making (Y/n) start coughing, and rolling automatically onto her side. (Y/n) let out an ear deafening scream as she tried to soothe the pain by pressing her hand onto the spot.

Nothing else left her mouth but groans of pain. Blake just let her suffer for a few more seconds as he kicked her once more, this time hitting her entire lower torso. “I hope snitching on me was worth it.” he said as he pushed her weakly, in pain body, so she was now on her back.

It felt like her head could pop off her body within a snap of a finger. Her eyelids were heavy, as she looked through a small gap to keep her eyes open. He stepped over her body, standing over her with one foot on each side of her body.

Blake crouched down above her as he grabbed a fist full of her shirt, pulling her partly up from the ground. When her eyes were met by his face again, she felt a raging fire inside of her, an instinct of survival.

She started to push and kick her way out of the position, she was so close to giving up. But felt like she didn’t do enough. She wanted to badly to poke her fingers into his eyes, but before she even touched his face, he roughly grabbed both her arms and pinned them down to the wooden floor.

She was too weak for this, why was it that she was so afraid to fight back? Everytime she heard his voice, it made her froze into her position wherever she was. She couldn’t say anything, couldn’t move. She just froze.

Blake let go of one of her arms as he moved from her arm to her neck, and squeezed her airway shut with every single piece of energy he had left in his hand. “You put me in jail..” he mumbled as his fist turned red around her neck.

The second hand left her other arm, and assisted in blocking her airway. “I’ll put you in your coffin.” he added. (Y/n)’s hands were trying to get between the skin of her neck and his hands. But he was way too strong.

Dots were dancing around her eyes as she gasped for a single breath. She was kicking her feet in agony and her face was slowly turning red, and going from red towards blue. She could feel herself fading away.

But then, the grip around her throat loosened as she saw through the little space of her eye lids, Buck and Eddie pushing him stomach first down to the ground. She didn’t have a clue what was happening as her senses almost shut down.

She couldn’t hear anything clearly as she was gasping for a breath, and this time it did enter her lungs. (Y/n) coughed at the dry air entering her airway as she rolled onto her side tightening her arms around her stomach. Everything in her body hurted.

(Y/n) was in so much pain, she didn’t even see Athena enter the room as she arrested Blake. The only thing she could hear vaguely was her name falling off Eddie’s lips. She saw his black work shoes and the blue trousers coming closer to her as she just kept on crying out in pain.

Eddie felt her screams and cries go through his marrow and bones. It made shiver roll down his spine as he turned on his heels and looked at his girl, all curled up on the ground.

He didn’t know where to look. Her head was full with little scratches and blood, and her nose looked like it was broken. Those were the visible details he could see as he stood there, frozen.

Everything was happening in slow motion, her cries, Athena escorting Blake out as he noticed Buck running up the stairs.

Something happened inside of Eddie’s brain, making him get out of his own brain he was locked in for a minute, and he placed his knees on the ground, next to (Y/n). “(Y/n)?” Eddie’s words came out of his mouth like he was on the edge of crying. He never wanted this to happen to her. To anyone.

It was a horrible sight to witness. He pressed his lips into a thin line to suppress the emotions he felt as he looked at her.

(Y/n) didn’t want to let go of her stomach, it did give her some kind of pain relief. But the second Eddie kneeled next to her, not knowing what to do with his hand, he grabbed one of her hands as the other one remained on her stomach.

“I-I couldn’t..” she stumbled through her sobs.

Eddie was afraid to even touch her, hell, he was even afraid to move her at this point. It was like the medic inside of Eddie had left his body, he didn’t know what to do.

Maybe this is what Bobby usually meant on scene by: you can’t work on your family. He never felt this before, not even with Shannon when she basically died in his arms.

A small sob left his lips as he placed one hand on (Y/n)’s forehead, “It’s okay..” he whispered, he didn’t mean it to come out like a whisper. But he couldn’t control it. “You did.. so good.” he added, he had to push out the words.

A feeling of guilt spread itself through Eddie’s body as he took in the picture right in front of him, once more. What if he stayed home? Maybe this wouldn’t have happened, or maybe it still did, but then he’d be there to protect the both of them, the people he loved.

He pressed a kiss on the back of her hand, trying to soothe her. “I-I..” she continued to stumble, but when Eddie let his eyes wander from their hands to her face, he could see (Y/n) was fading away.

Her eyes were trying to shut down, like she was falling asleep in front of the tv. “No, no, no. Hey, (Y/n) I know you’re tired.. but you have to stay awake.” he said as he gently tapped her on her cheek to keep her awake. Her eyes just slowly opened again.

He could tell she was having trouble with keeping herself conscious. Quick enough, her eyes were trying to close again, she nodded “I know” she mumbled under her breath. “I’m just..-” she continued mumbling, “tired? I know mi amor.. I know.” Eddie finished her words, the voice of him sounded in the back of her head. But Eddie could feel his heart skip a beat when he saw her head tilt to the side.

“(Y/n)?” Eddie’s voice was filled with terror and fear as he watched his girlfriend’s head tilt to the side, losing consciousness. Her name fell off his lips multiple times as he tried gently to wake her up again. His hands moved to her face, tapping against her skin. But there was no movement.

“Don’t do this to me!” words fell off his lips, more like a yell. He pressed his fingers against her neck to feel her pulse. It was racing like she had run a marathon and dropped to the ground. But that wasn’t the case.

Placed his face next to her mouth, he felt oxygen entering and leaving her mouth. She was still breathing.. for now. The medic inside of Eddie had to come back to think clearly. He needed to help her now that the paramedics weren’t here yet.

He could still hear her voice in his head, complaining about her abdomen. And with that thought in his head, he grabbed the lower part of her t-shirt and lifted it. Eddie’s eyes were locked onto the swollen abdomen mixed with a bloody red spot.

She was bleeding internally.

The shock was written all over his face as he felt a piece on the inside of him break down. “No, no, no..” he mumbled as he pulled the shirt even higher, to examine her even further. Her chest wasn’t as bad as her lower part. But when Eddie pushed her gently to her side, to catch a glimpse of her back, he stopped breathing for a second.

Her back was filled with bruises. “Where is that ambulance for fuck sake!” Eddie’s voice sounded through the hallway as he didn’t even dare to get his eyes off (Y/n).

“Come on (Y/n), don’t do this to me..” he mumbled as he looked at the unconscious face of his girl. “We didn’t have enough time.”

______

Eddie felt uncomfortable walking down the stark hospital hallway. He could hear his own shoes clapping faintly against the white perfect polished floor. He hated hospitals with his entire heart, they were full of memories he’d rather forget. (Y/n) was in the same hospital where Shannon passed away a few years back.

He opened the door to her room, as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Eddie paused for a second, taking in the environment around him, scanning the room. His eyes fell on (Y/n), motionless on the hospital bed. The only thing that was sounding through the room were the machines beeping softly, monitoring her vitals.

She was still alive, even though she barely made it to the hospital in time.

Eddie cleared his throat and took in a deep breath as he stepped closer. She had fought so hard, for herself but even more to keep Chris safe.

Eventually he sat down in the chair by her bed, his fingers gripping the armrests like they were the only things holding him together. He had so many things to say, but yet, no words were leaving his mouth.

He sighed loudly, “Mi amor, it’s me.” he said softly. He wanted to be strong, but the second he started talking his entire voice broke down. “I’m so sorry.” he added, as he placed one hand on his mouth, trying to keep himself from sobbing even more.

“I'm sorry I couldn’t protect you.” he continued his words. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “You have to wake up.” he sobbed as tears were starting to run down his face. “You can't leave, not now. Not like this.”

His mind replayed everything, from the moment he barged into the house together with Buck, tackling Blake. To the moment where he held her hand in the ambulance, almost losing her.

She coded in the ambulance. Her heart stopped, and Eddie couldn’t do anything. He just sat there, crying, on the small bench of the ambulance, looking at someone else to try and get her rhythm back.

The compressions went on and on, it felt like hours. They were still doing compressions on her when they rolled her into the ER, leaving Eddie with so many unanswered questions.

But they got her rhythm back, eventually. The doctors told him that she had an emergency surgery, that she was in critical condition. Leaving a hole inside of him.

Even though every single person in the room told him to go home, get a shower, get something to eat, he refused. He needed to be here when she woke up.

It has been days after the accident, her vitals were good, so the doctors decided to take her off the ventilator. He hasn’t been home in days, while Chris was staying with his abuela switching every now and then with Buck.

Even the nurses couldn’t get Eddie out of the room. The only reason he’d leave the room is to go to the toilet or get some food in the awful hospital cafeteria.

Eddie reached out for her hand, carefully he grabbed her hand, avoiding the IV line that was taped to her wrist. “There’s so much I haven’t said.” He started, “so many things I want to do with you.” He stayed focussed on their hands, desperate to feel some kind of reaction. Even if it was just a small squeeze.

His voice cracked as he shut his eyes tightly. Trying to get rid of the tears. “Chris needs you. Buck needs you. I need you.” his voice choked with emotion as he pressed her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss onto her skin.

“Chris has been asking about you..” “You promised him last week to take him to the cinema, remember? To see that new Marvel movie. You’re not going to break that promise, are you?”

“Because I think Chris would get upset when I go with him, I still don’t understand what happened to Captain America.” he let out a shaky breath as a small laugh left his mouth. The marvel movies was their thing, Chris and (Y/n).

Eddie let go of her hand as he leaned back, running a hand over his face again. The room was too quiet, the beeping of the monitors too loud in his ears.

He let out a shaky breath and stood up, starting to pace through the small room. He wasn’t used to this, standing by, powerless.

The soft creak of the door made Eddie come out of his own mind. He glanced over his shoulder, and that’s when he saw Christopher standing there with Buck on his side. Buck’s hand was placed on Chris’ shoulder as they stood in the doorframe.

"Chris?" Eddie said his name filled with confusion. What was he doing here? He was supposed to be with Buck, at home, gaming or doing his homework. "What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at home." He asked as he switched looks between Buck and Chris.

Chris entered the room with Buck slowly following behind him. “I had to come. I need to see her.” He said, determined as he passed his dad. Eddie followed his son, as he made his way to the bedside of (Y/n).

Eddie’s expression was filled with confusion as he looked at Buck. “I’m sorry. I couldn't stop him.” Buck apologized. As they looked at Chris who was looking at (Y/n), lying unconscious in the bed.

Buck had been here everyday just like Maddie, checking on (Y/n), but also checking on their brother in law.

“Chris, you're not supposed to be in here. There aren’t kids allowed on the ICU.” Eddie told him as he folded his arms over each other.

“I don’t care.” Chris said as he switched looks from his dad to (Y/n). “She’s my friend too, dad. And I need to tell her something” he continued determined as he looked at her lifeless in the hospital bed he was standing next to.

Eddie wanted to argue, but when he saw the look in his son’s eyes made him sigh. He shrugged as he shook his head, he wasn’t going to be able to change his mind either. “Fine, but just for a minute.” He said as he kept his arms crossed.

Chris nodded as he looked at (Y/n) for a second, “(Y/n), it’s me. Christopher.” He said as he placed his hand onto her hand.

It was hard seeing and hearing his own son talking to her, but he used one hand to cover his mouth.

“I know you’re really hurt right now, but… you have to get better. You promised me you’d teach me how to make those brownies you always make. And you don’t break promises.” Chris said, making Eddie pressing his lips together into a thin line. Fighting the tears that were already streaming down his face.

“And.. because you make my dad smile, he doesn’t smile like that for anyone. You make him happy, so you have to come back.” Christopher continued, as slowly his voice grew more quiet by the word.

“You can’t leave.” He ended his words as he gave her hand a slight squeeze. He didn’t want to hurt her any more than she already had.

The room was quiet again when Chris had left the room and Buck took Eddie’s son back home. Eddie sat in the chair next to her bed, his head resting on his hand. As his eyes were heavy, like he could fall asleep any moment.

The constant beeps of the machines that were monitoring (Y/n)’s vitals were sounding through his ears. Eddie hadn’t slept in days, except for some power naps, but you really couldn’t call those a goodnight sleep.

“Chris has been making you drawings, he said he’s going to bring you one tomorrow.” Eddie said as a small smile appeared on his face at the thought. His voice sounded rough, must been the lack of sleep.

Eddie pushed himself forward, brushing his fingers across her hand. “I’m sure he will not stop making new drawings until you wake up. So you better wake up soon or he’ll use them to wallpaper your room.” He added as a small laugh left his mouth.

He stared at the monitors, that was the only response he got. He sighed as he leaned back into the chair again, this was going to be just another day like the past ones.

But then, there was movement.

It was so silent in the room, Eddie could hear the change in ambience. (Y/n)’s fingers twitched against the blanket. The sound of her skin moving over the fabric made him stand up next to her bedside immediately.

“(Y/n)?” He breathed as he wrapped his hand around hers. Her eyelids fluttered open weakly.

“Hey, (Y/n) it’s me.” He whispered with a trembling voice. “I’m right here baby”

Her eyes opened, unfocused, but then her eyes locked on him. Confusion written all over her face, her lips parting slightly as she wanted to talk.

"Hey," he said gently, leaning closer. "You’re safe." He continued as he tried to read her face.

“Chris?” her voice barely above a whisper.

Relief was written over his face, as he couldn’t help to let out a small laugh. Of course, that was the one person she immediately thought of. She kept him safe at all costs. “He’s safe. Blake’s back where he belongs.”

Tears were pouring down his cheeks, but this time it wasn’t sadness. Pure happiness. Relieve. “Jesus, (Y/n), you scared the hell out of me."

She swallowed loudly, “Sorry..” she mumbled.

“No, no, no. Don’t apologize. Just.. don’t ever scare me like that again.” Eddie said as he squeezed her hand.

She groaned at the pain she felt in her entire body, mostly at her stomach. A small ouch, falling off her lips as she touched her stomach. “What-?” she stumbled.

“Internal bleeding, your heart stopped for like three minutes. They had to rush you into an emergency surgery,”Eddie explained.

“You stayed here?” She then asked as she scanned the room and spotted multiple bags in the room. He nodded. “Of course I did.” He said as he brushed a strand of hair from her face and pushed it behind her ear.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me (Y/n)” he told her, with a small smile on his face. She let out a breathy chuckle, barely audible but enough to make Eddie’s heart make a jump of happiness.

“I love you.” The words left her mouth weakly and slow. Eddie couldn’t help but let the smile grow bigger on his face, “Te amo, mi amor.”

[urdreamydoodles]

MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

Mr. Pickles, your small fluffy dog, has disappeared and your lover goes on a hunt to find him

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Bullseye, Marc Spector, Taskmaster, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Ben Grimm, Susan Storm, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa, Elektra Natchios, Muse, Victor von Doom, Peter Quill & Nova

Mr. Pickles is my proudest creation ♡

Peter Parker (Spider-Man)

- Peter knows what it means to lose something you love. The moment he sees your face, tear-streaked and trembling, he drops everything—his textbooks, his half-eaten sandwich, his entire afternoon—to pull you into his arms. "We'll find him," he whispers into your hair, his voice a promise, a prayer. His mind races with every possibility—where a tiny, fluffy dog could have wandered, what dangers lurk in the city streets. He forces himself to stay lighthearted, for you. "Mr. Pickles is a survivor," he assures you, "just like his mom." But inside, his heart clenches at the thought of you losing something you love. Again.

- He swings across the city, calling the dog's name, peering into alleyways and between dumpsters, ignoring the odd looks from pedestrians below. "C'mon, buddy," he mutters, landing softly on a rooftop. "If I were a small, dumb, fluffy dog, where would I go?" His mask hides his worry, but his pulse betrays him. You had whispered once, in the quiet dark of your shared bed, that Mr. Pickles was there before Peter—that the little dog had curled against you on nights too cold, too lonely to bear. That he had been your solace. Peter clenches his fists. He has to find him.

- Hours pass, and the city hums beneath him, indifferent. He stops only when he hears the faintest whimper from a storm drain, the soft scrape of tiny paws against metal. Relief crashes over him so fast he almost collapses. "Oh, Mr. Pickles, you little troublemaker," he breathes, scooping the trembling dog into his arms. The weight of him, warm and alive, nearly makes Peter cry. He presses his forehead against the dog's tiny head. "Your mom's gonna kill me if I bring you back dirty," he laughs, voice shaking.

- When he swings through your window, landing with a soft thud, you barely get the chance to register his presence before he's pushing Mr. Pickles into your arms. You sob into the dog's soft fur, and Peter watches, eyes warm, body aching with love. Then, when you finally look up at him, when your beautiful face splits into the most brilliant, teary smile, Peter Parker knows—he would search a thousand cities, lift a thousand storm drain covers, break apart the world itself if it meant keeping that smile.

Tony Stark (Iron Man)

- "It’s just a dog," Tony had said at first, exhaling through his nose, watching you pace the length of his penthouse with wild, desperate eyes. But then you turned to him, looking at him like he had just shattered the universe, and something in his chest tightened. "Okay, okay, bad choice of words," he amended quickly, setting down his glass of scotch. "We’ll find him, sweetheart. Trust me." He kissed your forehead, and when he pulled away, he was already barking orders at J.A.R.V.I.S. to scan the streets.

- The city is his playground, and when Tony Stark hunts, nothing escapes him. Drones sweep over sidewalks, infrared cameras scan the gutters, and his A.I. combs through every security feed within a ten-block radius. It should be easy, finding something small, white, and fluffy. But as the hours stretch, as your voice cracks when you call Mr. Pickles’ name into the empty night, Tony feels something unfamiliar claw at his throat. Panic. Helplessness. He can build weapons that level cities, fly into warzones, rewrite the future with his mind, but he can’t stop the way your hands shake. He can’t fix this with money or brilliance. He just has to find that damn dog.

- And then—finally—one of his drones pings. A little white fluffball, trapped behind the fence of a construction site, tail wagging pathetically, waiting. Tony exhales sharply. "Gotcha, you little idiot," he murmurs, already summoning the nearest Iron Man suit. He could call someone, sure. Could send a bot, have the dog airlifted in a grand display of Stark-level theatrics. But he doesn’t. Because he wants to be the one to bring him home to you. He wants to be the reason your eyes stop looking so haunted.

- When he steps through the front door, Mr. Pickles in his arms, you don’t hesitate. You throw yourself at him, burying your face in his chest, shaking with relief. Tony doesn’t joke. Doesn’t smirk. He just holds you, one hand stroking your hair, the other keeping a firm grip on the tiny dog between you. He sighs against your temple. "Next time, we’re microchipping this little bastard," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your head. But the truth is, if it meant making you happy, Tony Stark would search the ends of the earth for that damn dog again. And again. And again.

Steve Rogers (Captain America)

- You are inconsolable. Steve sees it in the way you sit curled on the couch, your arms wrapped around yourself like you are holding something together. The sight alone shatters him. He kneels before you, his large hands settling over your trembling ones, his voice low, steady. "We’ll find him, sweetheart. I swear." His words are a shield, a promise carved from the same steel as his bones. Because he will find Mr. Pickles, if only to take that sorrow from your eyes.

- He searches the old-fashioned way. No drones, no high-tech satellites. Just a man and his will. He jogs through the streets, stopping people with a polite, firm urgency, showing a picture of your dog on his phone. He speaks to shopkeepers, to children on bicycles, to the kind-faced woman selling flowers on the corner. Every second counts. But even as his pulse quickens, as the sun dips behind the skyline, he doesn't waver. The world has taken too much from him already—he will not let it take this from you.

- He finds Mr. Pickles in a tiny park, curled up beneath a bench, his fur damp with the evening dew. Steve exhales a deep, relieved breath, crouching slowly, his voice softer than a whisper. "Hey there, buddy," he murmurs, extending a careful hand. The dog whimpers, then leaps into his arms as if he knows—knows this man, knows that Steve Rogers is the safest place in the world.

- When Steve carries him home, you are waiting at the door, your beautiful face lit by the glow of the porchlight, eyes wide with hope. And then—joy. You let out a breathless sob, scooping the dog into your arms, pressing frantic kisses into his fur. Steve watches, his heart twisting in his chest. Then you turn to him, eyes glistening, and throw your arms around his neck. He catches you, as he always will, burying his face into your shoulder. "Told you I’d find him," he murmurs, holding you as tightly as he can.

Thor

- The moment Thor sees your sorrow, it is as if the very sky darkens. "Your heart aches," he rumbles, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "This shall not stand." And with that, he strides from the room, determination crackling in his wake. He does not understand how something so small could mean so much—but he does not need to understand. He only needs to act.

- He searches with the force of a storm. He speaks to the wind, commanding it to carry your dog’s scent across the city. He calls down thunder, demanding the heavens show him where your little beast has gone. Mortals look on in awe as the god of thunder strides through the streets, golden hair windswept, cape billowing. "MR. PICKLES!" his voice booms, rattling windows. "SHOW THYSELF, TINY WARRIOR!"

- And then, a soft yip—so small, so insignificant against the noise of the city, yet Thor hears it as clear as a battle cry. He finds Mr. Pickles atop a fruit cart, having somehow clambered to its highest peak. The vendor stares, frozen, as Thor reaches out, plucking the tiny dog from the pile of apples. "A most daring escape," Thor muses, holding the squirming fluff in one enormous hand. "You are braver than you appear, small one."

- When he returns to you, the dog safely in his arms, you let out a breathless, laughing sob. "You found him," you whisper. Thor beams. "Of course I did, my love," he declares, sweeping you—dog and all—into his arms. "No force in this realm shall keep what is yours from you.”

Loki

- Loki does not understand the gravity of it at first. A small creature, insignificant in size and strength, lost in the chaos of Midgard—what of it? But then he sees your face, the way grief pools in your beautiful eyes, the tremor in your hands as you call the dog’s name into the empty night. He watches, silent, as sorrow sinks its fangs into you. And suddenly, the matter is no longer trivial. The world may not care for Mr. Pickles, but you do. And Loki… Loki cares for you.

- He does not search as mortals do. No, he does not waste time scouring streets like a fool. He summons illusions, a hundred spectral versions of himself that spill into the city like shadows, slipping through alleyways, gliding across rooftops, whispering Mr. Pickles’s name to the wind. Magic coils at his fingertips, weaving through the currents of the world, seeking out the pulse of something small, something white and ridiculous. “Where have you gone, little fool?” he murmurs to the void. “Your mistress grieves for you. And I will not allow it.”

- The answer comes in a flicker of magic—an image flashing behind his eyes. A storm drain, deep beneath the city streets, where a tiny, trembling thing curls into itself. Loki sighs, pressing two fingers to his temple. “Of course,” he mutters, exasperated. Then, in a breath, he is there—appearing in a ripple of green light, boots sinking into damp concrete. The dog yelps, startled, but Loki merely raises an eyebrow. “You are filthier than I expected,” he muses, kneeling. Mr. Pickles stares, wide-eyed. Loki clicks his tongue. “Come now, do not be tiresome. Your lady awaits.”

- When he steps into your home, dog cradled in his arms like an offering, you let out a choked breath. Relief breaks across your face, radiant and overwhelming. You snatch Mr. Pickles from his grasp, burying your face in his fur, and for a moment, you are too consumed by joy to speak. Loki watches, arms crossed, head tilting. "You are lucky I find your devotion endearing," he drawls. Then, softer, he reaches out, fingertips ghosting along your cheek. "Do not grieve again, darling. I find I have little patience for it."

Clint Barton (Hawkeye)

- Clint knows what loss does to a person. Knows how it hollows them out, how it lingers in the quiet spaces between heartbeats. He sees it now, creeping into the corners of your beautiful face, sinking into the line of your shoulders. And he hates it. So, with a sharp breath and a determined set to his jaw, he presses a kiss to your forehead and grabs his jacket. “Don’t worry, babe,” he says, shouldering his bow. “I’ll bring the little guy home.”

- He moves through the city like he was born to it—quick, sharp-eyed, hands in his pockets as he scans every street, every alley. He whistles low and easy, calling Mr. Pickles’s name like he’s coaxing an old friend. He asks the vendors, the cab drivers, the kids playing basketball on the corner. And when that doesn’t work, he climbs. Up onto fire escapes, across rooftops, perching on ledges with the keen gaze of a predator. His archer’s eyes miss nothing. Somewhere down there, a small dumb dog is waiting to be found.

- It takes time, but eventually, he hears it—a faint, frantic yipping from behind a chain-link fence, where Mr. Pickles has somehow managed to trap himself in a tangle of garbage cans. Clint huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re really makin’ me work for it, huh, buddy?” The dog’s tail wags furiously at the sight of him. Clint doesn’t hesitate; he scales the fence in seconds, dropping down effortlessly. “C’mere, troublemaker,” he murmurs, scooping the tiny thing into his arms. “Your mom’s losing her mind over you.”

- When he walks through the door, Mr. Pickles wriggling excitedly in his grasp, you gasp, half laughing, half crying. “Clint!” And before he can react, you throw your arms around him, pressing desperate kisses to his jaw, his cheeks, his lips. Clint grins, warmth curling in his chest, burying his face in your hair. “Told ya I’d bring him back,” he murmurs. Then, pulling back just enough to look at you, voice teasing, “How ‘bout a reward for the hero?”

Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow)

- Natasha does not waste words on comfort. She sees the way your hands twist together, the way your breath hitches unevenly, and she simply touches your arm—firm, steady. "I’ll find him," she says, no hesitation, no doubt. And then she is gone, slipping into the night like a ghost, like a promise.

- Her search is meticulous, methodical. She moves through the city like a shadow, unseen, unheard. She checks every corner, every crevice, following the trail with a hunter’s patience. She kneels in the dirt, fingers brushing over the faintest paw prints. She watches surveillance footage from gas stations and convenience stores, scanning for any glimpse of white fur. Nothing escapes her. Nothing ever does.

- And then, finally, she finds him. A scared little thing, shivering beneath an abandoned car, too afraid to move. Natasha exhales slowly, lowering herself onto her stomach, voice quiet, gentle. "Hey, малыш," she murmurs. "Been having an adventure, huh?" Mr. Pickles hesitates—then, with a whimper, scrambles toward her. She catches him easily, tucking him against her chest. "Good boy," she whispers, stroking his tiny head. "Let’s get you home."

- When she returns, she says nothing—just steps into the room, holding out the small, trembling dog. The sound you make is small, broken, and then you are running to her, hands shaking as you take Mr. Pickles into your arms. Natasha watches, something warm and aching unfurling in her chest. And when you turn to her, whispering "Thank you," voice thick with emotion, she simply pulls you close, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Always," she murmurs.

Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier)

- Bucky knows the weight of grief. Knows how it clings to the ribs, how it turns the world gray. When he sees it on you, something inside him twists. He cups your face, brushing his thumbs beneath your eyes, steel and flesh both warm against your skin. “I’ll get him back,” he says, voice rough, edged with quiet desperation. “I swear it.”

- He searches with the kind of relentless patience only a soldier possesses. He moves through the city in silence, scanning every street, listening, waiting. His training takes over—tracking, reading the subtle disturbances in the world. A knocked-over trash can. A set of tiny paw prints in the dust. He follows them like a wolf on a scent, every step precise, measured. He does not stop. He does not falter.

- He finds Mr. Pickles curled up on a stranger’s doorstep, looking lost and exhausted. Bucky crouches slowly, voice soft. “Hey there, little guy.” The dog perks up, ears twitching. A moment passes—then Mr. Pickles scrambles into his arms, pressing his tiny face against Bucky’s chest. The super-soldier lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I got you.”

- When he brings Mr. Pickles home, you make a sound—something between a sob and a laugh—and Bucky barely has time to react before you are clinging to him, burying your face in his shoulder. He holds you tightly, breathing you in, grounding himself in your warmth. “Told you I’d find him,” he mutters into your hair. And when you pull back, eyes shining, hands cradling his face, Bucky Barnes knows—he would walk through fire for you. Would chase down a hundred lost things, just to keep you from breaking.

Matthew Murdock (Daredevil)

- It starts with the sound of your voice breaking. A sharp inhale, a stumble of words, a silence where there should be breath. Matt’s head snaps up immediately, his whole body tensing like a wire pulled too tight. “What’s wrong?” he asks, already moving toward you, already reaching. And then you say it, voice trembling. “Mr. Pickles is gone.” The world tilts. He doesn’t need sight to know the grief settling in your frame, the way your arms are wrapped around yourself like a shield. He takes your hands, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ll find him,” he promises. “I swear.”

- The city is an orchestra of noise and movement, but Matt filters through it with razor precision. He follows the trail of memory—the last place you saw Mr. Pickles, the familiar scuffle of tiny paws on pavement. He kneels in alleyways, fingertips ghosting over the ground, feeling for the faintest traces: a disturbed patch of dust, a scent still lingering in the air. He listens. A hundred heartbeats, a thousand voices, the ever-present hum of New York’s restless energy. And then—there. A frantic, rapid little rhythm, lost beneath a fire escape.

- He moves quickly, scaling the metal with effortless grace, landing silently in the narrow space behind the building. Mr. Pickles is trembling beneath an old wooden crate, his tiny frame pressed into the shadows. “Hey, buddy,” Matt murmurs, crouching low. “You gave us a scare.” The dog yelps as Matt reaches out, but there’s no hesitation in his hands, only certainty. Warmth. He scoops Mr. Pickles up, tucking him close, fingers gentle against soft fur. “Let’s get you home.”

- The moment Matt steps through the door, you let out a breath that shatters into relief. He barely has time to react before you are in his arms, hands in his hair, lips pressing desperately against his. Mr. Pickles wiggles between you, but neither of you care. Matt holds you tighter, his own relief threading through his pulse. “Told you,” he breathes against your mouth. “I’d never let you lose something you love.”

Frank Castle (Punisher)

- You’re crying, and that alone is enough to ignite something violent in Frank. His hands clench into fists, his jaw locks tight, his body coils with the instinct to hunt. But there’s no enemy here. No one to punish. Just you, beautiful and wrecked, your hands trembling as you whisper, “Frank, I can’t find him.” He exhales slow, steady, pushing down the fury. His hands cup your face, rough thumbs brushing over wet cheeks. “I’ll get ‘im back,” he murmurs. “I promise.”

- His search is relentless. Frank moves through the city with soldier’s efficiency, checking every street corner, every back alley, every goddamn sewer grate if he has to. He interrogates people without mercy, his voice low and dangerous as he asks, “You seen a little white dog around here?” Nobody dares to lie to him. He is a shadow in the night, a force of nature, and nothing—not time, not distance, not God himself—will stop him from bringing your dog back.

- Eventually, he finds Mr. Pickles cornered by a stray, trapped between a chain-link fence and a growling, desperate mutt twice his size. Frank doesn’t hesitate. One sharp whistle, one step forward, and the stray bolts. “Damn idiot,” he mutters, kneeling. Mr. Pickles stares up at him, wide-eyed and shaking. “You’re lucky she loves you,” Frank grumbles, scooping him up, pressing the dog to his chest with surprising gentleness. “Otherwise, you’d be on your own, dumbass.”

- When he gets home, you’re waiting at the door, eyes raw with worry. The second you see him, you choke out a gasp, arms reaching. Frank hands Mr. Pickles over, watching as you cradle the tiny thing like he’s the most precious thing in the world. He exhales, runs a hand through his hair, and then you’re kissing him—deep, breathless, full of gratitude. His hands grip your waist, pulling you close, his voice rough against your lips. “Told you I’d fix it, baby.”

Bullseye (Lester)

- “You’re joking.” But the look on your face tells him you’re not. And the worst part? He cares. Too much. About you, about the way your lip trembles, about the devastation in your beautiful, stupid eyes. His fingers twitch, the urge to break something crawling under his skin. He can kill a man from a mile away with a paperclip, but he can’t fix this. Not with a bullet, not with a blade. “Shit,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. Then, voice dark with resolve—“I’ll find the little bastard.”

- Lester doesn’t search like a normal person. No, he turns the whole goddamn city into his hunting ground. He perches on rooftops, scanning the streets below with hawk-like precision. He talks to informants, threatens people in back alleys, flips a knife between his fingers as he leans in close and growls, “If I were a tiny dumb dog, where the hell would I be?” Nobody dares to waste his time.

- He finally spots Mr. Pickles trapped on a moving truck, the tiny idiot balancing on the edge, about to tumble onto the freeway. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Lester moves before he thinks. A perfect throw—his knife slicing through the air, puncturing the truck’s tire. It screeches to a halt, and before anyone can react, he’s already there, snatching Mr. Pickles up. “You got a goddamn death wish?” he mutters, tucking the tiny dog under his jacket. “Let’s get you home before I start regretting this.”

- The second he walks in, you’re on him, eyes wide with relief. You press kisses over his face, his jaw, whispering, “Thank you, thank you.” Lester smirks, tilting his head. “Y’know, I don’t do this rescue shit for just anyone.” You arch a brow. “Oh?” His grin sharpens. “Yeah. So, how ‘bout you thank me properly?” His hands slip around your waist, pulling you in, his lips brushing your ear. “In bed.”

Marc Spector (Moon Knight)

- He knows loss. Knows the way it digs into the ribs, the way it carves out something hollow in your chest. And when he sees that same ache in your eyes, his heart clenches. “I’ll find him,” he says, his voice low, steady. His hands cup your face, thumbs stroking soft against your cheeks. “I won’t let you lose him.”

- He moves through the night like a phantom, like a god of the hunt. Moonlight glints off his armor as he scales rooftops, his senses sharp, his pulse steady. He tracks the city like a predator—footprints in the dust, paw marks in the mud, the scent of something small and lost. Every streetlamp flickers as he passes, every shadow seems to bend toward him. He is relentless.

- He finds Mr. Pickles huddled in the hollow of a tree in Central Park, shivering, tiny paws covered in dirt. Marc exhales, dropping into a crouch, his cape pooling around him. “Hey, little guy,” he murmurs. “Scared?” The dog lets out a small whimper, tail tucked. “Yeah,” Marc sighs. “Me too, sometimes.” He reaches out, slow and patient. Mr. Pickles hesitates—then, finally, clambers into his arms. Marc holds him close, pressing his forehead to soft fur. “Let’s get you home.”

- When he returns, you break. Your arms wrap around him, your whole body trembling with relief. Marc holds you, silent, solid, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. “Thank you,” you whisper. He exhales, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll always bring back what you love,” he murmurs. “Always.”

Taskmaster (Tony Masters)

- You are pacing. Your hands are shaking. Your lips are parted as if you want to say something, but no words come. Tony watches, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed. His skull mask tilts ever so slightly. “You’re stressin’ over a dog,” he drawls, but there’s something in his voice—not mockery, not amusement, just observation. You shoot him a sharp look, eyes shining with unshed tears, and that’s all it takes. His posture shifts, his fingers flex, his weight shifts onto the balls of his feet. A mission, then. “Alright,” he mutters. “Let’s go hunt.”

- Tony doesn’t search. He tracks. He moves like a predator, analyzing the world through the same ruthless lens he uses in combat. He remembers the way Mr. Pickles moves, the rhythm of his little paws on the floor, the places he lingers longest. He follows invisible trails, crouching low to examine scuff marks on the sidewalk, flicking his hood up as he moves through the city like a ghost. He doesn’t ask for help. He doesn’t need it.

- He finds Mr. Pickles before dawn, stuck in a drainage pipe, trembling but unharmed. Tony crouches, tilting his head. “Y’know,” he muses, voice low and sardonic, “for a dumb little mutt, you got a lotta guts runnin’ off like that.” Mr. Pickles whimpers. Tony sighs. “Yeah, yeah. C’mere.” He reaches in, grips the tiny dog by the scruff, and lifts him effortlessly. There’s a moment of silence as he looks at the tiny, ridiculous creature. Then, begrudgingly, softly—“Good boy.”

- When he returns, you practically crash into him, arms wrapping around his neck. He stiffens for half a second—then melts. Your lips find his jaw, his cheek, his mouth, whispering endless thank-yous. Tony smirks against your lips. “Told ya I’d find ‘im,” he murmurs. His gloved hands tighten on your waist. “Now, you gonna give me a reward, or what?”

Johnny Storm (Human Torch)

- The second you realize Mr. Pickles is missing, you collapse onto the couch, burying your face in your hands. Johnny is beside you instantly, dropping to his knees in front of you, hands gripping yours. “Hey, hey, hey, no tears, babe,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “We’re gonna find him.” You shake your head, voice breaking. “But what if—” Johnny cuts you off with a grin, cupping your cheeks. “Nope. No ‘what ifs.’ You and me? We got this.” His eyes flicker with fire. “And lucky for you, I’m kinda the fastest guy around.”

- He takes off like a shooting star, flames trailing behind him as he soars above the city, scanning the streets below. He shouts Mr. Pickles’ name at the top of his lungs, occasionally stopping to ask strangers, “Hey, seen a fluffy little guy runnin’ around?” He speeds down alleyways, streaks of fire illuminating the dark corners, his energy boundless, relentless. It’s not just about finding the dog—it’s about fixing you. About bringing back the light in your eyes.

- Finally, he spots a flash of white fur near a hot dog stand. Mr. Pickles is standing on his tiny hind legs, trying to steal a bite from an unsuspecting tourist. Johnny lets out a relieved laugh, swooping down. “Oh my God, you little menace,” he groans, scooping the dog up. “You had her crying, dude! Not cool.” Mr. Pickles licks his face. Johnny sighs, tucking him under his arm. “Yeah, yeah. You’re lucky I’m a sucker.”

- When he gets home, you’re standing by the door, breath held tight in your chest. The moment you see them, you let out a half-sob, half-laugh, arms flinging around both Johnny and Mr. Pickles. “Told ya,” Johnny murmurs against your hair, grinning. “Flame on, baby. Fastest rescue in history.” He leans in, voice dropping. “Now, how ‘bout you show me just how grateful you are?”

Reed Richards (Mister Fantastic)

- The moment you realize Mr. Pickles is missing, you don’t even need to say anything. Reed notices the micro-expressions on your face, the tiny shift in your breathing, the way your fingers twitch like they don’t know where to go. He sets his book down immediately. “I assume,” he says, in that calm, measured way of his, “that we are dealing with an emergency.” You nod, lip trembling, and he reaches out, brushing a gentle hand against your wrist. “Then let’s begin our search.”

- He doesn’t waste time. He maps out the city in his head, calculating Mr. Pickles’ likely movement patterns based on past behavior, environmental factors, and canine psychology. He extends his limbs, stretching impossibly long, weaving through traffic and alleyways, covering more ground in minutes than most could in hours. Occasionally, he stops to scan the area with a handheld device he designed on the spot to track small biological signatures. Mr. Pickles is, unfortunately, an unpredictable anomaly. But Reed does not believe in unsolvable problems.

- At last, he finds the dog nestled inside the engine of a parked car, trapped but unharmed. “Ah,” Reed murmurs, extending a flexible arm to gently extract him. “A remarkably foolish but statistically predictable hiding spot.” Mr. Pickles whimpers. Reed tucks him against his chest, adjusting his glasses. “I would advise against repeating this experiment.”

- When he returns, you nearly collapse in relief. You take Mr. Pickles from his arms, cradling him, whispering his name over and over. Reed watches you for a moment, expression unreadable—then, finally, he steps forward, cupping your face. “There was never a doubt,” he says softly, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your forehead. “I will always solve any problem that brings you pain.”

Ben Grimm (The Thing)

- “Aw, hell.” The moment you start crying, Ben is done. He has no idea what to do, how to fix it, how to stop that horrible look on your face. He’s good at breaking things, not putting them back together. But this? This, he can try to fix. He places a massive, careful hand on your back. “Don’tchu worry, sweetheart. We’re gonna get yer lil’ guy back. Just leave it to ol’ Ben.”

- He scours the city on foot, his heavy footsteps echoing through the streets. People move out of his way as he calls out, “MR. PICKLES! C’MON, BUDDY!” He checks every alley, every trash can, even gets on his hands and knees to peek under cars. He talks to street vendors, cab drivers, little kids—anyone who might’ve seen a small, fluffy blur.

- After what feels like forever, he finally hears a familiar yipping sound. He turns, spotting Mr. Pickles perched on top of a hot dog cart, happily munching away. Ben groans, shaking his head. “Ya gotta be kiddin’ me.” He reaches out, scooping up the tiny troublemaker in one massive hand. “Yer givin’ me gray hairs, ya dumb mutt.” Mr. Pickles wags his tail. “Yeah, yeah,” Ben mutters. “Let’s getcha home.”

- The second he steps inside, you sprint toward him, practically climbing his massive frame to get to Mr. Pickles. “Thank you,” you whisper over and over, eyes shining with gratitude. Ben rubs the back of his neck, cheeks going a little too orange. “Ah, it’s nothin’,” he grumbles. But when you lean up and press a kiss to his rocky jaw, he goes still. Then, with a soft chuckle, he wraps you up in the safest, warmest embrace you’ve ever known. “Anythin’ for you, doll.”

Susan Storm (Invisible Woman)

- The moment she sees the distress in your eyes, the tremble in your fingers, Susan moves with the quiet urgency of someone who has carried the weight of others for as long as she can remember. “We’ll find him,” she promises, voice steady, hands cupping your face. She presses her lips to your forehead, a whisper of warmth against your skin. There is no hesitation in her. No doubt. Only unwavering resolve. “Just hold on, love. I won’t stop until he’s back in your arms.”

- Susan moves like the wind—unseen, yet everywhere. Her force fields expand in rippling waves, creating invisible barriers to guide the search, sealing off streets, preventing Mr. Pickles from wandering further. She steps through the city like a ghost, her presence unnoticed by the world, her focus honed to a razor’s edge. She asks the right people, checks every hidden corner, listens for the frantic patter of tiny paws.

- When she finds him—trapped in a fenced-off garden, too small to climb back out—her breath catches in relief. She kneels, extending a hand. “There you are, sweetheart,” she murmurs, voice softer than the dawn. Mr. Pickles hesitates, then scurries into her arms. She holds him close, invisible tears slipping down her cheeks. “You scared us, little one,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to his fur.

- When she returns, you barely have time to react before she’s wrapping you up in her arms, pressing you close, Mr. Pickles nestled between you. “Told you,” she breathes into your hair. “I’ll always bring you back what you love.” And then, because she cannot help herself, because she needs to erase the sadness she saw on your face—she tilts your chin up, kisses you slow and deep, sealing her promise with something stronger than words.

Felicia Hardy (Black Cat)

- “Oh, baby,” Felicia purrs, cupping your face in her gloved hands, brushing her thumbs over your cheekbones. “Don’t look at me like that. You’ll break my heart.” There’s a playful tilt to her lips, but her eyes—sharp, feline, dangerous—gleam with something softer. Something devoted. “No one takes from me,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Not even fate. And definitely not some city street swallowing up our little guy.”

- She moves through the city with the grace of something not quite human, slipping through the shadows, scaling rooftops, landing lightly on balcony railings as she surveys the streets below. The city belongs to her in a way it never will to anyone else—its secrets, its dark corners, its hidden treasures. And tonight, the only treasure she seeks is a tiny, fluffy menace named Mr. Pickles.

- She finds him at the docks, standing nose-to-nose with a massive alley cat. “Oh, sweetie,” Felicia sighs, perching on the edge of a crate. “Making enemies already?” The alley cat hisses. Mr. Pickles barks back, fearless in his stupidity. Felicia chuckles, scooping him up effortlessly. “You really are my type,” she teases, nuzzling him before vanishing back into the night.

- When she returns, she doesn’t give you a chance to react. She drops Mr. Pickles into your lap, then straddles you, tangling her fingers in your hair, kissing you like she’s staking a claim. “Mine,” she murmurs against your lips. “You. The mutt. Everything. Mine.” Her voice is velvet and sin, but there’s something deeper there, something unspoken. She saved your dog because she would burn the world down before she let you cry.

Stephen Strange (Doctor Strange)

- He watches you, standing in the Sanctum’s grand hall, your arms wrapped around yourself, your breath unsteady. A storm brewing behind your eyes. Stephen has faced nightmares made flesh, walked through dimensions of madness, fought gods and demons alike—but none of it compares to the sheer, unbearable helplessness of seeing you in pain. He exhales slowly, gathering himself. “I will fix this,” he vows, voice a quiet thunder. “I will bring him back.”

- He opens portals, stepping between realms, searching beyond the limits of the ordinary. His cloak flutters behind him as he moves through the city, eyes glowing with eldritch energy, scanning for the telltale imprint of Mr. Pickles’ presence. He does not guess. He calculates. He peers into the threads of time, tracing the tiny, insignificant path of one small life—because no life is insignificant if it matters to you.

- He finds Mr. Pickles caught in a drainpipe, whimpering, his fluffy fur dirtied with city grime. Stephen kneels, murmuring a soft incantation, and the pipe bends, the metal warping to free its prisoner. “You,” he mutters, scooping the dog up with the same careful precision he uses when handling mystical artifacts, “are far more trouble than your size should allow.” Mr. Pickles yips. Stephen sighs. “Yes, yes. Let’s go home.”

- When he steps back through the portal, you are waiting, eyes wide, body trembling. Before you can speak, he hands you the dog, then—without a word—pulls you into his arms. His fingers tangle in your hair, his lips press to your temple. “Do not look at me like I have done something extraordinary,” he murmurs. “You should know by now—I would defy the laws of the universe for you.”

Namor (The Sub-Mariner)

- “This is unacceptable.” His voice is steel wrapped in silk, his eyes burning with the fire of a thousand storms. He stands before you like a god carved from the depths, arms crossed over his chest, jaw set with unshakable determination. “No creature that belongs to you shall be lost. The world will return him to you—or it will suffer for its defiance.”

- He commands the sea, bending its will to his own, sending forth silent summons to the creatures of the deep. Whales sing in the distance, dolphins weave through the harbor, seabirds circle the skies, their sharp eyes scanning the city for one foolishly misplaced pet. Namor himself moves like the tide—relentless, unstoppable. The people part for him as he walks the streets, his presence commanding, his gaze sharp enough to cut through the city itself.

- He finds Mr. Pickles tangled in a fishing net near the docks, a group of sailors laughing at the tiny creature’s predicament. Namor does not speak. He does not warn. He simply moves, and the air itself seems to bow before him. The sailors stumble back as he lifts the dog with regal precision, eyes flashing like the heart of a storm. “You belong to her,” he murmurs, brushing a careful thumb over the tiny head. “And that means you belong to me.”

- When he returns, he does not wait for gratitude. He places Mr. Pickles in your arms, then tilts your chin up, studying your face. “Never doubt,” he murmurs, voice low, dangerous, intimate, “that what is yours is mine to protect.” His lips brush against yours, the ghost of a promise. “And I do not lose.”

Johnny Blaze (Ghost Rider)

- Johnny has seen hell. He has ridden through the infernal flames, faced demons that would drive lesser men to madness, and carried the weight of sins that do not belong to him. But nothing—nothing—unnerves him quite like the sight of you, beautiful and heartbroken, with tears trembling in your eyes. “We’ll find him,” he says, his voice rough, calloused like his hands. He brushes his thumb over your cheek, gentle in a way most wouldn’t expect from a man like him. “I swear on my goddamn soul, sweetheart. We’ll get your boy back.”

- He revs up his bike, and the night itself seems to shudder in response. The wheels burn with hellfire as he tears through the streets, eyes glowing with something unnatural, something righteous. He hunts like a predator, cutting through alleyways, questioning people in that low, gravelly voice that makes even the toughest criminals step back. His shadow looms long and unrelenting, the scent of brimstone trailing in his wake.

- He finds Mr. Pickles at the edge of a junkyard, trapped between rusted metal and the prying claws of something dark and rabid. A hellhound, perhaps, sensing something of Johnny in the small creature. The Rider emerges then, the chain coiling in his grip like a living thing. “You picked the wrong damn dog,” he growls, and in one flaming strike, the beast vanishes into nothingness. Johnny kneels, picking up the trembling ball of fluff. “Come on, little guy,” he mutters. “Let’s get you home.”

- When he returns, he doesn’t say a word—just walks straight to you, places Mr. Pickles in your arms, and wraps his arms around both of you. His forehead presses against yours, his breath warm and tinged with smoke. “Told ya,” he murmurs, voice low, gravel scraping against velvet. “I’d go to hell and back for you. And I will—whenever you ask.”

Eddie Brock / Venom

- “Oh, babe,” Eddie sighs, running a hand down his face as he watches you crumple onto the couch, Mr. Pickles nowhere to be found. His heart clenches. He’s not good at this—comfort. But he tries. “We’ll find him,” he promises, kneeling in front of you, gripping your hands like an anchor. “Me and Venom, we’ll tear the whole damn city apart if we have to.”

- “YES,” Venom rumbles, the symbiote’s voice crawling up Eddie’s spine. “THE LITTLE FLUFF CREATURE BELONGS TO US. WE WILL DEVOUR ANY WHO HARM HIM.” Eddie rolls his eyes, but the truth is—he’s grateful. With Venom’s heightened senses, they scour the city like something primal, moving through rooftops, slithering through the underbelly of New York, sniffing out every trace of their tiny, ridiculous prey.

- They find Mr. Pickles cowering near a dumpster, shaking but unharmed. “HE IS SAFE,” Venom declares, wrapping tendrils around the small creature, lifting him gently. Eddie sighs, rubbing his temples. “You look like an idiot,” he tells Mr. Pickles, though there’s no real heat in his voice. Venom coils protectively around the dog. “HE IS OURS NOW.”

- When they return, Eddie barely has time to react before you throw yourself at him, clutching Mr. Pickles between you. He grunts, but his arms instinctively come around you, holding tight. Venom purrs—purrs. Eddie groans. “Great. Now I got two clingy idiots.” But then he buries his face in your hair, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

T’Challa (Black Panther)

- T’Challa is a man of unshakable control, a king whose every step is measured, every breath purposeful. But when he sees you—so strong, so fierce, now unraveled by something as small and precious as a missing dog—his heart tightens. He cups your face in his hands, pressing his forehead to yours. “I will not let you suffer,” he murmurs. “No matter how small the loss may seem to others, I know it is not small to you.”

- The Dora Milaje move swiftly, Wakandan technology scanning the city with ruthless efficiency. But T’Challa does not simply stand by—he hunts. He moves like a shadow through the streets, his senses sharper than any mortal’s, his agility unmatched. He does not run. He glides, a predator in the night, every step silent as he follows the invisible trail of a tiny, lost thing.

- He finds Mr. Pickles at the feet of a would-be thief, a man who thought stealing a small, expensive-looking dog might earn him a quick payday. The man doesn’t even see T’Challa before he’s on him, a whisper of claws, a silent strike. The thief crumples before he even knows what happened. T’Challa picks up Mr. Pickles, cradling the tiny creature with surprising tenderness. “You have caused quite the commotion, little one,” he murmurs.

- When he returns, he does not speak right away—simply hands Mr. Pickles to you and watches as relief floods your face. And then, with the grace of a ruler, the ferocity of a warrior, he kneels before you, his hands on your waist, his lips ghosting over your knuckles. “You are my heart,” he whispers. “And I will always return to you what you love.”

Elektra Natchios

- Elektra does not love lightly. Love, to her, is a battlefield—something you fight for, something you bleed for. And so when she sees you, eyes red-rimmed, body curled in grief over your missing dog, something inside her snaps. She kneels before you, takes your hands, and presses a kiss to your wrist. “He will be found,” she vows, her voice like steel wrapped in silk. “And those who took him will regret it.”

- She moves through the city like a blade, slipping between buildings, whispering threats in the ears of informants. She is not gentle in her search—Elektra is a storm, a hurricane dressed in crimson, and when she wants answers, she gets them. The city bends before her, criminals whispering her name in fear as she cuts a path through the underworld, searching for a dog that dared to run from you.

- She finds Mr. Pickles in the hands of a smuggler, tucked beneath a coat, a prize to be sold. Elektra does not speak. She does not negotiate. She simply moves. The fight is over in seconds—bones breaking, a body crumpling, the sound of breath stolen away. She lifts Mr. Pickles into her arms, brushing blood-stained fingers over his fur. “You are lucky,” she tells him, voice a deadly lullaby. “She loves you. That is why you are alive.”

- When she returns, she does not hand him over immediately. Instead, she tilts your chin up, studies your face with eyes that have seen too much, and kisses you—deep, slow, possessive. And then, finally, she places Mr. Pickles in your hands. “He is safe,” she murmurs, brushing her lips over your forehead. “Because you are mine. And nothing that is yours will ever be taken from you.”

Muse

- Muse does not understand grief in the way others do. Suffering, to him, is art. Blood, tears, sorrow—they are strokes on a canvas, fleeting expressions of beauty. But when he sees you undone, sadness spilling from you like a watercolor bleeding into the edges of the world, something inside him twists. He tilts his head, dark eyes drinking you in, committing your heartbreak to memory. “You are beautiful when you mourn,” he murmurs, almost dreamlike. But then, softer, something close to reverence—“Tell me who I must bleed.”

- He moves through the city like a ghost, a whisper lost in the wind. No doors stop him, no walls contain him. He slithers between cracks in the world, past flickering streetlights, through alleys where rats scurry at his presence. He listens—to the murmurs of the city, to the stutter of fearful hearts, to the stories inked in dried blood on concrete. He sketches shapes in the air as he moves, painting Mr. Pickles’s outline with invisible strokes, willing the world to yield its secrets.

- He finds the dog in a forgotten place—a shuttered church, abandoned and hollow, where the echoes of old prayers cling to rotting wood. Mr. Pickles is curled beneath the altar, lost in something greater than himself, a dumb, small creature in a world too vast. Muse crouches before him, fingers brushing the cold stone. “Even the most foolish of things seek sanctuary,” he murmurs. He lifts the dog into his arms like a relic, cradling him as one would a delicate masterpiece.

- When he returns, he does not hand the creature to you immediately. Instead, he watches you, drinking in the relief that softens your grief, the way you tremble with something raw. “Your sadness was divine,” he tells you, his voice reverent, worshipful. “But your joy—” He steps closer, his breath a whisper against your skin. “Your joy is the kind of art that kills.” And then, at last, he places Mr. Pickles in your hands, his fingers lingering, his head tilting as if considering whether to carve this moment into eternity.

Victor von Doom (Dr. Doom)

- Doom does not tolerate imperfection. The world is a broken thing, filled with fragile creatures who tremble at the weight of their own insignificance. But you—you are not insignificant. You are his, and that means you are above such things as sorrow. And yet, here you stand, shattered by the absence of something as small, as foolish, as utterly unworthy as a dog. He cups your face in his gauntleted hands, his voice a low command. “You will not despair. Doom will fix this.”

- The search is swift, efficient, without hesitation. His Doombots flood the city, scanning every street, every shadow. There is no corner of the world Doom does not control, no path hidden from his gaze. He does not waste time questioning—he demands. When a man hesitates to answer, Doom does not repeat himself. He simply removes the obstacle. The world bends before his will, because it must.

- He finds the dog in the hands of a thief who does not understand the gravity of his mistake. Doom does not strike immediately. He steps forward, his very presence sending the fool to his knees. “You have taken something that belongs to me,” he states, voice smooth, absolute. “That is unacceptable.” The thief stammers, begs, offers apologies Doom does not need. With a flick of his wrist, Doom reclaims what is his. The thief remains on the ground, trembling—his punishment will come later.

- When he returns, he does not hand you the dog. No, he holds Mr. Pickles before you, as if offering proof of his superiority, as if daring you to ever doubt him again. “Do not weep for lost things,” he tells you, his voice softer now, for you alone. “Not when you have Doom. Nothing that belongs to you shall ever be taken from you while I draw breath.” And then, as though bestowing a gift upon royalty, he places Mr. Pickles into your waiting arms, watching as you press your face into the ridiculous fluff with something close to peace. Doom allows himself the smallest of smiles.

Peter Quill (Star-Lord)

- “Oh, babe.” Peter’s heart breaks a little at the sight of you, curled up on the couch, your eyes wet, your lip trembling. He’s seen you fight, seen you take down things twice your size without so much as flinching, but this—this tiny, stupid missing dog—has unraveled you. He cups your face, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Don’t worry, okay? The Legendary Star-Lord’s got this. I’ll have Mr. Pickles back before you can say ‘Peter, you’re the best boyfriend ever.’”

- He takes off running—literally. No plan, no strategy, just vibes. He asks around, chasing every lead with the reckless charm of a man who talks his way out of problems more often than he solves them. He nearly gets into a fight with a street vendor, accidentally enters an underground dog racing ring (and somehow wins money he never meant to bet), and ends up bribing a kid with a pack of alien candy just to get a lead.

- When he finally finds Mr. Pickles, the little guy is on a rooftop, looking profoundly lost and utterly confused. “Oh, buddy,” Peter sighs, scooping him up. “Your mom is gonna kill me if she finds out I let you get this far. You owe me, man.” Mr. Pickles licks his face. Peter grimaces. “Gross, dude.”

- He returns to you, arms wide, Mr. Pickles balanced on his shoulder like some kind of pirate parrot. “Ta-da!” He grins as you snatch your dog, pressing frantic kisses into his fur. Peter watches you with something soft in his eyes, something real. “See?” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you. “Told you I’d bring him back. And not just ‘cause I didn’t wanna see you cry—though, babe, I really didn’t wanna see you cry.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, grinning. “Next time, though? Maybe we put a tracker on this little dude.”

Nova (Richard Rider)

- Richard’s stomach sinks when he sees you like this. You’re never like this—never fragile, never still. But now, your arms are empty, your lips pressed tight, your whole body tensed in a way that tells him just how much you’re holding back. He reaches for you, thumb brushing against your wrist. “We’re gonna find him,” he promises. “No matter what it takes.” And when he says it, he means it.

- He takes to the sky, the city unfolding beneath him in a blur of neon and shadows. He scans every street, every heartbeat, his senses stretched thin, reaching beyond what should be possible. He moves like a comet, burning through the night, a streak of gold and blue against the dark. No lost thing escapes his gaze—not when he is Nova.

- He finds Mr. Pickles in the middle of traffic, a tiny, oblivious fluffball wandering straight into chaos. Richard doesn’t think—he moves. One second, the little dog is about to meet a terrible fate. The next, he’s safe, cradled against Richard’s chest as cars screech to a halt beneath them. Richard exhales, pressing his forehead against the ridiculous creature. “You are so lucky I like your mom.”

- He lands in front of you, Mr. Pickles still tucked in his arms, and the second he sees your relief, he knows—he would have torn the universe apart for this moment. He hands the dog to you, watching the way your whole body softens. And then, before he can say something stupid, you throw your arms around his neck, pressing your lips to his. He laughs against your mouth, breathless. “Yeah, yeah,” he murmurs, holding you tighter. “I know. I’m the best.”

[eddiernunson]

Nice to Meet You, Where You Been? | Eddie Munson x f!Reader | 18+

Thank you to @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you for editing, you're the best!

Summary: your college roommate takes you to the annual Harrington Halloween Party, where you expect to do nothing but get drunk and dance for a night. That was...until you turn around to the person dancing against you to Eddie fucking Munson.

Warnings: strangers to lovers, praise/degradation, hook-up at a party, daddy kink, creampie, no protection, slow ish build up, size kink? maybe?, hooking up under the influence

I had a whole ass plan to write for KinkTober but executive dysfunction took over. Hopefully this makes up for it...maybe.

I have another Halloween themed fic from last year, EddiexReader with Steve if anyone is interested

Word Count: 6.1k

-

You sit in the backseat of your roommate’s boyfriend’s beater, the music bumping through the stereo as you make your way to what is supposedly the biggest Halloween party of every year. Your roommate spent the beginning of your fall semester hyping up this party as the best place to be on a Halloween night. Her insistence was charming, and you were looking for an excuse to get drunk. So, now you are watching as you pass by Halloween decorations and children dressed in costumes going Trick-or-Treating.

You don't pay much attention to what they're saying, the gist of it reminiscing on the Halloween parties they had attended in the past. Your roommate had made it very clear from the start that this guy, whatever his name was, his Halloween parties were legendary in town. He has only been throwing them for a handful of years, but if you were a young adult in rural Hawkins on Halloween night, chances are you were at this party.

You start to wonder how big this guy’s house must be if a couple hundred people have been attending every year, and it sounded like he even encouraged it.

You can hear the music bumping from the house before you even see it. It's hard to miss, a cluster of cars in the neighborhood, several people walking up the lawn towards the wide-open door. Your roommate’s boyfriend parks down the street, a spot that is probably fine to park overnight due to the nature of the party.

If there is to be a single sober soul at this party, they would be a rare sight.

You tug at your costume as you walk behind the two of them, strutting arm in arm. They’re wearing a matching couple’s costume, as salt and pepper. It’s something they could come up with last minute, him wearing a black shirt for pepper and her a white dress for salt. Their costume is minimal, and certainly they’ll get asked frequently what they’re supposed to be, but when everyone’s intoxicated, you suppose it won’t matter much.

You’re dressed as your favorite iconic Batman villain, Poison Ivy. You loved the character from the DC comics as you grew up and having a year away from your parents and in a different town, you figured it might be a time to try a new daring costume. So here you walk, arms crossed in a small green dress with fake vines pinned across your chest. You opted for some dramatic green eyeshadow and bright red lips, hoping your makeup and costume will sell the look.

Your ears are nearly bursting as you cross the threshold to the front door of the massive house from the loud bumping music. The pop music is a bit obnoxious, but you’re sure you won’t care once some alcohol is in your system.

Your roommate seems to remember you exist, escaping her boyfriend’s arms for the moment and intertwining her arm around yours. She immediately guides you to the kitchen where stacks of red solo cups are sitting, surrounded by bottles of alcohol and soda. “Holy shit.” You mutter.

“I know.” She giggles, handing you a cup and some tequila.

“No thanks.” You push it back, knowing what exactly tequila does to you. “I’ll just do a vodka-sprite.”

As you’re pouring, in waddles a lanky dude with brown curled hair and freckles scattered on his pale skin.  “Oh hey, Mandy!” He greets her, stumbling as he toasts his cup. “Haven’t seen you in a while! How’s that boyfriend of yours?” He asks, spinning the lid of the alcohol he’s holding absentmindedly, causing it to flick off into the distance.  

“Nate’s good, I think he’s taking over your stereo, though.” She says, moving the bottles around to make Nate’s drink, as well.

“As per usual.” He laughs, pouring a large quantity of said tequila into his cup.

Mandy seems to realize something halfway through her sip. “Oh shit!” She sputters out, a drip of alcohol leaving her mouth. “Sorry, I forgot you two don’t know each other, yet. Y/N, this is Steve. Steve, Y/N.”

“Hi.” You greet him shyly, his confidence radiating, but very intimidating.

“Hello. Me casa e su casa, and whatever, whatever. Can I just ask, who are you supposed to be?” He asks you, gesturing to your costume.

“Oh, Poison Ivy.” You explain to him, sipping on your concoction and wincing when you realize you’ve poured way too much.

Steve blinks at you, seemingly trying to make sense of your costume. “You’re—you’re a plant?”

You laugh, not in the mood to explain comic book villains to someone who clearly doesn’t know anything about them. “Yeah, sure.”

“Oh, cool!” Steve laughs, taking a big sip of his drink.

“Hey, Steve, you see much of Munson these days?” Mandy asks him, wiping her face from the excess drink surrounding her mouth.

How wonderful, more people you don’t know. Hawkins is the smallest town you’ve ever seen; everyone seems to know of everyone.

“Eddie? Yeah, he should be here tonight actually. Super dork, dressed as some character from Star Wars. Or at least I think it’s Star Wars.” He mutters, rolling his eyes in obvious affection for his friends. “He’s matching with Henderson and Wheeler.”

They shake their heads together in tandem at their supposedly dorky friends. As a Star Wars fan, however, you were fine, ecstatic even to hear that there were souls brave enough to dress up as dorky characters and that you weren’t the only one.

You follow Mandy into the living room, now bumping with a tape mix that Nate apparently brought to the party. It's a damn blast, everyone in the living room dancing surrounded by sweaty bodies, finally finding some joy as the strong drink makes you lose your inhibitions. As you continue dancing, suddenly you find yourself in a huddle of people, Mandy and Nate both dancing by you, but lost in their own drunken haze. You don’t care about that. However, something in your mind as you tell yourself you don’t care tells you to care about the person who’s been up against your back for God knows how long.

They have a good rhythm, and they weren’t all too touchy so nothing in your head raised any red flags. You turn around to face the stranger, and it’s like you forget how to breathe. One of his hands is placed on your hip, a smile on his face giving way to dimples that make you swoon. “Hi.” He greets you. You can’t quite hear it over the music, but you can certainly read his lips. Isn’t all that hard to decipher.

You smile back to him, letting a forearm rest on his shoulder. Who were you to deny such a pretty person? His wide smile expands even more, adding some pressure to your hip. The weight and size of his hand sends a thrill through you, and there’s a level of horniness that’s coming from you that you didn’t even know you could have.

Your drink is eventually finished, the cup dropped to the floor, forgetting to bother to throw it away. The gorgeous stranger pulls you in closer and closer as you continue to dance with him, his hands never dipping down past your waist, but you can tell by the steadiness of his grip that he knows how to use them. Usually, eye contact this intense would cause you to retract, looking away after that first glance. This eye contact only makes you want him more, his brown eyes exuding a type of lust you’ve never experienced before.

Or…were you just picturing this?

The hand that rested on your hip moves to frame your face, slender fingers brushing your cheek, caressing it for a half a moment. The hand moves down to hook under your chin, his thumb swiping across your bottom lip. His eyes very obviously stare at your lips, silently asking you for permission. When his tongue licks his bottom lip you nod eagerly, one hand moving to his black curls that you have been itching to touch as long as you’ve faced him.

Somehow, your ears muffle out the deafening music in favor of the chuckle that leaves his mouth. Before you could even register your heartbeat loud in your ears, he bends down to kiss you, and for the first time your brain computes how much taller he is than you. Any thought you might’ve had seems to evacuate the moment his soft lips meet yours. He kisses you with an expertise that makes you irrationally jealous of any other person who’s had the opportunity before you. He draws a sharp inhale as you deepen the kiss, offering more slobber and spit for him to wholeheartedly accept.

His hands tangle in your curled hair, thumbs caressing your face on either side. Something you're learning about this stranger is that he kisses with his whole body, and he knows how to do it well. His teeth graze against your bottom lip, tugging on it lightly. You whimper, shoving your tongue down his throat. A deep laugh escapes his throat as he meets your enthusiasm. He kisses the corner of your mouth, your cheek, and down to your collarbone. You barely sigh into it when his lips leave your collarbone, looking at you with remorse.

Uh oh. Not good. Were you the worst kisser and he was going to go find someone else worthy of his magical skills?

“Sorry, gotta piss. Beer’s hittin’ hard.” He shouts over the music, his thumb gesturing toward where you guessed the bathroom was.

“Ok. I’m gonna go get another drink.” You tell him, noting the red lipstick now all over his lips. “You got some uh…some lipstick there…hold on…” You reach out to wipe it for him, but he deflects, ducking from your thumb humorously.

“Uh…no thanks. I wear this shit with pride.” He explains, giving you a wink. “Meet you in the kitchen.”

You nod, suddenly full of nerves. You have been all over this guy for the last…however long, you couldn’t even tell. And now you’re realizing, he might be a decent dude on top of being a fantastic kisser.

Your legs carry you into the kitchen, running into Mandy and Nate. You weren’t sure where they’d been, having been lost in your own little world.

“Hi, babe!” She greets you, alcohol sharp on her breath. Whoa. She has had a lot more than you have. “I missed you, where the hell you been?”

You giggle, deciding to go for the tequila. After all, it was your literal liquid courage. And if you wanted to get that man’s fingers down your panties tonight, you were gonna need some. “Making out with the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in my life.” You proudly proclaim, taking a big sip of just straight tequila before adding some Sprite.

“Oh my god!” She squeals, letting go and forgetting about Nate’s existence. “Holy shit, I’m so fucking proud!” Speaking of him…he waltzes into the kitchen, grabbing a cup right by you and winking, apparently unseen by Mandy. “Shit, I’ve been looking for you!” She tells him, drunkenly tapping her hand on his bicep. “Hey, Y/N! This is Eddie. Remember? The dork Steve talked about earlier?”

Ouch. Mandy has no filter, as of course, she's drunk, but she didn’t have to be rude.

At least now you have a name for him. You were starting to feel bad. “Oh, I’m acquainted.” You tell her, sharing a smirk with Eddie.

“Seriously? Cool.” Mandy answers, not getting the hint. You gesture with your eyes alone to Mandy that Eddie was the guy you were talking about just a few moments ago. She gets it, but apparently forgets all about subtlety. “Wait, Eddie Munson is the hottest guy you’ve ever seen in your life?” She asks you incredulously, like it's the most unbelievable thing she's ever heard.

“Thanks, Mandy.” You grit out, teeth clenched.

“Oops.” She grimaces, grabbing Nate's hand. “We’re gonna go find a spot on the couch to make out. Sorry!”

You roll your eyes affectionately, knowing she meant no harm. Did she have to say it, though?

The smirk on Eddie’s face says everything without saying a word. “So, the hottest guy you’ve ever seen, huh?” He asks, looking incredibly proud of the fact.

You knock your tequila back, needing more liquid courage. “Yep. Hottest.”

His eyebrow raises, and he takes a big sip of his own drink. Maybe he needs his own courage. “Well, you’re probably the sexiest damn Poison Ivy I’ve ever seen.” He smirks, leering at you. His eyes blatantly rake up and down your body, giving you a surge in confidence. “You’re like a little sexy nugget of weed.” He laughs, his words slightly slurred.

“Wait, you get that I’m Poison Ivy?” You ask, finally assessing his costume. Oh, he’s Vader without the mask. “I mean I guess you are the dork they talked about earlier.” Eddie seems slightly sunken by this. “Don’t worry,” you tell him theatrically. “I’m a massive dork, myself.”

He perks up, pulling you in by the waist. “What do you say we find a room upstairs?” He asks, taking another big sip of his drink.

You raise your cup back to your lips, knocking the remainder down fast. “I say, lead the way.”

He grabs you by the hand and leads you up the stairs, pushing some people out of the way that were blocking it in the middle of a conversation. As he leads you down the hall, the music somewhat fades out and you can hear him muttering under his breath. “We better find a guest room cause I’m not hooking up in Harrington’s room, and I’ll be damned if I hook up in his parents' room.”

From that, you’re able to assess that he’s over here enough to know which room belongs to whom. He knocks on one of the doors, swearing softly when someone shouts out. He does it twice more, meeting the same result. “Ok.” He sighs, fingers crossed. He knocks twice, no answer. He knocks once more for good measure, and it can be said that there is definitely no one inside. “Thank fuck.”

As soon as you’re through the door he turns the dimmer switches on lightly and locks the door. You take off the vines, letting the pins and fake plants fall to the floor to make it easier for him to climb on you.

He watches you from the four postered bed, still head to toe in what you now noticed was the caped costume that Darth Vader wears. “So, we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with, by the way. If you wanna do hand stuff, we’ll do hand stuff.”

Your gut swoops at his consideration and empathy. He seems to truly care about your comfortability rather than him getting off. You walk to him, swiping off all accessories you wore, including your shoes. You straddle his lap, pushing on him lightly so he falls back onto the bed. You attack his lips with your own, attempting to show how much his consideration for you already has you soaked. “I will do” you whisper in between a handful of kisses, “anything you want me to,” you tell him, starting to grind the tent you feel poking past your dress. “Within reason.” You add for good measure, not quite that down for anything. But if he wants to fuck you, you’re down. You’re so down. You’re so down bad.

“Fuck…do that again.” He asks, holding your hips. You comply, grinding your wet heat against him, teasing yourself, but loving the expression on his face. It's ethereal. “Fuck, baby. You barely touched me, and you already have me falling apart.”

This makes you smile with pride. A huff of laughter escapes your lips, sighing deeply as you can feel his erection growing. The fact that this man is as hard as he is when he’s this good looking is the biggest compliment in the world. You wrap his lips in a kiss again, your tongue peeking out to lick across his lip, managing to tug yet another moan out of him. You relish in the tone, the whimper that follows right after it. He really isn’t afraid to tell you how much he is enjoying what the two of you are doing.

As you continue to explore his tequila-scented mouth, both of his hands cup your ass, feeling his limber fingers bunch up the fabric of the bright green dress you’re wearing. He takes his time, giving you every minute to communicate any second thoughts. You moan impatiently, encouraging him to get under there already.

He chuckles, pulling the rest of the material up swiftly. His fingers grab at the skin of your barely covered ass cheeks roughly, the friction burning in the best way. A whimper escapes your throat, your mouth filling with the taste of him as your tongues meet. You’re sure he’s gripping those cheeks hard enough to bruise, not that you mind.

An increasing need has been growing since you first laid eyes on him, the need for him to touch you in the most sinful of ways. While his touch on your ass is electric, you are ready for much more. Your whimpers echo the thought, feeling needy for more of his touch, your hip movements going from fluid and purposeful to rigid and needy.

“What do you need, hmm?” He asks in-between kisses, one hand pushing up your dress to your waist as it caresses your bare hip. “Use your words, beautiful.”

“Need you to touch me,” the thought leaves your lips without your permission. How dare your brain betray you like that?

Eddie starts to kiss at your jaw, switching between nibbles and his tongue deliciously lapping at the skin. “Like how?” He asks in intervals, his voice soft, yet demanding. “Like this?” He grabs harshly at your ass, nails digging into the soft flesh. “Like this?” He asks again, tingles radiating down your skin as he lightly grazes your hip bone. “Or…like this?” His hand that rested on your hip bone flutters down to where heat radiates off your core, getting a feel of your soaked panties. “Oh my god, you’re so fucking wet.” He mutters, putting some pressure at the top of your mound.

Your hips start desperately grinding against his fingers, needing him to touch you. “Can you blame me?” You ask him, breath stuttering through it.

“Are you trying to flatter me?” He asks, pausing his pressure momentarily and backing off to study you. You stutter through an empty response, and he laughs kindly. “Cause flattery works, sweetheart.” His fingers move past the cotton barrier he's been making small circles against, delicately tracing along the wetness of your folds. You’re so slick, it’s like a damn slip and slide. The moment his fingers make contact with you, they’re soaked and in your juices.

“Oh shit—” you stutter, grinding on him helplessly. You can barely focus, your arms weak as you’re suddenly unable to hold your weight as you collapse on him. He's not touching you purposely, but just the feel of him sends a ripple down your spine. “Feels good.”

“Hmm.” He answers, noting the way you’re writhing so beautifully on top of him. He knew he would have you in a mess. In fact, he looked forward to it from the moment he saw you. He meticulously moves you onto your back, taking in your wide-eyed stare with a smirk. “Gonna take these off.” He mutters, fingers moving to the waistband of your panties. “Need a good look at you.”

You’re not entirely sure what he means until you see the look on his face as he stares at your pussy for the first time. His darkened stare, the slack smile he wears as he stares at you. Well not you, just the most vulnerable part of you. You’ve had a bit of experience in high school, but no one ever looked at your pussy like this. Like…it’s…

“Beautiful.” Eddie whispers, licking his lips. You watch him as he takes you in, admiring how wanted he makes you feel. Without a warning he lurches forward in between your legs, his tongue licking one long strip up your slick. Your thighs convulse, the pleasure so red hot, you can’t control the choked-out moan that escapes your lips if you tried. “Oh, you’re shaking, baby.”

His tongue moves more purposely to your clit, sucking on it and tapping with his tongue repeatedly. Your thighs clamp around his face, tensing up as every goddamn nerve is set on fire. You feel a slight huff of laughter against your puffy clit, the breath tickling you, causing you to giggle from the sensation. The giggle leads into a whimper, the small movements of his tongue sending you into overdrive. “Feels so—oh my god—I—” You stutter, unable to finish a single sentence.

He tugs your legs, forcing your knees against your chest to get even closer. A fierce heat starts in your stomach, startling the hell out of you. A great build slowly moves you, pushing you step by step over a high you’ve never reached before. Your stomach has never coiled so tightly, the heat never so intense. “Too much, too much.”

“You’re almost there, sweetheart.” He encourages you, watching every muscle in your legs tighten and feeling your abdomen tighten and release. “Oh, it’s gonna feel so good, baby. Wanna see you cum for me, see you fall apart, hear that pretty little mouth make the prettiest noises.”

Eddie slips a finger in, pumping it slowly at first, building up the speed quickly as he continues sucking. There’s something in you telling you to be embarrassed at how quickly your orgasm has snuck up on you, but from the foreplay of his expert lips and the mind-numbing words, it only makes sense.

“Cl-close…” You manage out, the heat making your way through your body, even making a stop in your head.

“Let me see you come apart, sweetheart.” He tells you, working his fingers at an unmatched rate.

The sensation sends you over the edge, your extremities shaking uncontrollably. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, a near primal moan leaves your mouth, a sound you didn’t even know you had the capability of making.

It takes you a minute to recover, Eddie working you through your whole orgasm and gently kissing your thighs until you come back to. He’s patient, waiting until your breathing slows down, kissing his way up your half-dressed torso. Eddie rests his body on yours, the tent in his pants meeting the heat of your center as his forearms support his weight on either side of your head. His thumbs sway at your temple, slowly watching as your eyes lose their glaze.

Your vision finally focuses back on him, his soft smile on his face welcoming as he watches you. His legs tense up, his muscles spasming as he resists thrusting into your heat. It’s teasing you, your hips accidentally moving upwards to meet the now wet stain on his polyester costume. “You’re wearing too much.” You tell him, whining softly.

“I’m sorry, should I take these off?” He asks, kissing you rapidly on the face right after. “Or if you’re done, I don’t blame you.”

“Done?” You ask incredulously. “Oh no, I’m not even close to done.” You tell him, giggling when he gives you a smirk.

“Just checking, sweetheart.” Eddie replies, kissing you rapidly again.

You’re finally back on earth, your hands reaching around him to look for where his costume opens. You had a feeling it would open from the back. You pull each Velcro apart one by one, your hands telling you as you move down that he’s not wearing anything underneath. You don't know if it's odd or the hottest thing in the world. Both, definitely both.

Your nails scratch at his skin at the last one, finally taking the shoulders off. You gasp as he helps you take out each arm awkwardly, only because you could finally see all the tattoos that his costume has covered up. “Holy shit.” You mutter, hands reaching out to palm at each one.

As he mouths at your neck, you push the rest of his costume down, figuring out it was a one piece. Ok. Steve might’ve been right about calling him a dork. But with his cunnilingus skills, who fucking cares? “You wanna fuck?” He asks, making his way down your neck, one hickey at a time.

You wrap your legs around his waist, tugging him down so the thin fabric meets your soaked pussy even harder. “Please?”

“When you ask so nicely, how could I deny?” He answers, leaving one last final nibble on your shoulder. He gets up without a warning, and you whine pathetically. “Jus’ takin off my pants sweetheart. Can’t put my dick in you if it’s still covered.”

You watch him pull down his pants, teasing you as it makes its way down his torso, his treasure trail, the v-line, you start drooling the moment his cock pops out. You figured he was big from his bulge pressed against you, but the material was apparently holding him back from his true length. You spend a good minute staring at it, how pink the head is, how thick he looks, it made you nearly feral.

“Enjoying the show?” Eddie asks. You glance back up at his face, heating up when you realize you've stared a lot longer than planned.

“Mmmhmm.” You tell him, not seeing any need to deny.

He lurches forward onto the bed, yanking giggles out of you. His hands roughly move up your torso to take your dress off, moving it over your head. He throws it over his shoulder, eyes raking in your tits like they’re in the Louvre. Hell, he’d take a polaroid and hang it there, despite the risk of security arresting and escorting him out immediately after.

“You are fucking gorgeous, baby.” He mutters, leaning into one of your tits mouthing at the nipple delicately, grazing it with his teeth, turning the mound into a shade of purple.

You can’t help yourself, reaching down to grab his cock. “Need you in me.” You urge him, smiling when he lets out a surprised whimper.

“Fucking—” he stutters out, biting on his lip. “Yeah, yeah, okay. I can do that.” He laughs, and before you have a moment to admire how adorable that was, you feel him line himself up. “Shit, you’re fucking tight.”

You can feel exactly what he means, the head barely pushing in. Even with how wet you are, Eddie's having difficulty pushing into you. Your mouth drops open, panting through it at the blinding pain and pleasure. He pauses, giving you a moment to adjust. “Feels so goddamn good, Ed.” You gasp, blindly reaching for him.

Blindly, because your eyes are unable to stay open from the sheer pleasure that has taken over your body.

“I know, baby I know.” He whispers, holding one hand to your face.

“Ok.”

He pushes in more, eliciting a high-pitched whine out of you. “You have any idea how fucking hot those little noises that you make are?” He asks, his voice husky and strained.

You laugh at his successful attempt at flattery, causing him to whine at the way your pussy tightens around him in sync. “Keep going.”

He pushes in a little bit more, your legs tensing around his torso as the noise caught in your throat is even louder. “You’re taking me so well, baby, what a good girl.” You tighten up at his praise, provoking Eddie to get the idea that praise is something that you desire. “Oh, you liked that, didn’t you, my good girl?” You tighten around him again, Eddie twitching in you as a response.

“More.” You manage out, your voice guttural. He pushes in just a little bit more. “Oh my god, you’re in my fucking stomach, so fucking deep!” You whine, eyes closed as you pulse around him.

“Just a little bit more, baby. You’re doing so well, such a good girl.”

“More.”

He pushes the rest of his cock in, finally able to rest his body on yours. You take your time adjusting to his size, inhaling, and exhaling with purpose as the pain subsides. “That’s a girl, take your time.” He mutters, watching you carefully.

“Kiss me please.” You whisper, opening your eyes to face the intensity radiating from his chocolate brown ones. He leans in for a lush kiss, your legs wrapping around him to pull him in tightly. His hand moves to your tit, playing with the nipple between two of his fingers. Your tongues meet, somehow knowing exactly what the other needs. “You can move now.” You whisper in between kisses.

Eddie, apparently a master at multitasking, lifts his hips without so much as stuttering in the kiss. You expected him to stop, but the new mix of sensation throws you off intensely. His first thrust causes you to shout directly into his mouth. You’re much more prepared for the second thrust, however unprepared for the force behind it. “Yeah?” He asks, pulling back and staring into your eyes.

You nod enthusiastically. “So good. Cock feels…so good.” You whine to him, legs unable to continue holding onto him as tight as they were. Now they’re floating in the air aimlessly, unable to focus on much except for how good and how deep he is. “How…this good?” The question you meant to ask was how he was so good at fucking like this, but your mouth was unable to form a single coherent sentence.

“Barely been in you for a minute, and you’re already cock-drunk, huh?” He borderline mocks you, fucking you faster with each thrust.

You grunt in response, fully accepting the label of cock drunk. “So…good, Eddie!” It’s just…fucking true, which is the only rational thought in your brain for the moment. Others are So Hot, and Big Ass Cock, and finally, Gorgeous fucking body.

“Your pretty pussy is so tight, baby, bein’ such a good girl for me.” Eddie sits up, pulling your ass down to where he can fuck you in a better position where he can hit your g-spot. He rests a hand sideways on your lower tummy, putting slight pressure on it. This sends a blinding hot pleasure into you as he repeatedly hits that spot.

“F-fuck, get-getting cl-close…” you stutter, feeling your tits bounce at the sheer force he's fucking you with.

“This is fucking embarrassing, but so am I, baby.” He mutters, starting to go at a faster rate, which you would've deemed impossible a few seconds ago. “Your pussy is so fucking good, can’t fuckin’ help myself.”

You half giggle, half moan at the flattery, not minding for one moment that he would cum so quickly. After all, he spent the first half paying most of his attention to you, so you understand if he's been pent up. While that is the reality of why, you can’t help but feel like hot shit for making someone as fantastic as Eddie cum so fast. His stamina and willingness to give on top of how gorgeous he is does nothing but boost your ego.

“Cum with me.” You beg him, also on the edge. “Cum in me.”

“Oh my god—” you make his hips stutter, and you smile with pride. “You sure, baby?” He asks, trying to make sure he covers his tracks.

“Cum in me, please, daddy!” It leaves your mouth before you’re unable to stop it, the daddy kink not quite something you break out on the first fuck most of the time.

Eddie, however, is a different breed. He meets the unexpected outburst with a growl, and you swear his cock twitches inside of you. “Of course, baby girl, whatever you want.” He grunts out. “Daddy is gonna fill you the fuck up.” He lurches forward so he’s skin on skin with you again so he can whisper in your ear. “When we go back downstairs, I’m gonna keep your panties, and you're gonna dance with my cum dripping down your fucking legs.” You tighten up around him, telling Eddie this is exactly what you wanted from him. The sweet mixture of praise and degradation makes your head spin with need. “You like that, huh? Of course, you’d like that you fucking slut.” His hips rut harshly against yours and at a stupid crazy speed. “If I catch you trying to clean yourself up, you’re gonna fucking hear about it, got it?”

You nod, entirely thrilled about this.

“Didn’t fuckin hear you, slut.”

“Got it, daddy.” You answer, right on the edge.

“You gonna cum with me, baby girl?” He asks, his voice strained.

“Mmhmm. Waiting for you.”

“Good fucking girl. I’m so close…fuck…gonna—” Eddie is interrupted by his own orgasm, which sends you over the edge with him. It’s not as intense as your last one, so you’re able to pay extra attention to the look on his face. His mouth half open, a deep moan leaving his throat.  Oh god, you’ll definitely be remembering this next time it’s only you and your imagination.

He collapses on you, his chest and forehead covered in sweat. The only sound in the air is you and Eddie catching your breath together. Your breath is finally back in your lungs, but your heart is still racing against his chest. He suddenly sits himself back on his forearms, petting at your forehead and hair gently. “Fuck, please go out with me on Saturday.” He whispers, quietly assessing the expression you wear on your face.

“Huh?” You ask him, unsure you heard him correctly.

“Go out with me on Saturday. Please, I can’t fuck a pussy this good and not take you out on a hot date.” He mutters softly, placing the gentlest of kisses on your lips.

“If you think I’m letting you go after this, you’re fucking insane.” You whisper back, framing his face to grab it for another lush kiss.

Eddie sighs, petting your hair. “Thank fucking god.” He pulls out of you, tugging a whimper out of you. He gives one last kiss, before moving down your torso. You almost ask what he was doing, when you feel two of his fingers push inside you quickly.

Your head jerks up, wondering what in the ever-living hell he's doing.

“Just helping by pushing the cum back in you, baby. Wanted to give you at least a fighting chance before it starts dripping down these stunning thighs of yours.” He places a wet kiss on your thigh, one last quiver radiating through it. “You good to stand up?”

“Hope so.” You laugh, scooching your ass down the plain comforter. Eddie tosses you your dress and gets dressed back into his cheap costume himself.

You assess Eddie, fixing his hair so he doesn’t look so disheveled. “You realize my lipstick is all over your neck and face, right?” You ask him, assessing him in all his post-nut glory. How the fuck is anyone this hot?

“Didn't I tell you earlier that I'm gonna wear this shit with pride, darlin?” He asks you, giving you a smile that makes you melt. “Wanna go downstairs and make-out on Steve's dad’s stupid chair?”

“If we make out I might wanna blow you.” You admit, the effects of the alcohol and the level of his hotness has still completely taken over your brain.

Eddie groans, and you swear his pupils dilate. “Fuck, I’ll take you into the nearest hallway closet if that happens, then you can get on your knees and suck my cock off like a good girl. You just tell me, yeah?”

You giggle as he opens the door and you nod enthusiastically, pretty much already in your head that hooking up with Eddie is nowhere near done.

When you reach the bottom of the steps, Eddie tugs on your hand straight to the leather chair in the corner, having you sit across his lap as his tongue makes its way down your throat again.

Eventually, after a mere ten minutes of teasing, Eddie has to lead you to a hallway closet, where yes, you worship him on your knees with his treasure trail meeting your nose.

That was the best fucking Halloween, ever.

-

Thank you so much for reading! I love to read your comments, replies, and reblogs. As always, reblogging is the best way to support your fic writers on tumblr.

Taglist: @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinnschesthair @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you @names-were-taken @oddussy420

[solarmorrigan]

💔 not enough - steve and hopper

This one gave me the chance to resurrect a scene I've had in mind for quite a while!

14. Not Enough - Hopper & Steve

cw: implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced domestic violence, referenced canon-typical violence

-

It’s silent as Hopper drives, the air a little awkward and stilted. Steve still isn’t sure what to say, what to do. They’d stopped off at his parents’ house to pick up his stuff (and Steve had tried to tell Hopper that it wasn’t necessary for him to come along, that his parents wouldn’t even be home, but Hopper had just opened the passenger side door of his truck and told Steve to get in; he’s a difficult man to argue with when he refuses to acknowledge he’s being argued with), and they’re on their way to the cabin now. It’s a safe place, an easy place to be, but Steve can’t help the mounting anxiety in his chest as they draw closer.

He hadn’t expected this when he’d turned up at Eddie’s place last night, the bruise around his eye still fresh and swelling, his lip only just beginning to scab over. He hadn’t wanted to cause a fuss, he’d just wanted somewhere to stay the night, to wait out his dad’s temper. But Eddie had more than fussed – he’d gotten Wayne involved, who had gotten Hopper involved, which had somehow led to Steve being given a choice: he could stay at the trailer with Eddie and Wayne, or he could take the spare room at the newly constructed Hopper-Byers cabin (not so much a cabin as a large house at this point, but the name had stuck).

Or – well, he could also have gone home. No one is holding him hostage, but he could imagine Wayne’s resigned sigh and Hopper’s disappointed scowl and the way Eddie and Robin would have worried over him if he’d said no, and he hadn’t wanted any of that. No one is supposed to worry over him.

It isn’t supposed to be like this.

This is Steve’s problem, and he shouldn’t have made it into anyone else’s. But as long as they had been expecting him to make a choice–

He loves it at the trailer with Eddie and Wayne, but they’re pressed for space as it is; Steve hadn’t wanted to intrude any further. And that just left Hopper and Joyce’s spare room.

Steve sighs and shifts his seat. He isn’t doing a great job hiding his mood, he knows he isn’t, but Hopper lets the silence ride until they reach the cabin. Once Steve is out of the truck, though, rounding the front to head up to the house, Hopper stops him with a hand on his shoulder, giving him a searching kind of look that makes Steve’s spine itch.

“If you’ve got something to say, you’d better get it out now, because once Joyce gets you in her clutches, you’re not escaping.”

Steve sighs, running a hand over his face, like maybe he can wipe away whatever it is Hopper’s picking up on. “It’s… not that I’m not grateful, but you shouldn’t have to do this. You shouldn’t be, like– putting yourself out just for me.”

Hopper raises his brows at Steve. “Is that what we’re doing?” he asks, and Steve can’t help but huff.

“Driving me around and helping me get my crap and – and letting me stay in your house, yeah, it sounds like kind of an imposition.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m sure you have other stuff to worry about. You shouldn’t feel like you have to take care of me, or something, I can– I can take it. It’s okay.”

“That’s– whatever you’re thinking, Harrington, that’s not what this is,” Hopper says. “This isn’t pity, or charity, or whatever the fuck else. You say you can take it, but you shouldn’t have to. This is just what we do for each other. What we’re supposed to do – we look out for each other.”

And something about that – it hits Steve in just the wrong spot.

It hits him in the spot he tries to pretend doesn’t exist, the spot filled with anger and doubt, where he wonders why he has to be there for everyone else but no one is there for him, where he shoves all the loneliness and want and tries to wall it away. It hits like a bolt of lightning and illuminates everything.

“Why now?” Steve asks.

“What?” Hopper’s brows draw together.

“Why now? Why does it suddenly matter now?” Steve isn’t really asking anymore. “Why not when I was thirteen, when my dad hit me the first time? Why not when Hargrove beat the shit out of me and no one ever even came by to make sure I wasn’t dead? Or after I got– after the Russians got me and I didn’t have anyone to drive me home from the fucking hospital? Why now?” He should stop, he knows he should stop, he isn’t being fair, there’s always been a good reason, but he just – can’t. “Is it because there’s nothing else going on right now? No other emergencies, so it’s okay to finally fucking– like– what, I survived infected bat bites from another dimension, but my dad gives me a black eye and that’s when everyone decides to pay attention?”

By the time Steve runs out of steam, petering off with his voice half-cracking as he demands to know what the hell is different now, something has changed about Hopper. He looks – small, almost. Tired, and older than Steve really remembers him looking.

“Kid, I–” Hopper starts; he breaks off and runs a hand over his mouth, staring for just a moment at the ground, like he can’t quite meet Steve’s eyes. “We fucked up. I know we did. We let you slip through the cracks because we didn’t have to worry about your parents breathing down our necks and because you… you were just so fucking quiet about it.” he shakes his head. He’s looking up at Steve now, like he can’t stop, his gaze intense. “And that’s not an excuse. You put everything on the line, again and again, and you kept those kids safe, and we dropped the ball on you every goddamn time. We fucked up, we never kept you safe.

“I’m not asking you to – I don’t know, fucking forgive us, or even trust us at this point. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to. If you change your mind and want to stay at the Munson’s, I’ll take you there. But you have a place here. As long as you need it.” Hopper shrugs loosely. “We’ll try to do better, Steve. Maybe that’s not enough, but that’s the best I’ve got.”

Objectively, it probably isn’t much.

Still, it’s more than Steve’s ever been promised, and wavers on the edge, inclined to take it.

“I don’t… I don’t really know what you want from me,” he admits quietly.

Hopper shakes his head. “Nothing. Just come inside.”

Arms crossed tight over his chest, Steve nods slowly. “Okay,” he manages.

Hopper’s hand is on his shoulder again, and Steve expects a pat, or maybe a reassuring squeeze, but he finds himself instead drawn close with one of Hopper’s arms resting heavily across his shoulders with a weight more reassuring than Steve expected it to be. He drops his own arms so they aren’t pinned between him and Hopper; he doesn’t quite hug back, but he lets himself relax a little against Hopper’s chest. He feels solid against Steve. He feels safe.

Maybe what Hopper’s offering him won’t be enough. Maybe it’s too little, too late. But if they’re going to try, then Steve wants to try, too.

He thinks maybe it will be okay.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiemicrofic & @steddiesportsau.

Left to Rot

April Microfic Prompt: Score & Sports AU Prompt: Sports Injury | Word Count: 351 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Recreational Drug Mention | Tags: Pre-Steddie, Canon Divergence Set After S2, Banter, Steve's Hurt And All He Got Was This Lousy Cellmate

This fucking sucks. 

Steve has his knee propped up in a chair in the ISS room, pillow under his calf. He's been left to rot in here. Torn ACL, basketball season over. Probably baseball and track, too. Senior year, ruined. If that wasn't bad enough, now he feels like he's being punished. He can't get upstairs, not on crutches, not with this big fucking brace. So, he's stuck down here. It's not like they had a lot of other places to put him. He didn't want to sit in the main office with Ms. Arlene.

But still.

Dumped with the in-school suspension kids is such bullshit. He didn't do anything wrong, he just got hurt.

Ms. Gordon is never in here either, always off yapping in the hall, and so far there have been no other students besides Eddie "The Freak" Munson, who flunked last year.

"What are you in for?" Steve asks, desperate for someone, anyone, to talk to. He's going stir-crazy.

"Wouldn't you like to know, Harrington?" Munson snaps, continuing to draw in his notebook.

"C'mon. I'll tell you," Steve wheedles.

"I already know why you're in here. Your knee is made of fine china, apparently," Eddie snarks.

Steve smirks, winding up.

"You calling me valuable, Munson?" Steve teases, happy when the blush creeps up Eddie's neck, unbidden. Serves him right. 

Rumors are abundant about Eddie. Of course they are, it's Hawkins and high school. There's no chance of escaping that.

"Tell me a secret and I'll tell you why I'm stuck with you, Harrington."

"There are monsters under Hawkins," Steve easily admits, and Eddie laughs.

"Yeah, and I'm gonna get an A on my quiz in Ms. O'Donnell's later. Sure."

Steve laughs. He was honest. It's not his fault if Eddie doesn't believe him.

Eventually, Eddie looks back up from drawing. Brown eyes that somehow look kind under the bluster.

"Your buddy Hagan wanted to score some weed. Got caught. Said he got it from me. They got no proof, but punished me anyway."

"Not my friend anymore," Steve says, then asks, "Well? Did he?"

"Duh," Eddie laughs. 

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for these challenges, pop on over to @steddiemicrofic and @steddiesportsau to follow along with the fun!

[tanktopdiaz]

canon 8x05 masks coda

“I’m bisexual, right?”

Hen whips her head around her locker door.

“I mean, we’ve had this talk, right? If I told you something in confidence, it wouldn’t be – like –“

“It would not surprise me,” Hen cuts him off, mercifully. Chim can’t seem to look her in the eye so she follows his eyeline to the gym. Eddie’s the only thing there, pumping a couple hundred pounds of iron in a dark gray tank top. “Oh,” she slams her locker door shut. “I do not want to hear this.”

“I – wha’!” He scoffs, turning fully to her with his arms out in shock. “Hen! You’re being totally homophobic right now!”

Hen turns towards the door, palm up behind her. “I’m not doing this with you right now, Howie!”

“Bi-phobic!” Chim counters, a finger in the air between them. “You can’t stand the idea of me appreciating a hot guy then going home to my smokin’ wife!”

“I don’t know what spell that man has cast on you all,” she says with a small laugh, waving her hand and chancing a look back at Chim. He’s dropped like a sad puppy, eyebrows turned inward and his mouth pinched in a half-frown half-angry grimace.

Chim scuffs his shoe on the floor. “I think it’s the mustache, Hen.”

“Hm,” she hums. “It’s bewitched you.”

“Body and soul,” he whispers, looking down at his palms.

Hen hitches her bag up her shoulder and sighs. “Karen said the same thing. Both of you are unbelievable.”

“Come on, Hen - I mean, the werewolf costume?” He glances around, lowers his voice. “Did you even see?”

“See what?” Buck pops up behind Chim, warm from the showers.

Scares the shit out of Chim, who scrambles a bit away and starts working on the buttons of his shirt in the world’s lamest attempt at escaping the conversation at hand. “Nothing! Just – taxes!”

“He’s in here waxing poetry about Eddie in his werewolf costume.” Hen rolls her eyes and gestures to Chim, ends with a little smack on her thigh and one low laugh-huff.

“Oh.” Buck replies – then – he’s quiet. They both look up to see a blush on his cheeks, face turned away and seemingly lost in thought.

Hen swings open the locker room door. “Goodbye!”

“So,” Chim starts after a lengthy, purposeful silence. “I told you I’m bisexual too, right?”

[lover-of-mine]

"does Eddie know he can say no?" WAIT NO NOW THAT'S ALL I'M GONNA BE THINKING ABOUT DOES HE????

bestie, i typed that tag down without thinking, looked back at it, the implications hit me and i just turned around because i wasn't ready to think about it. Seriously, does Eddie know that if he doesn't want to have sex, he doesn't have to? That he doesn't have to give in because she's in the mood or escape the house because she likes it in the morning and he doesn't want to give her the chance to start something? DOES HE KNOW HE CAN SAY NO???????????? Does the show even know what they're implying there? Like, seriously. That's such a wild thing when you think about it. Eddie thinks that if she wants to have sex, he has to even if he doesn't want to. And I'm kinda what the fuck over here, yk?

[firewasabeast]

give me.... Tommy finding Evan post-kidnapping after a few days. Bonus points for Evan crying and stuttering/Tommy figuring out who/what/why.

first, sorry it took so long. second, I did more of tommy crying, oops!

Tommy's chest burned, wheezes escaping with each breath he took. Every muscle in his body was begging for him to stop, slow down.

He wouldn't listen.

Everyone had been hearing about it on the news for the past four months. The High Tide Killer. A serial killer who would drug his victims before tying them up underneath a boardwalk just before high tide. He stayed along the California coast, but he was always a step ahead of the police. They could never seem to figure out where he'd strike next.

They needed him to mess up, that's what everyone kept saying. They needed him to make a mistake, and once he did that, that's when they'd find him.

His mistake was choosing Evan.

Tommy has sensed something was wrong when he woke up at two in the morning and Evan wasn't beside him. He and Eddie had planned on going out to the bar after work, but Evan had said he'd be home by midnight, if not sooner.

Tommy had fallen asleep sometime after eleven, his own shift wearing him out. But when he had reached over in the middle of the night to snuggle up to Evan and Evan wasn't there, that's when the panic started.

He'd called Eddie first, who grumbled a, “What?” after nearly twelve rings.

Tommy asked him if Evan had gone home with him? He thought maybe Evan decided to stay the night so he wouldn't wake Tommy up.

No.

Eddie, more awake now, said Buck had left the bar before he did. Decided to call it a night at eleven. They'd parked right next to each other, and when Eddie left, Buck's Jeep was gone.

Tommy, with his heart pounding, headed outside with the phone kept up to his ear.

Right there, parked along the street, was Evan's Jeep.

He was shaking, an overwhelming sense of dread flooding his system, as he walked over to the driver's side and saw the contents of Evan's duffel spilled out on the ground, the driver's door still open, keys on the hood.

There'd been a struggle.

He'd managed to stutter out to Eddie that he had to call the police. Eddie sobered up quickly at that; said he'd be over in fifteen minutes.

That was the start of the longest five days of Tommy's life.

There were interviews and accusations and, if not for Athena, Tommy was fairly sure he'd still be in custody.

But there was also blood on the keys. Evan had stabbed whoever took him.

They rushed the lab for DNA results. Came back to a guy who had been arrested once, ten years back, on aggravated assault. He'd been convicted, but got out on good behavior and overcrowding within the prison.

They were able to place him in the same locations as the other victims of the High Tide Killer. He usually kept his victims for a few days, drugging them over and over until he eventually got tired of them. That's when he'd tie them underneath a boardwalk and let them drown with the tide.

Tommy heard when they caught him on the police scanner he'd bought. Found his way to their location, right off the beach, before the police even had a chance to transport him to the station.

Athena, along with two other officers, had to hold him back as he demanded to know where his husband was at. Demanded to know why. Why him?!

The man had the nerve to smile at him as he was placed into the back of the police car. Shrugged his shoulders and said, “He was there.”

He went after the man again, but Athena's voice was in his ear, telling him over and over that he needed to focus. “Focus, Tommy. Focus!”

And that's what Tommy did. He thought about where they were, where the killer was found, where the nearest boardwalk was at, and the fact that it was coming up on high tide very soon.

He could get there faster if he ran.

So he ran.

He ran down the shoreline, ignoring the way his lungs were screaming at him. He fought against the sand with each step, the way it tried to trip him up and take him down.

He ran, and ran, and ran, until he reached the boardwalk, and then he dove in. He had on too many clothes, and was equipped with only a rusty pocket knife, but he swam against the crashing waves until, even in the darkness of the night, he reached Evan.

He didn't have time to call out for help. Didn't have any time to waste. The water was above Evan's head and he wasn't fighting against it.

Tommy used his knife and he cut Evan free, one rope at a time.

When he got the last rope cut, he grabbed onto Evan and swam them to the surface, gasping for breath as soon as he came up.

Officers were just reaching the location as Tommy began pulling Evan to shore. They ran into the water and helped them out, but then Tommy was pushing them away as he dropped to his knees.

He began CPR, all of his attention on Evan.

The only thought running through his mind was Evan, Evan, Evan, with each push on his chest.

He didn't hear the sirens. Had no clue the 118 had arrived on scene. Would only find out later that he shoved Howie away so he could continue compressions.

“Please, Evan. Come on, Evan,” he repeated, a mixture of salt water and tears dripping down from his face onto Evan's chest. “Come on, Baby, come on!”

Then there was a cough, and a gasp, and water was bubbling up out of Evan's mouth.

“That's it! That's it, you're okay!” Tommy soothed, his voice breaking as Evan stared up at him with wide, wild eyes.

“T- Tommy?” he muttered.

Tommy pulled him up against his chest, cradling Evan in his arms as he sobbed. “I'm here,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of Evan's head. "I'm here, Evan. You're okay."

“You...�� Buck reached up, gripping onto Tommy's soaked shirt. “I- I knew you'd find me.”

For the first time in five days, Tommy could breathe again.

[hawkinsbnbg]

thank you, santa

prompt: santa | word count: 986 | rated: T | tags: omega verse, true mates, soulmates, love at first sight, omega Steve, runaway Steve, Steve has bad parents, alpha Eddie, implied mpreg | @steddieholidaydrabbles | ao3

Growing up, Steve had learned that Santa wasn't real. His parents had made sure to break his naïve fantasy as soon as he started asking them questions about the world.

For a long time, Steve believed them and thought his classmates were stupid to prepare milk and cookies for Santa. Still, somewhere inside his head, there was a small voice that doubted everything Richard and Dana Harrington told him in their dismissive tones, but Steve was too desperate to please them to even pause and think for himself.

But when he presented as an omega and had to endure their contempt for him, he decided they were bullshit.

———

Christmas was a cursed holiday among the Harrington. Or maybe it was just Steve who'd been a disappointment to his poor parents since his birth. Either way, it didn't matter anymore considering he'd made peace with the fact that he had shitty parents the moment he hitchhiked out of town to escape from under their thumbs.

And yet, three years later, he still wished his Christmas wasn't always so cold and lonely, wished he had a family to celebrate it with. But while Santa might be real, he knew he wasn't good enough to be granted such a thing. After all, no good omega would be abandoned by their pack or struggle at reining in their instinct—the one that always made him needy for a smidge of warmth and go haywire around children.

Fortunately, the record store didn't require his flimsy control, they only asked him to smile pretty and assist the customers as best as he could, which was a piece of cake given the omega training his parents had briefly put him through all those years ago.

Loathed at them as he might, part of the reason he excelled at his job was thanks to them. And every day, Steve tried to not think about that even though his mind tended to spiral without his consent. At this point, it was a bad habit he couldn't get rid of.

Steve grimaced as he stared at the fake pine tree on the display shelf. Even now, he could still hear his mother criticizing him for wearing the clothes he chose. He had got them from a thrift shop; the soft maroon sweater, the washout jeans that didn't try to squeeze him to death, the worn sneakers that didn't hurt to walk in. He wished—

Steve paused arranging the vinyl records to pinch the bridge of his nose. Maybe it was the holiday effect because he caught himself making more wishes lately. It didn't hurt to seek a little comfort from magic and fairytale, but he couldn't afford to delude himself anymore. Not when the last time he did, he had nearly been sold away.

Besides, it wasn't like he could just ask to see his soulmate right now even though it was already 1986—the year that his soul mark had mentioned—and Christmas was just around the corner. Because there was a fat chance they wouldn't be compatible and had to give up on each other in the end anyway. (He wondered if that was why his parents kept reminding him soulmates weren't real.)

Too lost in his thoughts, Steve didn't pick up the pinewood scent right away, but when someone cleared their throat lightly behind him, it was the first thing that his inner omega latched onto. Thinking it was a customer asking for his assistance, he turned around with a greeting on the tip of his tongue only to have the air sucked out of him.

The handsome stranger had long black curls, pale skin, big dark chocolate eyes, plump lips, and a cute nose that had turned slightly red due to the cold weather. His outfit was mostly black—a Judas Priest t-shirt, leather jacket, combat boots, and chains—except for the maroon knitted scarf tied in a half-hearted bow on his neck.

Not to mention the way he smelled— Steve breathed in deeply and felt something right just click inside him.

There he is, he sighed dreamily.

Mine, his inner omega purred.

They were clearly made for each other, and god, Steve needed to marry this man like yesterday.

Much to his giddiness, the alpha seemed equally flustered, pupils dilated and cheeks tinged pink as he took in Steve—fluffy chestnut hair, doe-like hazel eyes, rosy cheeks, and pouty lips—before blurting out with awe.

"Damn, '86 is really my year."

Steve burst into a fit of giggles, unable to believe his luck. According to the statistics, it was supposed to be one in a million, but here they were—soulmates and scent mates. All in one package.

The alpha seemed baffled by his unfettered joy at first, but then beamed at him brightly as he nodded to confirm the man's suspicion, as the sweet cocoa and vanilla started blooming in the air, joining the pinewood scent and earthy musk in a beautiful harmony.

Steve couldn't wait to listen to the songs of their bond once they officially mated. He couldn't wait to build a future with this lovely man.

Grinning so wide that his cheeks hurt, Steve threw himself into those strong arms, melting when they caught him in a warm and protective embrace.

With the enthusiasm of an eager pup opening his Christmas present, he unknotted the scarf and nuzzled his alpha's bonding gland, feeling a little lightheaded as he chirped merrily.

"Thank you, Santa."

This time, it was his alpha's turn to laugh in joy, hugging him close and pressing a tender smile to his head.

"Merry Christmas, baby."

———

December '86, Steve Munson was home.

———

September '88, Emily Munson opened her eyes with a loud cry, ready to conquer the world with her tiny fists and unruly curls.

Cradling their pup in his chest, Steve smiled tearfully and let his husband wrap them both in those loving arms.

Santa was real, after all.

[ashwhowrites]

Hi! I wrote some in my drafts then it wouldn't let me edit so I had to screenshot the request and start over! I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting <3

Hideout jealousy

Y/N knew she screwed up when she landed underneath her best friend. She got a taste of his lips and now craves it constantly. His body against hers, her name on his lips, and the feeling of him inside of her. But both still called it a friendship. But do friends hook up with each other all the time? She didn't do this with any of her other friends. She wasn't sure what to call them. Friends with benefits sounded too harsh like they barely knew each other. They were best friends, so best friends with benefits?

In many ways, she regretted having sex with him the first time. It haunts her dreams and mind. He's right there all the time and she can't escape him. She saw him as a friend but now he has this glow to him. He has this pull that drags her in flat on her face. She was obsessed with how she felt with him.

Turns out she was more obsessed than she thought. She swore she could feel a fire inside her body as she watched a girl flirt with Eddie. Her bright smile and soft touch on his arm. Y/N clenched the glass in her hand, her ears ringing from Eddie's show just before. A show she was front row for, screaming and cheering for the band. Then Eddie was whisked away, and he hasn't looked back since.

She hated how much she cared, and that the sight of Eddie with another girl made her want to claim him. Claim him right there in the middle of the room. Y/N threw on a smile when Eddie turned around and gave her a small nod. Y/N tried to make it seem like she wasn't glaring holes into the girl's head. She held her breath as Eddie walked over to her.

"Ready to go?" Eddie asked, his hand reaching out. Y/N grasped it and held on to it tightly. They walked passed the girl, and Eddie barely made eye contact with her. Y/N smirked as they walked past. Yeah, she was jealous. But Eddie was ending his night in her bed.

~~~

On the drive home, Eddie felt like something was wrong. Y/N was biting his ear, and his neck, and palming him through his jeans the whole drive. Eddie melted and loved it, but it wasn't like her. She liked it private and soft. But the way she handled him was something else.

Once they made it into her house, her clothes were off and she was eagerly trying to tear his clothes off. His gentle hands stopped her, a worried look in his eyes.

"what's wrong?" She hated how concerned he sounded. She didn't want her emotions to be written on her sleeve.

"Nothing, why?" She asked, her lips on his neck as she tried to get her hands free. But Eddie didn't budge. He dropped her hands, just to cup her face. She tried to get her head out of his hands but he wouldn't move. He kept his hands on her, not hard enough to hurt her but enough that she couldn't wiggle free. She huffed as he kept delaying.

"look are we gonna have sex or not?" She snapped. If he planned to dodge all her touches, she wasn't going to bother.

"Not when you are upset like this," Eddie said sternly. "Tell me what's wrong. Talk to me." He said gently. He released her face, grabbed her hand, and walked them to the couch. She sat beside him, his hands holding hers. She wasn't sure if it was for comfort or to keep her hands off of him.

"I'm not even upset!" She argued.

"Jealous, maybe?" He asked trying to keep the smile off his face. He knew smiling about the situation would make it worse, but he couldn't help but love the ownership she wanted over him. He'd be lying if he said he never thought of their little fling becoming way more.

She felt her blood run cold. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he already knew she was. He wanted her to admit it. She puffed out her cheeks and shook her head.

"jealous? Of what!" She faked and laughed. She tried to keep a straight poker face. Deny, deny, deny.

"The girl, her flirting. Her thinking she even has a chance to make me turn my head."

"Head sure looked turned to me." She snapped. This time Eddie did smile.

"There it is." He sang, a cheeky smile on his face. "It's okay to be jealous."

"I'm not! I just think we hang out, we have sex. Two things you do in a relationship so why is she needed?" Y/N said, shrugging her shoulders.

"She's not needed." Eddie clarified. He turned her head to look at him. He slowly leaned in. She felt her eyes closing and butterflies in her stomach as she leaned into him. "Just need you." He whispered then his lips landed on hers.

She whimpered as his tongue slipped inside her mouth. The kiss she's been craving since the bar. Her hands were free as he let go. His hands moved down to her thighs, his strong hands gripping the skin as she moaned. Her hands dove into his hair, tangling in his curls.

"I love you." He said against her lips. Her eyes shot open, his brown eyes already looking into hers. "Way more than a friend and I want more than sex."

Y/N couldn't keep the smile off her face. Words she dreamed he'd say.

"I love you, I want that too." Her smile pressed against his as he deepened the kiss. Her back against the couch as he pushed her. His body was on hers as his hands moved up her body, underneath her shirt. She shivered as his rings grazed against her skin. The coldness of the metal made her stomach flip.

She moaned as his hands moved behind her to unhook her bra. He's done this countless times but this time felt so different. She felt like it was the first time she ever felt him all over again.

She moaned as he moved fast. Her bra and shirt were gone as his hands twisted her sensitive nipples, the feeling of his warm tongue teasing the bud.

~~~

Lost in the feeling of their bodies intertwined. The gentle and slow thrust of Eddie's hips against hers. Her nails scratched down his back, her legs tight around his waist. She was warm and tight around him, Eddie shivered at the way she clenched around him. She could feel the wetness between her thighs and she loved the way his pubic hair scratched against her.

Then he hit that one spot that sent a tingle up her spine. She wasn't in control of her body anymore. Something inside her snapped as she arched her back. The screams released from her lungs as his name fell off her lips like a prayer. His cock pulsed as she cried out. Tears spilling from her eyes as she grabbed his ass to keep him inside of her. She silenced herself by biting down on his shoulder. The pain and sting made Eddie's eyes roll in the back of his head. He felt her cum make a mess everywhere, and he quickly pulled out of her. He jerked his cock off in the direction of her stomach. He painted her stomach and cunt in his cum as he panted. She tried to hold open her heavy eyes to watch. The way his stomach clenched, teeth down on his bottom lip. His hair stuck to his forehead as he cussed and pumped himself more. He wanted to leave himself empty and leave it all to her.

The sight of her heaving and sweaty body covered in his cum made his balls feel heavy all over again. Almost like if he tried hard enough, he could cover her again.

He watched as her hand smoothed down her body, her fingers smearing his cum further into her skin. He felt himself drooling as she trailed her fingers up to her mouth and sucked them clean.

"Fuck, you are something else, baby." He smirked, and he leaned down to plant a wet kiss on her forehead. She giggled and quickly wrapped her arms around him. Crashing his body down onto hers.

"Now I'm covered in my cum." Eddie groaned

"whoops." She shrugged, a big smile on her face.

"Love you," he said, rubbing his nose against hers.

"Good. Tell the slut at the bar too."

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @manyfandomsfanvergentreblogs @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR TWENTY TWO

in which eddie is honest. for real, this time.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, discussion of/allusions to smut from last chapter, angst, not edited (what's new though), upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 11.1k+

→ a/n: welp. this... yeah, this is a lot. i truly hope it's worth it. in the waiting, anticipation, and length. if it isn't... my bad. i'm sorry in advance. also, please note, pov change only applies to the memory.

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

22:00 ──────────────ㅇ─ 24:00

His regret turns to pain as you whisper, “What did you just say?”

—

HOUR TWENTY TWO – 1:00 PM

You can’t speak. It’s as if you’re frozen; every muscle, including your tongue, has gone rigid. Every racing thought escapes just beyond your reach. Every single one of the last twenty two hours pound behind your rib cage, and you think you might just faint. Right here, right now. The blood rushes your ears as your body goes ice cold, and even the railing cutting into your palm seems to drift away from you. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He doesn’t even try to deny it. He knows you heard what he said – he can’t take it back. It’s written plainly on his face that if he could, he would swallow back down those disastrous words. He’d grab that destruction four letter word right out of the air, no doubt, and set it aflame. He’d blow away the ash if he could guarantee you would have never heard it.

But he can’t. You heard him. 

I’ve loved you for so long. 

Everything is heavy. The air, your limbs, your godforsaken tongue. 

“Say something,” he suddenly begs. You’ve never seen Eddie look so desperate, eyes wet and voice cracking, “Anything.” 

You want to answer him. Your bones ache with the need – the need to reply, the need to question, the need to do anything but stare at him with what he must surely mistake for horror.

Were you horrified? Were you?

You don’t know. 

It’s why you can’t answer him. 

“I-” he starts up again, breaking down even further right before your eyes. You want to reach out, to coddle him, to tell him it’s fine. But it’s not fine. 

You don’t even get the chance to ruminate on just how not fine it is, or that heat beginning to come to a boil in the pit of your stomach, because the sound of one of the neighbors exiting out onto their own balcony interrupts the infinitely delicate moment. 

“Hey there, Eds-” You don’t know what actually interrupts the gruff man that steps out, who exudes familiarity with Eddie until he takes in the scene before him. 

Eddie, completely fucking naked. You, with only a shirt on. If it weren’t for the moment at hand and the trembling emotions coming to fruition inside of you, you’d probably find it comical. You’d probably find a way to join in the old man’s single guffaw before the two of you meet each other’s gaze and become aware of what exactly is happening.

But it’s not funny. You’re both fucking naked — physically and emotionally — and it’s not funny.

You’re mortified as both of you are scrambling across the balcony, a whirlwind of discarded clothes fisted and nearly tripping over each other to shove back into Eddie’s living room. That embarrassment now trickles down into the start of a boil, everything in you becoming red-hot from how flustered you’ve become and the way you can’t have a second to just process it all. 

When you turn to face Eddie once the sliding door has slammed shut, his cheeks are the brightest pink imaginable. 

“What the fuck,” you whisper out, trying to steady your breathing, trying to take it all in. 

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Your adrenaline is almost making you sick. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he catches your whisper amongst your stoic silence and seems to forget the moment that his neighbor had just shattered, voice clear as day as he pulls his curtains shut. You swear you catch the old man still staring, still laughing, and you’re just grateful that you’re not the one completely nude, “I had no idea Mr. Jenkins would come outside, usually none of those fuckers see the light of day before sundow-”

“Your neighbor just saw us naked,” you almost scream. You want to shout, want to throw everything in sight. You crave to flip that coffee table in the center of the room and throw a fit that outdoes even the most petulant of toddlers.

“I know, I-“

“If you say sorry again, I’m walking back out there,” you take a deep breath, but it does nothing to calm you’re shaking body, “And I’m throwing myself off the fucking balcony.”

Maybe you’ll be able to laugh about it in five years. A year, even. Hell, a month or as soon as next week. But you can’t right now; all you want to do is cry.

Some random man just saw you naked. Eddie apparently fucking loves you. 

It might be the sleep deprivation and it might be the fact that it feels like the Universe is laughing in your face at every turn right now. Whatever higher power exists seems to be waiting around every corner for the chance to kick you repeatedly as you stumble to this finish line. And you can’t fucking take it.

So you give in. You give in to that childish need to stomp your feet and scream until you’re blue in your lips.

“I just- Fuck!” Eddie jumps a bit at your exclamation, he’s still naked, “I can’t catch a break! I can’t catch a fucking break. First, I’m showing up here, and I’m stuck with you for twenty four hours. I’m stuck with the man I hate for a whole fucking day,” you’re full on pacing, not caring how ridiculous this scene would appear to anyone. Your hands wave erratically in the space around you, and all Eddie can do is stare, tense with wide eyes, “And I cry in front of you, have full breakdowns in front of you. I listen to you remind me over and over how much you truly despise only to now suddenly find out that, hey! I actually love you! And do I get to process that? No. Because now, some fucking old man that lives next door to you has seen my goddamn vag-“ 

Eddie’s entire demeanor collapses. “Oh, so now I’m back to being the man you hate?” 

You pause your ranting, realizing what you’ve said. 

You’re just angry. You should have thought before you spoke, before you opened your mouth and began to spew your venom, because you can see the way the words have struck Eddie. Not your intention.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“But you said that,” he flatly argues back. 

Your stomach twists.

“I’m just-“ your tongue is back to being heavy as the two of you face one another. Feet apart, worlds apart. “I’m fucking embarrassed, Eddie.” 

“You think I’m not?” he scowls, and you try to tell your racing heart it’s a good sign. But it’s not. You almost preferred his walls dividing the two of you, “Shit fucking happens. We got caught — we fucking dirty talked about getting caught! Big fucking deal! Karmic justice or whatever bullshit people spew. It doesn’t mean I’m going to- It doesn’t change-“ he’s stuttering now, matching that exasperation that had you pacing just moments before. He huffs, a hand reaching up and dragging his bangs upward, harsh at the root as he finally drops his hands in his own defeat, palms slapping his sides, “Everything changes. You said that, not me. You said everything changes, and all it takes is a little bit of fucking embarrassment to go back on your word?” 

He’s still fucking naked. You still can’t think.

“I’m not having this conversation with you naked,” you whisper, almost in disbelief as you shake your head, “I’m- Put your fucking clothes on. Please.” 

“Put my clothes on?” he scoffs, taking a step closer to you, “Put my clothes on? Do you mean the same clothes you just insisted I take off not even ten minutes ago?” 

“We were having sex!” you yell. You’re sure if the old man is no longer on his balcony, he can hear you through the walls. Hell, even if he is still outside, it’s likely he hears the screaming match beginning, “Why- Why are you turning this on me right now? You just said you fucking love me! The least of our issues right now is me telling you to get fucking dressed!” 

“Why are you lashing out at me right now?” Eddie’s voice is louder than yours, something more broken inside of it, “I-“

“Clothes,” you grit out, avoiding his eyes as you start to yank your panties on violently, “Now.” 

You can still feel him. His essence is dripping between your thighs. And you don’t find any sense of enjoyment in it, you don’t savor that quick-fading warmth nor the reminder of the pleasure he’d just brought you. It just reminds you of the words he had said all while not even looking you in the eyes. He couldn’t even face you as he had admitted it. 

One thing at a time, you try to remind yourself. One fucking thing at a time. 

Eddie’s own redressing is another sight that maybe, hopefully, one day you’ll look back on and laugh at. But right now, it can’t spark any amusement in you. Not as all your emotions slam back into you at full force.

You’re embarrassed. You’re confused. You’re angry.

“Happy?” he spits out once his boxers are on, shirt tugged back on so hard over his head that his curls frizz up.

“No,” your eyes are burning, and you feel it again. All those desperate emotions. Like a wild animal inside of you has begun to claw at your insides, making you bleed from the inside out. 

Eddie loves you — and he has, for a long time, apparently.  

Eddie’s neighbor has seen you naked. Saw your full bottom half exposed.

You’ve managed to hurt Eddie’s feelings, again.

Eddie fucking loves you and never thought to mention it. He has for a long time.

All your tempered strings snap, that wild and stricken thing inside of you finally cutting loose.

You don’t know what you’re angry at. You’re angry at him, and yet you’re not. You’re angry at the situation, and yet you’re not. You are bitter from words withheld and you are sour from every moment that paves the road that brought you two to this very moment.

You’re just angry.

“What did you mean?” the question comes out sharply enough to make his own defiant anger fade ever so slightly as he physically flinches, “I- I need to know what the Hell you meant, Eddie.” 

Anger is metallic on your tongue. It seeps from your skin, floods the air, only further dampens everything already so heavy. 

The longer he doesn’t answer you, the more smothering the entirety of the apartment becomes.

“Just tell me. Make it make sense, because right now?” you pause for a deep and shaky breath. Your eyesight is blurry now. Eyes red rimmed with tears that will surely sear your cheeks if they find the nerve to be shed, “Right now, I don’t get it. Over and over and over again, you have reminded me that you hate me. Prior to tonight, it was safe to assume that scorning my existence was one of your favorite pastimes. And I know, I get it — everything has changed. But- But-“ 

How can anything change if you weren’t honest to begin with? 

Did anything change for him? While you were discovering and tending to sore feelings that had been festering for a while but had never seen the light of day, was he only nursing an old wound? 

“But what?” his voice drops low. His entire demeanor has dropped, cowering down before you. His head dips down, his shoulders droop with prepared rejection, you watch the man before you, the man you had just let defile you and the man you had just worshiped on your goddamn knees, turn to dust.

A shaky gasp. Wobbly knees. The blood rushes through your ears again, flushing out any noise except the two of you breathing out of sync. His deep breaths, accepting and welcoming a rejection he was so sure he was receiving. Your shallow breaths, panting and rapid and trying to just get everything to slow the fuck down.

You were right. Once the tears shed, they burn a trail of Hellish fury right down the center of each cheek. “When I say everything has changed between us, what does that mean to you?” 

He’s undressing an old wound, an open slash that seems to be unable to form a scab. You’re pressing on bruises, aching parts of you that had purpled from his neglect long ago. It’s clear as day now — the difference.

You no longer care about the embarrassment of being caught.

“What do you want it to mean?” 

“Don’t do that,” the tears fall faster now. You can’t even begin to dig into this chasm of emotions. Are you angry at him? Are you disappointed by the circumstances? Do you love him? “I want an answer — I need your answer. You promised me your honesty, so give me it. Now.” 

His eyes meet yours, and your entire world seems to fold into itself, “It… doesn’t mean much. It doesn’t change much.” 

Everything has only changed for you. 

“So it means nothing, then? You have me at your disposal, you have me on my fucking knees for you, you tell me you fucking love me, and it all means nothing?” 

You’re twisting his words and you know it. But you can’t help it, can’t stop it. 

“I never said that!” his voice is no longer low and quiet. Sudden worry creases beside his eyes as his mouth goes slack in shock, “I never said it meant nothing.” 

“But it doesn’t mean much, right?” You hate your wet cheeks. You hate the way everything in you is somehow slow-breaking, yet suddenly shattering. An unnerving juxtaposition that is drowning you and sending you reeling over and over again, “It doesn’t change much, right? Because when I said that, Eddie, I meant it – everything fucking changed for me. It wasn’t- It’s not- This isn’t just some throwaway thing to me. Not even a day ago, I thought I had to hate you with everything I had. I thought I had to hate you.”

And I don’t. Not even a little bit. Even right now, when I should. 

“Is that what you think I’m saying?” his voice is low where your voice has risen, his face calm where yours has gone stormy. 

Where you’re on fire, he’s treading still waters. The opposite dilemma that has always existed, and the one you had the nerve to see as poetic. But water meeting flames is never poetic. It never ends well. You should have seen that coming from a mile away.

“What am I supposed to think?” you also quiet your tone to match his. You wonder if the neighbors really had heard a thing. You almost hope they had, that this argument is affecting someone else’s day the way it’s affecting you, “You’re standing here, and you’re telling me it doesn’t mean much, and-“

“It doesn’t change much,” he corrects, and you’re now the one flinching at the crack in his voice. “Not for me. Not when I-“

Not when I’ve loved you for so long.

He can’t even finish his own sentence.

“So what does it change?” you throw your hands out in exasperation, “If it doesn’t change much, what has it changed?” 

There it is again — his silence, your anger. 

“Is it not enough to just know it changes something?” 

If you were stupid, you’d take his tone as pleading. You’d mistake it for begging. But you can’t. For all your fury, you can’t believe that he’s actually stooped so low as to beg for you, especially after what he’s just said. Time and time again, you had repeatedly cracked yourself wide open for him, and he’d managed to rip your heart right out of your chest with such a simply yet damning statement. The most casually cruel bit of honesty he had offered you yet tonight: that nothing changes.

“We’re back to square one,” you choke out in realization, “I- Fuck. This entire time, you weren’t honest with me.” 

He opens his mouth quickly, and for a second you believe he’ll offer an explanation that can soothe over the ache. He’ll come up with an excuse that you can buy, he’ll explain himself in a way that proves you wrong, and the sweet oblivious bliss can return. 

“No,” he says instead after careful consideration, “I wasn’t honest with you.” 

Your tears are running rampant as you only nod slowly, pressing your lips together in defeat, “Awesome. Great,” you reach up, sniffling as you swipe at your nose, still silently quiet but no longer awarding him with any display of your rage, of your hurt, of anything but your acceptance, “No, really, that’s- Cool. Nothing changes. I get it.” 

I’ve loved you for so long. 

It didn’t make sense, but you don’t have it in you to dissect it any further. He had loved you the entire time, and still set out to make you bleed. His grand admission doesn’t change a single fucking thing. 

You don’t say another word as you grab your pair of jeans up into your fist, being sure to move slowly and not in the haste every nerve in your body calls for. You need to leave – you need out of this apartment, and you need to never see Eddie Munson again. It wouldn’t be a far leap from what your friends already deal with. If the friendships take blows of damage from it, so be it-

“Where are you going?” he asks, standing stiller than a statue as he watches you.

You grab your bag, “I’m leaving. The deal’s off. Or- I don’t know. Tell them the bet’s off-”

“The bet is not off-”

“It is,” you turn to him, absolutely frozen in your resolution, “It really, really is. You can even fucking lie to them if you want, I don’t care. Figure out a way to get the money but I don’t want it. I’m done.” 

“So that’s it?” he scoffs in disbelief. When you pull on your jeans, when you sling your bag back over your shoulder and begin to walk to the counter where your phone was left, he realizes that it’s really happening. He realizes you’re truly done, “No questions? I just told you I wasn’t fucking honest, and you’re just going to walk away, not even demand I tell the tru-”

“I’m tired of pulling the truth from you,” you finally move with some of the aggression you felt, hand smacking the counter beside your phone, “If you care so much, if you love me, I shouldn’t have to beg until my knees bleed for you to actually be honest with me,” you take your phone, shoving it into your back pocket before you look at him, “I can’t keep doing this. You were always right. They’re your friends. Congratulations, you got what you always said you wanted. You won’t have to deal with me anymore – consider this a farewell from your life. I’ll make sure no one invites you to my fucking funeral.” 

You assume he grabs you due to your cruel reference to his insult from the very beginning of the night, that he’s going to fight you for that bit of your oddly calm speech. But when his hands wrap around your bicep, and you face him with those silent tears still racing, what comes out of his mouth stuns you. 

“I’ll be honest,” he is pleading, he is begging, “Stay, and I’ll tell you everything. I don’t even fucking care about the bet — we can call off, everyone else can go to Hell. I don’t care about the money, I don’t care about the bet, I just-” he pauses, and you watch the desperation building taller and taller within him, “Stay and let me explain.”

You should tell him no. You should tell him to go to Hell. If you stay and hear him out, it will only end in pain for you. You should leave.

Instead, your bag begins to slip off your shoulder. 

“You have ten minutes,” you whisper as his hand finally releases its grip, “Explain.”

—

SIX MONTHS EARLIER - EDDIE’S POV

If he were smart, Eddie would’ve kept his word.

He’d told them he wasn’t showing up. He’d told them he had work (not a complete lie), and that he wouldn’t make it tonight. He just hadn’t felt like drinking anymore — not since two weeks prior, when he’d gotten black out drunk while hanging out with Nancy, throwing his own personal pity party. 

Pathetic.

It wasn’t just that killer headache that had been haunting Eddie since that night. It was much more than that; it was solid and palpable regret. He’d thrown back too many beers, mixed it with some sort of wine coolers that Nancy offered him once he started to feel the buzz. All it took was just a bit too much alcohol in his system, and suddenly, his rant that Nancy had agreed to indulge him in became so much more. One moment, he was just complaining about you. And the next, he was rambling, letting less harsh words slip between the complaints, more compliments than things he wanted you to change. One wine cooler in, and he was no longer complaining about the way everyone had been fawning over you after a full six months of friendship, but instead the way that your sad eyes and pouting lips following him around a room was cosmically unfair. 

He didn’t remember much of the rest of the night, and he was glad when Nancy had given him a pitiful look over the cups of coffee she offered. 

He’d told her. He knew he’d admitted his stupid, annoying, despicable crush on you to her. Probably whined about the way you and Harrington had clearly had something going on. Definitely spoke too much about how badly he wanted to experience your gentle hand in his calloused one, or to feel your arms wrap around his neck in greeting rather than daggers from your glare every time he entered a room. Hell, he’s sure there was a good thirty minute period amongst the fuzzy memories where he’d sat on the edge of tears as he continued to mumble about how he wasn’t good enough for you.

Nancy Wheeler, his best friend, finally knew. Six fucking months of keeping it under wraps, and Eddie Munson had finally slipped up.

And she clearly hasn’t forgotten as Eddie had prayed she would every single night as she’s the one to answer his knocks on Steve’s door, grinning with the hidden knowledge.

She’d texted him with one last plea for him to show up. Insisted everyone was here. Went so far as to make him a list, and made sure to add your name at the end. It had been phrased like an afterthought on the screen, but he knew her too well. He knew Nancy purposefully mentioned you.

“Munson! Finally! It took you long enough,” she squeals, clearly already halfway to drunk before she quiets down, “And you said you weren’t coming. Wonder what, or who, changed your mind.” 

“Fuck off.” 

It had been a bad day. Work, classes, a phone call with Wayne that had just left Eddie disheartened and terribly homesick. It was selfish, but the thought of seeing you in passing tonight, even if you did seem to dislike him just as he had intended, made it all a bit more bearable. 

Coming home. Seeing you felt like coming home, even if you’d slammed the front door on his face.

He follows Nancy down the hall, a pit growing in the bottom of his stomach, heavy as ever. He shouldn’t have even wanted to see you. The last time he had seen you, you’d been out for blood, blatantly ruining a date he’d managed to bag with Chrissy Cunningham. Chrissy, who never gave him the time of day in high school. Chrissy, who was clearly set on using him as a rebound during yet another break from Jason. Chrissy, who’s only flaw wasn't just the fact that she wasn’t you.

“Eddie, my man!” Argyle greets Eddie the moment he enters the living room. He’s lounging on the couch, Jonathan to his right and a space where Nancy clearly had occupied now empty. 

Eddie nods, still feeling the week weighing him down. No sight of you yet, “Hey, man.” 

He just wanted to see you. One glimpse, preferably before you’ve caught sight of him, and he’d be fine. He’d learned to live with those fleeting moments the last six months, he could keep it up for just a bit longer.

He’d get over you eventually. Even if it killed him.

He had to give his plan time to work. So far, he’d done well, easily offering you a cold shoulder and nothing more after that first night. It wasn’t easy — he doesn’t think anyone would find the task of being cool towards someone as radiant as you easy — but he’d done it. Brick by brick, his wall of invincibility was standing tall and strong between you two. It was safer this way, he had to remind himself. It was better to run off of brief glances of your smiles and laughter never directed at him than to risk anything more. He’d only disappoint you, or you’d magically disappoint him, and it would end in bloodshed. Someone like you, someone so good and kind and easy to gravitate towards, would leave Eddie broken beyond damage. 

You didn’t go for guys like Eddie. Steve had made that clear since day one.

Eddie takes the loveseat as Nancy returns to Jonathan’s side. He tries to make it subtle, the way he twists his head to glance around the room as he removes his jacket, eyes roaming until he finds you. In the kitchen, with Steve and Robin, tense back telling him you’d already noticed his arrival.

So much for seeing you smile.

He tries to keep up with the conversation going on. Argyle and Jonathan are having some sort of debate about aliens, nothing short of heated and passionate, and he’d normally be jumping in without hesitation. But his eyes can’t stop flickering to the kitchen and each time, he can see you downing even more alcohol. He knows you don’t like him, but did you hate him that much?

“You’re awfully quiet,” Nancy leans over to whisper as Jonathan grows in volume about another branch of a conspiracy theory.

“Just tired,” he flatly replies. He’s suddenly itching to get his hands onto some alcohol of his own. Fuck the lessons he should’ve learned a few weeks ago. Fuck his regret in confiding in Nancy.

“Was work rough?”

He hums pathetically in response, eyes glued to the kitchen still. To you.

Nancy’s eyes finally follow his focus, “Have you… I don’t know, ever tried just talking to her?”

He snaps from his daze at that, head turning quickly to Nancy, “I talk to her all the time.” 

“You do not.”

“I do too.”

“Never nicely,” she points out, narrowing her eyes, “You’re like a little boy on the playground, tugging on her pigtails until she figures it ou-“ 

“I don’t want her to figure it out,” he cuts off the assumption, eyes widening in horror at the thought, “Christ, Nance. I thought I made that clear when I ended up shitfaced on your couch.” 

Nancy softens. She can see what’s happening here, see every dampening thought that weighs Eddie down. He might not remember his drunken rambles, but she does. 

“The only thing you made clear is what a spectacular ass you’re making out of yourself,” her words hold no bite, only truth, “Who cares what Steve said that night? He was drunk.” 

“So was I,” Eddie’s eyes are back on you, palms running up his outer thighs until he curls them to fists by his hips, “I was drunk when I talked to you about her. Forget about it.” 

Surprisingly, his stubborn best friend leaves it be. Puts the pointless argument to rest.

Eddie’s feelings can’t rest, though. 

Every night, he tells himself it’ll all go away. The distance will make his heart grow harder, and he’ll eventually be able to wash himself of you one of these days. And every night, all the feelings you’ve sprouted inside of him only teem their way higher, up into his throat and choking him with every last breath before he falls asleep. He can’t forget those first few weeks, the way you seemed to think his coldness was a phase. You’d tried so desperately to seek him out at every function, sparked so many failed conversations with him that left him to burn. Every smile you’d offered him during that time, he’d taken for granted.

Even last week, when you’d interrupted his date, he’d let himself relish in the memory of your attention. Pathetic. 

Had you been jealous? Had you just been spiteful, finally giving him a taste of his own medicine? He couldn’t decide, wouldn’t let himself linger on the reasoning. But he’d remembered your touch, could still feel it scarring his skin wherever your palm of fingertips had rested as you’d scared off Chrissy. He’d even hesitated in the shower that night, pausing for a moment before washing over the shoulder you’d gripped when you’d first approached their table and embarrassed him without care. 

He deserved your spite. 

And he deserves to have to overhear the conversation you’re currently having in the kitchen. You’re going on and on about all the men you’ve had dates with, detailing out every one night stand for Steve and Robin who listen with eager ears.

It makes his stomach churn and twist sharply. Each new man you bring to your roster makes his throat burn with jealousy, plain and simple. And he knows it written all over his face when Nancy leans over and puts a hand on his knee, giving him a concerned look. 

Even the change of topic between Argyle and Jonathan on goddamn Bigfoot can’t overtake the sharp cut of your bragging. 

“I’ve never seen your eyes so green, Eddie.” 

He’s about to snipe back that his eyes are brown, and be unnecessarily cruel from his sour mood, when he realizes what she means.

“I’m not jealous,” he lies through his teeth.

“You very much are.” 

He doesn’t have it in him to bicker back and forth about this again. Not about you, and not with Nancy, “What does it matter? Like I said, me and her? Never gonna happen.”

He had said that. He remembers that, at least, from his drunken confession. He’s sure he reiterated that point several times once he’d made it past the point of coherency. 

“She’s lying,” Nancy casually whispers, pulling her hand back, “She- Us girls talk, you know? Just… she’s lying.” 

“I went on a date with Chrissy. It doesn’t matter.” 

And she has no clue how fucking hung up on her I am. She’ll never know if I have anything to do with it.

“You can keep saying that,” Nancy glances, making sure their other two friends on the couch are still too deep in conversation to listen in, “But we both know that’s not true.” 

Unsurprising. Even if Nancy hadn’t listened to him cry that night about all his miserable yearning, all his unrequited feelings born out of a mess he got himself into, she would have known. Eddie has tried to guard himself when it comes to you, but there’s some times his leashed affection can’t help but seep out. 

Whenever you stumble on sidewalks beside him, his arms and hands are the first to fly out. Whenever the group has gone out to bars altogether, he watches you like a hawk, almost daring the men surrounding you to disrespect you. Whenever your birthday came around, he’d bought that damn gift card to his favorite coffee shop, all because he saw you frequent it twice. Although, to be fair, he’d made Harrington be the messenger there. He wouldn’t have been able to look you in your eye, wouldn’t have been able to put up the bitter persona on a day that should be special to you. He didn’t want to ruin your birthday, so he’d simply sat on the sidelines. Let everyone else go out and celebrate with you. Let everyone else pour enough affection into your cup, even when he wishes his own could have been the final drops to cause it to overfill. 

He had to tread carefully. It’d be too easy — to let himself pour out all these silly feelings and meaningless attraction. One wrong move, and he’d cause his own undoing. His own destruction. It doesn’t matter if it would be by your hand; he’d only have himself to blame at the end of the day.

He’s lost in thought, still itching for a drink, when Nancy is suddenly standing over him. “We’re going out for a smoke, you in?” 

He shakes his head numbly. His mind is far away now, getting lost in all that he’s done wrong, all that he can’t have. 

He’s homesick. He’s watched the way you’ve interacted with Robin and Steve the entire night, and he’s goddamn homesick for a home that he’ll never hold the keys to. 

“You sure, man?” Argyle asks him, wiggling his brows, “I brought the good shit.” 

Numbing his mind with drugs. It’s tempting.

“I’m good,” he reaffirms, still speaking in monotone. He doesn’t have the energy to put up a brave face, too focused on his heavy chest and that miserable pit in his gut still. 

And everyone leaves. He’s sure there’s something poetic for his stormy mind to pick up on there, as he watches his friends gather without him and exit to the outside, but he’s more focused on a miniscule detail.

You’re not with them.

Meaning you’re still in the kitchen.

And God, he really should know better. He should stay planted in his seat and he should sit in his misery until they all return. Only trouble can come from not doing so. But then his body moves to its own accord, fueled by something wickedly cruel and terribly homesick as he grabs one of the bottles of beer off the coffee table. It’s Nancy’s, he’s sure of it. Her lipstick stains the opposite side of the rim he takes a swig from. The beer has long since gone lukewarm, but beggars can’t be choosers. He clears his throat as the bitter lingers on his tongue.

He should know better.

But he doesn’t. He really, really doesn’t as he enters the kitchen. You’re on your phone as he stands in the doorway, and there’s no time to hide what you’d been glancing over.

A dating app.

You spin to face him, and he imagines a world where your eyes land on him and light up. Something akin to that first night, to those first few weeks. Where you look at him with purpose, and he sees relief flood your irises rather than irritation or fear. 

No such luck. He only has himself to blame.

He can’t think of anything else to say, so like an idiot, he gestures vaguely with the bottle of beer towards your phone, “Those apps fucking suck.” 

That jealousy is still gnawing at him. Hateful, painful, reckless. 

You look down at your phone for a second, and click to exit whatever messages you’d been on. And then you look back up at him.

“You’ve used them in the past?” you question him, but he’s still stuck on all the recounts of your escapades he’d overheard tonight. Whether or not they were true didn’t matter. All he sees when he closes his eyes is you, with other men. You, looking at someone else with purpose, relieved eyes awarded to someone more worthy.

He’s lucky he can choke out a short, “Nope,” and make it not sound strangled. 

“Okay,” your attention returns to your phone screen, and Eddie’s returns to his internal battle.

He’s jealous. So goddamn jealous it’s insufferable. It’s not your fault – he chose to push you away, he chose to lash out like a child for his own sanity and his own safety. You’d ruin him; you’ve already ruined him without even trying. If he gave up on the act, on this carefully thought out plan, he’d be beyond leftover rubble of a man. He’d be gone beyond recognition, reduced to ash and smoke. A nameless, forgotten whisper of dust that people would only point to and say, see? Look at that. That’s what becomes of you when you never learn. 

He’s pined enough in his lifetime after girls like you. Girls who were too good for him. He’d done it with Chrissy, and it was still causing him nothing but trouble. 

That burden didn’t hang over Chrissy, or over you. It was all Eddie’s own fault. Neither of you could help that he wasn’t good enough; it wasn’t either of your jobs to fix him or lower your standards for him. You’d even been kind, you’d even nearly fallen into that trap. 

It was for the better. All of it was for the better this way. 

And yet the jealousy remains. The anger still thrives between his ribs, and begs for release. 

“Why are you even still on them?” he should think over his words more carefully as they begin to roll off his tongues. He knows he’s in the wrong before he even continues, “I heard you’ve been having a shit time with the guys on there – quite the opposite of what you’ve been telling Harrington tonight, might I point out.” 

Each word is sharpened so intentionally, glinting from raking against that anger inside of him. You don’t deserve their prick. Really, he should just be comforting you the way the others do – how Robin surely was, how Steve must be. 

But it’s part of the plan. So he tampers down the jealousy and he feeds into the anger, lets it consume him. Because making you hate him is easier than letting you like him. It’s easier to watch the one you can’t have sneer at you like the enemy than let them smile at you like you’re just a friend. 

“I-” you falter in your words, and he decides to straighten his back, takes a deep breath as he slips the mask on effortlessly. He hates how easy it’s become. He hates how quickly he turns everything with you into a fight, “You win some, you lose some. It’s the nature of the app.” 

Sometimes, it’s like a game. And he can pretend that your hatred, your distaste, is also all a facade. Like the both of you are two sides of the same coin. A playful banter rather than an actual argument between two people who can’t even call themselves friends. When he looks at it like that, blinded by his delusion, it makes the ache dull. Sends it away for a few fleeting seconds, convinces himself he really can carry on this way. 

“You haven’t made it sound like you’re losing at all, tonight. I nearly started a drinking game with Nance where we took a swig every time you said you managed to pull another ‘fuck ‘em and leave ‘em’. Quite the boy count you’ve got there, player,” he forces a grin as he leans on the counter, watching his words get under your skin exactly as he had intended. 

You’re cute like this. Clearly drunk, getting flustered. He revels in the way your face physically scrunches in annoyance, the way he can watch you gear up to fight fire with fire. A sick, twisted game of cat and mouse that always can entertain him in the moment and haunt him at night. 

“You’re bluffing. You couldn’t hear me from all the way over there.”

He wonders, for a second, if you’d caught him staring at any point. He wonders if you’d even care.

“We could.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

“Yes, we could.”

“You’re lying.” 

You cross your arms, and he can’t help but watch the way they push your chest up. He can’t help but ponder on how much better it would all feel if this were really playful banter. 

He has to refrain from physically shaking the thought from his mind. 

It’s for the better. 

He narrows his eyes, he grips onto the anger again, that hidden jealousy. He should know better. He should stop it. The words even feel heavy on his tongue, terribly forced. Because his anger isn’t at you. 

“I’m lying? You’re the one who’s been telling Stevie nothing but lies tonight,” and oh, how ironic, for the liar to be calling out someone’s little white lies, “Why do you need to even lie about all that, anyways? It’s not like the truth would be any more pathetic than the act you’re putting up,” the words come out a bit easier when imagines the barrel of the gun pointed at himself, as if he were speaking so casually cruelly into a mirror rather than at you, “Everyone strikes ou-”

He’s clearly struck a nerve. And it aches, but he reminds himself that that’s the point. That’s his goal.

 “I’m pathetic? Just last week, you lied to the group. You were trying to avoid being where I’d be and told them you had to walk your neighbor’s dog.” 

He wasn’t trying to avoid you. He was trying to avoid Nancy after his entire drunken confession fiasco. 

“I did!” he continues to lie. Even with no one to show for, he piles up his lies high. Buries himself beneath them, beneath his pathetic act and worthless reasons. It’s probably for the best that you had assumed that he was avoiding you. 

“Your apartment has a strict no pet policy, Eddie.” 

The act cracks for a moment as he freezes. Why did you know about his apartment’s pet policy? 

“How do you know that?”

It can’t be because you care, or even get curious about him. He’s done everything in his power to cause the exact opposite, to make you be repulsed by him and to run the other way if you can help it. 

“I didn’t, but Nancy did,” He doesn’t even react to the roll of your eyes, unable to get riled up as he usually would at that. It clicks for him; it makes sense, because Nancy had stormed down his door not even a day later, “It’s all I had to hear about the entire night. How she wishes we could get along, how she hates when you lie to her. Thanks for that, by the way.” 

Eddie does feel guilty about that. He doesn’t mean for his own self-destructive behavior to leach out to his friends, or even you. His goal has always been to make it so that when he’s not around, he’s not even an afterthought to you. But selfishly, part of him preens at the idea of you being reminded of him, of you thinking of him when he’s not in the room with you. It’s a conundrum. It’s almost deadlier than his other option. 

“It’s not my fuckin’ fault you go out with my friends,” he grumbles like a damn child, almost pouting in his guilt. There’s another selfish sliver of him that’s also upset at that – upset at the fact everyone else gets to bloom with your friendship and positive attention, but not him. Once again, it’s his own doing. He really shouldn’t be angry at you about it. 

“And it’s not my fault that you don’t.” 

Times like these make him want to give it all up. He has to physically tense his body, tick his jaw and bite his tongue to avoid throwing the entire act to the side. He wants nothing more than to grab you by your shoulders and shake you, scream that sometimes it is your fault. But you don’t know it – you can’t read his mind, see past his intentions. 

You don’t know what Steve had so generously reminded him of that very first night. 

“Whatever. Why are you lying to Steve?” his voice is devoid of all emotion despite the storm brewing inside of him. He can’t even blame it on alcohol – he wishes he could, but his tolerance to beer can handle the single sip he’s taken. He crosses his arms, wrapping them around his body, trying to protect that terrible vulnerability only he’s aware of. When your position mirrors his, he wonders for a moment if you’re also feeling it. 

But you’ve been drinking. This entire conversation, every emotion, can be blamed on that. You’re luckier than Eddie. 

“I’m not lying.”

“You are. With Steve, and with me at this very moment.” 

He lets a reaction at his own irony slip through for a brief second, eyebrows furrowing as the voice inside him screams hypocrite! Hypocrite! Hypocrite!

He wishes he could pretend to be oblivious to why he can’t stop bringing Steve up, but he knows better. He can bury the jealousy alive, but it still bites all the same. 

“How the fuck do you even know how my dating life is going? We aren’t exactly friends. Did Robin tell you? Did Steve tell you?” 

We aren’t exactly friends. 

He should relish that confirmation that his plan is working, that you truly don’t see him as a friend, but it just fucking stings. He swallows hard physically, as if it can help him swallow down the truth any better, but it does nothing for him. The truth only continues to choke him up. His tongue has momentarily frozen over in his mouth as he tries to push past the painful reminder and wrap up this conversation. He feels it, that sharp burn of an unattended wound, and he realizes at the wrong moment that whether or not he keeps you at an arm's length, bloodshed will always occur. 

At least this way, he tells himself it’s protecting himself. This way, the knife isn’t pointed at his own heart. 

“You’re right. We aren’t friends,” the words are poison on his tongue. They taste of dirt and rust, like a grave that screams to be dug up but he has no shovel. He’d tossed it once he’d sealed the tomb, like a fool, “But Rob and Nance are, and Nance and me are. See where I’m going with that one?” 

At least he wasn’t lying to you for a brief moment. Nance had told him. He’d throw you that bone, at least. 

“Well-” and with your own pause, you seemingly return the favor. You’re handing him yet another opportunity on a silver platter; exposing an insecurity that he should let live and let die, but he won’t for the sake of the wall he has bled to put up between you two, “You say that as if Nancy and I aren’t friends.” 

“Are you?” 

He’ll regret that taunt for the rest of his days. Two simple words, and he’s damned himself. The conversation that follows, about Instagram and followers and social standards of friendship, doesn’t even matter to him. It’s just a routine. Constant knives, clashing swords of words, lie after lie piling up with the bile in his throat as he shoots for kills. He hands over reason after reason for you to resent him, and makes sure that each punch lands. Ignores the ache, the one billowing in his knuckles as if each subtle insult he tosses your way doesn’t bruise his innards all the same way. By the end of the back and forth, it should be enough, for both of you. He’s accomplished the same thing he always sets out to do with every conversation: he pisses you off, putting another inch in that stretch between you two. 

But then you turn your back on him. And he deserves it. God, he deserves it. But he’s still full of bad ideas tonight, the awfulness of the last few days still suffocating him, and so he makes another decision to regret. He walks up behind you.

You open your phone, and he sees it. You’re on the dating app again, and the screen flashes with the face of your latest contender. 

He knows that face. He schools his face to remain even, but he fucking knows that face. 

The bartender at his local haunt. The only other person besides Nancy who had ever seen Eddie so miserable over you. He had been drinking alone that night, and the whiskey had him pouring out his guts to the poor guy. Slurred words of the girl who had slipped between his fingers, of the one who got away, of you. 

And that same bartender had been the one to sympathize with Eddie, claiming he understood. That he knew that feeling – dating around and doing anything in your power to get the girl you truly want off your mind. He said he had one of his own. He’d told Eddie that his pain-riddled speeches helped him make up his mind, that he was going to go after the girl he really wanted, that Eddie should do the same. 

Was this bartender your ex-boyfriend? Had the two of them been discussing the exact same girl?

Bad decisions. Over, and over, and over. It all comes to a rise within Eddie – not just the anger, but the jealousy and the hurt and the goddamn envy of the man on the screen. He hates the bartender, he hates himself, he hates the world at this point.

He tells himself he should add you to that list. But he doesn’t. He can’t. 

And it all spirals out of control before he can prove that to himself. Words grow sharper, small kindles of tension between the two of you finally explode to full blown flames, and he’s suddenly saying things he doesn’t mean. Things he’ll linger on for the days and weeks, the months to come. 

“You’re so dense, you never realize that you’re not wanted, Not by those assholes, not here-” 

He’s mid-lie, one finger on the trigger of the gun he assumed was aimed at his own chest, when it finally happens. A snap within both of you. Timed perfectly with the glass that shatters against the wall beside his head. 

Eddie learns two things that night. 

One, half of his plan worked. He’s succeeded. You hated Eddie Munson’s guts, and instead of him being content in his success, he’s sick to his stomach. It doesn’t bandage the wound inside of him, doesn’t pack away cotton nor cauterize the bleeding. It only worsens it. Widens it, impossibly so. He swears shards of that broken glass fly right into his unsuspecting chest, even if Nancy doesn’t find a trace on him when she comes back inside to see the aftermath. You hate him, he’s proven his point. He has proven himself to be the worst possible version of himself, the most unlovable man he had always seen in the mirror now residing in him staunchly enough that every single one of his friends sees it. 

He’d done it. He’d diminished any chance he had ever held of being friends with you. And he thought that, without a doubt, that meant he’d diminished any disastrous chance of letting you close enough to risk the chance of any more of his feelings getting involved. He thought it would have meant that he’d done it – he’d protected himself, and in some sick twisted way you, from inevitable bloodshed. 

But blood had still been shed. Even if his friends were only cleaning up broken glass in the kitchen, he could still see the stain of red across the floor and walls from you and him. He was bleeding out for you, but he had just driven the knife in deep enough that you would never return the feeling. There was no world where you would be bleeding out for him, only because of him. 

The second revelation comes a bit later in the night.

Closer to midnight, hours after the fight, when Eddie finds himself alone as per usual. He stumbles to his usual bar, thankful for the late hours, fully prepared to get so fucking wasted he can’t remember his own name. He’d wish to not remember your face, especially when he had spewed such hateful intent your way, but he knows there’s not a single brand or amount of whiskey out there that can cleanse him of that. Your name is just another ghost to add to the lineup. You’ll haunt him until his dying day. And he deserves that. 

But then, when he walks into the bar, he sees the bartender. 

The same man who had stood you up just the night before. The same man Eddie simply couldn’t understand. He was clearly on a date, a nice girl sat at the table across from him, laughing at every word he said. Eddie remembers their conversation, although a bit hazy. 

“I think you’re onto something, man. Some girls are just… irreplaceable. I’ve got a girl like that of my own – prettiest eyes you’ll ever see, a smile that could cure cancer – and… you know what? I think we should both go for it. Give up on the girls who could never compare.” 

He wants to vomit. The bastard had even poured a round of shots on the house, had fucking cheered with Eddie before throwing back the alcohol with him in the promise of moving onto the girls who matter. 

He had said cheers to discarding you. Brushing off you. To you being one of the girls who could never compare. 

Eddie’s vision goes red, and he knows half of the blame falls on himself. He’d been the reason this asshole stood you up. He had already been the reason for your pain tonight before he’d even said a word to you. His self hatred has never burned so deeply, so viciously.

But you can’t punch yourself. And so instead, Eddie doesn’t hold back when he approaches the table and lands his right knuckles right on the bastard’s cheek bone. Even goes in for a second punch. He would have gotten in a third punch, but the bartender hits back. Not as hard as Eddie, fists fueled by self-defense rather than ravaging guilt and crippling self-hatred, but enough to get deter him until security could gather both men up.

It’s in the alleyway that he has his second revelation. At the hands of the man who had just hurt you. It was like looking in a mirror. Eddie nearly does finally vomit as he leans against the brickwall, security a few paces away, ready to file a police report. But then, the bastard still manages to somehow be better than Eddie, throwing up a hand to stop them from dialing for the cops. 

“Don’t,” is all he says, leveling a stare when Eddie’s eyes fill with tears.

“Really?” Eddie cocks an eyebrow, pushing his luck. He needs someone to punish him. He needs to be thrown in a cell for the night, to be treated as the degenerate he truly was, “I just rearranged your fucking face and-”

“Why’d you punch me?” the bartender spits out some blood, nose crooked, “You- You’re a fucking regular, dude. How’d I piss in your cheerios?” 

Eddie’s feeling vulnerable. All his actual feelings boiling and burning in the back of his throat, begging to be released. He doesn’t need a drop of whiskey this time to be honest. 

“The girl,” Eddie rasps, tears threatening to spill as he pictures your face again, “I told you about the girl. The one no one else compared to.” 

The bartender’s eyes widen, “Jesus, fuc- are you telling me that we were talking about the same fucking girl? I- Vanessa told me she wasn’t seeing anyone else, I can’t believe she fucking lie-”

“Not her,” Fuck Vanessa, Eddie thinks bitterly, almost laughing. He has no right to say his next words, but he does, and they cause a pain worse than even the most nightmarish hangovers he’s ever experienced, “My girl is the one you stood up for her.”

You weren’t his girl. You never would be his girl. 

The bartender only looks more confused, and Eddie’s anger flares a bit more at the thought of him talking to more girls beyond you. The man before him had had everything Eddie wanted: he had had you. And just like Eddie, he had fucked it all up. It was easy to misdirect his anger in the moment. 

He says your name out loud, a searing iron in his throat that makes it come out garbled and strangled. Some recognition falls upon the man’s face. 

“Oh… her.” 

Eddie doesn’t hold back, “Her? That’s all you have to fucking say? You stood her up, you fucking- Jesus Christ, go burn in Hell,” He’s being irrational. He doesn’t care, “Call the cops on me. Tell them to let me rot in a fucking cell. I deserve it – but so do you. That girl… that… her. She’s one in a fucking million, she’s a thousand times better than whatever girl you have waiting on you inside, and you couldn’t see that. You’re a goddamn dick.” 

No one makes the move for the call. The bartender just shakes his head again, being far too patient. Eddie opens his mouth, ready to scream now as he demands they punish him. Make him pay for his crimes. Not just the punches, but everything he had broken tonight.

He broke you tonight. He deserves to burn in Hell far more than the man before him. 

“I knew you were in love with her, but-”

Eddie cuts him off, “I’m not in love with her.”

He hates the look he receives. It’s the same pity that Nancy now looks at him with. That same hidden judgment, like everyone else knows something that he doesn’t. 

“You may hate to hear it,” the bartender is choosing his words very carefully as he swipes in a contrasting carelessness at the blood pouring out of one of his nostrils, “But you don’t throw punches like that for a girl you’re not in love with. So I suggest you mind your business, and if she is as valuable as you keep going on about, you tell her rather than punching the dude he just serves you fucking alcohol.” 

He doesn’t even have to close his eyes to see you anymore. The image of you is clear as day, even with his eyes open. You, broken and vulnerable and full of hatred for him. Just as he had intended. 

Success tastes metallic and bitter. Eddie finally empties what little he had in his stomach onto that concrete alleyway.

He doesn’t leave the wall. Not when the bartender goes back inside with one of the bar’s bouncers, not when the remaining bouncer eyes him and nervously steps forward, not when they return with a paper declaring him banned from the bar. 

He can’t move. All he sees is you. He hasn’t drank more than that one pitiful swig of beer at Steve’s, but he feels like his world has gone incoherent all the same. 

He fucked up. 

He crinkles that piece of paper harshly once he’s properly left alone in the alleyway, angry enough that it tears a bit from his force. It doesn’t phase him; he didn’t intend on returning anyways. He carries it with him the entire way home, regardless, rolls it between his palms until it’s gone soft with the sweat of his hands. 

It’s for the better. He fucked up, but it’s for the better. 

He tosses the wadded ball into the trash when he gets home. Goes through the numb motions of taking off his shoes, tossing his jacket on the counter rather than the hook he’d put up for it, and leaves his bike’s keys beside it. Eventually, he makes his way to the bathroom, brushing his teeth but never once glancing up in the mirror. As a matter of fact, he avoided every single reflective surface in his apartment that night. 

He still sees your face, broken and teary, as he turns off his bedroom light and lays on his mattress that night. It doesn’t matter how many times he repeats it to himself, reminds himself over and over, the mantra of it being for the better doesn’t work. It can’t break through. All because of a pathetic revelation.

Eddie learns that night that he is, in fact, in love with you. And it doesn’t matter, because you hate his fucking guts, just as he had intended. 

—

You don’t make a single move once Eddie breathlessly finishes his explanation. Not even to breathe. 

He’s been in love with you since that night at Steve’s. 

You’d known that he had punched the bartender that night. You’d known that he had been banned from his usual bar that night. But you hadn’t known the entire truth. You couldn’t have ever imagined it, ever pieced it together, until now. 

And you don’t know if that speaks more on you and how dense you’ve been this entire time, or on Eddie and how dishonest he’s been this entire time. 

“God, I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.”

It suddenly makes sense. At a sickening and sudden pace, it clicks into place. 

“Eddie, I-” 

“Don’t,” he stops you, looking you directly in your eyes. You nearly shrink under his attention. Your fury is gone; you just feel empty, “You… You don’t need to say it back. You don’t need to say anything – the bet’s off. I’m not being honest to stop you from leaving,” he admits, every single wall crumbling at both of your feet, “I’m just being honest because you deserve it. I should have told you that night. I should- I actually should have never done any of this. Any of it.” 

You remember the girl you once were. In a bar, surrounded by strangers and new friends, with tunnel vision for the boy in front of you. You remember that feeling of coming home, the way you ached for him to let you in and had been fooled for one night that it was possible. 

A year later, and he was letting you in, too late. 

“Why?” your voice cracks. You should just pick up your bag and go, but you can’t. Not until you stick the final stitches into the wound, seal up this hurt once and for all. For you and for Eddie. “Why would you… Why would you do that? Why would you set out to make me hate you?” 

“Because I didn’t deserve you,” he says it like a simple fact, like it doesn’t shatter you apart, “Because I knew if I didn’t create the rift and kept letting you in, I’d fall in love with you. At first, I thought I needed you to hate me to prevent it. Figured you’d be stronger than me about it. If I made you hate me, I was… Honestly, I was saving myself. I’d tell myself it was about saving you, but it wasn’t. I was being fucking selfish.”

You nod silently, swallowing down tears. Tears for what could have been, tears for what you still want so badly that it aches. 

“All because of Steve making…” you trail off, head trying to wrap around all the honesty he had just presented you with, “Making some off-handed, drunk comment.” 

It was Eddie’s turn to silently nod. To swallow hard and flutter his eyes shut so you couldn’t see the hurt lit within them. 

“You said you hated me,” you’re thinking out loud more than you’re properly speaking to him at this point, voice broken and soft, hands fighting the urge to reach out for him. Even after it all. Every reminder of what he had done for you, and now having the pitiful reason behind it all, still couldn’t break what had formed here tonight. Everything has still changed for you, “When I said everything changes, I meant the hate – I didn’t want to hate you anymore.” 

“I know,” he bites his lip, as if he’s trying to hold back any careless words. Words that might hurt you, but not for the same reasons as they used to, “That’s why… not much has changed. I never hated you. God knows I wanted to. I told myself I had to hate you, because if I didn’t hate you, I’d love you. And I couldn’t do that again – I couldn’t handle falling in love with someone I couldn’t have. I knew I wouldn’t survive loving you when you’d never love me back. It wouldn’t be fair… to either of us.” 

“But you did it anyway,” you almost laugh at the awfulness of it all, terribly irony stacking up between you, “You fell in love with me, you said it yourself. You… you loved me.”

“Love,” he corrects, eyes now wide open, “I love you. It’s not- It’s not some feeling in the past tense. You should still hate me, because I still love you.” 

He’s right, you finally realize. You should hate him for all of this. 

“And all of this counted on the first part of your plan working,” he has to take a step closer, whether it be subconscious or due to how low your voice has dropped. The physical distance erased aches. Splinters each of your bones and all of your emotions, “Which you never even asked me if it worked, even now. You just assumed.” 

He takes a deep, brave breath before he quietly asks you, “Did it work?”

You both already know the answer now, “No.”

But it changes nothing. You know that, he knows that. It’s just as he said – the point of saying it out loud no longer has anything to do with repairing what’s been damaged just tonight. You’re both being honest only because you both deserve it. You both deserve to finally close this tomb. 

You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to close it, though. Not truly. Not properly. 

“I can’t stay,” you whisper, “I still… I still need to leave.” 

Especially now. 

“I know you do,” he responds. He’s gentle, understanding. 

It doesn’t stop the tear you see break from his lower lashes. He doesn’t draw any attention to it, doesn’t so much as move to clear it from his cheek. As if he’s scared if he does, you’ll notice it if you hadn’t already.

“The bet’s still off,” you continue, unable to meet his gaze as you pick up your bag once more. 

“I know it is.” 

He doesn’t try to stop you this time. And part of you, this time, wishes he would have as you slip back out the front door of apartment 2C and let the door shut with a quiet click behind you.

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

taglist is now closed.

[moonstruckme]

hello! i saw u were hoping for more eddie requests (or less marauders requests, was what you were getting at i think) n i was wondering if u had any thoughts on summer with eds? maybe night swimming…making out on a towel in the back of his van…lots to consider…

p.s. — ive yet to request anything from you, so this is my first chance to say how much i love your work! 🩷

Okay okay, you guys are wearing me down about writing summer blurbs. Twist my arm! Thanks for requesting love ;)

cw: pg-13 smut, mention of not eating

Eddie Munson x fem!reader ♡ 858 words

Eddie’s hair has dried frizzy, which doesn’t give you a lot of hope for yours. His skin is still sun-warm, and you shiver for reasons that are multiplying by the minute, pressing close as he mouths over the dip where your neck meets your shoulder. You’re not sure exactly how you’d ended up in Eddie’s lap. You’d climbed in the back of his van to get a towel, and somehow that towel had ended up spread beneath the both of you, scratching lightly at your bare shins as the sun slips below the horizon and your boyfriend brutalizes your neck. He bites down just this side of too hard, making you gasp. 

“Eddie,” you plead, fingers winding in his hair. “We can’t do this here.” 

He releases the skin of your neck with a lewd suctioning sound, moving to that place under your ear that gets you melty like a popsicle in July. His hands grip your ass, squeezing indulgently as you squirm in his lap. “Says who?” 

“Says—” He kisses that favored spot and your head falls to the side to accommodate him, an embarrassingly needy sound escaping you. “—says, I don’t know—the cops.” 

Eddie’s laugh is so raucous he has to pull away. You’re not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. His hands slide to your hips, grounding you as he looks at you with eyes wide and incredulous. “The cops?” he asks. 

You swallow, nodding. You have this horrible vision of Jim Hopper himself getting a call about the suspicious van parked by the lake, coming over and shining a flashlight into the open back doors to find you both naked and in the middle of things. 

Eddie laughs some more, shoulders shaking with it, and you can’t help but snicker a little too just because he is. “Baby, the cops don’t give a shit about what we’re up to. I’m sure they have better things to do.” 

You shoot him a look, because you both know damn well that when Hawkins isn’t being threatened by monsters from a parallel universe, it’s completely dead around here. 

“Let’s go back to your place,” you urge. “This towel’s all wet anyway, and I wanna shower.” 

Eddie makes himself at home in the juncture of your neck again, kissing lazily. “S’not enough room in my shower for both of us,” he complains.

“We can pick this back up after, I know—shit, Eds—” Without warning, his hand slips up to palm your tit, pushing aside the scant covering of your swimsuit. You try to sound reasonable. “I know I taste like lake water.” 

“Mhm. It’s hot.” 

“It’s gross.” 

“You’re gross.” He pauses, lips lifting momentarily from your shoulder. “Okay, wrong comeback. I’m distracted. It’s not gross, baby.” His grip tightens on you a second before he licks up the side of your neck, holding you in place when you squeal and try to get away. “Mm, yummy lake water.” 

“You’re disgusting,” you laugh, leaning back and setting your hands on his shoulders so he can’t try it again. 

“Aw, come on.” A thick finger slips under the elastic of your bikini bottoms, tracing a line around your hip as his other hand squeezes your boob lightly. Eddie grins at your tiny inhale. “Have a little fun.” 

“Eddie,” you say warningly. 

“Yes?” Another finger joins the first, your swimsuit stretching to accommodate them. 

“I want to go home.” You imbue your voice with as much firmness as you can. When Eddie pouts, you go for the kill. “I’m getting really hungry.” 

Immediately, the wickedness leaves his expression, replaced by a sweet concern. “Yeah?” The elastic of your swimsuit snaps back into place, and you jolt. Eddie flattens his palm over the spot, rubbing apologetically. “I forgot, you barely had anything for lunch. You wanna drive through somewhere?” 

“No, I can make it until we get home,” you say softly, backpedaling a bit in the face of his caring. “I’m not dying, just a little hungry.” 

Eddie’s mouth pulls to one side. “You sure, sweet thing? It’s a bit of a drive back. We could grab McDonalds.” Your eyes widen, and his grin makes a return, this time crooked and dorky. “Yeah?” 

“That sounds amazing,” you admit. “Do you think they’ll give me a hashbrown even though it’s not breakfast yet?” 

“I’ll make sure they do.” He eases you off his lap, reaching over to close the back doors. You start looking around for your flip-flops. “I think they’re serving breakfast all day now anyways.” 

“Ugh, awesome.” You imagine the greasy taste, and your mouth floods with saliva. Shit, you actually are pretty hungry. Eddie climbs into the front seat, reaching for your elbow to help you over the console behind him. The material of the seatbelt feels warm and rough against your skin. “Just to be clear,” you say, “I didn’t mean that I wasn’t having a good time. We still should have a re-do later, after food and showers.” 

Eddie huffs a laugh, turning the keys in the ignition so the van rumbles to life underneath you. “No need for a re-do, baby. We’re just having an intermission.” 

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

It's Inevitable

Prompt Day 4: Mistletoe | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Brief Period-Typical Homophobia | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, But Is The Town Pariah, First Kiss

The amount of eggnog Steve has requested they pick up is borderline insane. How many people is he expecting at his party tonight? Honestly. The line to checkout at the Big Buy is long, too long, and Eddie regrets offering to be the last minute errand boy.

Everybody's out in full-force stocking up for New Year's, and now it looks like he intends to drink his body weight in yellow sludge.

At least he forced Gareth into coming with him, so he isn't suffering alone.

Waiting for their turn to pay, there is a cardboard box floor display full of sprigs of mistletoe. Clearance priced and ready to move after Christmas. They've all seen better days, and are meant to be an impulse purchase to move them out the door, Unfortunately, Eddie falls for it, hook, line and sinker. He picks one up, and throws one in the top basket of the cart, and continues to wait as he glances at all the magazines, seeing what he can read for free while they're stuck in place.

"What's that for?" Gareth asks, picking up the mistletoe with two fingers, holding it outwards, like it might bite him. 

"The party," Eddie answers, "why are you acting like it's poisonous?"

"It is poisonous," Gareth answers, tossing it back into the cart, then brushes his hands against his jeans, like that will clean them, "Who are you trying to kill?"

"Sssh," Eddie hisses, looking around. It hasn't been long enough that he feels truly comfortable in town, and he definitely doesn't want killing associated with him any fucking longer. Jesus. He just wants to kiss someone. Is that too much to ask?

He doesn't think so.

"I just thought it might make the night interesting, that's all," Eddie finally answers.

"Interesting. Sure. Am I even invited to this party?" Gareth asks.

Eddie sighs, "Yes. You're invited where I'm invited, why do you keep asking that every damn time we do something with Steve?"

"He never talks to me. He only talks to you," Gareth grumbles.

"Do you want to talk to him?" Eddie asks.

"No, not really. But it might be nice to not feel invisible," he says, arms crossed, petulant.

Eddie will tell Steve to say hi or something, make the little shit happy.

The old man behind the register glares at him, which is par for the fucking course. He holds the mistletoe like Eddie is asking to use it on him, and Eddie has to bite his tongue to not be snarky, as the old asshole mumbles under his breath about Eddie being a freak, a queer, a murderer, and Eddie squeezes the handle of the cart. He's two of the three, but this asshole doesn't get to say so.

That's been the worst part of his reentry into society after barely surviving the court of public opinion. The scrutiny, the hatred, still so real that he doesn't feel comfortable being himself in town. He escaped being convicted for murders he didn't commit by the skin of his teeth, thanks to Hopper's miraculous resurrection. He knows that.

But being quiet, and non-reactive, when he feels wronged, is soul-crushing.

He doesn't snap at him, but Gareth does, and nobody is about to cast stones at Carolyn Jones' little boy, freak or not. They are part of the fabric of town, like Eddie never will be.

Gareth sassing him on Eddie's behalf is enough to not make Eddie feel so fucking kicked while he's down, and Eddie smiles as he hands over Steve Harrington's money. Knowing if the old coot knew that, he'd shit bricks.

Back at Harrington's house, Eddie pulls the small bundle out of the sack. It's stupid. He's aware it's stupid. But it gives him a chance, so he's gonna do it. 

"Is that mistletoe?" Steve asks.

"Yeah, funny, right?" 

"For sure, I wonder what weird pairings of people we can lure under there?"

There's only one weird pairing Eddie cares about, and they are both standing right here, right now.

"I don't know, but I'm sure Gareth would appreciate being set up under here with someone cute."

Eddie drags over one of the dining room chairs, and makes sure he takes off his shoes so Mrs. Harrington doesn't see shoeprints if she ever comes home.

"You got a pushpin?" Eddie asks, and Steve disappears to find one. When he turns back up, Eddie loops the ribbon through, and stands on his tiptoes.

He can't quite reach. Fucking vaulted ceilings in rich people houses.

Steve laughs, "Let me get the step ladder." 

Eddie stands there looking at the door frame.

Steve climbs the ladder, and takes the mistletoe from Eddie's hand. And Eddie watches as Steve stretches upwards, pressing the sharp end of the tack into the wood. A sliver of his hairy belly showing as his sweater rides up.

The sweater is red, and looks so soft. Eddie wants to touch it. Touch him.

Steve lowers his arms and then they're just looking at each other.

Steve breaks their eye contact, and comes down one step, readjusting his shirt.

Then they're eye-to-eye again, and Eddie swallows. Shit.

"Well, huh, would you look at that?" Steve says, so fucking smooth that Eddie misses his meaning.

"Look at what?" Eddie asks, because all he can look at is Steve.

"We're standing under mistletoe. Wonder how that got there?"

And then Steve's leaning forward, using his smooth fucking lines on Eddie, and all Eddie can think is that he really shouldn't be doing this off the ground. He's liable to fall and crack open his skull.

But Steve slides his arm over Eddie's shoulder, moving to both pull him closer and keep him secure, as Steve's lips press against Eddie's.

Holy shit.

Eddie kisses back, and hopes that this isn't just Steve being silly. Hoping that maybe this was a mutual good excuse to get this ball rolling.

The moment Steve's tongue touches Eddie's, he knows it isn't a joke.

It's inevitable.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun! 🌿

[acowardinmordor]

while taking a short break from the absolutely insane deadline I'm trying to hit for this project that just got the rug pulled from under us, my brain was thinking about how much we love having Steve captured by people. Usually with Eddie bc unknown bat venom magic or whatnot.

Has anyone captured Steve and Dustin though? I'd normally jump to this post S3, where the russians have Dustin's name, and Steve is there too, but consider if it happens after S2.

Dustin is the loudest human on the planet. Says something or was recognized by someone lab-adjacent. They can't find El, but they know that this kid knows her, and look at him, its not like this child is going to be all that resilient to pressure. They grab Steve with him, as an accident more than anything else. Steve was taking Dustin to do errands, or something. Dustin took too long, Steve came to complain about the delay, Steve ends up in the back of the van too.

And these lab guys would, lets be honest, have killed Steve once they got back to their base bc what do they need this random guy for? Its the kid that knows about the girl.

However, the combination of Dustin never knowing when to shut up, Steve needing to protect Dustin, and the Lab Dudes being vaguely uncomfortable with actively hurting the kid... By the time they're back to wherever they're taken, Steve is the target, and he's actively encouraging it. He's never met El, but he has heard some stories in the last few weeks, enough to make it seem like he knows her. And hey, bonus! He can't actually tell them anything important about her because he doesn't know anything!

Dustin telling Steve to stop talking just ensures that the lab dudes think Steve has valuable information.

It's rough. Vaguely shaped like Steve and Robin with the Russians. And if he was protective of Robin? Yeah, no, there's no way he's going to let them hurt Dustin. he's only known the kid a month or so, but even when Dustin was essentially a stranger, he was down to risk his life for him.

Dustin isn't entirely left alone, but they're not really hurting him beyond incidental stuff. Kid is also smart enough to realize that he does know things they want to know, and that if he tells them, they'll find El, and have no use for Dustin or Steve at all anymore.

For the sake of a plot, lets say that there's a chance for an escape. Its been a month, they're being transported somewhere else, something something, Dustin gets out, and finds the closest cop he can, tells them to call the Hawkins PD, and put Hopper on the phone. He gets back home, and manages to tell El what to look for before Claudia wraps him in a hug and won't let him out of her sight. He can't even pretend he's upset about that btw. Yes, he's scared for Steve, but it was horrible and he's a child, and he's falling apart about it.

And again, plot armor. They're gonna find Steve. He's alive, they get him back. It's been at least another month though. Add in two weeks in a hospital, and two more weeks of recovery at Hopper's place, and... yeah, Steve's not graduating that year.

His parents, who assumed he'd run off with some money and his car since its not like he was going to get into college anyway, sorta wash their hands of him when he comes back. Its not like he can say that a group of G Men kidnapped him to find out what he knows about a little girl with psychic powers. He came back looking like a drug addict to be honest, and they can't be bothered. He's 18 already, so that's that. They're out.

Dustin would be - God. He'd be devastated by that part. Yes, by it taking so long to find Steve, by blaming himself for Steve getting taken too, for how long it will take Steve to recover, for Steve repeating his senior year, but Dustin Henderson finds out that Steve's parents were only back in Hawkins for a couple days to handle paperwork? That would be a gut punch.

I don't know how much he tells his mom, not everything about the monsters, but that the Lab was shady and they thought he and Steve knew something, and tells her that its his fault Steve got hurt, and that Steve kept him safe.

Obvs. That is now her brand new son, Steve Henderson.

And All THIS means that there's not really a fall from grace for 'king steve' He was bruised to hell at the end of Fall semester, and just didn't come back in the spring. Then there were rumors, then he was back, but not in school, and eventually, word went around that he was repeating.

By April, he's recovered enough to be applying for summer jobs. Not sure about Starcourt yet since I don't think I'm cruel enough to torture him twice, and maybe this requires a Steve With Powers situation, but all of this means that the start of the new school year creates an absolutely insane dynamic for Steve and Robin and Dustin and Eddie