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dcxdpdabbles · 1 year

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Alfred's Boy Part 3

Bruce rarely had a full night's rest. In fact, he thinks that it's been a full two years since he last had more than eight hours of consistent slumber. Unlike Tim, who just forgo the recommended sleeping amount, Bruce found time to take naps throughout the day because, as much as he hates to admit it, he's not as young as he used to be.

This is why Bruce is rather displeased to be awoken when he finds himself with a chance to have a full night's rest. It felt like he barely closed his eyes at the tender time of nine o clock pm- with no cases waiting for him, his children agreeing to take his patrols, and the wonderful tea that Danny had poured him to help with backpain-he thought nothing would ruin it.

He forgot he had children for a moment.

At three in the morning, he woke to Tim, half in his Red Robin uniform, crouching like a cat about to leap, his unmasked face staring a few inches away from Bruce's nose. It took everything in Bruce to not react on instinct and take a swing at his son.

He only just bites back the scream by sheer willpower. His son doesn't seem to notice his heart trying to leap out of his chest as the boy leans back, sitting on the pillow Bruce likes to use to build a protective wall against the other side of the floor.

Tim's voice was raspy with sleep and maybe even hints of madness. "Oh good, you're awake. I have an emergency."

"Wha?" Bruce asks, half unsure if he is hallucinating. "What's wrong."

"Danny found his photo album."

"Danny has a photo album?"

"Yes. I made it. I took all the pictures."

"Okay? Why is that bad, chum? Was it supposed to be a surprise present for him?"

Tim tilts his head, his somewhat unfocused eyes staring at Bruce, and for one moment, he wonders if Tim got a concussion out in the field. He disregards the idea a moment later. Alfred would have notified him, and if not, Danny wouldn't allow Tim to wander alone.

Bruce could still remember Duke's wide eye awe as Danny followed him around when he got hit a little too hard a few weeks ago. The butler in training had even slept in his room- on the floor on an air mattress- and Duke had looked mortified and smug for as long as it took to get over his injury.

Alfred had to make it very clear no one was allowed to deliberately get a concussion to his other love-struck children.

Tim's nose wrinkles as a slight blush appears on his high cheeks. "No. He didn't know I was taking pictures of him. That's why it's bad he found the album. "

Bruce closes his eyes. He loves his son, he really does, but he can't handle this right now. He takes a few blissful seconds to pretend he never became a single dad of nine before he pushes his eyelids apart to give one of his middle children a firm scolding. "Tim, chum, the light of my life, that's a crime."

"It's not! I didn't follow him around outside the manor." Tim argues.

Bruce reaches a hand up to rub the space between his eyes. "Tim, you can't just take pictures of people without asking them."

"Why not? I've done it before. To you, Dick, Jason, Steph, Alfred, Damian, Harper, Cullen, Duke, and Cass, but she usually catches me and poses so it doesn't get her in her authentic state of being like I usually want to get but-" Tim says, counting the people on his figures before he seems to realize that he was sidetracked and shakes his head. He gives Bruce a pitiful pout. "He doesn't even mind. He said they were lovely and artistic!"

Of course, Danny wouldn't even blink at a creepy photo album of himself hidden in one of his employer's rooms. That boy didn't care that he found the Batcave while dusting, so taking everything in stride was a default.

"Tim, it's still not okay. You have to ask him from now on if you can take pictures." He holds up a hand when Tim opens his mouth to no doubt argue. "You can ask him if you can take pictures of him throughout the day to capture his authentic side without it being a crime. Now explain what the emergency really is."

Tim's teeth snapped close with a snap. "That was the emergency. He found it, and now I have to leave the country. Go underground for a few months. Maybe fake my death."

"You literally don't have to do any of that. Danny said it was okay right? He isn't one to sugarcoat things. He wouldn't claim it was fine if he didn't feel that way."

"No, Bruce, you don't understand. He already thinks I can't swim. Now he finds a book of him covered in hearts? Tim Drake needs to die." Tim says, dragging his hands down his face, and Bruce flips the covers back.

Gesturing to them, he deadpans. "Tim Drake needs to sleep."

"But my fake death needs to be planned-"

"Cullen and Harper get back tomorrow. Do you want to stress Danny more by adding your fake death to this?" Bruce watches the moment his argument wins because it's as if all fight leaves Tim's body, and his son slumps to the side. His head falls on a pillow, and he's already fast asleep.

He had been running on fumes again, it seemed.

Sighing, Bruce man hands his son into a more comfortable position, unclips his cape, and tucks the blankets around his son's shoulders. He settles back into his side of his bed- Ever since Dick came to live with him, Bruce had, over the years, claimed the right side of the bed so the left would always be open for any of his children suffering from nightmares.

He closes his eyes; Tim's peaceful face snuggling into Bruce's softest pillow reminded him why he became a single father of nine. His heart swells with love as he gives back into sleep's warm arms.

A few seconds later, his door is kicked open by Harper. She puts all her lungs into her greeting. "What's up, Old man! Who's the new kid!?"

Bruce glances at his clock and realizes it's now eight in the morning. Harper and Cullen had arrived hours earlier than planned- probably because Harper had refused to sleep and completed the drive home. He looks at Tim and finds his son curled into a ball, still dead to the world.

"That's Danny," He says in a hushed voice, gesturing to her adoptive brother. When Harper sees Tim, she visibly quiets, ensuring her heavy metal boots don't stomp on the ground as she walks over to him. "He's Alfred's foster son. He was removed from his last home because his parents were dangerous to his safety. Alfred will house him as a favor for his old contact. The contact code name is Clockwork. Danny talks about him a lot so you may hear that name for a while."

"Whoa. " She says, sobering up. Bruce can see memories of her birth father playing behind her eyes as she frowns. "That's shitty. Poor guy, no wonder he seemed sad to the bone."

"You met him?"

"Yeah, he jumped Cullen and me in the main hallway."

Bruce's mind buffers for a second. "What?"

"I know! The dude has skill, but it makes sense if he is Alfred's. He thought we were breaking in and took us out before I realized we were in danger. Once he got a good look at our faces, though, he practically threw up apologizing." She pauses. "Is he straight?"

No. Bruce thinks feeling cold, not another one.

"I believe he's bi. Why?"

Harper shrugs, smiling. "I think Cullen may have a crush on him. I was iffy about it since I thought he was another of your kids. You technically aren't our dad since I'm still Cullen's guardian, but you let us live here for free, so you like a dad? Glad it's not an issue."

Bruce wants to cry. What was it with Danny and seducing his children (in the eyes of the law or not, Cullen is Bruce's boy)? "There may be an issue. See, Danny has a few admires right now and he's- "

"That sounds like your issue, not a Cullen issue," Harper says, narrowing her eyes. Bruce winces when he notices her arms crossing over her chest as when firmly plants her feet a few inches apart. She only stands like that when she's protective of Cullen, which means she finds his comment offensive.

"I'm not saying Cullen doesn't have a chance." Bruce corrects realizing where the issue was. Harper's arms loosen slightly. "I just meant that right now, Danny isn't in the right mental state to be dating."

Harper's arms drop. "Yeah, I wasn't interested in dating after I became emancipated, either. Had a lot going on. I'll talk to Cullen about it. Make sure he gives Danny space."

Finally, one of his kids is on his side! "Thank you, Harper."

She waves a hand dismissively. "Don't mention it. Hey, how did Clockwork and Alfred meet anyway?"

Bruce shrugs. "I never asked."

"Why?"

"It's Alfred. " He says like that is an explanation enough, and it is. Harper accepts it as such, nodding along. She tilts her head back and mentions wanting to shower, then take a long nap. She leaves the room as silent as a shadow, but not before telling him Danny and Cullen are making pancakes for everyone.

Bruce doesn't want to get up, but he must be the period romance villain and rip his son away from the staff. He slips out of bed with great effort and prepares for the day. A quick bathroom break, and a change into a casual suit, lead to Bruce walking down to the kitchen.

There he spots Danny smiling gently at Cullen, who is in an excited rant about his latest reality tv show. Around them is a spread of breakfast foods- Danny always cooks the food of various cultural backgrounds. He apparently learned from Clockwork and found it important everyone had at least one piece of home per meal.

It's heartwarming domestic. Bruce needs to ruin it.

"How did Alfred and Clockwork meet?" Cullen asks, stopping Bruce from dramatically bursting into the room. It's mostly because he has been wondering the same thing for weeks, and Danny seems to know.

"Alfred got haunted when he picked up Clockwork's pocket watch in an antique store," Danny responds.

That answer didn't explain anything. In fact, it just created more questions. Bruce wants to wait a little more, see if Danny adds more information, but he watches as the bulter in training places strawberries on heart-shaped pancakes and then drizzles chocolate. He puts the plate in front of Cullen, and the other teenager swoons.

Yeah, Bruce needs to stop that.

"Good morning, boys." He calls, watching the two turn to him. They each give him a greeting, but Danny is noticeably more polite. Danny moves away from Cullen to serve Bruce. He adds blood pudding alongside his Batarang-shaped pancakes as Cullen sulks about losing Danny's attention. Bruce takes a bit of those first, closing his eyes in bliss.

Blood pudding, just like Alfred used to make.

Speaking of Alfred, his loyal butler arrives then. Seems like Bruce wasn't the only one catching up on a night of undisruptive sleep. His oldest friend gives both boys a once over, Danny pouring tea and milk and Cullen staring at him lovingly- and raises a brow, leaning down to whisper in Bruce's ear.

"I say, it seems Danny has collected another one."

"Please don't."

"Denial will not make it less true. It's how I wound up haunted."

"Alfred, what does that mean?"

#dc x dp crossover #dcxdpdabbles #Alfred's boy #Part 3 #cullen row #Harper Row #They were away on a trip #Danny likes to cook #Clockwork taught him #The lore of Alfred and Clockwork is a hot topic in Wayne Manor #Danny breaking hearts again #Tim was half crazy from sleep deprivation.

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perpetuallyconfused10 · 1 year

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Drive My Car (1/2)

GIF by rqgnarok Part 2

WARNINGS: None. Just two idiots in love. And maybe Hotch is a little too soft.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

“Fuck.”

The voice is low enough that you think you’ve imagined him at first, but there he is, standing at the bottom of the stairs leading to his office with one hand pressed to his forehead and staring at the phone in his other like it’s burned him.

“Hotch? Are you alright?”

He turns to look at you, appearing about as startled as you imagine he ever can. “I’m fine,” he says. “I didn’t know you were still here.”

In his defense, you didn’t expect to be here this late either. The others had left the bullpen over an hour ago, having finished their paperwork much before you.

You hold up the culprit for your staying behind, a Use of Force report that had ended up taking a lot longer than planned. “Just finishing up. Are you sure you’re okay?”

The hand on his forehead moves to his hip, and he studies you for a few seconds. Then he sighs. “My car’s in the shop. Jessica was going to bring me home, but Jack’s gotten sick and she doesn’t want to move him from his bed. I’m going to call a cab.”

That explains why he’s leaving so early. You’ve never heard of him leaving before eight or nine.

“Poor kid. That’s never fun,” you say with a wince. “But you’d be lucky, Hotch. It’s seven on a Friday night. Everyone and their mother is calling a cab.”

“It’s quicker than the subway.”

His voice is flat, worried. You make the decision in a second. “Not quick enough. Let me drive you.”

Hotch’s brow furrows as he considers your offer, mentally calculating the distance from your apartment to his. “I couldn’t ask you to do that for me. I’m miles out of your way.”

He’s right. He is miles away, but that doesn’t deter you. As wonderful as Jessica is, from what you’ve heard, you know Jack idolizes Hotch. He’ll want to be with him now.

“I’m not doing it for you,” you say with a smile, knowing you’re about to play your ace. “I’m doing it for Jack, who is sick and should see his father.”

There’s no room to argue with you. Hotch picks up his briefcase and thanks you. With long strides, he leads the way out of the bullpen and towards the garage.

Ten minutes later, find yourself rushing to stack empty to-go-cups and loose papers, shoving them away as Hotch climbs into your car. “It’s no problem, really. Sorry about the mess.”

Hotch shakes his head. His lips are a little less downturned than usual, which in your mind almost constitutes a smile. “Consider it noted,” he says, “We’ll talk during your next performance review.”

Fighting a smile, you can’t help it. You hit his arm. “I take it back. I’m not sorry.”

“It really isn’t a mess,” he says. “And you really shouldn’t be sorry. You should see my car. You can’t move for Jack’s toys.”

You hum, hands gripping the wheel as your reverse out of the spot, “Be careful what you admit around me. You might be my boss, but I can always snitch on you to yours.”

An amused huff is the closest you get to making him laugh, but you take it. He shakes his head. “I’ve had too many uncomfortable conversations with Strauss to bother counting. I’m sure I’ll survive.”

“Not if I have a hand in it.”

Neither of you says anything for a long while after that, and neither mind. What the protocol is for driving your boss home outside of work, you aren’t sure. If there is something in the FBI manual about it, you’re quite sure Hotch knows it – but asking him feels a little on-the-nose, and so you keep quiet and put the radio on.

You’re also sure that there isn’t anything in the FBI manual about what music is appropriate to listen to with your boss in your passenger seat. If there were, you’re certain the songs on at the moment – half of which you vaguely remember Morgan and Garcia dancing to on one of the team’s nights at the bar, and the other of which might be their next choices – don’t make the cut.

Feeling your face heat up, you clear your throat. “I think I have a couple Beatles albums in the glove box if you wanna look for one,” It isn’t so much a suggestion as it is a request — maybe even an order – and you know he senses that. With a nod, he reaches over to open it.

“You’ve got eclectic taste,” Hotch says after a moment, raising an eyebrow at you as he pulls out one of the CDs buried somewhere in the pile. “I didn’t take you for a Mozart fan.”

The corner of his mouth pulls itself into a smirk. It’s the kind reserved for non-working occasions, or, alternatively, occasions that don’t require the wearing of a suit jacket. Like now. Not that you’ve noticed the broad lines of his shoulders in his dress shirt, or the movement of his Adam’s apple as he speaks, more easily seen with the top two buttons undone. And if you have, that’s nobody’s business.

You shrug. “I’m not one, really. Reid likes it.”

For a long second, he looks at you. “You keep a CD in your car for Reid?”

“He doesn’t like the radio. It’s distracting. I don’t particularly like it, either.”

Hotch doesn’t let up, “That’s…very thoughtful of you.”

Keeping your eyes on the road is more of a task than you’d like.

“They’re only a couple dollars. I just buy them when I see them.”

He takes another look in the glove box, grabbing a beaten-down copy of The White Album and pushing it into the player. But before the opening to ‘Back in the USSR’ is even over, he’s pressed pause and shifted in his seat to look at you head-on. Silence stretches between the two of you again. The dull hum of the engine and the rain battering the windows sound, of a sudden, much louder.

“What? You’re making me nervous.”

He is. If becoming skilled in the art of dangerous driving weren’t a side-effect of working with the BAU, you might’ve crashed the car by now.

You chance a look over at him. His expression is set in a frown. Over your short tenure with the team, you’ve fallen witness to enough of what Morgan deems his ‘Hotchner frowns’ (trademark implied) to know that this one is different. There’s something softer about it, more considerate than displeased.

“Those other albums…Sinatra, Radiohead, Stevie Wonder…you’ve barely touched them. Not compared to the others.”

Damn profiler. The stubborn part of you — which was a larger part than you’d like to admit — wanted to ignore him. Even so, you know it’d never work. Hotch is just as stubborn as you are, and worse than that, he is far more patient.

“They’re not my favorites, no, but—” you relent.

Gently, Hotch cuts you off. “No, they’re not. They’re Rossi’s, Prentiss', and Morgan’s. I’m sure you’ve got records in there for JJ and Garcia. And–”

You look down again at your hands where they rest on the wheel. The skin of your knuckles pulls as you tighten your hands around it. In a sigh, you admit it. “—And for you too, yeah.”

He tilts his head. When he speaks, his voice is soft. “Why?”

Retreating into silence again, you turn the corner onto his street. But even off the clock, Hotch’s presence is commanding, his stare on you unassuming and exposing all at once.

You laugh. “Remind me never to end up in an interrogation with you again. You’re terrifying.”

“You haven’t learned enough from them if you’re still deflecting,” he says, ignoring your jibe. Instead he folds his hands in his lap.

You could double down, tell him jokingly to fuck off and then claim that swearing at him is entirely acceptable in non-working circumstances. What it is stopping you from giving him the answer he wants, you’re not sure. This isn’t the office. It’s not neutral ground. This is your car, your territory. Forced out of the context of work, Hotch is no longer just an abstract concept, your hardass of a boss — he’s a real person. Your friend. And something about that pulls at you.

“I had a little trouble adjusting, at first,” you say, stretching the words out until they become unfamiliar things. “More than I’d expected. I knew when I took the job what it’d be like. On paper, at least. But the first few cases…it was another thing to be doing it, you know?”

It’s the truth. The early days, right after you joined the team, were rough. They’d been a constant guessing game of when to speak up and when to keep quiet, when to shove down all of the stress and the fear and the self-loathing and when, if ever, to let yourself feel it.

Hotch stays quiet this time, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him. Was it too honest to admit that? His presence has gone to your head, like wine on a summer evening.

“I never let it affect my work–” you say in a rush, self-preservation instincts in full swing. You stop halfway, let the words wither in your throat.

One of Hotch’s hands twitches as if to reach for you, but retreats at the last seconds, remaining limp in his lap. He hums, his voice a low murmur. “I know that.”

You’ve come this far. Might as well finish this. “We’d come home from a case, and sometimes I’d drive Reid back so he didn’t have to get the subway. We’d drive back to our apartments with the radio on. But the news…”

Hotch sighs, “...Another robbery, another murder. Another thing out of our reach.”

There’s no judgment in his eyes, none of the sharp analysis profiling demands. It hits you again that you aren’t talking with the man that conducts your performance reviews, but the man who rolls his eyes at Reid and Morgan’s bickering, the father who’d drop anything to make his son happy.

A smile feels a little out of your reach as you remember those early months, so you settle for a nod. “I picked up a CD or two after the first couple weeks. Then I found out Reid liked classical music, so I looked for some. And it made sense, if I was giving Morgan or Prentiss or Garcia a ride too. I guess it got a little out of control.”

Hotch shakes his head. “That’s not out of control. It’s kind,” he starts, then stops for a second, his features rearranging themselves into a frown once more. “You know you don't have to do nice things for people to get them to like you, don’t you?”

Eyes widening, you almost think you’ve heard him wrong. “What?”

He tilts his head, his gaze on you soft as you put the car into park in front of his apartment complex. “Maybe you don’t do it anymore, but towards the beginning…I got the feeling you thought you’d have to move mountains to get the team to like you. And you didn’t.”

He’s right. You really had felt alone, for the first few months. You’d done everything you could to make yourself tolerable: memorized Garcia’s miles-long Starbucks order, lied about where you lived to Reid so he didn’t feel guilty about taking a lift from you, nodded along when Morgan told you about his housing projects even though you hadn’t a clue about property development. You’d done it all. And it had worked.

Maybe you hadn’t needed to do it. But over time, obligation had morphed into affection, and you liked to. Hence the music.

“Hotch…”

You’re glad he speaks before you can get any further, because you really have no idea what to say. “I mean it,” he says quietly. “Anyone with sense would do that all on their own.”

“Thank you,” you say, swallowing. “I hope Jack feels better soon.”

“I’ll tell him you said hi. He’ll appreciate it.” he says, checking his watch. “I’d better go check on him. Thank you for driving me back. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nod. “Tomorrow.”

He climbs out of the car, head bowed against the rain, and you wait for him to get inside before you pull away. You’re not mad about the Beatles. The White Album wouldn’t be your pick of their records. But the drive is long, long enough to let yourself think, and you leave it playing until you’re home.

#hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #thomas gibson #aaron hotch fanfiction #how the fuck does tumblr work #soft hotch #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotch x reader #ssa aaron hotchner

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avatar-anna · 8 months

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I feel like we haven’t seen much of youngmom reader super pregnant with her 7 babies??? Maybe I just don’t remember but I’d love to see y/n throughout her pregnancies! If not it’s okay I love ALL YOUR WORK!! ❤️

Baby Fever

Young Dad! Harry Styles x Young Mom! Reader Masterlist

i was too tired to include charlie. sorry!

Simone

Y/n sighed as she looked over her figure in the mirror, her shoulders slumping at the sight of her unbuttoned jeans and swollen belly. Looking down, she glared pointedly at the bump, saying, "Damn you, Harry."

She tried to button up her jeans one last time to no avail, then fell back on the bed behind her. It was Harry's, Y/n didn't feel comfortable enough to call it hers too, even though he insisted his home was hers now. The mattress was plush enough for her to sink into, and the sheets were softer than soft, she just felt like she was a guest staying in someone else's home.

It didn't help that she was alone most days. If Y/n had thought Harry had a busy schedule before all of this, she sorely underestimated the hectic schedule he had on a daily basis. The first half of her pregnancy, Harry was gone on tour promoting One Direction's latest album. When he came back to London, he was gone almost all day for interviews and late night talk shows and performances at radio stations. Work seemed neverending, and when Harry did eventually trudge through his front door, he was pretty much dead on his feet.

It was a weird situation that they were in, but nothing about their relationship had ever been typical.

Not really caring what kind of important meeting or interview he was having, Y/n pulled out her phone, scrolling through her contacts until she landed on the right person.

"Y/n! It's good to hear from you! How've you been?"

"Put him on the phone, Louis. I need to talk to him. Please," she said, adding please after realizing how harsh she sounded.

Louis was quick to do as she asked, though. Y/n could hear him rustling and calling out until he eventually found her boyfriend.

There was a time when Y/n didn't think she could call Harry that. She'd always liked him. Since the day they met, they were both absolutely smitten with each other, anyone could see that. But when she found out she was pregnant, things shifted. Y/n and Harry's relationship catapulted into chaos, and before they could even have the boyfriend-girlfriend conversation, they were suddenly nine months away from being parents.

Over time, they got to that place they'd been in before Y/n got pregnant. They had the boyfriend-girlfriend conversation, and now they were happy.

Well, for the most part.

"Hey, love, what's up? Everything okay?"

The sound of Harry's voice soothed and frustrated her all at once. Tears, which had been an unwelcome side effect of her pregnancy, began to well in her eyes.

"My jeans don't fit anymore."

There was silence between them, Y/n's words floating between them until it was eventually broken by Harry's laughter.

"It's not funny!" she insisted, even though she began to giggle alongside him.

"Baby," Harry said once his laughter subsided. "Why are you trying to put jeans on anyway? Are you going somewhere?"

"No, I've just gained so much weight. I feel like a blob, and you're partly to blame."

Y/n knew the baby bump was coming, she knew there would come a time when jeans and tops wouldn't fit and she'd have to buy clothes that were more accommodating to the baby growing in her belly. She just didn't expect to be this emotional about it. It was probably just the hormones.

"I'm sorry, baby," Harry said, a note of seriousness in his voice that Y/n appreciated even though she knew she was being slightly unreasonable. "I still think you're the prettiest girl I've ever laid eyes on."

Groans of protest and disgust erupted from Harry's side of the phone, followed by teasing at Harry's sappy words. "I came in here for privacy! Don't complain when you hear shit you didn't want to hear!" he told his bandmates. He mumbled something about never getting a moment alone anymore and nosy pricks, which made Y/n giggle as he presumably found a new place to talk to her privately.

In a hushed voice, he said, "I don't like it when you cry, baby."

"I wasn't planning on it," she sniffled. "I know I should've anticipated this, but now my belly sticks out and nothing fits me and I look horrible."

"No you don't," Harry said, not missing a beat. He didn't have to see her to know she looked just as gorgeous as she always did. Baby bump or no baby bump. "Put your sweats back on, love. I'll bring home dinner and we'll watch a movie."

"Really?" Y/n asked, and Harry could all but imagine her watery smile. "Because the baby's craving hot wings, and I know you don't like them."

Shaking his head, he promised, "Don't worry. Text me what you want. I'll be home soon."

"I—Thank you. B—Bye."

Harry's breath hitched, his phone still pressed to his ear even after she'd hung up. He knew what Y/n had been about to say, at least he was ninety percent sure he knew. He could only hope she was going to say, "I love you." Neither of them had said it to each other before, not wanting to get lost or caught up in the emotions of having to baby together. But Harry knew. He'd known for some time now. He just didn't want to scare her by just how deep his feelings went.

Slipping his phone into his pocket, Harry went back into the green room where the rest of the boys were. He took the ribbing they gave him for being "smitten" and "whipped." But he didn't care. Y/n was waiting for him to bring her dinner, and that was really all he could think about as the minutes ticked by until he could go home.

*.*

Collette

Y/n couldn't help the slacking of her jaw as she watched her husband.

Sure, she'd seen him a number of different ways—working out, doing handiwork around the house, performing onstage, dressed for a red carpet—but here, as he wore a tiara and held a tiny teacup with pretend tea in it and sat across from his daughter, Y/n had never been more turned on in her life.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. Yesterday it was the way her husband had offered to go to the grocery store for her, and just an hour ago it was how he hummed to himself while he made breakfast for her and Simone. Shirtless. By now, Y/n was fairly used to her attraction to Harry, but it was as if every little thing he did turned her on.

She'd read about this in a couple articles online and pregnancy books, that some pregnant people sometimes became extremely horny due to the hormonal changes happening in their bodies. When Y/n was pregnant with Simone, she never really...felt that way. Perhaps it was because she was so nervous and overwhelmed by the situation at hand, but now she was feeling it tenfold.

Needing to distract herself, Y/n went upstairs to the nursery to fold laundry. To nest, as Harry liked to tease. They'd been working on the nursery together for weeks in preparation for their second baby, and now it was nearly finished. Y/n and Harry let Simone pick out some of the decorations, like the fuzzy lion rug and Winnie the Pooh themed pillows and pick out toys she thought the baby might like. And now it was pretty much done, all that was needed was for the baby to be born.

Y/n had gone upstairs to distract herself, to keep Harry out of her line of sight so she wouldn't openly drool in front of Simone, but now she was alone with her imagination which was starting to run a little wild. She folded the baby clothes carefully as her mind stubbornly wandered. Harry's hands, his arms, his broad shoulders and sharp jaw. He was all she could think about, and the more she thought about him, the more she wanted him.

Would he want me?

They'd never really hooked up when Y/n was pregnant. Things were different then, more complicated, but Y/n didn't think Harry would be into her when she was significantly more round than usual. She didn't feel sexy or attractive, and she could only imagine Harry felt the same. They kissed and cuddled in bed, but since they found out she was pregnant, they didn't do much more than that. Y/n could only guess it was because she was showing now.

Later that afternoon, Y/n was in bed resting, the baby in her belly moving around a little too much to be comfortable. Simone was napping, and Harry was taking care of some things downstairs. Overall, it was a pretty relaxing day.

Minus the horniness, but Y/n tried to push that down.

She'd been doing a pretty good job of it until Harry burst into the room, sweaty and grimy and without a shirt, the article of clothing in question in his hands and covered in dirt and oil stains.

A flare of heat went straight to Y/n's cheeks as she subtly crossed one leg over the other, her stare zeroing in on her husband's chest. Before she could be caught, she blinked, meeting his gaze.

"What...What happened to you?"

"Your car needed an oil change," Harry said, as if that explained everything. "Might have run into some hiccups along the way, but it should be good to go."

It was enough to shake her from her lust-filled haze. "Why couldn't we just take it into the shop?"

Harry shrugged again as he headed for the bathroom, ditching his clothes as he went. Was he trying to kill me? you thought helplessly, your crossed legs doing nothing to soothe the ache between them.

"I did it. It's fine." Then the sound of the shower filled the bedroom, and steam slowly began to roll past the bathroom door. "The baby still kicking?"

His voice was echoey and faint, and Y/n didn't need much encouragement to imagine her husband all soapy and wet as he rinsed off. He didn't even invite her to join him. If this was what pregnancy did to her sex life, she was never getting pregnant again.

"Y—Yeah. A little."

"I'm sorry, Mama. You know, I read something about babies kicking at this stage. It..."

Y/n wanted to listen, but she just couldn't. She wanted him so bad she could barely think straight. And it frustrated her to no end that Harry probably didn't feel the same. He just breezed right past her when he came into their bedroom, barely even looked up as he shuffled into the bathroom for his shower. Every inch of her body was lined with need for him, and he...he just kept ignoring her.

Harry was still talking as he shuffled out of the bathroom, a towel slung low on his hips. The man standing before her was one big walking, talking tease—rivulets of water running over ridiculously prominent muscles, tattoos that she just wanted to touch, or kiss, or maybe lick, skin slightly pink from the shower, and that towel that seemed to be hanging onto him by a thread. If only she could just—

"Mama? Everything okay?"

Blushing, Y/n tried to pretend it wasn't taking everything in her to not jump him. "Yep. Perfect."

"Are you sure?" he asked skeptically. "You look a little flushed. Should I get you a cold towel—"

Y/n couldn't take it anymore. Unhindered by her baby bump, she sat up and surged forward, planting her hands firmly on Harry's shoulders and kissing him. To her surprise, he didn't recoil and instead rested one hand on her waist and one in her hair, pulling her closer to him.

His skin, still warm and a little damp from his shower, had never felt so delicious against hers. She wanted him to rip her clothes off, she wanted him to use a little force and push her back onto the bed, she wanted him to be rough with her. Tightening her grip, Y/n sunk her teeth into Harry's lip, hoping to get some kind of reaction from him.

"Mama, maybe we should—"

"Fuck, nevermind," she huffed, pushing Harry away from her. Falling back onto the bed, Y/n tried to make herself comfortable. She would've put her back to him and rested on her side, but her belly wouldn't have made that very possible.

"Y/n?"

"Go away."

"Baby, what—what's wrong? I just—"

Y/n, who had been pointedly not looking at Harry, glared harshly at him. "I get it. You find me repulsive now that I'm pregnant, which, can I just say is despicable—"

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, confusion furrowing his brow.

Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, Y/n wrapped her arms around herself. "You won't—I mean you haven't—Okay, I'm just gonna say it. I'm horny all the fucking time, and you're—you barely even touch me!"

"That's not—" Harry sighed, running a hand over his face. "That's not even remotely true, Mama."

"Don't Mama me," Y/n said, not believing him entirely.

"Let's get one thing clear, Y/n. I don't find you repulsive," Harry said, inching closer to Y/n on the bed. "I—I don't even think that's possible."

"Then why won't you have sex with me?" Y/n asked, and when he began to laugh, she swatted at his arm. "Don't laugh at me! You don't get it!"

Before she could even think to protest, Harry hauled Y/n on his lap. She tried to stubbornly push him off, but he held her steady, on hand tilting her chin to look at him. "I've been worried about the baby."

"Huh?"

"The baby, darling. I didn't want to, like, hurt you or her or anything by, you know...going too hard." Harry's cheeks flushed, but he pressed on. "You really thought it was because I didn't want to be with you."

Y/n's nod was shame-filled at the hurt in his voice. "I can barely get you to wrap your arms around me, and these hormones are driving me absolutely insane, H."

Gently, Harry kissed the top of his wife's cheekbone. Smoothing back some of her hair, he said, "You honestly think I could resist you, Mama? It's been torture."

"Yeah?"

"Baby," he said, leaning Y/n back toward the bed. "You really think you're not an absolute dream right now? You think I don't want my mouth all over these gorgeous tits? You think I don't want my hands all over you? You think I'm not aching for you all the time?"

"I didn't think—"

"If you think for one second that I don't find you irresistible, then I'm a terrible husband." Harry made sure Y/n was comfortable against the pillows before kissing her once, then pushed the t-shirt she wore past her chest. "I'm sorry, Mama. I've just been looking out for the baby, I swear. Let me make it up to you?"

"H—How?"

"We'll be gentle. For now," he added at Y/n's squawk of protest. "I really don't want to do anything wrong, so let me just love on you, okay? Let me show you how fucking breathtaking you are."

Harry kissed a line down Y/n's entire body, and she struggled to keep it together when he made it to her thighs. Her breaths suddenly became unsteady, Harry's chuckle making her squirm when he finally moved her underwear aside.

Before he went any further, though, Y/n called his name, making him pause. "You really think I'm beautiful. Even with the belly?"

Eyes softening, Harry shimmied back up the bed to kiss Y/n on the lips. His mouth was soft against hers, but firm, a promise in them that she accepted happily. Harry's tongue was both familiar and reassuring against hers, warming her up from within.

"Believe me when I say that I've never seen anyone more beautiful than you, Y/n," he murmured. "I'm sorry I made you feel otherwise."

Blushing, Y/n beamed before kissing Harry repeatedly all over his face. "I love you, I love you, I love you," she said. "Now I really need you to fuck me."

Chuckling, Harry pushed his hair out of his face. "Let's start with make love, okay?"

Y/n wanted to pout, but she knew that was perhaps the safest option. It was sensible of Harry to look out for the baby, but now he had some making up to do. So she nodded and settled further into the pillows, kissing her husband once more before letting him worship her.

*.*

Maeve and Julian

"Just like that, Mama. That's perfect!"

Raising an eyebrow at her husband, she asked, "Are you even taking pictures of my face?"

Harry peeked his head from behind the camera. "Well...not right now, but this shot is perfect, I promise. Just a couple more seconds."

Y/n humored Harry just as he asked. He'd been really set on doing an at-home pregnancy photoshoot. Nothing extravagant, just her in a pair of jeans and a bouquet of flowers. Y/n of course said yes, but perhaps she was a tiny bit incentivized by a bubble bath and a back rub from her husband.

She tried to remain still, but then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement. "Simone! Easy!"

Harry looked over to his daughter. Simone played on the lawn where Harry decided the photoshoot would take place, spinning around and around in circles until she fell down in a heap of giggles. The second time she'd done it made Y/n nervous Simone would make herself sick, but Harry put a hand up to keep her where he wanted her.

"Come here, peanut! Let's take a picture with mummy," he called out, beckoning Simone over.

Simone rushed over, face flushed and eyes bright. She looked so much like Harry in that moment—big, squinty eyes, cheeky smile, crinkled nose—that Y/n nearly did a double take.

Setting down the bouquet of flowers, Y/n quickly shrugged on the loose robe she'd worn before Harry insisted on her taking it off. It was light and airy, perfect for the hot flashes she got on occasion, and perfect for what she imagined Harry had in mind until he told her his idea.

"Just trust the vision, Mama, he'd said before offering to untie the strings himself.

Once it was on, she reached for Simone and hoisted her up. Y/n ignored her husband's warning, opting to kiss her daughter's cheek instead. It was so important to Y/n that Simone didn't feel left out or upset about a new sibling when Y/n and Harry found out they were pregnant with Collette.

So far Simone had been positive about having another baby sister in the house, but Y/n was still cautious, still conscious of her oldest daughter's feelings now that she was pregnant again. And baby bump seemed to be growing bigger by the day, and she wanted to hold and cuddle and play with her daughter as much as she could before she couldn't do much more than waddle around.

"I'm sitting on the babies!" Simone giggled, making Y/n laugh too. Harry had stopped his protests, which told Y/n that he was back to snapping his pictures.

"What do you think, little melon? Should we get baby Collette in the picture too?" Y/n asked after Harry had snapped photos from a few different angles.

"Will you at least sit down?" Harry asked, exasperated by Y/n trying to overexert herself.

"You worry too much," she told him, but did as he asked anyway after taking Simone from her bouncer.

Collette nestled against Y/n immediately, her little cheek squished and lips puffed out as she rested on her mother's chest. Simone stood over Y/n and Collette, peering down at her sister's face curiously.

"She's sleepy, Mommy," she said, reaching down to gently hold Collette's hand.

"Yeah, it's almost nap time," Y/n told Simone. Then, to Harry, "How are we doing, Daddy? Collette's going down and I have to pump."

"Go ahead and put her down. Simone and I will play for a little bit, won't we, peanut? Maybe take a couple more pictures?"

"Yeah!"

Simone was always game for anything Harry suggested, as if each word that came from her father's mouth was pure gold. Y/n admired how much she loved her dad, but sometimes they could be a troublesome duo, Simone asking for something and Harry giving in without a thought.

After Harry trotted over to help Y/n to her feet, she shuffled inside, heading up to the nursery to lay Collette down for a nap. She planned to set Collette down in her crib, but something made her head for the rocking chair in the opposite corner of the room instead. Settling herself down with the baby, Y/n began to rock back and forth, humming idly as she waited for Collette's eyes to close.

It didn't take long, but Y/n kept on holding her daughter anyway, content to rock back and forth and rest her legs after the trek up the stairs. She'd never admit it to Harry, but being pregnant with two babies instead of one this time around was taking a toll on her much sooner than her other pregnancies. Her husband was already a mother hen when Y/n was pregnant, she didn't need to add fuel to that well-kept fire.

"Isn't that a sight."

Looking up, Y/n found Harry at the foot of the nursery, looking at where Collette slept soundly against her bare chest. Y/n had undone her robe once more for skin-to-skin contact with the baby, something she liked to do when she was alone. It made her feel more connected to Collette somehow, and she found that Collette fell asleep easier that way. It was a lazy afternoon, there wasn't much Y/n needed to worry about—it honestly felt pretty perfect.

"She sleeps better this way," Y/n said by way of explanation.

"I believe it," Harry replied, a mischievous twinkle in his eye that Y/n pointedly ignored.

"Where's Simone?" Y/n asked, still rocking.

Harry gestured behind him with his camera. "Downstairs watching a show. We agreed on two episodes before bathtime."

Y/n raised an amused brow at their daughter's negotiation tactics, but decided not to comment on it. "I'll come down in a bit. I still need to put her down and pump."

Grinning, Harry said, "You couldn't get out of that chair, could you?"

"It's a comfortable chair," Y/n said with a shrug, not wanting to let her husband know he was spot on.

"Oh, I know," he said. "I've fallen asleep in that thing more times than I care to admit."

Coming into the room, Harry carefully took Collette from Y/n, kissing her head before laying her down in the crib. Once she was settled and Y/n's clothes were righted once more, Harry reached a hand down to her. She let him help her up, even let him tie up her robe again, resigned to his fussing.

"You need to take it easy. The doctor said early labor is common with twins."

"I know, I am," Y/n reassured. "How can I do anything but take it easy when I have my own personal nurse?"

Harry looked at his wife flatly. "Ha. Ha. Now get your cute butt to our room so you can pump and then help me with bathtime."

"Simone's really quite reasonable—"

"She insists that I do it wrong," Harry said, genuinely confused by his daughter's antics.

Kissing his cheek, Y/n checked on the baby monitor once before leaving the nursery. "I'll be as quick as I can, then I'll show you how it's done."

Harry followed her out, heading for the stairs while Y/n went to their room. "Mum of the year!" he said before jogging down to Simone.

Too right, Y/n thought, a smile spreading across her face.

*.*

Geneva

"Mommy?"

"Yeah, babydoll?"

"How does baby sister get in your belly?"

Y/n's eyes widened as she looked down at where Maeve was pressed against her side. They were relaxing by the pool, watching from the shade as Harry tossed the other kids and splashed around in the shallow end. Maeve had joined in on the fun before, but she'd waded out of the pool a few minutes ago for a break from the sun. Her little cheeks were red, long brown hair stringy from the chlorine. Y/n brushed Maeve's hair away from her face as she tried to come up with an answer. Coming up short, she rested her hand on her protruding belly.

"Why are you asking Maevie?"

"Daddy said baby sister is in your belly," Maeve said, poking Y/n's baby bump with a sun-warmed finger. "But how did it get there?"

"You know...that's a great question," Y/n said, raising her hand to shade her eyes as she looked over to where Harry was waist-deep in the pool. His dark hair was plastered to his neck and shoulders in a curly tangle, water droplets glistening on his tan skin.

To this day, Harry was still the most beautiful man she'd ever laid eyes on. Now that they were stuck at home, he took his brief moments of alone time in the form of working out, but only after baking had gained him a few pounds. Y/n never minded, she loved his body any which way it looked.

Eyes dipping down to his waist and below, she definitely couldn't hide how much she appreciated his body now.

"Mommy!"

Shaking herself out of her stupor, she looked down at Maeve, who was clearly determined to get to the bottom of the baby in her mom's belly.

"Right. Sorry babydoll." Y/n hoisted Maeve onto her lap. "Mommy and Daddy...love each other so much. So...when mommies and daddies love each other, they...make a wish on a shooting star...for a baby."

"Really?"

Y/n tried not to laugh at her own ridiculous response as she nodded. "Of course. And then our wish came true, and in a few months, we'll have baby sister."

"Oh." Maeve seemed to think about it for a moment, a small finger on Y/n's belly. "And you wished for me and JuJu too?"

Y/n nodded, holding Maeve's cheeks in her hands. "Absolutely. We wished so hard we got twins!"

Maeve scampered back to the pool a few minutes later, calling out to Harry to help her put on her water wings so she could jump in the pool. Content to watch all the fun from her lounge chair, Y/n stayed back, smiling faintly at all the giggles and squeals of joy as Harry repeatedly tossed one child after another into the pool.

Now alone, she thought about Maeve's question a little more in-depth. As far as she and Harry were concerned, they were done having kids after the twins. Four kids was just the right amount of chaos, and things were finally getting back to normal—or as normal as they could be amid a global lockdown—after the separation.

Not that anyone else in their family seemed to be, but Y/n and Harry were surprised to find out she was pregnant again. At the time. Of course, in hindsight, there was a night when Harry and Y/n couldn't keep off each other. It had been after the first night they'd really spent together as a couple again, and after that, it was as if a dam had broken and Y/n and Harry were reliving their honeymoon phase.

But surprised as they were, they took it in stride. Both of them were nervous about Y/n having a baby in such serious circumstances, but they would take the proper precautions to ensure her and the baby's safety. They were ready for this, ready to do it all again.

"You know Maeve asked me where babies come from today?" Y/n asked later in the evening.

Everyone except for her and Harry were fast asleep, tuckered out from a long day of playing in the sun. Harry had just come back from tucking the twins in and singing them a song like he always did, and now he and Y/n were side by side in their shared bathroom as they got ready for bed.

"Did she? Wait—Can you help me?" Harry asked, gesturing to his red shoulders and back.

Y/n picked up the aloe lotion she kept around just for this reason and squeezed some into her hand and began spreading it over her husband's back. "Not in those words, but she asked how her baby sister ended up in my belly."

"We've never gotten that question, have we?" he mused. "What did you say?"

"That we wished on a shooting star," Y/n shrugged, then explained her short conversation with their daughter about how babies ended up in bellies.

Harry became quiet for a moment. He'd been listening as she rubbed lotion onto his shoulders, but this was different. No one else would've been able to notice his subtle change in demeanor, but Y/n did. She'd known him long enough to read every shift of his posture and line of his body.

"What is it?" she asked, turning him around to face her.

"I just...I just barely stopped short of wishing on stars to have all this again."

Things didn't immediately go back to normal when Harry moved back in. Y/n put on a good front for the sake of the kids, but it was awkward. Neither of them knew how to act around each other, and it took a few weeks for Y/n to trust that Harry was back for good. Even when they had to quarantine, she worried he'd check out, turn to his music for peace of mind. Harry knew all of his wife's reservations, of course, and he didn't blame her for having them. He'd left, that was a choice he made. At the time, he'd done what he thought was best for his family, but he knew now that he only put more distance between himself and his kids, his wife, and he'd regret every minute they spent apart for a long time.

"I love you, H," Y/n said, cupping his cheek in her hand. It was scratchy under her palm, as Harry had taken to being more lax about shaving during lockdown. "I—We would not be...here if I didn't want this, all of this, with you. You know that, don't you?"

He nodded, eyes closing for just a moment. Harry knew he would've been spending his days in a guest bedroom if Y/n wanted that from him. But they worked past their issues, were still working on them, in some ways.

"I know," he promised. "It just hits me sometimes how lucky I am to have you. Not just as a wife and mother, but you, Y/n. I can't—I couldn't handle a single moment without you."

Looking away, Y/n fanned her face, blushing furiously at the tears that welled in her eyes. "You know I get emotional at the drop of a hat, you ass."

Harry merely smiled, letting the somber moment pass. Taking her hands in his, he led her out of the bathroom. "Doesn't make what I said any less true."

Rolling her eyes, Y/n said, "Whatever. Let's go back to talking about how you played mermaids for two whole hours with Simone and Collette."

"I still don't really get it," Harry said, pulling back the fluffy comforter of their bed back. "The girls changed the color of their tails every two minutes. And why does a mermaid need to control fire? Talking to animals I get, but what good is fire underwater?"

Harry looked genuinely perplexed, but Y/n could only laugh. Her husband indulged in almost every one of his daughters' whims, and games where he had to pretend to be a mythical creature was no different. She wouldn't be surprised if packages filled with mermaid paraphernalia arrived in the mail within the next few days so that everyone could really get into character.

She didn't think it often, but right then, Y/n wondered what people would make of the Harry Styles pondering the continuity of his daughters' favorite pool game.

*.*

Natalia

Harry: At the grocery store. Need anything?

Y/n: Your dick, please.

Harry: So...is that in the same aisle as the condoms or...?

Y/n: Don't be mean. I need you.

Harry: That's why I'm going to the store, baby. You asked me to pick up snacks for you this morning for your cravings.

Y/n: I changed my mind. The kids are napping and/or playing in their rooms and/or watching tv.

Y/n: Come fuck me.

Y/n: Please???

Harry: As soon as I get home I'm all yours, baby. I promise.

Y/n sent an image

Y/n: You're really saying no?

Harry: Mama...

Harry: That's from the pregnancy shoot we did.

Y/n: Ass. I'm putting my clothes back on.

Harry: Don't you dare.

Harry: You really want me to abandon the cart? I was just grabbing the pizza bagels you liked.

Y/n is typing...

Y/n: Get the pizza bagels. THEN come home and fuck me.

Harry: Got it. Get ready for me, Mama.

Y/n: !!!

#young dad! harry #young mom! reader #harry styles #young parent!harry styles #young dadrry #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

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padawansuggest · 9 months

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Since I am obsessed with the red string of fate theory-

AU where Obi-Wan and Jango are dating. One day, since Obi-Wan was recently knighted, the council suggests he visits his birth family since he’s only had small contact with them since he was little, and it’s a practice they try to encourage.

Obviously Obi-Wan is all ‘oh great. A family reunion with all 7 of my siblings and 23 cousins and like seven aunts and uncles, this is gonna be great. At least they have sheep for me to cuddle’ and decides to go for it.

But since it’s gonna be chaos incarnate anyways. Let’s ask Jango if he wants to come with. It’s okay, because Stewjon is on the edge of Mando space so they’ll probably like his bf anyways.

Jango and Obi-Wan show up, they have a chaotic time with all the families, and Jango even thinks he should invite them all to Keldabe or maybe bring Jaster to meet them next time. Might as well become in laws. Obi-Wan, on the other hand, brought Shmi (who is flirting with one of his brothers lmaooo) and Anakin (who is being DOTED on by the fam) and so it’s all a big family now.

Anyways. One of those days Obi-Wan is pulled down to look through photo albums because that’s what families do.

And Obi-Wan stops on a photo that was taken a few months before he was sent to the Jedi temple. It’s a photo of a village fair they had that year, and he’s playing with some siblings while Mama and Daddy cook on the BBQ…

And in the background. Is a Mandalorian in full armor with an ad wearing their leathers. They look about nine or so.

Obi-Wan sees the pic and just fucking breaks down crying, because he hadn’t realized Jango was so cute as a kiddo, and that’s def Jaster Mereel, who hasn’t painted his armor a new colour in over twenty years, giving Jango an ice cream cone and looking so doting and loving on that ad it’s breaking all their hearts.

Anyways. They have copies made and hang it up everywhere they live and Jaster adores the picture. It’s sweet, and his boys look so happy.

#star wars #obi wan kenobi #jango fett #jangobi #red string of fate #red string au #soulmate au #you can also double the angst by making it a 1yo Obi and Jango with his first parents #but I doubt Obi could recognize Jango’s first parents on sight

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brewsterispunkk · 1 year

Text

THE TUTOR

eddie munson x reader

part 1/4

pairing: eddie munson x f!reader, eddie munson x shy!reader (only one use of y/n and I cringed writing it)

rating: 18+ mature! minors be gone!

summary: reader has had a secret crush on Eddie Munson for months, only she has been too scared to tell him. When she’s forced to tutor him, she lets it slip that she feels like she’s missed out on the normal “high school experience.” Eddie aims to change that.

A/N: this has been in my drafts since LAST MAY!!! & i am just now finishing it jfc. this is part one to a series I’m looking to make three parts! I’ll finish it if it’s the last thing I do!

You hated first period. Always had, ever since sophomore year when you’d had AP literature with the juniors and Carol Perkins had made it her life’s work to make your life a living hell.

You didn’t know exactly what you had done to make her hate you so much, but early on in the year, she’d made it abundantly clear that you were going to be her new target. And you, being the only awkward, braces-faced sophomore in the class, had elected to suck it up and take the bullying.

After all, she was telling you everything you already knew; your hair was frizzy, your teeth were crooked, your acne was ugly and awful. The usual things that you, with the same awful self esteem that was characteristic of every knobby-kneed 14-year-old, had already heard and already believed.

Eventually, when your study-buddy and the only other underclassman in the class, Nancy Wheeler, found out about the full extent of the bullying, she’d done something about it. She had just started dating Steve Harrington at that point, and despite his larger than life hair and not so great reputation, he was nice to you by association. He was the one who got Carol to stop.

Still though, you thought that that god-awful year of excruciating first-period classes had ruined them for you for good; conditioned you somehow into expecting the worst from your first class of the day so that now, as a senior, you still dreaded it.

Today was no different.

You tapped your foot distractedly in the back seat of Steve’s car as he pulled out of your neighborhood.

“For the last time, Robin, no you cannot play the new Clash cassette. Put it away—“

“Oh come on, Harrington. It’s good.” Robin sighed exasperated. She’d been your next door neighbor since you were five, and your best friend ever since.

“Oh, oh! Like the new Madonna album?” Steve asked, eyebrows raised as he looked at Robin in the passenger seat.

“Or the Duran Duran one?�� You piped in, biting your nails and looking at her expectantly. Immediately, her head whipped back to you, mouth open in a silent gasp.

“Wha—“ she made a choked sound, looking between you and Steve before bringing her gaze back to you, narrowing her eyes. “Who’s side are you on?”

“Uhm, the side of good music.” You countered, playfully sassing your best friend.

“Wow..” she drawled dramatically, interrupting you.

“And right now,” you continued. “Harrington has the better mixtape. Sorry!” You batted her hand away as she reached back to smack your arm.

“Boom!” Steve declared triumphantly, raising his hands from the wheel for a split-second. “Sorry, Robs, we love you but if I have to listen to one more of your mix tapes, I’m gonna—“

“Yeah, yeah! I get it.” Robin was silent for a moment before turning around to glance between the two of you. “You know, every day I remember how it was me that got this little group together, and every day it comes back to bite me in the ass.”

“Oh right,” Steve scoffed. “You’re forgetting, I’ve known y/n since junior year, and I’ve only known you for like, I don’t know, nine months.”

“Okay, but you two weren’t friends.” She gave Steve a pointed look. “It wasn’t until I convinced her to come work with us at Scoops Ahoy that we all started hanging out. So what I should be hearing is ‘thank you Robin.’”

In the rear view, you saw Steve roll his eyes at her antics, a smirk on his face.

“Actually,” you pointed out. “Steve and i hung out almost every day sophomore year.”

“Yeah,” Robin pressed. “But that was because of miss prissy-pants, Nancy Wheeler, not because you two were friends.”

You bristled a bit at your best friend’s name for Nancy. You knew she probably didn’t mean anything by it, but still. She didn’t know Nancy like you did. And Nancy had been nice to you when you didn’t have many friends besides Robin. She’d made it her problem when you were being bullied and did what she could to stop it, when she didn’t have to.

You and Nancy hadn’t really talked much since she and Steve broke up. Even after the whole ordeal last summer, with the mall “fire,” and Russian agents in Hawkins, you two hadn’t really reconnected. But there was no bad blood there. You wished her the best.

“I don’t know, Robs,” Steve interjected. “I think she gets bragging rights for knowing me longer.”

You laughed at that.

“Oh whatever,” Robin shook her head, leaning her elbow on Steve’s open window, bopping her head to the music pouring through the speakers.

“Good god, I don’t wanna be going back there.” She groaned as Hawkins High came into view. “It’s not too late to skip you know.” She craned her head back to look at you, a hopeful look in her eyes.

“I’m highly considering it.” You bounced your knee, trying to relieve some of the tension in your limbs.

“Ugh, no I can’t.” Robin exasperated. “My moms gonna kill me if she finds out I skipped again.”

There goes my chance, you thought, knowing there’s no way you’d skip without her.

“Yeah, I do not miss this place, gotta say.” Steve mused as he pulled into the parking lot. Robin rolled her eyes at him. You chuckled. They fought like an old married couple.

“I have Ms. Taylor first period,” you groaned at the memory of the stern, mean older woman who you had for home room this semester.

“Oh god,” Steve laughed. You smacked his shoulder. “Well, good luck with that. I’ll see you two at 3.”

You and Robin begrudgingly exited Steve’s car, facing the pit of despair known as Hawkins High School.

Thank god this was your last year, you thought to yourself.

As you eyed down the beige brick building, you could’ve sworn you felt a bit of your soul get sucked out. It may sound dramatic, but it was true. You felt yourself retreat into yourself the closer you got.

Something about Hawkins high just did that to people. Made them retreat and put on whatever mask they had to go get through the day. You were no exception.

“Let’s get this over with,” Robin mumbled beside you, beginning to walk toward the doors.

“Let’s.” You sighed back.

- - - - - -

There was one aspect of first period English with Ms. Taylor that you considered a saving grace—not that you’d ever admit it out loud.

Eddie Munson.

You weren’t sure why it started, if you were honest with yourself.

In fact, at the beginning of the year, you, like everyone else, were actually a little bit terrified of the lanky, tall metalhead that the rest of the school had dubbed “the freak.”

Before this year, you hadn’t really had many encounters with Eddie Munson. You’d known of him, sure, but never really interacted with him. Besides the few random outbursts he’d have in the cafeteria, and one time when you’d given him a pencil in your art elective freshman year, you’d kept your distance. Most of what you’d heard about him came from the kids; which meant they were lies, at worst, and exaggerations at best. You could tell they admired him from the way they spoke of him—Dustin in particular, who had spoken of Eddie in the way he’d only ever spoken of one person before: Steve. But that was the extent of your knowledge.

Eddie had been two years ahead of you technically, although now he was a senior, same as you, and stuck in the same miserable first period English class with Ms. Taylor.

It had started out innocent enough, you liked to tell yourself. You weren’t always swooning over him and his leather jackets or studded rings. It had just snowballed.

It had begun like this: it was the first day of your senior year, and to add to your nerves at a new dreadful year, Ms. Taylor had given you, and all your classmates, assigned seats.

Great, you’d thought. Just great. Now you had to sit next to a complete stranger while also being a complete ball of anxiety all class.

You were early. Much to your chagrin, Steve had insisted on picking you and Robin up earlier than usual because it was your first day, and what if you have trouble finding your classes. Completely ignoring the fact that you and Robin had gone to Hawkins High for three years and knew it like the back of your hand.

Still, it had gotten you here, 15 minutes early to the first bell, trapped in a room with no one other than Ms. Taylor, and Eddie Munson himself.

“You’ll be right there, beside Mr. Munson.” Ms Taylor had drawled monotonously, eyes focused on a stack of papers on her desk.

You froze, looking over at Eddie, who was scribbling down in a notebook in the second to last row of desks from the back. He looked up at you for a moment before going back to his writing.

“Did you hear me?” Ms Taylor said your last name. You snapped out of it, smiling over at her and gripping the strap to your backpack before making your way to the seat.

“Yeah. Sorry, Ms. Taylor.”

You sat down rigidly, looking anywhere but at Eddie. Ms Taylor left the room to refill her coffee cup in the teacher’s lounge, leaving you and him the only people in the room.

You felt your hands begin to shake at the impending doom of first period rolling around. You knew it was dumb; it’d been two years since the first-period-from-hell, and you still couldn’t shake your fear of home room. You clasped them together, folding your fingers on top of each other on the desk, trying to calm your breathing. Your heart pounded in your ears.

“Look, you can relax, okay,” Eddie’s annoyed voice beside you snapped you out of it. “I won’t bite.”

You looked over at him, his face looked impatient, though if you looked closely, you thought you could detect a little bit of hurt there too. Your eyebrows furrowed, before you realized what he must have been thinking.

He thought you were scared of him.

It made sense, though that was far from what was going through your head.

“No,” you began quietly, before clearing your throat. “That’s not what I—that’s not—that’s not it.”

“Whatever you say,” he mumbled, eyebrows raised as he continued writing.

That was the day it started. The watching him.

It’d begun as a way of coping; a way to distract yourself from Ms. Taylor’s droning on about Shakespeare, or the whispers of the two mean girls who sat at the front and liked to glance back at you and snicker.

Your therapist had mentioned the method to you a few months before, a way to maybe cope with your anxiety in anticipation with the upcoming school year. It was a method that your shrink had described as a way of ‘hyper-focusing’, or concentrating on one thing until the anxiety wore away.

And in the haze of your first day, you’d focused on Eddie.

But eventually, as the year wore on, it developed into something different.

You began to notice his hair; how it would fall over his face as he frowned in concentration at whatever he was writing in that book. His hands, big and flanked with gaudy silver rings. You began to wonder how they’d feel on your skin, running through your hair, over your stomach.

It was almost a type of game you played with yourself; a form of escapism. On days your anxiety got too much, the days your hands would sweat and your feet couldn’t cease their tapping, you could look beside you and focus on Eddie. And it would all fall away.

You supposed that’s why you kept your little obsession a secret; it was embarrassing.

Not the fact that you were infatuated with him, but the fact that you’d been using practically a complete stranger to talk yourself down from anxiety attacks. You hadn’t even told Robin, the person you shared everything with. And somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew that this wasn’t some little crush or admiration—it was more than that.

But you refused to admit that to yourself, because there was one huge, glaring problem. That being that Eddie Munson hated you. You were sure of it.

It was as if after the awkward encounter you’d shared at the beginning of the year, he avoided you like the plague. Not looking, talking, or even so much as breathing your way once. And the one time when you’d gotten the nerve to ask him a question, he’d barely grunted out a response before the had rung and he was gone.

That had been the first and last time you’d attempted to talk to Eddie Munson. Your crush was doomed, you knew it. Not only were you convinced he couldn’t stand you, you also were almost positive that he still thought you were scared of him, like he did at the beginning of the year.

Which, to be fair, you were. Just not in that way. As far as Eddie was concerned, you were scared of him in the judgy, superficial, ill-intentioned way that the rest of Hawkins was, not in the butterflies, tongue-tied, make-your-hands-sweat way that you truly were.

Besides, even if you were the most confident person in the world (you were far from it), and if Eddie didn’t, for some inexplicable reason, hate you, you were sure that you would have absolutely no chance with him anyway. Because why would Eddie Munson, all crooked smiles and sure steps and kind eyes, be even the least bit interested in you? It was inconceivable. Because you were shy and scared and binary and everything he was not.

So, you’d deduced that you were doomed to wait out this life-ruining crush the same way you’d been doomed to wait out countless other things in your high school life: silently.

- - - - -

Today was no different than the other nearly insufferable first periods you’d endured this school year, aside from the fact that today was Monday, which brought with it a more tired you, and a much, much more irritable Ms Taylor.

She’d assigned two detentions so far this period, to Bradley Green and Doug Mitchell, two boys from the basketball team that had been throwing spitballs and harassing Eddie, who merely smirked at them in response, effectively egging them on.

You glanced at the clock, tapping your foot subconsciously on the off-white tile below your feet.

5 minutes left, you reminded yourself, watching the clock tick down. Your hands started to clam up. Perfect.

You let out a shaky breath. A few rows in front of you, Pam Simpson and Diana Fiorelli glanced back, eyes zeroing in on you, before Pam snickered and leaned over to whisper into Diana’s ear.

This wasn’t new; they always had some off-color remark or an unnecessary eye-roll to throw at you ever since they found out about your close friendship with Steve Harrington, former king of Hawkins High.

How two nerds like yourself and Robin Buckley had managed to bag someone as popular as Steve the hair Harrington as a best friend seemed to be beyond them, and they sought everyday to punish you for it.

The truth was: Steve had left all of that behind. From the wake-up call that was his break-up with Nancy, to the whole fighting-monsters-from-another-dimension thing, he didn’t really care about it anymore. He’d found better friends in you guys. The whole Russians-in-Hawkins, and Starcourt “fire” helped too.

It was true what they said about trauma: it brought people together.

You tried to ignore their whispering, like Robin had encouraged you.

She was absolutely livid when she’d found out that Diana had “accidentally,” spilled her yogurt parfait over your new blouse last week. It had taken a whole five minutes of both you and Steve talking her down from her stupor to stop her from marching straight to the gymnasium, interrupting cheer practice, and giving Diana a black eye. After though, when you’d managed to calm your best friend down, she’d gone off—trying to convince you to stick up for yourself, to say something. If not to the mean girls themselves, then to Ms Taylor at the very least.

But that was the difference between you and Robin; where she would act, you would listen. Remain passive. It was a trait that served you well when it came to retaining information or solving upside-down-related issues, in situations like these, it kind of screwed you over.

You turned your head from the front of the classroom, blocking out Ms Taylor’s lecture on T. S. Elliot and instead turning your head to the desk beside yours. Eddie’s desk.

He was hunched over, head on his hands, which were crossed and folded on top of the desk in front of him. His chin rested there, and his dark eyes were focused on the board, squinting, as if trying to make out what it said.

He seemed to be trying to pay attention, a stark contrast to how you usually saw him hunched over around his worm notebook, scribbling or drawing.

He wore dark blue jeans today, instead of his usual black ones, and a Quiet Riot band T-shirt . His leather jacket was draped over the chair behind him, as Ms Taylor’s room was hot today. His hair fell messily over his back and in front of his face. His ringed fingers tapped on the desk—he was evidently as anxious for the class to end as you were.

You knew he had trouble focusing. You’d picked up on as much throughout the school year, watching him try and try and try to stay locked in to whatever Ms Taylor was teaching.

So many of your classmates had written him off: cult leader, satanist, idiot, freak, but you saw something different. The Eddie you knew (well, not really knew, more like observed) was none of those things. He was different, yes. Flamboyant, sure. But he was not an idiot. Nor was he evil or freakish or anything of the sort.

The ringing of the bell snapped you from your thoughts. You jerked your head back to your desk as your classmates began to pack up and bustle out to their next classes, the sound of backpacks zipping and chatter filling the classroom.

Per usual, Eddie was the first out of his seat, already packed and ready, before leaving the classroom with long strides, eyes trained on the floor, narrowly avoiding your gaze.

You shoved your notebook into your bag, bending over to zip it up and run like hell out of the classroom. You hoped to avoid any unnecessary contact with Pam and Diane. Ms Taylor cleared her throat, before saying your name.

“I’d like to see you for a moment, please,” she said monotonously, eyes focused on the grade book in front of her. A shot of anxiety spread through your stomach.

“Yes, Ms Taylor?” You asked quietly, noting that you were the only two people left in the classroom.

“You have one of the top grades in the class, second only to Mr. Levy, did you know that?” She asked, still not looking up. You puzzled. So you weren’t in trouble?

“Uh-I-no, I didn’t, actually.” You mumbled, brows furrowed.

“Indeed,” she hummed. “I also have been made aware that you are lacking an extracurricular for graduation, is that correct?”

Shit, you thought. She was right.

Last summer, you’d been set to take a summer gym elective; the ones that the school offered during the school year were too crowded and made your anxiety act up, so you and Robin had both signed up to take summer gym. However, the upside-down and the Russians’ presence in Hawkins at Starcourt had had other plans, so both you and her had failed the class, due to bad attendance. And while Robin had made sure to complete her gym credit last semester, you’d completely forgotten about the whole debacle until now.

“Yeah,” you breathed, in shock that you’d managed to forget about something so important when graduation was only months away. “I-I forgot—“

“I figured as much,” Ms Taylor cut you off, finally looking up at you. “Well, seeing as it’s too late in the semester to sign you up for any electives, it would seem that you’ll be having to repeat your senior year.”

Your breath left your lungs.

No, you thought, no, no, no. The last thing you could handle was another year stuck here. In this high school, in this city. You felt your breathing stutter at the thought.

“Luckily for you,” Ms Taylor continued, refocusing you on the moment. “I have a solution that may just save you from that.”

You blew out a breath between your lips, looking at her anxiously.

“Yes,” you breathed out. “Anything— I completely forgot about—“

“I trust you’re familiar with Mr. Munson?” She interrupted you. Your brows furrowed. What did Eddie have to do with this?

“Yes.”

“Well, then I’m sure you’re aware that this will be his second time repeating his senior year.” Ms Taylor looked up at you now, her beady eyes laser-focused. “If he fails again, the school won’t be giving him another chance. It would seem that this class is one of the only things standing between him and a one-way ticket out of this school.”

“I dont think I follow—“ you began.

“You will tutor Mr Munson.” She clarified, face stoic as ever. “From now until the end of the spring semester. If you do this, and if I see improvement, I will make it count as your extracurricular. You’ll be able to graduate on time, and he will get the hell out of my classroom for good.”

You were stunned—not only by the fact that you’d be forced into proximity Eddie Munson for the rest of the year, but the fact that Ms Taylor would speak so candidly about a student.

“I—I-“ you tried to articulate what to say next, but found you were unable to gather your thoughts.

“I can’t,” you finally managed, dumbly. Ms Taylor raised a thin eyebrow at you.

“Well,” she said. “It seems that unless you want to repeat your senior year, you don’t have much of a choice.”

“But, Ms Taylor, I—“

“Look,” she sighed your name. “You’re a smart girl. Mr Munson may be… a handful, but I promise he’s harmless. You will be fine. You can even meet on the school premises, if you’d feel better about that.”

Dear Lord, you didn’t know how to tell her that the reason why you couldn’t tutor him was not because of his reputation, or that you were scared of him, it was because you could barely form a coherent thought in his presence.

“Are we clear?” She asked, arms crossed. You tried to speak, but your mouth was dry. You just gulped and nodded.

“Good,” she smiled tightly. You sighed, turning to leave, already knowing you’d be late to your next class. She called your name as you began to exit, your hand on the door handle.

“Just know, I will be checking weekly with Mr Munson to see how tutoring is going. So don’t think that if you fail to show up I won’t know.”

You nodded, shutting the door behind you as you left.

Great. No escaping it. What if you embarrassed yourself? What if he really did hate you? What if—

“Hey.”

You jumped, too caught up in your thoughts to even notice the tall, lanky figure leaning up against the lockers next to Ms Taylor’s classroom.

“Jesus, sorry.” Eddie looked at you with wide eyes, an arm coming to steady you on your shoulder. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

When you just stared at him, he cleared his throat, removing his hand from your shoulder. A part of you mourned the loss.

“So, uh,” he began, looking down at his feet as he walked alongside you. You tried not to notice the faint scent of his cologne that sent a thrill through your gut. “So I guess she told you? About the tutoring?”

When his curly head snapped up to meet your eyes, you quickly faced forward, realizing that you’d been ogling his side profile while he was stumbling over his words. You nodded in confirmation.

“Ok,” he said, rubbing his hands on his legs. “Ok,” he repeated, stopping and turning to face you. “I’m just gonna cut the bullshit: I really, really need the help in this class.” His eyes were a bit wild, panicked. Like he thought you were going to run away from him the moment you got a chance. “Like, ‘really,’ as in, if I don’t pass, I don’t graduate. And I know you really don’t wanna do this, and she’s forcing you, and that you hate me, and you’re scared of me, and all that, but if you could please—please— just help me get through this class, I will make it as painless as possible spending all the time with me.”

By the end of his little speech, he looked frantic, like he was pleading—and you suppose he was. And before you could stop yourself, you just nodded, looking at him dumbly, before remembering to speak.

“I’ll help you pass.” Was all you could manage.

He sighed a breath of relief, running a hand down his face.

“Thank you,” he said, and you could’ve sworn it was the most sincere you’d ever heard him. “Thursday after school in the library sound good?”

- - - -

You arrived early, because, of course you did.

To say you were nervous would be an understatement; you were terrified. Mostly of making an even bigger fool of yourself than you had earlier in the week.

You’d spent the better part of the last three days poring over your last interaction with Eddie in the hallway, when he’d begged you to tutor him, and you’d gotten about five words in edgewise.

He’d practically accused you of hating him, and instead of correcting him—like you’d been dying to do for the whole semester—you stood there like an idiot.

You wished you’d told him then and there in that hallway that he was wrong; that you weren’t scared of him, and that you didn’t hate him. That you were just shy and awkward and he unnerved you. So, you decided to do just that.

Last night, while finally talking through the whole situation with Robin, you’d decided that the first words you’d say to him would be: “I’m not scared of you and I don’t hate you.”

It was a bit abrasive and to-the-point, you knew that. But, you also knew that if you let him get a word in before that, you’d lose your nerve. At least this way, you got your point across.

Your eyes ran over the page of your book for what felt like the fiftieth time. You sighed, throwing the worn novel down on the table.

There was no way you’d be able to get any reading done, not with your nerves eating you alive.

The book wasn’t that good anyway. You had no clue what Robin meant when she said Hemingway was ‘profound.’

You sighed again, eyes finding the clock in the library.

He was five minutes late.

You felt something deflate inside you. Maybe he’d been bluffing about the whole thing, or maybe he’d changed his mind and wouldn’t show. Your mind ran with the possibilities.

The library was sparse at this time.

It was just past three, and most students had already rushed out of the building. It was Thursday, which meant that the town was just waking up for the weekend. It wasn’t uncommon for friend groups to have small get-togethers, or even for one of the bigger cliques to throw a party.

In fact, Steve had managed to convince Robin and yourself to attend one later that night. Which was a feat, because you didn’t make a habit of going out.

It was at Darren’s house: one of the few friends from high school that Steve actually kept up with after, y’know, everything.

Robin was hoping Vicky would be there. You were just hoping to let loose a little.

With all this business with Eddie and your impending (maybe) graduation, your nerves had been through the roof. A party was just what you needed to calm down.

“Sorry,” he appeared out of nowhere, and before you could stop yourself, you jumped.

“Sorry!” Eddie rushed out, slumping down in the chair across from you. “Really, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to scare you all the time. Sorry I’m late.”

You stared at him.

God, he was pretty.

His hair was big and frizzy, per usual, and fell around his face as a halo. His brown eyes were wide and almost doe -like, and his cheeks were rosy with exertion.

He must have been running, you thought. But why? He wasn’t that late.

“Were you running?” You blurted before you could think. Your brows furrowed as you looked at him.

“Uhhhh, yeah,” he drawled. “Yeah, I ran into some trouble getting here.”

“What trouble?”

“The usual.” Eddie rubbed his eyes, and for the first time since he’d sat down, you noticed how disheveled he looked.

His white tee shirt was stained on the shoulder with what looked like… fruit?

“Is that… food on your shoulder?”

“Shit,” his gaze snapped to his shoulder. “Yeah, uhm. It’s jello.”

Eddie looked… embarrassed. For the first time in the time you’d known him, he looked sheepish.

“Was it Jason?”

“That obvious?” He laughed mirthlessly. In fact, it was a little menacing.

“He’s a dick.” You said without thinking.

Eddie just nodded, staring down a place on the table.

“Are you okay?”

He looked at you, dark eyes guarded.

He seemed to be sizing you up, eyes following you up and down. But his usual playfulness was gone. Instead, he looked almost… forlorn.

“Uh, yeah.” His lips lifted into a humorless smile. “Just done with this bullshit, I guess.”

“Hmm,” you hummed.

“I’m tired of people looking at me like I’m a freak. I’m tired of not behind able to fucking walk to class in peace, I’m tired of people being fucking,” he slammed his hands on the table in front of you. When you jump, he throws them up. “Scared of me!”

You stay silent for a moment, letting him stew and collect himself. After a few seconds, Eddie sighs.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t—“

“I’m not scared of you, and I don’t hate you.”

“—mean to—what?”

“I’m not scared of you.” You repeated, wiping your clammy hands on your jeans. “And I don’t hate you, like you said on Monday. I’m Im just,” you stopped to take a breath. “It’s just hard for me sometimes. With… new people.”

“You sure? Because you look scared to me.”

“You aren’t helping.”

Eddie shivered, rubbing at the jello-colored stain on his shoulder.

“Do you… want to change?” You asked shakily.

“What?”

“Nevermind,” you rushed out, shaking your head. “It’s nothing. You just—looked cold. I have an extra sweatshirt.”

“And you think it would fit me?”

“I like to wear them a few sizes too big.” You added lamely.

Eddie contemplated you for a moment, before sighing.

“What the hell,” he said half to himself. “Why not?”

After he pulled the lilac crew neck over his head, he smiled.

“Okay,” he chuckled. “I’m sorry. Thank you for doing this. I know it can’t be great for your…image.”

You snorted at that.

“Yeah, my image isn’t exactly suffering.”

“Yeah?” He leaned forward, setting his chin on his fists.

God, his forearms. You forced yourself to look away.

“Yeah. Not exactly prom queen here.”

“Eh, prom queen is overrated.”

You laughed, your own crinkling eyes meeting his. You thought you saw his eyes soften as they looked at you. The vision of him there, in front of you, made your stomach flip.

You cleared your throat, turning to your notes in front of you.

“So,” you straightened your notebook. “Ready to talk about T. S. Elliot?”

- - - -

The party was loud. Mötley Crüe boomed through the speakers that Darren’s rich family had in what seemed like every room.

You silently thanked Darren for having good music taste. The party would have been unbearable otherwise.

You sighed as you walked out the back door of the house. The inside had gotten a bit too stuffy for you, and with Robin trailing after Vickie and Steve reconnecting with one of his old flames, you were flying solo for the time being.

You brushed your jeans with your hands before sitting down on the back step, a lukewarm rum and coke in the solo cup in your hand.

You felt yourself deflate.

As a senior in high school, this was the closest you’d come to actually living.

While Robin had had her fair share of secret flings and parties and Steve had lived a wild four years of high school, you were just… there.

At eighteen years old, you felt like you’d missed out. Been robbed. The Upside Down had something to do with that, you supposed. Fighting for your own and the kids’ lives from Russians and other-worldly demon creatures tends to do that. Still, it didn’t stop your friends from living. You felt like you’d let your teen years pass you by, but mostly, you felt pathetic.

Sure, you had the grades, but rather than that? You had nothing to show for your time at Hawkins High.

“Hey tutor,” the smooth drawl came from the side of the house. You’d know it anywhere.

Eddie rounded the corner of the house, approaching where you were sitting on the back step.

He wore the same black jeans he wore earlier today, but his jello-stained shirt and your lilac crew neck were gone, replaced by a t-shirt with what looked like Judas Priest’s logo. His arms were crossed over his chest, covered by the black leather he wore more often than not.

“Hey,” you offered lamely, rubbing your hands together.

“What ya doing out here all alone?” He came to stop in front of you, his chunky combat boots taking up your line of vision.

“Just…taking a breather.” You smiled up at him, tight-lipped.

“Hmm,” he hummed. “Scoot over, then. It’s a little too… preppy for me in there.”

You obliged, scooting over a few feet so he could sit next to you. As he dropped down on the concrete step next to you, he was close enough that you caught his scent.

It was deep, some kind of cologne, mixed with cigarette smoke and a hint of what you knew was weed.

“So…” Eddie bumped his shoulder into yours. “Thought this wasn’t your crowd?”

“It’s not,” you pressed your hands between your knees. “Robin and Steve dragged me here. I thought it would help me… unwind.”

“Robin… she’s in band right?”

You nodded.

“And Steve… I don’t think I know that one.”

You chuckled.

“You definitely do,” you peeked over at him, eager to see his reaction. “Uh, Steve Harrington?”

Eddie looked at you like you grew a second head.

“The hair?” He asked incredulously.

“The very same,” you nodded.

“God, sweetheart.” Eddie shook his head. “I’m beginning to question the company you keep.”

Your heart leapt at what he called you. Sweetheart.

“I know, I know,” you held out your hands. “He was an asshole. But he’s different now.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“He is!” You turned to Eddie defensively. “I wouldn’t be friends with him if he was still the way he used to be. He isn’t like…”

“Jason?” Eddie raised an eyebrow at you. “Like Pam and Diana?”

“Exactly.” You nodded. “He’s still… peppy. He just lost all the bad parts.”

“Hmm,” he crossed his arms. “I’ll take your word for it.”

A moment of silence passed between the two of you, the only sounds being your breath and the roar of the party inside. Your breaths swirled in the chilly air around you.

“Why are you here?” You spoke finally. “You said this wasn’t your scene.”

“It’s not,” he shrugged, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a little baggy filled with green substance. “I’m, uh, supplying the party favors.”

You snorted at that.

“These things good business?”

“You have no idea.” He nodded to the inside of the house. “A lot of these kids’ allowance is more than what my uncle makes in a week.”

You hummed, content to just sit in silence.

Eddie tilted his head at you, leaning his chin on his hands again like he did earlier in the library. He tilted his cheek toward you, an easy smile on his lips.

“So, why are you really out here, tutor-girl?” He looked at you curiously. “You look upset.”

You drew a heavy breath, before sighing.

“It’s dumb.” You picked at your nails.

“Try me.”

“I feel like..” you looked up, before turning to Eddie. “I feel like I’ve missed out. I’m a senior, I’m graduating this year, and I have done nothing.”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow, but he doesn’t move to interrupt you. He only leans further toward you, spurring you to continue. The alcohol gave you the rest of the confidence you lacked.

“All my friends have had their little rebellions. Their flings, all of it. And I have done nothing, except drink shitty booze and nearly lose my mind.”

You blew a deep breath once you’d finished. Somehow, you felt even worse—more pathetic—now that you’d vocalized it.

But Eddie didn’t look at you like you were pathetic. Instead, he looked pensive, hand on his chin as he contemplated. It was your instinct to backtrack.

You moved to stand

“Sorry. That was a lot. Nevermind. Let’s just forget I—“

“No, no, don’t apologize.” He grabbed your arm and gently pulled you back to sit beside him. “Especially after what I dumped on you earlier.”

Your cheeks were red, you could tell. Whether that be because of the combination of the alcohol and the confession, you couldn’t tell.

“Hmm,” Eddie hummed, still thinking. You snuck a glance over at him and noticed a wry smile on his face. “Let’s fix it then.”

“What?”

“We have til May, don’t we? That’s eight months. Your senior year isn’t over yet.”

You laughed nervously.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that—“

“You’re not! I’m offering. Consider it payback for all the hours you’ll be tutoring me in Taylor’s class.”

“Okay…”

“Okay.” Eddie smiled. “It’s a deal, then .”

#eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie stranger things #eddie x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things 4 #stranger things #steve harrington #robin buckley #hawkins indiana #eddie munson fem!reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction

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ilyasorokinn · 1 year

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mary's song (oh my my my) , quinn hughes

note, this fic is part of the "taylor's version" series, but all the pieces in that series are stand alone. a side note, i might use the whole song or just a quote for the fic. i also might not use the entire verse. just depends. sorry if that's confusing. feel free to ask questions. another note, okay i haven't touched this series in literally a year, but i will try to write it more. i'm still excited about it and want to write it! so, i'm starting out with a popular player so you all get excited lol pair, quinn hughes x reader summary, a fic based on "mary's song (oh my my my)" from taylor swift's debut taylor swift album. warnings, none :) word count, 2494 words

(gif not mine)

she said, "i was seven and you were nine" i looked at you like the stars that shine in the sky, the pretty lights and our daddies used to joke about the two of us growing up and falling in love and our mamas smiled and rolled their eyes and said, "oh my, my, my"

You lived right down from the Hughes family. Your parents were good friends so you spent lots of time with their family growing up. So, growing up you, your brother, and the Hughes boys would have tons of playdates and would go to the park together.

Growing up so closely with them, little Y/N did develop a crush on her neighbor Quinn. Everyone around you, all the adults, could tell. Kids weren't exactly subtle with their feelings.

One summer night, you were all in your backyard, post-barbeque. All the adults were sitting in lawn chairs, watching the five of you play. Well, it was more like Quinn, Jack, and your older brother Y/B/N, were playing and you were sitting in the grass watching all of them while baby Luke was asleep in his mom's lap.

They were trying to play a game of hockey, but the numbers weren't even. No one wanted to be goalie, so it was just one on one on one, "This would've been easier if you'd play, Y/N." Your brother pointed out.

"Leave her alone," Quinn spoke up in your honor.

"Yeah." You butted in, glaring at your brother.

Your dad chuckled as he watched you watch Quinn's every move, "What?" Your mom asked.

"Y/N. She's always watching Quinn." Jim and Ellen looked over and saw you watching Quinn.

"Can you imagine if those two ever got together?" Jim joked, sharing a laugh with your dad.

"That'll be the day." Your dad clinked his beer with Jim. Your mom and Ellen shared a look, before rolling their eyes and shaking their heads.

take me back to the house in the backyard tree said you'd beat me up, you were bigger than me you never did, you never did take me back when our world was one block wide i dared you to kiss me and ran when you tried just two kids, you and i oh my, my, my, my

"Come on," Quinn called after you. He knocked on your door one day after school and told you to follow after him. So, you did. You ran as fast as your legs could take you, but you still couldn't keep up with him.

"Come on, you're so slow." Quinn groaned, slowing down for a second, "If you don't run any faster, I'm gonna beat you up." You couldn't tell if he was joking, so you stopped running.

"Y/N, what're you doing?"

"You said you were gonna beat me up." You narrowed your eyes at him.

"Cause you're moving too slow." He whined, "I wasn't actually going to beat you up. I was just joking."

"Well, it wasn't funny." You started running again alongside him before you finally made it to the treehouse in the Hughes's backyard.

You and Quinn finally made it to the tree and looked up at the treehouse then looked back to each other, "You go first." You pushed him up in front of the ladder.

"No, you." He grabbed your arm and shoved you towards the ladder.

"You." You managed to get your arm back and push him back in front of the ladder. He finally cracked and began climbing up the ladder. Once he was halfway up, you began your descent up.

Once you were both up, you sat down on the ground together, "So, why did you bring me up here?"

"Just wanted to hang out." He shrugged, "We always hang out with Jack and Y/B/N. It's never just the two of us."

"Well, what do you want to do?" You asked, posing a good question.

"Truth or dare?"

"It's not fun when it's just the two of us." You frowned.

"Then we'll just have to think of really good truth or dares," Quinn stated.

"Fine." You crossed your arms, "I dare you to..." You pursed your lips as you thought about it, "... kiss me."

"Kiss you?" Quinn repeated.

"Yeah." You nodded.

"Well..." Quinn hesitated, "Okay." He shrugged and leaned in, lips pursed. When you realize he was serious, you quickly stood up and climbed down the ladder of the treehouse as quickly as you could.

"Y/N? What the heck?" Quinn called down.

"I have to go!" You shouted, running all the way home and shutting the door loudly when you got home.

i was sixteen when suddenly i wasn't that little girl you used to see but your eyes still shined like pretty lights and our daddies used to joke about the two of us they never believed we'd really fall in love and our mamas smiled and rolled their eyes and said, "oh my, my, my"

Somewhere in between the playfights, childish dares, and first days of school, the five of you grew up. Your brother and Quinn had graduated the year previous and were getting ready for college.

Y/B/N, being the responsible older brother, was in charge of driving you to school. So, on the morning of the first day of school, you both walked out to the car.

"Hey, Y/N, Y/B/N!" Ellen hollered, "Why don't we get a picture of all five of you together?"

"Mom," Jack whined.

"Just one photo," Ellen reassured. You all got into position and smiled, "All right, see, you're all done." She turned off the camera, "All right you three, have a great day." She kissed both her kid's heads before hugging both you and your brother.

"Bye, Q." You waved.

"Bye, Y/N/N." He waved back.

"So, what're you gonna do with all your spare time now?" Ellen asked, watching as the four of you drove off.

"Probably sulk 'cause Y/N's not gonna be around." Jim joked.

"Shut up." Quinn tried to hide his laugh as he made his way back inside the house.

"Y/N and Quinn, sittin' in a tree." Jim teased, following Quinn inside the house.

You smiled to yourself as one of the little girls in your neighborhood chased a boy around the yard, "Proposition for you." You jumped when you heard Quinn and quickly turned around to find him joining you at the picnic table.

"All right." You nodded.

"You go on a date with me."

"Oh, yeah? And what do I get in return?"

"An awesome free dinner paid for by me." He flashed you a smile.

You pretended to ponder it and think about it, "I guess that sounds nice."

"You guess?" Quinn balked.

"I guess." You shrugged watching his reaction shift from excited to confused, "I'm kidding." You then watched him break out into a nervous laugh.

"Oh, cool." He tried to play it off as if he wasn't freaking out inside.

Your parents were, once again, sitting in lawn chairs, watching you and Quinn awkwardly flirt, "Our babies are growing up." Your mom spoke dramatically.

"All grown up." Ellen nodded.

"Never thought he had in him, I gotta admit." Both your dad's kept talking and laughing about how you and Quinn were finally getting together.

take me back to the creek beds we turned up 2 a.m. riding in your truck and all i need is you next to me take me back to the time we had our very first fight the slamming of doors instead of kissing goodnight you stayed outside till the morning light oh my, my, my, my

When Quinn would come back from school, he would always come over in the early hours of the morning and he would whisk you away to the place you had designated as your spot.

"Shooting star." You pointed up to the sky. You were both laying on the hood of his car, looking up at the sky. You looked over at him, only to find that he wasn't looking up at the sky but at you, "Why aren't you looking at the sky."

"Cause you're my whole world." Your heart soured and turned your head to the side so he wouldn't see the shy smile making its way onto your face.

"You sure know how to make a girl feel special, Quinn Hughes." You leaned into him. He only hummed, pressing a kiss to your head as you continued to look up at the sky.

You had little spats before, tiny disagreements here and there, but your first fight, it was something you never wanted to experience again.

"Are you serious right now?" You spat.

"I just don't get why you're making such a big thing out of this." Quinn shrugged.

"Quinn, this is big. I was gonna introduce you to all my friends and you just didn't show up."

"I'm sorry, I just lost track of time." He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants.

"Quinn..."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Anything!" You shouted, "I want you to give me a better explanation than you just forgot."

"It's the truth!" He raised his voice.

You scoffed, "I'm done." You raised your hands in surrender.

"What do you mean "you're done"?" Quinn asked.

"I mean I'm tired. We're going in circles and getting nowhere, so I'm gonna go home." You rubbed your eyes and headed for the door, "We can talk in the morning."

He stared at you, silent as he tried to figure out what he was gonna say next, but when no words came out, you walked out the door.

The next morning, you woke up and didn't want to move," Good morning." Your mother knocked before entering.

You groaned, turning away from her and trying to go back to sleep, "Before you fall back asleep, just thought you'd want to know there's someone waiting for you on the porch."

You quirked a brow before pushing the covers off and making your way out to the porch of your house where Quinn was laying, asleep, a couple blankets thrown across him.

You stared at him frozen, "He was here all night."

"How do you know?"

"Heard someone on the porch last night, came out this morning, and saw him." Your mom explained before closing the door and giving you both some privacy.

You sat down on the step next to him and just watched him for a second before gently waking him up, "Q." You whispered, shaking him gently.

He moved, rubbing his eyes, before opening them and locking eyes with you, "Hey." He yawned.

"Hi." You smiled, "Heard you were here all night."

"Yeah." He stretched a little before sitting up and giving you all his attention, "I didn't really like the way things ended last night."

"Me either." You sighed.

"I'm really sorry, Y/N. I really did lose track of time, and by the time i realized what time it was, the dinner was over, and I know it's a sucky excuse, but it's the truth."

"I might've been a little harsh. There's another get-together in like a week..."

"I'll be there." He cut you off with a firm nod of his head.

"I know you will." You smiled, reaching over and squeezing his hand.

a few years had gone and come around we were sitting at our favorite spot in town and you looked at me, got down on one knee

After you had graduated from college, you moved up to Vancouver with Quinn and got a job at a hospital. You both got into a nice comfortable routine.

During the break, you went home to visit family and celebrate the holidays. Before you could even breathe, you were both wrapped in a million hugs by both sets of parents.

"It's nice to see you too, Mom." You chuckled, hugging her.

"How's work? Tell me all about it." You were whisked off to the kitchen table where Ellen quickly followed and you were soon immersed in a deep conversation about all the gossip you had missed while you were gone.

After dinner, everyone retreated to their own spaces so you and Quinn headed out to the treehouse that was somehow still standing in the Hughes' backyard.

"I can't believe this is still standing." You laughed as you climbed to the top.

You laid back and looked up at the stars, "We used to come up here all the time, remember?"

"How could I forget? We'd come up here and you'd tell me all those crazy facts about the solar system."

"I knew you probably didn't understand anything I was saying, but you being there, it was sweet." You leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"Listen, I have a proposition." You smiled.

"All right." You nodded.

"Marry me." He stated.

Your eyes widened and your mouth opened in shock, "Are you serious?"

"So serious." He nodded, pulling out a ring box from his pocket and popping it open.

"Quinn Hughes..." You couldn't find the words you were so speechless.

"What do you say? You and me forever?"

"God, of course. Is that even a question?" You tackled him in a hug, "You're crazy." You laughed, letting him slip the ring on your finger.

take me back to the time when we walked down the aisle our whole town came and our mamas cried you said, "i do", and i did too

Quinn felt like he was going to explode with nerves, "Dude, calm down." He looked out into the crowd and literally everyone you knew was there. Every grandparent, aunt, uncle, former coaches, current coaches, teammates, former teammates, everyone.

"This is worse than my first game." He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.

"You're gonna be fine." Jack reassured, flattening his tie, "Just breathe." He took another deep breath, "There you go."

"All right." He shook off his nerves the best he could and stood straight at the front. The music started and the doors opened. The bridesmaids and groomsmen walked in, then everyone stood.

He felt his breathing hitch as he saw you walk in. You smiled at him and every nerve in his body, he felt it disappear instantly. You met him at the altar, and kissed your dad on the cheek, watched him shake Quinn's hand, then handed your bouquet off to your maid of honor.

The reception felt like it went by too quickly, "Do you Quinn Hughes take Y/N Y/L/N to be your wife?"

"I do." Quinn nodded.

"And do you, Y/N Y/L/N, take Quinn Hughes to be your husband?" You could hear both your mothers' crying and being comforted by your fathers.

"I do." You nodded.

"Then by the power vested in me, you may now kiss." You couldn't help the smile on your face when you both leaned in for the first kiss. You linked hands as you made your way back down the aisle, big smiles on both of your faces.

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anton-luvr · 1 year

Note

best!friend sohee who gets jealous and pulls reader to the side, confessing he likes her ( it doesn't have to be but if you want could you make it tiny bit suggestive?

# DREAM COME TRUE.

𖦹 bestfriend!sohee x fem!reader | fluff & suggestive & a lil bit of angst 𖦹 note ; another day another sohee fic <3 ngl im quite proud with myself on this one... i hope u like it anon! + reqs are open! join my 100 followers event here !

The heat is almost unbearable as you clamber up to your attic.

Of all times to have a heatwave, Mother Nature just had to pull one while you were in the midst of moving out.

"Sohee! I need help with this box!" you yelled.

"Coming!" your best friend shouts in reply, running up the stairs.

"It's okay, I'll help you." Seunghan interjects, already at the entrance of the attic.

"Thanks," you sigh, smiling tiredly at your other best friend. "This one's insanely heavy."

Yet with complete ease, he lifts it up in his arms. "Don't worry about it," he assures you. "That's why I'm here to help anyway."

Sohee clears his throat, waiting impatiently at the bottom of the stairs. "Hey, she called for me first." he states.

"It's fine, I got it." Seunghan shrugs.

Sohee scoffs.

He knows that Seunghan's your childhood best friend, but Sohee really disliked him.

"Are you gonna take this box with you?" Seunghan sets the dusty box down, sneezing as the dust billows in his face.

The snicker on Sohee's face is rubbed right off when he sees you rub Seunghan's shoulder with a soft, "Bless you!".

"I don't know," you hummed. "Let me check what's inside of it first."

A surprised gasp escapes your lips when you're met by the sight of countless Polaroids and stacks of photo albums.

"Seunghan, look!" you say excitedly, pulling one out. "It's photos from that beach trip when we were in third grade!"

The elder sits closer to you, a fond smile of surprise and awe on his face as he rests his head on your shoulder.

"Wow, that was so long ago." he murmurs.

Sohee scrunches his nose in jealousy, sitting beside you.

"See, I told you that you dropped my pizza!" you laughed, pointing at a photo of a nine-year-old you wailing beside Seunghan, a slice of pizza by your feet while he smiled sheepishly.

"You owe me one now." you teased, pinching his arm lightly.

"Fine, fine." he agrees, jokingly rolling his eyes.

As if your stomach was listening to the conversation, it growled. "It's a sign," you say confidently. "You need to buy pizza for our lunch now."

Seunghan giggles at you as he gets up. "What do you want?" he asks, dusting off his jeans.

"Anything's fine." you say absentmindedly, back to flipping through another photo album.

He hums in response, walking downstairs. "I'll be back in half an hour!" he shouts, before closing the door behind him and driving off to the local Domino's.

"He didn't even ask if I wanted any!" Sohee complains. "He kinda sucks, Y/N."

You click your tongue, hitting his shoulder. "He'll get some for you, don't worry."

He's about to argue with you again when you cut him off short, holding up a polaroid to his face.

"Look, isn't this cute? It's me and Seunghan at prom!"

It is a cute picture, but Sohee boils with jealousy when he sees Seunghan's arms around your waist.

He has to fight the urge to make a sarcastic remark, because this was probably the only time he was going to get alone with you today.

"Yeah, it's cute." he agrees, forcing a smile.

If he had to look at another photo of you and Seunghan being cute together, he thinks he's going to be sick.

"Hey, why not we go downstairs and watch a movie?" the boy suggests.

Thankfully, your eyes light up at his suggestion, nodding readily.

By the time Seunghan makes it back, the both of you are already halfway through 'Finding Nemo'.

"You're back!" you cheer, getting up to help him with the pizzas.

Sohee sighs for the umpteenth time, lazily getting off the couch and trailing into the kitchen.

He's not sure what he's exactly upset about.

If anything, he's not even sure if he's upset or insecure.

Because for almost a year, Sohee had been crushing on you.

He loved your smile. He loved the way you were always so positive and practical about things. He loved you.

But to suddenly see this handsome, smart, and funny guy who happened to be your childhood best friend get all touchy and close with you made him feel like he stood no chance in comparison.

"Sohee," you call, holding plates. "You good?"

"Yup," Sohee lies, mustering another fake smile. "Just thinking about something."

"Here, take this slice." Seunghan says, putting a slice of Hawaiian pizza on your plate.

"You still remember my favorite, huh?" you chuckle.

"I remember your favorite too!" Sohee suddenly shouts.

He had gotten up so abruptly from his seat that the chair toppled over, startling you even more. His face was as red as the tomato sauce on the pizza, his eyes wide and his fists clenched.

"Are you oka-"

"N-No, I'm not okay. Can I talk with you upstairs for a while?" he manages to say, a mix of anger and adrenaline rushing through his system.

Seunghan stares at the both of you warily as you make your way upstairs after Sohee.

"I think you should go," you mouth to Seunghan.

He flashes you a thumbs up, packing up some pizza for himself to take home.

The soft clicking of your front door closing after Seunghan leaving is the same time when Sohee flops down on your bed, burying his face in his hands.

"Hey, what's wrong? Are you okay?" you ask, worried.

He stays silent.

"You've been upset ever since Seunghan came over." you say, sitting down beside him.

"Well, because I like you!" he blurts.

Neither of you says another word, merely staring at each other in surprise.

Sohee wants to facepalm himself, because this was definitely not the way he wanted to confess to you.

But since he already did, he might as well salvage whatever he could, continue, and hope for the best.

"I really like you, Y/N." he starts. "And I'm upset because you seem so much closer with Seunghan, and he's so much handsomer and funnier than me, and I was wondering if you liked him or whether he liked you, because it seemed like it."

He's breathless by the end of his ramble, contributing to how red his face was.

"I know that's really immature of me, but I really like you so much. I wanna be with you," he continues earnestly. "I wanna be the one who makes you laugh like that, the one who can look after you, the one who treats you better than anyone else can."

Your heart melts at his words, and you gently stroke his cheek.

"Sohee, you always have." you whisper, taking his hands into yours.

"Really?" he mutters.

You nod, squeezing his hand. "And don't worry about Seunghan. I only see him as a friend, that's all. It's the same for him too. We just grew up together that way."

Sohee lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding, a sense of relief washing over him.

"Besides," you add. "I like cute boys over handsome boys."

His eyes widen, hoping you meant what he thought you meant.

"Yeah, I like you too." you giggled, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

Sohee's eyes widen even more, and he thinks they just might pop out of his head.

"Did you just kiss me?" he mumbles, frozen in disbelief.

The smile on your face falters, and you worry you took it too far.

"I'm so sorry, are you uncomfortable with that?"

Sohee doesn't even waste time on his words, opting to show you his reply to that instead.

He kisses you again, so full of passion and love while he pulls you in closer to him by the waist. You wrap your arms around his neck, eyes shut as you take in how his lips felt against yours.

You always found his lips pretty, but to feel them against yours was something else.

The warmth of his tongue, the softness of his lips, the comfortingly musky scent of his sweater, and the flavor of his vanilla chapstick were enough to make your head spin.

Somewhere through the kiss, Sohee ended up lying down while you stayed on top of him, both your lips and tongues never separated.

"I think we need to stop." he suddenly says, breathless as he reluctantly pulls away.

"W-What? Why?" you ask, already missing kissing him.

"If we keep going, I think we're gonna end up doing more than just kissing." he pants.

It takes you a while to get what he means, but you really don't care when you do.

"I'm fine with anything as long as it's with you." you mumble, trying to kiss him again.

"Are you sure?" Sohee asks, dodging your kiss. He didn't want to pressure you into anything; your comfort was going to always be his first priority.

"More than sure, babe." you whisper against his lips.

Sohee's heart almost explodes at the new term, smiling as he lets you lead the kiss.

It was all a dream come true for him, with the girl of his dreams.

#riize #riize fics #riize fluff #riize sohee #riize icons #riize moodboard #kpop #kpop fluff #kpop fics #riize seunghan #riize angst #riize smut

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hitlikehammers · 9 months

Text

i realize that this is a world where anything is possible and—

a Pro-Football/Rockstar Super Bowl Steddie AU for @thefreakandthehair

I don’t as a rule write sports AUs, but I do, as a rule, bend my own rules when someone gives me prompts for a fic I’m writing as a gift.

So: when @thefreakandthehair prompted me with ‘Starry Night’ but said she would have liked also something about football? I tried to fulfill the request (try being the operative term)

Lex, I hope your birthday was as brilliant as you deserve, and that this little fic in celebration of you brightens your day

title from this poem, aptly titled and about, what else, but football; divider credit here

(Also sincerest thanks to the ever-lovely @pearynice for listening to me babble about this and having a look at the final product and being amazing all around, and @hbyrde36 for blindly hlepng pick which ending was ultimately posted—you guys are the best ✨)

✨also on ao3

“I am about ninety-nine-point-nine…” Eddie chews on his bottom lip, coils a stray curl around his index finger and resists dragging it across his mouth: “eight, point-nine-eight percent sure I’m not supposed to be here.”

He’s entirely sure he’s not supposed to be here. Not now.

“What are they going to do?” Steve scoffs at him, leading him by hand through the tunnels. “Kick us out? Ban us?”

He snorts, and Eddie stops trying to not-hide behind his hair a little because: not supposed to fucking be here.

“You’re gonna get us arrested or something.”

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Steve cackles a little and maybe Eddie’s anxious, but he’ll never not melt at that sound, music brighter, holy like he could never touch, let alone play: “Eddie Munson, poster child for sticking it to the goddamn man,” Steve tuts, clicks his tongue and shakes his head: “afraid of stadium security.”

“Pretty sure they’ve got better people on payroll for this,” Eddie points out under his breath but never once fights Steve’s hold, his lead: he’d put his whole fucking life in this man’s hands, no question. It’s just that…

“Relax, babe,” Steve squeezes Eddie’s hand in his own; “no one will know.”

Eddie…Eddie doesn’t doubt Steve, never would, but, like—this is a big fucking deal.

“If Chrissy finds out we fucked something up—“ because that’s why Eddie’s here, obviously, at least in this specific capacity; not like Corroded fucking Coffin, no matter how many albums they’ve sold, would ever land a gig like this for themselves. Nope: Chrissy’s been a friend for eons, and when her career skyrocketed they were all ecstatic for her, but she never changed from being a hometown girl with a sweet heart, never let the fame or the money or the statues dull that down in her, so she was still the cheerleader who clapped for Eddie in middle school, and so of course she invited Eddie’s band to feature on a track—and of course they said yes.

So when she signed on for the halftime show and knew they’d be nearby recording? She’d asked them to join her on stage as special guests for a couple songs.

And no matter what else proved an incentive: Eddie and the guys would have said yes in a heartbeat. It’s the fucking halftime show, but more than that? It’s Chrissy Cunningham, and she smiled and cheered when the Hawkins auditorium sat in silent judgment in the face of their…everything.

“A,” Steve’s pulling him along just a little further, still; Eddie can tell they’re almost to the field, can see literal light at the end of the tunnel; “we will not fuck anything up.”

“I’m clumsy,” Eddie offers a token protest; it’s not untrue, but he’s also kinda half-assing the fight of it; “I might—”

“B,” Steve’s cut him off; “Chrissy loves me,” then he points to Eddie; “Chrissy loves you,” and Eddie tucks his chin a little more to press the bunch of his hair tighter against the seam of his lips; “Chrissy also loves us,” Steve gestures between the two of them, then, chest-to-chest and back; “as in, us together.”

And yeah, okay: Steve had been Chrissy’s friend properly before Eddie, used to help her get the height on her ponytail before games, caused a million rumors but they were never an item—so. Yeah. Chrissy loves them. As themselves, and as SteveandEddie.

“Just here,” Steve eases them to a halt and steadies Eddie by the biceps when he stumbles for the stop anyway because: clumsy, if he’s not on stage. Steve knows this, they’ve been at this too long for him not to, but.

He anticipates it so perfectly, and it still kinda skips in Eddie’s pulse like a giddy schoolgirl for the fact of it. They they’ve got this.

“Close your eyes,” Steve instructs as he smooths his hands past Eddie’s elbows, down to circle his wrists.

Eddie feels his eyes get big as he tries to frown, but gapes instead.

“I’ll run into—”

“I will not let you run into anything, love,” Steve pulls him in for a quick peck on the lips, and speaks into the contact sweet and warm:

“I’ve got you.”

Yeah. Yeah he fucking does.

Giddy-schoolgirl-under-his-ribs again, Jesus.

Eddie slips his eyes closed and barely even has to wait for Steve to grasp his hands tighter.

“Okay,” Steve murmurs deep and rumbly and hot under Eddie’s skin as he walks him at a careful pace further, further, turns a little, further again then slows: “now,” he brings Eddie’s hands together and kisses his knuckles, and Eddie’s not just warm under the skin, now he’s warm everywhere.

“Now, follow me down, we’re just going to sit,” and Steve presses one hand to the small of Eddie’s back and leads him, and Eddie goes because there is nowhere he wouldn’t, nowhere he won’t go with Steve beside him.

It’s just not possible; he’s not built to be anywhere else.

“And now lie back,” Steve eases him gentle even as he says it, and Eddie lets him, enjoys the feeling of being handled like this, precious and delicate almost, in this space that’s anything but save that it’s them, and what they are is stronger than spun silk, tested further than diamonds but they’re also tender, they’re also blood and bone and tangled together soft and vulnerable, if only just to shore each other up and tie together tighter.

“There you go,” Steve says as Eddie feels the whole of his body, the length of his back make full contact with the ground; “and tip your head,” he puts his open palm under Eddie’s chin like he needs to guide, but Eddie figures it’s just to touch: he doesn’t complain, because hell if he minds. As if he could ever.

“Now open your eyes.”

Eddie lets himself bask in the blind touch of Steve for just one more breath before he blinks and looks and—

“Oh,” Eddie barely breathes, and he can feel Steve beaming at him, so wide and shining out in the dark like the meteors that are streaking across endless stretch of sky above them, leaving trails behind to mark their paths, to leave proof of their being before they burn on descent and oh, oh.

“Right?” Steve breathes close to Eddie’s ear, strokes Eddie’s pulsepoint where he still holds at the wrist, kisses Eddie’s jaw as Eddie gapes up because it doesn’t matter how many times he sees the show, it’s awe inspiring.

So much like the man next to him, pressed tight against him so Eddie can feel him breathe: never once has Eddie stopped being filled up with wonder for him, never once will Eddie ever do anything but marvel that he’s here, that he exists, that Eddie can look at him and know in his bones that it’s true, unshakable when he stares and thinks: mine.

“Stevie,” Eddie spins his hand so it can lace with Steve’s, fingers interlocked as he turns into the press of his mouth to catch his lips for real, to taste: “sweetheart,” he mouths, tongues into Steve’s kiss: “it’s beautiful.”

You’re beautiful goes unsaid because they say it clear with touch; what we have is so much more than beautiful is the understood fucking you. Given like the spin of a planet, or the expanse of the universe.

“I know how much you like the stars,” Steve shapes the words more than speaks them, never moving back to pull apart their lips, not all the way; “and when I saw there was a shower, and we’d have a shot to see it, I,” and Steve presses a quick kiss into Eddie then: I couldn’t not, and Eddie thinks lucky isn’t a word that means anything at all, in the face of this.

He watches with Steve pressed against him, slid down to fit with his head on Eddie’s shoulder for a long stretch of seconds before the question comes to mind and he kisses Steve temple, reverent, but still in askance:

“The lights?”

Because it’s too dark. There are still a few bits of the stage setup that need to be moved before the kickoff, so he has to figure there’d be some lights, but the space surrounding them is a near-perfect void.

“So maybe someone knows we’re here,” Steve answers, a little wry. “I maybe bribed Lenny in Operations,” and of all the people working in this mass-ass complex, for this insane fucking event, Eddie actually knows who that is; let him bum a smoke the first time they came to rehearse. “We have about half an hour.”

Jesus. Jesus.

“God, I love you,” Eddie half-exhales, half-wonders at this, this, this specimen of a human before him, pressed against him close and he pulls Steve in, brings their still-joined hands to his chest and stretches down to kiss the tips of Steve’s fingers before just pressing hands there, making sure Steve feels:

“Every time I think you’ve stretched this heart as far as it’ll go,” Eddie whispers, because it’s sacred; this feeling, this thing they make together as one: “every time, you find room to fill it up all over again,” Eddie feels that stretched-heart of his pound a little beneath their hands, and fucking good, too, because then Steve feels it at the exact same time, and that’s what matters, what counts: that Steve knows the depth of this in Eddie’s chest, always; that he understands because:

“You’re magic.”

And Eddie means that. Eddie means that with all his pounding heart.

“You’re playing the Super Bowl tomorrow,” Steve says it like an explanation; like it’s enough of a reason. Like he would have done all of this anyway, just because.

“I am playing as a guest at the halftime,” Eddie knows that’s correct, he knows, but it’s still instinct to look at Steve like he’s making sure he gets the terms for all the different sports games right and it’s worth the knee-jerk instinct surviving all these years just for the grin and the nod he gets, so encouraging and indulgent and sweet; “show.”

“You are playing the Super Bowl, tomorrow.”

Because that’s the other thing, the thing that was entirely not-music-related that existed as the whole fucking incentive for Corroded Coffin to be in town for studio space in the first place: Steve, his Stevie, his partner and lover, beloved and adored, his Steve Harrington is the goddamn starting linebacker in the motherfucking Super Bowl.

Like Eddie would miss that for his fucking life.

Which: hold on.

“Don’t you have curfew? Coach’s orders?” Eddie turns a quirked brow to him and Steve just grins and, god: taps Eddie’s nose.

Gawwwwwd.

“I’m sneaky, baby,” Steve whispers and fuck, the stars above them are exquisite but they’ve got, like, nothing on the way Steve’s eyes shine. “Stealthy like a ninja.”

Eddie wants to laugh, snicker maybe a little under his breath but he…he can’t.

He can’t because he’s, his whole body feels weightless and tingly and untethered from gravity and matter and any atmosphere that isn’t Steve and Steve alone, like just be next to this man, the love of his life, is akin to and far beyond swimming alongside the shooting stars overhead: he can only relish, can only marvel.

He gets this. He gets to have this.

Unfathomable. And yet.

“You did all this for me,” Eddie exhales, still wondering at this. At Steve: the fact of him. The whole of him. This is the night before the biggest game of Steve’s career, likely the biggest day of Steve’s life and yet, here he is. Breaking rules, risking fuck knows what, just for Eddie. It’s, it’s…

“That can’t be a surprise by now,” Steve breathes back, nuzzles their noses a little and Eddie keens, because fuck.

“It’s not just,” Eddie tries to collect his thoughts, his point; “this is big, Stevie,” he says, like that encompasses it, encompasses the day they’re on the brink of, and the fact that they’re here right now, just before that day:

“This is big.”

“All the more reason,” Steve nips at Eddie’s lip then leans back, meets Eddie’s gaze square on before he breathes out slow, and lies back down, turns Eddie’s body to him, both of them on their sides and then he brings their hands between them, close enough that they hit both their chests when they breathe in: “because,” and he takes one more breath, and Eddie doesn’t know why it feels like Steve’s steeling himself, or building up to a thing he feels he has to steel himself for, because there’s nothing he could say or do that’ll sway Eddie from his side, there’s nothing, but then—Steve doesn’t feel stiff, or scared, or nervous against him, his hand in Eddie’s hand.

It just feels big, this moment, whatever it already holds or is gearing up to hold as more; it feels momentous, equally so, either way.

“Win or lose, tomorrow, no matter how big this is,” Steve finally speaks words into the tiny space between them, his grip firm and his eyes unwavering on Eddie the whole time. “I won the only thing I really wanted in life,” and his smile, dear god.

There are no stars, falling or burning, dying in a supernova or sprawling newly born: not a single goddamn one could compare.

“And he’s not really a prize, so it’s not really winning,” Steve’s watching him with so much love, so much love; “he’s a gift, he’s my heart,” and Steve mirrors Eddie this time, draws Eddie in to press against his chest, to feel the fluttering there; “and he gave me his to keep safe, and that was a whole other gift on top of everything,” and Steve laughs a little, his own overwhelming awe, and Eddie almost doesn’t know what to do, save grip Steve so fucking tight; save to memorize the cadence of his pulse like a song.

“So no matter what you call it,” Steve draws a deep breath and lets it shudder a little when he blows it back out; “when I wake up in the morning and I know he’s mine, and I’m his,” and Eddie lifts the hand not held to Steve’s heart to cup Steve’s cheek and just touch, just drink him in:

“I feel like the biggest winner in the world,” Steve says it, so honest, so heartfelt: so much.

“You’re a fucking sap,” Eddie doesn’t realize he’s crying until the tears clog the words when they tumble from his lips but then he’s leaning, then he’s kissing Steve like the world’s ending only to begin again and it’s perfect, it’s heavenly like the fires burning miles upon miles above their heads, cosmic and immense but then Steve’s pulling back, but his open palms are pressed to Eddie’s chest to manage it and it’s contact, it’s grounding: it, too, is perfect.

“Oh, really,” Steve’s lips curl, even as they’re swollen at the pout and wet-red still; “I’m a fucking sap?” but he doesn’t even look irritated, he looks entertained, no: he looks delighted and what—

“Let me one-up your standards then, Munson,” and Steve’s leaning in, catching Eddie’s lips one more time before he raises up on his knees, tips back on his calves and lifts from those glorious fucking thighs of his and if Steve’s ignoring curfew entirely Eddie thinks he’s got a good chance of asking for those thighs to be wrapped around him at some point in the next twelve hours before he gets to spend a good stretch of hours sharing the clothed version in those tight fucking pants with the whole goddamn country, sure, but at Jumbotron-size he can’t wholeheartedly complain and—

“Edward Elliot Munson.”

Wait. That’s him. He’s Edward Eli—

Why is he being full-named here, now?

He starts to sit up too, brings his eyes up from Steve’s glorious legs where they stretch even under his track pants, to meet his eyes and—

They shine. They shine.

They put the stars and the space matter and the glow of angels on high if they’re there at all: they put them all to fucking shame.

Steve puts them to shame.

“Eddie,” Steve breathes deep and Eddie catches the gleam of something in an obvious shape in his hands, but it’s only in his periphery: he cannot, he will never look away; he might be trembling already.

He’s definitely trembling already.

“Will you,” and Steve pauses, plays with Eddie’s bare ring finger, the only one empty just now and Eddie honestly never thought on it too hard but in this moment he knows, he knows in the marrow of him that he was waiting, that he was wanting and he was keeping it safe for just one thing, just one thing:

“Will you let me fill your heart up to stretching,” Steve blinks, and a tear falls; just one, glistening and glorious for the avalanche that’s spilling from Eddie; “and then will you let me fill it up even more, again and again and again, Eddie, will you let me do that for the rest of our lives?”

As if that’s a fucking question.

Eddie doesn’t even have to process the necessity of putting his lips on Steve, of kissing him breathless and then boneless and then weightless, so fucking close and so fucking fierce and giving everything and anything and all that he is and allthat they are; he doesn’t have to process it as a choice before they’re consuming, devouring each other relentless, unceasing, and Eddie will pull back and speak the ‘yes’ that’s already obvious, he will shake a little as Steve puts the ring on the naked finger waiting to be adorned, the last lone space waiting to be claimed; Eddie will wear it proudly on the stage when millions watch him play tomorrow, and there won’t be a single second he’s not smiling like a loon through the whole goddamn day, and it’ll have so very little to do with playing the biggest show of his life, and that’s wild, that’s insane: that is the only real thing in the whole fucking world and—yeah.

Yeah: the biggest prize of living at all is the one they’re holding tight between them, the one they’re passing back and forth, soul to soul between their lips.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fluff #established relationship #established steddie #marriage proposal #rockstar au #football au #so very very soft #stranger things #gift fic #thefreakandthehair #hitlikehammers v words

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black-arcana · 2 months

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EPICA's Next Album Will Be Band's 'Most Epic' Release So Far

In a recent interview with Spain's Mariskal Rock, EPICA singer Simone Simons spoke about the progress of the recording sessions for the follow-up to 2021's "Omega" album. She said (as transcribed by BLABBERMOUTH.NET): "I think that there should be a single by the end of the summer-ish. That's that's our plan. And the album should be released [in] 2025.

"I just wrote with Mark [Jansen, guitar] and Rob [Van Der Loo, bass] also yesterday that I'm so happy with the songs, I'm so proud how everything turned out and it's gonna be another amazing EPICA album.

"We added a couple of new elements, but also went back to the roots, the old EPICA," she continued. "And yeah, I just can't wait for people to hear this.

"I loved 'Omega' and we toured so much with 'Omega' and had wonderful experiences, but then when you reach the end of a touring cycle, you start to get itchy and feel, 'Okay, now it's time to do the new album. Can we do it as good or maybe even better than the last album?' That's always the thing we strive for, ways to renew ourselves a little bit. And we feel a very strong spiritual connection also that it's our ninth album. So there's gonna be themes around the symbolic meaning of nine, the number nine."

Elaborating on the musical direction of EPICA's next album, Simone said: "The songs are heavy. There's a beautiful ballad, a very cinematic song, very uptempo, very doomy, melancholic and amazing, amazing power riffs. It's the most epic EPICA, I think, so far. Yeah, I think so. I mean, I'm feeling it. I'm very happy with it. I'm proud of it. And they are going to start recording the orchestra now next week. They're flying to Prague; that's where we record the orchestra. And I will be recording my final vocals as well."

In November 2022, EPICA released "The Alchemy Project" through Atomic Fire Records. The EP was co-written and performed with diverse guests ranging from extremists like FLESHGOD APOCALYPSE, Niilo Sevänen (INSOMNIUM) and Björn "Speed" Strid (SOILWORK) along with melodic masters like Tommy Karevik (KAMELOT),keyboard legend Phil Lanzon (URIAH HEEP) and Roel Van Helden (POWERWOLF) to a once-in-a-lifetime song with Simons, Charlotte Wessels and Myrkur.

Just one day after the release of its anniversary reissues "We Still Take You With Us" and "Live At Paradiso", EPICA celebrated 20 years of existence live in September 2022 at 013 in Tilburg, Netherlands, the same place where they played their first show (supporting ANATHEMA) back in 2002.

EPICA was formed by Jansen after leaving AFTER FOREVER in 2002, and the band quickly gained attention outside their home country, taking big steps towards becoming the leading symphonic metal superpower they have long proven to be. After their ambitious debut "The Phantom Agony" (2002) and the surprisingly eclectic sophomore work "Consign To Oblivion" (2005),the road took them to new heights via their first concept masterpiece "The Divine Conspiracy" (2007) and their global breakthrough "Design Your Universe" (2009). 2012's opus "Requiem For The Indifferent", 2014's bedazzling "The Quantum Enigma" and "The Holographic Principle" (2016),cemented their reputation as not only one of the hardest-working metal bands in the business but also as one of the best. With "Omega", the final part of the metaphysical trilogy they began with "The Quantum Enigma", they reclaimed the throne without so much as the blink of an eye, amassing three million-plus streams during the first week of the album's release.

Photo credit: Tim Tronckoe

youtube

#simone simons #epica #interview #Youtube

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incorrectbatfam · 9 months

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Okay, so I want a little angst fic where Robs twins and Milo get kidnapped, and the kidnapper is doing the whole cliche thing with ‘cHoOsE oNe, will your twins or Milo live??’ and, Rob thinks, it should be obvious, right? Pick ur twins! But, it’s a difficult decision, he can’t let any of them die, and he’s stressing Tf out. Like, Milo is fourteen! And the twins love him! (Kinds? He bullies them sometimes but it’s fineee)

At the end, the bats come and save them, but it’s still an eye opening experience.

The Gooners Christmas kidnapping fic that exactly one (1) person asked for

Word count: 3,375

———————

“What’s the password?”

Milo chuckled. “Jackie, you’re only supposed to do that when you get picked up from school.”

“Dad said to always ask before getting in the car with anyone,” the six-year-old replied.

“But you know me.”

“What if you’re a shapeshifting alien trying to abduct us? Or an evil robot clone?”

He sighed. “Unicorn ice cream. Now are we going Christmas shopping or not?”

“Sure,” she said, “when Gunner quits being a slowpoke.”

As if on cue, the other boy stumbled out of the three’s shared bedroom, tugging his blue snow boots on. Since he didn’t know how to tie the laces yet, Milo kneeled down and helped him.

“Now remember, the mall’s gonna be really busy, so what do we do if we get separated?”

“Meet at the food court,” they say in unison.

“And what do we not do?”

“Go to a security guard.”

“And why don’t we do that?”

“Because they don’t work for people like us.”

“Good job.” He patted the pom-poms topping their matching hats.

Once Milo buckled the twins in and put his favorite rock album on, they set off. There was a light dusting of snow on top of the salt laid down earlier that morning, but the fifteen-year-old managed to weave through the holiday traffic and beat the lights in time to snag the last parking spot at Gotham City’s shopping hotspot.

“Any idea what you’re gonna get your dad?” he asked as they walked into the bustling shopping mall.

“How about a watch?” said Jackie. “I saw a really cool gold one last week.”

“Hm… maybe,” he said. “Gunner, what about you? Any thoughts?”

Gunner stifled a laugh. “Pants.”

Milo rolled his eyes playfully. The kid was in that phase where pants were the funniest thing in the world. But in the nine months since he started living with the Steelers, Milo hadn’t seen Rob get anything—buying or stealing—for himself. It was always for the kids or to sell on the internet. And, frankly, the man looked like he spent a year on a deserted island.

“We’ll start with pants,” he said.

“What about you?” Jackie asked. “What are you gonna get him?”

“I’m not sure.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Probably something as a thanks for, you know, not leaving me to the wolves.”

“Like what?”

Gunner said, “How about a World’s Best Dad mug?”

“That might work for you, but he’s not my dad,” said Milo. He shrugged. “Eh, I’ll figure it out.”

They perused a few clothing stores, the twins pointing out pieces of clothing their dad might like. Milo kept a mental inventory as he fiddled with the magnet in his coat pocket. He also made notes about where the cameras and security guards were placed.

After about an hour, the kids were whining about being hungry (breakfast wasn’t exactly filling—they shared an egg and a slice of toast between them). Milo took them to the food court and used some cash he pickpocketed the other day to buy them both kids’ meals from the Batburger pop-up stall.

Once they sat down, he said, “I’m gonna go get the gifts for your dad. Do you guys have your phone?”

Jackie and Gunner nodded and pulled out matching rose gold and black smartphones, respectively, that totally weren’t stolen and jailbroken.

“Good. Stay here and don’t move. I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes. Call me if you need anything.”

Milo still had a thing or two to learn before he could begin swiping electronics and jewelry, but shoplifting clothing was easy. He grabbed a shopping bag from behind an unoccupied register and wove through the aisles for the list of things from earlier. He took them to the dressing room and removed the security tags with his trusty magnet before putting the clothes in the bag. Then, for good measure, he stuck them back onto random clothes throughout the store before walking out while using his phone like any other teenager.

When he didn’t see the twins at the food court, there was a small spark of panic. He called Jackie and it rang three times before she answered.

“We’re in the bathroom,” she said.

He should’ve noticed the quiver in her voice. When he stepped into the all-gender restroom, he was met by the kids pressed against the wall with a haggard middle-aged man towering over them.

Gunner cried out, “Milo!”

As the door fell shut, the stranger whirled around, pointing a sawed-off shotgun at Milo. “You with them?”

Stunned, Milo nodded numbly. He wasn’t sure if that was the right move or not.

The man’s hands trembled. “Do as I say or I shoot.”

Milo reached for his batarang—the one he found on the street—inside his jacket, but before he could grab it, the man walked around him and prodded Milo in the back with the barrel.

“I know you heard me. Now all three of you move it.”

The bathroom was five steps from the exit, so there wasn’t any chance to make a getaway without putting Jackie and Gunner at risk. They were ushered roughly into a white van with the peeling logo of an electric company. A second person was in the driver’s seat so the guy with the gun got into the seatless back with them. He slammed the door shut. Milo motioned for the twins to get behind him.

The driver turned the radio up as they made their way onto the road.

Smart. Milo thought. Mask any calls for help. This obviously wasn’t the kidnappers’ first rodeo.

But neither was it Milo’s. Being a runaway street kid, he had his fair share of close calls with bastard adults who tried to manipulate him because of his age. While he couldn’t call himself an expert, he had a general gist of how these situations went.

Traveling at sixty miles per hour in a windowless van with no clue where they were headed, Milo didn’t have an upper hand. He needed information. Something was better than nothing.

He studied the man with them, who had tucked the gun away. Even in the dark, he could see the man wasn’t doing well for himself. The worn-out clothes plus the crudeness of his weapon ruled out the mafia. What would Falcone or Maroni want with some random kids from Burnside, anyway? Milo could also rule out some of the major Rogues—Riddler, Two-Face, and Mr. Freeze all had standards.

The man’s graying blonde hair and beard were both overgrown. His face was hollow and his breath smelled like spoiled leftovers. Clearly, he hadn’t taken care of himself in a long time. Mental break? But unless it was a case of folie a deux, there’s no way he could’ve gotten a second person to be his getaway driver. More likely than not, he was on his last legs and holding people for ransom was his Hail Mary.

Milo also tried to analyze the man’s body language, but the low light and the moving van made it difficult. Kellin would’ve probably deduced everything with their assassin training by now.

He glanced over his shoulder at Jackie and Gunner. Gunner always had more braggadocio, but underneath he got more scared easily, and Milo saw it in the way the kid clung to his sister’s arm with tears running down his cherubic face. Jackie appeared calmer, but her big brown eyes looked up at Milo, silently begging him to do something.

Milo took a deep breath and turned to their kidnapper. “You mind telling me what you want with us?”

“We don’t want anything from you,” the man replied.

“Then what? You gonna sell us? Because we’re pretty unmarketable.”

“No,” he said. “This isn’t about you. It’s about your father.”

“Axel Carr? Good luck with that. I’m as dead to him as he is to me.”

The man pointed to the twins. “I meant theirs.”

“How do you know their dad?” Milo asked slowly, careful not to let a name slip in case the man was bluffing.

“I worked with Rob Steeler under Scarecrow. When he left, instead of getting promoted, they let our entire crew go since we lost our key player.”

The man was clearly getting started and Milo hoped he’d keep going until the boy could formulate a plan.

“My whole life torpedoed after that. No gigs meant no income. No income plus a disabled kid meant I had to give up custody.”

While unfortunate, Milo was more focused on the clock and speedometer up front. Eight minutes had passed since they started driving and the speed had stayed consistent. The hum underneath the wheels told him they were still on the highway.

“Without that money, I can’t get my kid back. So here’s what’s gonna happen.”

They came to a stop and there was the sound of a garage door opening and closing. Gun back in hand, the man prodded them out.

“I’m gonna make Steeler pay,” he said. “He gives me cash for his little tikes. Otherwise, if I can’t have my family, then neither can he.” He turned to Milo and cocked the gun. “As for you, I’m afraid I can’t have any witnesses.”

“Wait!” Milo exclaimed before the man put his finger on the trigger. “Don’t you think killing me right away will cause a huge scene? You’ll end up with cops at the doorstep before you can even ask for the money.”

The driver muttered something to the gunman.

“True,” the gunman said.

The driver whispered something else. The gunman’s face lit up and he nodded.

“Better idea,” he said. “I was going for around thirty grand. That’s ten grand for each of you. For each one he can bring me, I’ll let you go home.”

Jackie piped up. “What if he can’t?”

The man smiled. “For your sake, little girl, you better hope he does.”

The gunman forced the three to surrender their phones while the driver bound them with rope to a water pipe against the wall. The windowless garage offered no clues to the outside, but the fishy smell in the air meant they were close to the harbor. It hadn’t been used in a long time because every step someone took left a footprint in the dust. Off to one side, underneath a mountain of scrap wood and netting, was a speedboat with a gaping hole in the hull. On the other side was a small, messy work table where the driver and gunman were making the ransom call.

“Milo, what do we do?” Gunner whispered.

“Just stay here and don’t move unless I tell you to,” he replied. “I’m gonna get us out of this.”

“What if you get hurt?” Jackie asked.

He smiled. “Remember when I did a cartwheel with a twisted ankle? A little hurt doesn’t bother me.”

His arms were pinned to his side, but he managed to maneuver them enough to grab his magnet and batarang. Normally he would have had a trunk full of inventory to work with but this was going to have to do.

While the kidnappers were on the call, he sliced himself out of the ropes with the batarang. He also loosened Jackie and Gunner’s restraints to prepare for a quick escape.

The only exit was the garage door, controlled by a red button on the wall. If he was one of the bat-people, he could easily throw the batarang and hit the tiny target far away, but as just Milo, the risks far outweighed his chance of success. Normally he would have tried anyway, but he had the kids with him.

He gestured to Gunner’s boots. “I need to borrow something real quick.”

The boy nodded. Milo undid the laces, resulting in two long strings in his hands. He tied them together to create a single, even longer cord, which he then put the batarang on one end of.

The kidnappers turned toward them and the gunman shouted, “Hey!”

Milo muttered a prayer to Wonder Woman on the off chance that’s her thing.

He twirled the string and released it. It wrapped around the driver’s knee, causing the man to stumble and fall. His joint cracking echoed through the garage and a red stain grew on his cargo pants.

He reeled it in before throwing it at the gunman’s face. The tip grazed the man’s cheek, drawing a thin trickle of blood, before spinning back around into Milo’s hand. Milo threw a punch, but the man caught it. The gunman twisted before shoving Milo to the ground and pointing the shotgun at him.

“Had fun playing Robin?” the man asked, finger nearing the trigger.

Stall. That was all there was left to do.

“Heroes are overrated. They always have to follow some stupid code,” Milo said, doing all he could to keep his voice steady. “You and I have more in common than you think.”

“Whatever deal you’re trying to cut won’t work,” the gunman replied. “Steeler’s already on his way and he accepted all my terms.”

“What if I tell everyone what you did? Then what?”

The gunman laughed. “Tell who? The same cops you’re always running from? Don’t think I didn’t do my homework on your little posse.”

The driver was pretty much down for the count because he was still on the floor with the pool of blood slowly growing. Plus, he didn’t seem like the fighting type to begin with. Unless there were more kidnappers lurking, Milo just had to make sure the gunman stayed focused on him.

“Your kid. How old are they?” Milo asked.

“He’s ten, and unlike you, he’s actually suffering. He didn’t bring it on himself after a fight with daddy.”

That plucked a nerve. For a disheveled ex-henchman, the man knew a lot.

Milo clenched his jaw. “And what would he say if he knew about this? Even if you get the money, what makes you think he’d want anything to do with you?”

Smack.

Milo fell back as the gun met his temple. His head throbbed and black speckles swam in front of his eyes. His fingers traced over the spot and came back red. Through the dull ringing in his right ear, he heard the twins cry out his name.

He turned back to the gunman, still kneeling. “If you’d do this to us, what’s stopping you from doing it to him?”

This time, a kick to the stomach forced the wind out of him. He doubled over, gasping. He reached for the batarang but the gunman kicked it away.

The man raised his gun for another strike but the garage door interrupted him.

“Step away from the kids.”

The twins exclaimed, “Dad!”

Rob made brief but reassuring eye contact with them before turning to the kidnapper.

“I got as much as I could, Frederickson. Now let go of my kids.”

The kidnapper walked over and snatched the water-stained blue duffel bag out of Rob’s hand. He opened it and counted through the banded bills before turning back to Rob.

“I said thirty grand. This is only twenty-five.”

“That's all I got, I’m telling you! Just take it and let my kids and I go home.”

“We had a deal.”

While the two men went back and forth, Milo crawled over to the batarang. The open garage door meant the bright lights inside flooded the harbor with nothing blocking the way. The bright lightbulbs dangled from the ceiling.

It was sheer luck the batarang flew over the adults’ heads and wrapped around the base of the brightest light bulb before dangling in front of it. It wasn’t very distinct, but his makeshift Bat-Signal would have to do.

The man cocked the gun. “Now you gotta pick. It’s them…” He pointed it at the twins. “Or him.” He pointed at Milo.

What kind of choice is that? Milo thought. Of course pick them.

Rob stood there as if nailed to the spot, fists clenched.

“Fredrickson, think about this,” he said, his normally firm voice edging on pleading. “Is five thousand dollars worth having this on your conscience?”

“You were always the soft one,” the man sneered. “You never let it on around the boss until our last sting.”

“There’s ransom and then there’s this,” Rob said. “Fredrickson. Darren. You’re not okay.”

“Rob,” Milo said.

The men’s heads both swiveled around.

Milo swallowed. “Give him what he wants and he’ll be out of your hair. It’s obvious. Pick the twins.”

Rob sputtered, eyes wide. “I-I…”

“You trust me on the field all the time,” he said. “So do it again.”

“I can’t.”

The gunman said, “So the little ones go.”

“No!” Rob yelled. “I just—I just need…”

“Take. Your. Pick.”

His eyes darted between Milo and the twins. Milo knew his boss was an idiot at times and the proof was right here. The twins were younger. There were two of them as opposed to one of him. They were actually Rob’s.

Before the gunman could repeat himself again, a brand new voice chimed in.

“I’ve seen this trope before. Spoiler alert: the good guys win.”

With a swish of her purple cape, Spoiler released her grapple and knocked the shotgun away. She coiled the rope around the gunman before kneeing him in the ribs. Milo didn’t think much of heroes given how they beat up people like him and Rob, but he couldn’t help but marvel at each fluid strike. As easy as one, two, three, four, and five.

The gunman hit the ground and she clasped a pair of handcuffs on him. Nearby, Orphan collected the driver.

Spoiler crouched beside the twins and freed them. “Are you guys alright?”

They nodded. Gunner said, “Is the supervillain defeated?”

“I’d hardly call him super, but yes,” she said. “He’s not gonna bother you anymore.”

As red and blue lights flooded the room, Milo’s head pulsed even harder like a kick drum at a rock show. Some of the blood from his temple dripped onto the floor. His stomach rolled.

Rob answered some of Spoiler’s questions before she set them loose. Of course cops would be at the scene. Why didn’t Milo think of that?

The twins ran into their dad’s arms and he scooped them up. Milo had never seen his boss so relieved or so scared. He staggered to his feet, one hand in the brick wall for balance. His head spun and a sharp pain was finally sinking in.

Rob put the kids down and turned toward Milo.

“I’m sorry,” Milo said. “It’s my fault we got into this mess and—”

He was cut off by a pair of arms wrapping around him.

“Rob, what—”

“Just shut up and take it.”

The hug ended before Milo could fully register it. After one of the medics patched his wound, all they had left to do was go home and pretend this never happened. Business as usual.

“The car’s still at the mall,” he said.

“I borrowed one from Otto,” Rob replied. “I’ll get ours in the morning.”

Once they were back at the apartment, Rob tucked the twins into bed with an extra-long story. Meanwhile, Milo cleaned himself up in the cubicle-sized bathroom and changed into something more comfortable.

He tried to sleep after that but wound up tossing and turning for hours, replaying the night’s events in his head. What if he hadn’t left the twins alone? What if he’d brought a better weapon? The Steelers were already hanging by a thread and he just cost them twenty-five grand. If one of the others was in his position, they could’ve figured a way out by themselves. Blaise would’ve siphoned the gas from the van and turned it into a flamethrower. Booker and Molly would’ve been better negotiators. Kellin would’ve fought their way through.

The door opened. The thin bar of light cut between his side of the room and the sleeping twins’ bunk bed.

“It’s two o’clock,” Rob said.

Milo propped himself up on his elbow. “And?”

“I could hear you down the hall. You’re gonna wake the twins up at this rate.”

“Not on the clock, not my boss.”

Rob quietly chuckled. “Get some sleep. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”

106 notes · View notes

film-in-my-soul · 2 months

Text

the world will follow after | 2,617 | MacksDramaticShenanigans / @stevethehairington

Summary: Another glance at the clock and Steve really has to leave now. He barely has time to shove the piece of toast Eddie, so graciously, made for him (crisp, but not too crunchy, and definitely not burnt, with just the right amount of butter spread thin across the top) into his mouth before he’s running towards the door. He’s about two steps away from it, hand already reaching for the knob, when Eddie catches him. He gives Steve's shoulders a squeeze, then spins Steve around and reaches for his collar next, fussing with it until it’s straightened and flat. He pats Steve twice on the chest and gives him a smile. “All set now,” he says. Then, “have a nice day at work.” Steve, at the complete whim of his scrambled brain, smiles back, tells Eddie thanks, glances at his watch, curses under his breath, then leans in to kiss Eddie goodbye. Then, just as quickly, he’s out the door and in his car and finally on his way to work. It isn’t until he’s halfway there that it hits him what he’s just done. He kissed Eddie Munson.

temptations of trouble | 2,812 | MacksDramaticShenanigans / @stevethehairington

Summary: Eddie ignores the flip flopping in his stomach as he meets Steve’s gaze and fits his palms to either side of Steve’s jaw. Cradles his face like he’s something special now. (Because he is.) And then he leans in to kiss him. Right on those pretty pink lips of his. It’s short and sweet like it always is, but when Eddie pulls back and opens his eyes, he’s met with Steve’s, wide as fucking saucers, goggling unblinkingly back at him. He can feel Robin’s stare boring into the side of his face, can feel the tiny pinpricks of Nancy’s and Jonathan’s and Argyle’s on his back too. The whole room is quiet enough to hear a god damn pin drop. Eddie is about to open his mouth and ask what the hell that’s all about when it finally catches up with him. He just fucking kissed Steve fucking Harrington. On the mouth.

(see more recommendations below!)

promise me nothing, live 'til we die | 2,968 | MacksDramaticShenanigans / @stevethehairington

Summary: “You’ve seriously never had your first kiss, though?” Eddie snorts. “Why do you sound so disbelieving? Come on, Harrington. I don’t exactly have a long line of suitors winding out my front door, vying for my hand or anything. Nobody wants to swap spit with the local freak. They might catch something.” He gives Steve a scrutinizing look. “I’m not like you, King Steve.” “I’m not worried about catching anything from you,” Steve says. Eddie tilts his head, perplexed. “Okay… thanks?” Steve shakes his head. “No, I mean, if no one else wants to, I will.” “Will what? Line up outside my door?” Eddie scoffs. “Kiss you,” Steve says and knocks all the air out of Eddie’s chest. “I’ll do it.” Eddie’s eyes have got to be as big as dinner plates as he blinks at Steve. “What?”

waiting for the hammer to fall | 1,264 | stellarpoint (pettifogger) / @heybluechild

Summary: From the stereo, Freddie Mercury’s voice kicks in with a familiar refrain. Steve taps along to the beat against the steering wheel. From the corner of his eye, he sees Eddie watching him. “What?” Steve prompts. “I like this song.” “You— what?” “I like this song. Dude, I literally own this album. Look.” He gestures towards the glove compartment, which Eddie pops open. Sure enough, among the cassettes crammed in with the BMW’s instruction manual and Steve’s registration info, Queen’s The Works is nestled between a copy of Born in the U.S.A. and Abbey Road. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Eddie says, not missing a beat. A sharkish grin spreads across his face. “The King isn’t as much of a square as I assumed.”

Nine Stops | 2,406 | Aww_Canon_No

Summary: And holy shit this might be his chance because…Yeah. Yep. Yes. Steve is kissing him. It’s warm and better than he imagined, and it’s really, really scary because Eddie has never liked someone so much in his entire life and God, if he wakes up and this is a dream he’s going to fucking lose it. Eddie sees Steve on the train. And he looks really, really tired.

this is the year | 3,818 | alchemystique / @alchemistc

Summary: “I need your help,” Eddie tells him the moment Wayne pulls the screen door open. He’s all nervous energy, bouncing on the balls of his feet with his thumb in his mouth and hair even messier than usual, a little wild-eyed, the way he sometimes gets in the middle of learning a new song, writing out a new campaign. “If you’ll let me in the door I’ll do my best,” Wayne tells him, and Eddie bounds back three steps, tapping his fingers against his thigh. The TV’s on, tuned to – “Are you watching baseball?” “No,” Eddie says, automatic, and then, “Yeah. Shit, yes.”

don't go on the patio (beware of the pool) | 3,970 | alchemystique / @alchemistc

Summary: “Hey, what is it called if I like people without boobies?” And that is – well that’s just not fair, is it? Because Robin had spent years fighting herself about it before she was willing to even entertain the idea that she was super not into boys, and even now she panics if some one so much as hints about a predilection that might not be super straight, and Steve is just looking at her with earnest eyes like one cuddle with a dude while some shirtless actor on the TV beat some commies up is all it took for him to come to terms with his sexuality and how is that fair? “Do you want to tell me something?” “Yeah, but answer the question first.”

starts with an h, sounds like potential | 4,430 | formosus_iniquis / @formosusiniquis

Summary: Eddie knows he got to Hawkins a little later than everyone else. He wasn't born and raised in the six miles of town with the same eight people his whole life. There was a whole social services kerfuffle that meant he didn't land in this small town hell hole until he was the ancient age of thirteen. He knows he's destined to forever be the freaky new kid with the shaved head and the group home eyes who joined in the eighth grade. But even without all that he is fucking positive that there was no Henderson in any of his three graduating classes. Yet here Henderson the supposed younger sits painting him a mystery week after week. Steve said this, Steve did that, Steve may very well be a delusion if the way the others giggle and sigh every time he gets brought up is any indication.

Welcome Home (Shed Your Skin and Expose Your Bones) | 5,019 | zade / @racetrackthehiggins

Summary: Eddie makes a bet to break into the defunct(ish) Hawkins Lab. It doesn't go according to plan.

three minute record, baby | 6,677 | alchemystique / @alchemistc

Summary: The sun, already dipping low in the sky, catches his eye in flashes as he drives past miles and miles of yellow and green, fallen leaves flying out behind the back wheels as he careens down the road at speeds he hasn’t driven since he was younger and stupider and still thought there was a chance his parents might love him. The crossbreeze flowing past him has a bite, as summer bleeds into fall and the sun falls low earlier every day – he’s glad of the sun-kissed warmth of the sweatshirt swimming around his wrists, glad of the cutting chill of the wind against his face, cold enough he can blame the streaking tears on the icy breeze. He makes it twenty minutes past the town limits before he has to pull the BMW off to the side of the road and scream.

sloe gin fizzy, do it till you're dizzy | 6,716 | MacksDramaticShenanigans / @stevethehairington

Summary: Eddie scoots down on the bed until he’s level with Steve and turns onto his side, shifting closer in the process. The movement draws Steve, and his head lolls to the side to see what Eddie is up to. It brings them nearly nose to nose, and Eddie goes a little bit cross-eyed focusing on Steve. Steve doesn’t flinch away from the closeness. Just breathes and blinks. And then his eyes flicker down to Eddie’s lips and right back up, so quick that Eddie’s hazy brain would have missed it if he hadn’t been paying attention, hadn’t been anticipating it. Eddie takes it as the invitation it has to be, and slowly, slowly closes the distance. His nose does bump into Steve’s as he enters his space, but he pauses, hesitates with his mouth hovering a hair’s breadth away from Steve’s. He waits for the rejection, for the brutal shove away, for the disgusted “what the fuck man?”. But they don’t come. What does come is Steve’s mouth, pushing forward to press against Eddie’s.

I Wanna Kiss You (But I Want it too Much) | 13,607 | xiaq / @xiaq

Summary: "I knew I liked girls," Robin says, "because I wanted to kiss girls.” “Yeah. But how did you know it was more than the normal amount?” “…the normal amount,” she repeats. “Well, sure.” Steve scrubs a hand through his hair. “Everyone wants to kiss everyone a little bit, right? Like. How did you know it was more than the normal heterosexual amount?” Robin cannot believe she’s going to have to say this out loud. She glances around the empty store just to make sure no one has somehow teleported in during the last two minutes. “Steve. Steven. There is no normal heterosexual amount of wanting to kiss people of the same gender.” He crosses his arms. “Well, that can’t be right.”

try to make this life my own | 13,969 | teiresias (kindlywest) / @stststevie

Summary: Steve learns that his parents have left their lives in Hawkins behind permanently when he wakes up and the bathroom lights don't turn on.

when you hold me tight | 2,050 | emchant3d / @emchant3d

Summary: Eddie didn’t get it at first. But now, months later, now that they’ve saved the world and they’ve gotten closer and they’re friends, they’re more, he’s starting to understand. The aftermath of Steve downplaying his injuries from the bats.

Wiggle and Flourish | 2,456 | AidaRonan / @aidaronan

Summary: Eddie says his bedroom is where the magic happens. Apparently he means it.

you had a pocket full of horses (trojan, some of them used) | 2,712 | fivecenturiesverse / @fivecenturiesverse

Summary: Steve propositions Eddie for sex one lazy afternoon at his house. Eddie definitely doesn't say no.

You Haven’t Even Asked But The Answer Is Yes | 2,988 | Sharpbutsoft (BuckysButt) / @sharpbutsoft

Summary: It’s Steve’s fault, he’ll maintain, for handing the phone over, too lazy to get up off the sofa and find his glasses. And how was Eddie to predict that, while searching for the email confirming their reservation in Enzo’s when they’re back in Hawkins next week, he’d find something else. But typing en into the search bar was enough to conjure, for just a second - a split second, even, but long enough for Eddie to read it - an email. A delivery confirmation email. A delivery confirmation email for an Engagement Ring.

Straight Knife Through The Heart | 4,958 | relenafanel / @relenafanel

Summary: Steve has no idea why he ever agreed to attend something called Death Fest. It has no resemblance to any sort of music and he's feeling cranky about it. Enter Eddie Munson. In Leather Pants. (and Steve is maybe embracing a more fluid sexuality)

Like Strangers Laugh And Like Subways Feel | 5,932 | beetlesandstars / @beetlesandstarss & fly_agaric

Summary: Hoisting his bat in the air, Steve unlocks the door and wrenches it open. Eddie Munson falls into him, up against his legs, half sprawled out across the step. Steve drops his bat with a clatter. Or: Eddie shows up on Steve's doorstep, hurt, panicked, and in need of a helping hand.

things i know/things i want to learn | 3,683 | formosus_iniquis / @formosusiniquis

Summary: He knows it's crazy. He knows it borders on batshit even. He knows it's weird and obsessive and, frankly, a little unhealthy. But Nancy Wheeler started it. "Jon is sweet, and he tries so I feel bad for even thinking it, but he just doesn't have as much fun when he's down there and you can tell. I mean, you know, when Steve did that thing he does with his tongue-"

My Right Hand Man | 4,085 | entanglednow / @entanglednow

Summary: In which movie night takes an unexpected turn, and it's surprisingly easy to just let it happen.

where it counts | 4,704 | Adure / @toburnup

Summary: They finish the movie and when Steve pulls away, it's like Eddie's been branded, Steve's palm permanently emblazoned on his skin through his jeans. He must notice Eddie's hard-on but he doesn't say anything. They talk about the movie while Eddie keeps the blanket piled in his lap and wills his dick to calm down. "Next week?" Eddie asks on his way out, voice clumsy, tripping between words. "Yeah," Steve holds the door open for him, smiles easily like Eddie's not holding his jacket in front of him. So fucking obvious. "Next week." (Steve and Eddie have a series of movie nights.)

when you find out, it's all you're gonna hear | 6,059 | QueerOnTilMorning

Summary: “Um,” says Robin. She can pack more scorn into an “um” than anyone he’s ever met. Steve looks at her with his eyebrows raised, but she just keeps scowling at him. Finally, he says, “Um, what?” “Why are you flirting with Eddie Munson?” OR: Another getting-together fic. Steve has a crush, Robin has a concern.

the space between | 6,236 | amiparanoidmuch (p1013)

Summary: It's just that Steve likes to take care of people. He likes to be needed. And God, does Eddie need him right now. So, they'd started this weird codependent sleep thing with the best of intentions. A way to find comfort, to get rest, to process what happened to them with someone who understood, who they didn't have to lie to. That's all it was meant to be.

Whole Lotta Love | 9,632 | stereobone / @stereobone

Summary: Steve scoffs. "I think if I was dating someone, Robin, I would be the first to know about it." "Would you, though?" Robin says.

The Sun Is Gone, but I Have a Light | 10,106 | ofmdLins

Summary: Eddie Munson isn't a very good vampire. He doesn't like to hunt and has never bitten a human in the couple of years since being turned. The problem is that animal blood can only sustain him for so long. Chicago, Illinois, 1993. Eddie follows the recommendation of another vampire to visit a 'donor,' a human who lets vampires feed off them for a living. What he's not expecting is for said donor to be a ghost from high school past in the shape of Steve Harrington.

you gotta get a reaction | 10,700 | jk_rockin / @jkrockin

Summary: Steve actually likes Judas Priest. The guy who sings for them has a good voice, and admitting this out loud is apparently enough for Eddie to successfully wheedle him into agreeing to drive eighty goddamn miles to Indianapolis to go see a band with him. Not that it took all that much wheedling. Turns out Steve is kind of a pushover for Eddie Munson.

Some Things Cosmic | 12,442 | stereobone / @stereobone

Summary: Steve has a dream about Eddie. And another. And another. And another...

it must be something in the water | 13,961 | rosefire / @r-o-s-e-f-i-r-e

Summary: “Oh my god,” Steve said, panic threading his voice, “Oh my god oh my god —” “Hey, dude, relax, okay, we’re gonna — they’re gonna figure out we’re stuck in here and get us out. We’re gonna be fine,” Eddie said, actively tamping down the wave of frustration rising up in him. He felt his lips pull back from his teeth, a little, slamming the button for the lobby over and over, pressing the emergency call button, remembering he didn’t have his phone. He was too close to his fucking rut for this shit. “We’ve just gotta calm the fuck down —” “No,” Steve whined, “I — I can’t —” and Eddie whipped his head around, alarmed. Steve was flushed now, and the faint sheen on his face had been upgraded to actual beads of sweat, pooling at his temples. His pupils were dilated, and while Eddie stood, frozen, because he’d never in his life heard Steve sound like that, Steve shouldered off his backpack and unzipped his windbreaker with shaking hands, still gasping for air. “Hey, Steve, dude, we’re gonna be fine,” Eddie tried again, only then Steve whipped his windbreaker off his shoulders towards him and Eddie got a face full of his scent, and that wasn’t just warm rising off of him, that was heat.

so let's sneak in from the cheap seats, honey | 13,973 | pricklywhicket / @messessentialist

Summary: The Hawkins Public Pool is open from Memorial Day to Labor Day, 8AM to 8PM, seven days a week. It employs three lifeguards, two of whom work each day: one from 8 to 2, and one from 2 to 8. Objectively, Eddie knows that it’s weird for him to know this. Why should a guy who Does Not Swim concern himself with the work roster of a public pool he Does Not Swim at? Or: Lifeguard Steve and Eddie meet up at the pool after hours.

Lover, Come Over | 14,917 | ParadimeShifts / @paradimeshifts7

Summary: “Rough day?” Eddie pries, raising an eyebrow, and Steve glances up at him with a shy smile before he returns his eyes to the ground. “Rough year,” he mutters, huffing out a weak semblance of a laugh. ----- Steve Harrington is the last person Eddie expects to see sitting on the curb when he responds to the call, but there he is, looking like absolute hell. Sometimes, love is right on time.

cybersex by Adure / @toburnup

3 Part Series | Rated E | Total Words: 7,382

Part 1 Summary: With a self-satisfied groan, he rolls over and taps her icon to send her the video. Steve presses send and closes his eyes, feels each muscle relax. A minute or two later, his phone chimes and he opens one eye to read the text. But—it’s not Emma. It’s Eddie who texted him and he frowns, swipes it open. Eddie: lol Steve sits up and fear sparks in his stomach. His hands are shaking as he scrolls up and— Yep, sent the video to Eddie.

rising moon by jk_rockin / @jkrockin

2 Part Series | Rated E | Total Words: 13,456

Part 1 Summary: Steve gets bitten by a strange dog one hot summer night. It takes him a month, and a little outside help, to work out what's wrong with him.

you are young and life is long (and there is time to kill today) by heartofwinterfell / @nancywheeeler

2 Part Series | Rated M | Total Words: 70,165

Part 1 Summary: Eddie Munson’s no hero. Too bad the universe—or whatever’s gonna be left of it—didn’t get the memo.

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