#paramedic steve

[steddieunderdogfics]

The Unintended Consequences of Fight or Flight by GhostEnthusiast

The Unintended Consequences of Fight or Flight by GhostEnthusiast

Rating: Mature

5,463 words, 1/1 chapters

Archive Warning: No Warnings

Tags: Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Scare Actor Eddie Munson, (love that that's an existing tag lmao), Paramedic Steve Harrington, Halloween, Fluff, Minor Robin Buckley/Chrissy Cunningham, Platonic Soulmates Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Platonic Soulmates Chrissy Cunningham & Eddie Munson, Kissing

Summary:

“You punched me?” “I know, I know, I’m so fucking sorry, you just scared me and-” “I scared you?” He splutters and the guy goes bright red, somehow cringing even further into himself, “I’m a fucking scare actor!” or Eddie is a scare actor in a Halloween Haunted Maze at a theme park. Steve has terrible fight or flight reflexes. They make out about it.

Thanks for the rec!

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[fantasticallyfruity4]

Okay idk abt where y’all are from but my local HS had a paramedic on site for football games at all times.

And considering we’re all down bad for paramedic Steve rn, this feels like a great au (Also, has to be punk Steve bc like, it’s me come on, I want to give Eddie a heart attack.)

Lucas decides he wants to try out for football fall of sophomore year and the part is, begrudgingly supportive.

And max and Dustin are on marching band, so they’re at the games to. And Mike and el and will and Jonathan are just there on the basis of comradely and good friendly support. And of corse Eddie and his van have to be the kids chief mode of transport.

And Eddie doesn’t meet paramedic Steve (cute paramedic Steve with the lip ring and the nose ring and the eyebrow stud) because poor sweet little Lucas got squished by some freak out on the field, or bc his good friend chrissy took a hell of a tumble coming down from a cheer and he’s such a worried friend fussing over her like a mother hen, or bc somehow someway Dustin got whacked in the nose by a flute.

No, he does this all by himself. All his own brilliance. He went to check on the Byers + co contingency before going back to hovering over his little band babies + his two accidentally adopted jocks, and takes a fucking header off the bleachers. Clears a good 3 feet if he doesn’t say so himself.

So sweet pretty paramedic Steve of corse rushes over to him in an instant, sitting him up against the side bleachers, shining a light in his eyes, asking where he is, when it is, his name, and they’ve got a little crowd of the byers + wheeler + the little Mayfield and Henderson but Steve’s paying them no attention and Eddie doesn’t even see them.

The paramedic introduces himself as Steve, he says “I’m Steve and I’m gonna make sure that you’re feeling okay tonight, okay sir?” And eddie nods dumbly.

And Eddie is answering sure, but he’s really making Steve worried bc he’s so wide eyed and taking a second to answer and it’s just worry some (he’s having a very in love mental breakdown, okay, let him be. He’s speed running visions of a life together. He’s understanding what “love at first sight” means for the first time in his life.). He’s got a the man he didn’t even know was in his dreams fussing over him. He’s going to explode.

“If I knew I’d have such a cute paramedic I’d have fallen off that wayyyy earlier tonight” Eddie says then slams his mouth shut and goes wide eyed in horror. Steve just laughs, a beautiful sound. Not at Eddie, no it doesn’t feel taunting, it’s a beautiful sweet sound.

“We’ll, if you’re thinking clearly enough to hit on me I think you’re heads definitely okay. Do you have a headache at all? Any dizzyness? You took a hell of a header, Eddie.”

Eddie shakes his head. “No just like my actual nose hurts from smacking into the dirt”.

Steve nods. “May I?” “Corse man it’s your job”.

Steve chuckles. “Stop making me laugh man, I’m on the clock. Does this hurt?” “No” Eddie answers in the most nasally voice with Steve’s fingers still squeezing his nose and he wants to die because what was that sound? But Steve just smiles softly. “Good, awesome. No pain? Breathing okay?”. Eddie nods dumbly. “So I’m gonna bet it’s just sore from smacking into the dirt, not broken.”.

Eddie nods dumbly. Again. For the 20th time that night. He can’t function. “So why don’t we just get these cuts here cleaned up?” Steve decides, reaching into his bag for a million supplies. “Think I’m gonna get any cool scars?” “Nah sorry man, not with these little guys. But it’s for the best, why mess with perfection anyway, right?” Steve winks dabbing some shit that BURNS on Eddie’s cheek before putting on a bandaid and Eddie might be going into cardiac arrest.

“I like your uh, piercings” Eddie spurts out like an idiot.

Steve grins. “Thanks. Got a peak of those bats when I first came over, got any more?”. Eddie snorts a laugh. “Yeah a shit ton. Nothing easy to see though my uncle would hang me if I made myself any less hirable”. Steve chuckles at that. “Hey man the whole f-d is all old military dudes covered in their shitty navy tats, i wouldn’t be too worried.” “Oh so there’s more where this came from? Maybe I should fall more” Eddie taxes, just a little. “Watch it” Steve chuckles.

“Okay I think you’re pretty patched up, handsome. But considering everything don’t drive tonight, especially if you have passengers. You have a ride home? Someone to call?” “Yeah I’ll just make it one of my friend Jonathan’s problem, that’s fine”.

“Okay, good” Steve nodded, taking out a small pen and pad from his pocket and writing something. “And this friend Jonathan… he’s not a boyfriend, right?”.

Eddies jaw fucking drops. Literally drops. He’s going to spontaneously combust. “Nah, no, nope man” he stutters out. “Okay, gotcha. If anything starts hurting tonight, if you get dizzy, any nose bleeds, give me a call. Or… you know, when you’re feeling better give me a call too”. He hands eddie the piece of paper with a smiley face and the name ‘Steve (the paramedic)’ with 10 scrawled numbers on it, as he stands up, offering eddie a hand up himself.

Eddie doesn’t want to think about the strength steve has that this that easy to lug his 160 pounds of trailer trash ass up. Or how he feels about what looks like the singular inch steve has on him, even in his boots.

[saramelaniemoon]

Great idea, greater execution and the greatest characters 👌👌👌

Eddie's porn stash is a pretty conventional one. An 'if you've seen one stash you've seen them all' type. It basically only consists of skin mags, some of them kinky but most of them vanilla. Normal stuff.

The oddest thing in it is a two-year-old calendar. You know those sexy firefighter calendars? Usually a charity thing? A hit with the housewife crowd? Yeah. Except this calendar decided to branch out and include a bunch of sexy men from a bunch of sexy professions.

So, in this thing, joining the sexy firefighter is a sexy doctor, a sexy construction worker, a sexy police officer (whose month Eddie tore out and burned because fuck cops but don't ever fuck cops), a sexy librarian, and so on. They're all really good-looking, but none of them hold a candle to the paramedic.

It's weird. Paramedics aren't normally part of the traditionally sexy professions. It's messy and sometimes tragic, but lacks the high-paying glamour that doctors and nurses enjoy. Eddie's had his fair share of fantasies, and none of them involved fucking a paramedic.

Until two years ago.

The guy in the calendar simply is that hot.

There's not even anything risqué about his picture. None of the pictures go beyond "this dude is chiseled and shirtless", because veering even slightly past the softest softcore territory would scare off the little housewives or something.

(Eddie is actually pretty fucking sure it'd increase the sales, but hey, what does he know.)

The point is, there's nothing that obscene about the pic. Just a guy kneeling in the back of an ambulance, first aid equipment scattered between his powerful thighs, shirt open to reveal his sculpted torso…

Dark hair spanning across his pecs, over his abs, vanishing down his tight tight tight pants. Hips canting upward, bringing attention to the size of his bulge beneath the zipper. Broad shoulders, ripped arms and large hands, veins protruding across the back. A pretty yet masculine face, with a strong jaw and a straight nose, full lips, a smattering of moles going down his biteable neck. Voluminous, golden brown hair swooped away from his twinkling eyes.

He's got this look in them, this slant to his mouth. Like he knows he's the hottest guy in the calendar.

The one month everyone will go crazy for.

Eddie has become intimately familiar with that look. No joke, in two years it's made him crack his marbles more than anyone else has done in his quarter-century lifetime. When all else fails, November-paramedic has his back. It's basically his longest relationship to date, which sounds a lot sadder out loud (and it sounded fucking sad inside his head, too).

You might wonder why any of that is relevant now, as he sits on the curb outside of The Behemoth with blood trickling from his temple, his band giving their statements to one cop while another hauls away the snarling douchebag that clipped him. How does it play a part in this god-awful night out, you ask?

Well.

"Sir?"

Eddie startles, too caught up in the thudding inside his head, made worse by the buzzing crowd, to notice the man approaching him. He looks up, his gaze gliding past uniformed legs, muscular forearms, a curved neck and honeyed eyes appraising Eddie, and oh.

Oh God.

Eddie's breath sticks in his chest and his tongue becomes a cognate to sandpaper, because it's the paramedic.

It's the paramedic. From the calendar.

He's hallucinating. He has to be. He collapsed on the sidewalk, and now he's having one last weird sex dream before his brain finishes seeping out and he fucking dies.

November-paramedic crouches in front of him. Eddie continues to gape like he's getting ready to catch the peanuts no one is tossing at him.

"My name is Steve. I'm with the ambulance," November-paramedic says. "What's your name?"

Eddie makes a noise incomprehensible to most Earth cultures before his brain registers the meaning of the question and stutters out the answer.

"I- Uh- E-Eddie. It's, it's Eddie."

November-paramedic – Steve – smiles kindly. Heat prickles across Eddie's cheeks and neck. It's not the same as the cocky, sexy smile he's got in the calendar, but still. He's smiling. At Eddie!

"Hi, Eddie." He nods toward Eddie's temple. "That's an impressive cut you got there. May I take a look at it?"

"Yeah? Yeah. Um, g-go ahead."

As Steve sets down his bag and rummages through it, Eddie scours his face to confirm that it really is the guy from the calendar. To his chagrin, it is. There's no mistaking it. Those eyes, like liquid gold. That jawline, a weapon in its own right. Those moles, applied so skillfully it must've been by an artist's hand. That hair, coming straight out of a commercial for luxury shampoo. It's lying flatter than in the calendar, either lacking product or having sweated it out, but it's still glorious.

Steve, having finished washing his hands, tugs on a pair of disposable gloves. The plastic snaps against his wrist, sending a shiver through Eddie. It centers between his legs. Shit, if he pops a boner now…

"I'm going to ask you some questions, okay?" Steve says while pressing a square piece of gauze against the cut. "Do you know what day it is?"

"Eh, Thursday?"

"Do you know where you are?"

"The Behemoth."

Steve nods and, with a lopsided smile, asks, "And are you a patron or did you and your head injury just wander onto the scene?"

Eddie laughs. Loud, merry, and verging on too long. It wasn't even that funny. Steve seems pleased his joke was a success, though. Unless his smile is the uncomfortable kind that one wears when faced with the unhinged. Eddie isn't sure how much blood he's lost.

"No, I, like, my band…" he says, stammering like talking isn't what he does best. Jesus Christ, it's just a hot guy! Eddie has made a fool of himself in front of those plenty of times – no need to get flustered about it. He clears his throat. "We had a gig and, after, at the bar, some guys got into a fight. Got ugly, so we tried to leave, but… alas!" He makes a dramatic sweep of his arm, nearly clocking Steve. Steve expertly ducks away without lessening the pressure on the wound. Eddie soldiers on, not daring to pause lest he lose his steam. Hopefully his burning face is enough of an apology. "Fucker wasn't even aiming for me. He missed his intended target and struck me instead."

"Right. Did you lose consciousness after he hit you?"

"Nope."

"Good. Did you drink tonight?"

"Half a beer, at most."

"Do-"

"Eddie!"

Gareth's nasally voice cuts off Steve's question. The next second, he's materialized beside them with a slightly alarmed expression. "Dude, are you…!"

He trails off, eyes growing into dinner plates. There isn't that much blood, is there?

Steve looks Gareth up and down, a crease between his brows. "Is this your friend?"

"My drummer. Gareth."

Eddie half-expects Steve to demand Gareth leaves so he can do his job in peace, but nope. That kind, calm smile is back. He even gives him one of those little upward-nods 'cool guys' like to do.

"What's up, Gareth? I'm Steve; I'm with the ambulance. Just making sure Eddie won't keel over later tonight."

"Uh huh…" Gareth kneels opposite Steve. He's smiling too, but his is shit eating. Eddie frowns in confusion, because what does Gareth have to be happy about? He was freaking out right after Eddie got hit, but now he's staring at Steve like-

Oh.

He's staring at Steve.

No. Noooooooooo! Oh shit! Oh fuck! Oh why, why has he kept his porn stash in a drawer without a lock all these years?! He can't recollect the reason Gareth opened that particular drawer on that particular day – all Eddie remembers is how Gareth, Jeff, and Marv snickered when he explained the inclusion of the calendar.

That was it, though. They moved on. Sure, there has been the occasional roasting after the fact, but it's not like he hasn't also mocked them for their weird shit. But that's not the point. The point is that Gareth is staring at Steve like he recognizes him.

Gareth's attention flicks toward Eddie. Eddie shakes his head as subtly yet pleadingly as he can. Gareth's grin gobbles down another turd. Eddie makes a valiant effort to explode Gareth's eyeballs with his mind.

"Say…" Gareth turns to Steve. "Have we met?"

"I don't think so. Eddie, do you have a headache?"

"Yeah, man," Eddie says, voice trembling. "Hurts like hell."

"I could've sworn I've seen your face before," Gareth says. "Like, I'm 100% sure."

"Are you dizzy or nauseous?" Steve asks, ignoring Gareth.

"Um, a little dizzy but no nausea?"

"Hmm, okay. Blurred vision or uneven numbness?"

"No."

Steve nods, glancing at his watch. Then, to Eddie’s dismay, he looks at Gareth. "I've never been to this bar before."

"Nono, not here. Somewhere else…"

Steve's lips purse and his brows knit into the most adorable thinking-face Eddie has ever seen. His heart skips a beat, then skips two more as Steve's free hand gently cups Eddie's cheek. The skin catches fire where Steve's gloved fingertips touch it.

"Let me have a look at your pupils…" Steve says, guiding Eddie's face and, holy shit, leaning in close for a better look.

Eddie gulps, half his blood rushing up and the other half down; he squeezes his legs together to prevent the little guy from saying 'hello' to everyone present. His eyes rove over Steve's face. His lips are chapped and the skin on his nose is dry. The nose itself is somewhat crooked. Did he get into a fight between the calendar photoshoot and now, or did they make the nose straighter for the photo? Why would anyone think it necessary to edit a face like this one? Even with its imperfections mere inches away, it's still the handsomest Eddie has seen.

Steve hums. It's a perfectly preserved vinyl. It's a metal festival. It's Eddie's new favorite song.

"Same size but pretty dilated… Keep your eyes open, please." He shines a tiny flashlight into Eddie's eyes before nodding, satisfied. "All right, looks good."

He leans back out of Eddie's space, returning Eddie's ability to breathe, and removes the gauze. His smile tells Eddie that the bleeding has stopped. As great as it is that he won't hemorrhage to death, it also means their encounter is approaching its end.

"You might've seen me at the university campus?" Steve says, fiddling with some plasters; it takes Eddie's horny brain five full seconds to deduce he's talking to Gareth again.

"No-" Gareth freezes, mouth hanging open. His smugness has evaporated. "Actually, I might have? You're a student?"

Steve chuckles as he patches the last of Eddie's cut. "No, but my friends are. None of them own a car, so I end up driving them everywhere. Right, Eddie, I think you're good to recover at home. Unless you feel like you should head to the hospital?"

Great question! Does he? On the one hand: riding in the ambulance with Steve, ensuring a few additional minutes of his lustrous eyes and smooth voice.

On the other hand: hospital bills.

"… no."

"Okay. Do you have anyone who can keep an eye on you?"

Eddie shakes his head. "I live alone."

"Then maybe Gareth could hang around for the next 48 hours?"

"Sure can," Gareth says without hesitating. Eddie's heart swells with affection for him, despite his (failed! Hah!) plot to mortify Eddie to death.

Steve is already packing his medical bag.

"I want you to rest and avoid stressful situations," he tells Eddie. "No alcohol, no recreational drugs, no driving, and no working until you feel completely recovered. You may take tylenol, but not aspirin or ibuprofen. And if your symptoms worsen or you develop new ones – seek medical attention. Got it?"

The last part is sterner, reminding Eddie of every male authority figure he's strived to disobey during his teenage years. He has no such desire this time.

"Got it."

Steve raises his eyebrows as if to say 'have you really?', and Eddie has to wonder if it's he who seems contrariant and/or stupid enough to ignore the medic or if this is something Steve does with every patient. If it's the former, he mustn't seem that contrariant, because Steve's features soften into trust. He stands, brushing dust off his knees.

"Great. You boys take care now. Have a nice night."

"Yeah, you too, man," Eddie calls after him weakly as he retreats to the blinking ambulance. "Thanks…"

He keeps his gaze on the broad expanse of Steve's back, soaking in the rippling of his muscles as he walks and, oh would you look at that, his ass is as nice as the rest of him. Eddie's been wondering for two years now…

"Dude!"

Eddie jerks toward Gareth. Did he say that out loud? Did he drool? Is his boner showing? But no, Gareth isn't disgusted or disturbed – he's excited.

Shit.

He'll never hear the end of this.

"Don't!" he hisses.

Gareth just laughs, eyes twinkling.

"That was-"

"Don't!"

"I can't believe it!"

"Gareth-"

"You are so red right now!"

"For Jesus fucking Christ's fucking sake-"

------------------------------

Dedicated to @rougenancy for always listening to and encouraging my various thoughts opinions, and ideas (they are constant).

Part 2

[jadewritesficshere]

Rockstar!Eddie who, after rehab, returns home. Have support as he tries to make this time stick (he's also pretty positive Wayne will actually kill him if his assistant Nancy doesn't first). He's told to try some healthy habits.

So Eddie tries to be good. Decides he'd try yoga, cause that's the last place anyone would expect to find him (not that people recognize him much outside of his stage makeup and costuming).

And it's fine. The instructor is nice and takes pity on him, practically staying with him the whole time. Talks his ear off, but it helps distract him from the muscles he didn't realize he had that ache as he stretches.

His hands are flat on the ground, trying to do a downward dog position. "Hips up," a male voice calls. "You're not even an instructor!" The girl snaps, before lightly touching Eddie's hips to position him correctly. He glances up, ready to mouth off to the man but-

He's a fucking God on earth. A male Adonis. Truly a perfect specimen. Hair pushed back that Eddie wants to run his hands through. That tiny waist, slightly shown off in a muscle tank, oh God Eddie can see chest hair and a hint of abs and-

Eddie's hands slip out from under him. Face crashing into the floor. The startled yelp he lets out rivals the instructor's. He simultaneously can't feel his face and also feels way too much of it.

Eddie can feel strong hands grab his shoulders, carefully turning him, one large hand cradling the back of his neck for support. He peers up into the concerned, hazel eyes of the Hottest Man On Earth.

"Holy shit, you okay?" The man asks, fingers lightly touching Eddie's nose. He can feel it already swelling and blood start to come out of it. "Definitely broken," the man sighs and frowns down at Eddie," You okay otherwise? Lightheaded, dizzy, seeing stars?"

"I think I just fell for you." Eddie replies, causing the instructor to snort and laugh as the Loveliest Most Handsome Man blushes.

[piratefishmama]

Angel | Steddie Oneshot

Eddie Munson never believed that he’d go to Heaven. Sure he’d been raised in a catholic household, his uncle was religious, he’d been raised to give thanks for the food they ate, to pray before bed that should he not wake, his soul the lord take an all that jazz.

Wouldn’t believe it to look at him, to hear the songs he sang, the music he played. Wouldn’t believe how he’d been raised if one were to go by covers instead of contents.

But despite his upbringing in the very catholic Munson Trailer of Forest Hills Trailer Park, he never believed he’d go to heaven. Something about queers and submitting to sin and blah blah blah it’d been a long-ass time since his last confession, but Uncle Wayne stopped reminding him a few years back, so he had an excuse to keep ��forgetting’ to do it.

Turns out, one did not need to go to confession to make it to heaven!

Angels would just. Turn up, apparently.

Maybe he’d done something good that he wasn’t aware of, he did go to that Make A Wish thing a few weeks back, DM’d a whole one shot for the kids, he’d spent hours there, a whole dang day just… hanging out with sick kids.

Maybe that was it. Maybe that was what brought this heavenly creature to his side.

To cut a long story short, he was on stage one minute, belting out the lyrics from the final verse of the last song in their set ‘Into the Underdark’, Jeff was slipping into the ending guitar solo, Eddie was gearing up for an end of gig crowd surf and the next.

The next he was looking into a bright, blinding light that kept moving between his eyes.

He’d always been told not to go to the light. If you see it? Don’t go to it, going to it would make whatever trip you were going on a one way ticket, there was no going back when you reached that light. Just hang back, wait for the resuscitation, it’d happen, someone would breathe life back into you, or whack you with enough voltage to get that heart kickin again, just don’t go into that light.

That light was way too close to his eyes, and he couldn’t swat it away. His arms felt tied down. Rude.

And then the light was gone, had he reached it? Was that it? One way ticket stub punched, sorry Earth, Munson out. “Mr Munson? Can you hear me?” Oh what heavenly chorus, the light had momentarily blinded him but shit… when his sight came back, at least enough to make out the vague shape of a very square jaw, of angular features, of warm hazel eyes, and a luscious head of hair surrounded by a halo of brilliant white light.

Angel. He had an audience with an Angel. It could only be an Angel. Neat.

He’d enjoy the ‘I Told You So’ he got from his uncle whenever the old goat made it up there he hoped it wouldn’t be soon though, he’d prefer a longer wait than a short one, thanks.

“Mnn… I hear you big boy, are you sure I’m in the right place though? I’ve been told Heaven wouldn’t want me” it sounded smooth in his head, but he was pretty sure he slurred half the words.

How could he have a slurred voice in Heaven? That didn’t seem fair.

Oh he’d forgive the slurred speech bit if the angel kept making that wonderful music with his vocal chords, that little giggle of a laugh, so bubbly and sweet, yep. Somehow he’d weaselled his way into Heaven. Suck it soccer moms. “Well, at least you can summon the strength to be charming.”

He was charming? An angel thought he was charming? Hell yeah, he’d rock this heaven shit, he already had an in with the big, winged boys!

“I can summon the strength for other stuff too, worship ain’t ever really been my thing but, baby I think I can learn for a literal Angel” he’d subject himself to an afterlife on his knees gladly if it meant he’d have his hands curled around this creature’s thighs, his mouth on—

“Oh wow…” Eddie couldn’t really see it properly thanks to the lovely blinding spots in his eyes that was no doubt his eyes adjusting to heavenly light, but he was sure his angel was blushing, he sounded a little breathless. Good. “You’re uh… wow”

Eddie hadn’t had much charm before becoming world famous but, he’d gained a little experience. Women and men alike throwing themselves at him, knowing he wasn’t all that fussed, babes were babes. All genders welcome to hop on and take a ride. He knew it was mostly the fame, he was still the same nerd he’d been back in high school, but… if fame got him laid then fame got him laid.

At the very least it gave him the experience to flirt with one of Gods pretty little birds. Maybe even score if the reaction he got was any indication.

So much for lust being a punishable sin, huzzah.

Steve was having a day. Okay no, Steve was having a whole week. The only upside to his overtime riddled ass, was that Robin had been on the majority of his shifts with him, so they could at least talk in the ambulance while they roamed the streets waiting for chaos to drop.

Monday, it’d been a seven car pileup on the highway, a few lost limbs, no fatalities but one hell of a close call on two accounts.

Tuesday, it’d been a tumble at a care home resulting in a popped hip and some heavy flirting from a few old ladies. Poor Robin suffering it from a few old men trying to shoot a shot they didn’t have.

Wednesday it’d been crisis after crisis resulting in him not finishing his shift until six hours after he was meant to finish his shift.

Thursday he had one blessed night off, thankfully his on-call status hadn’t dragged him in, and he got a decent six hour nap in.

Friday, another car wreck, he didn’t want to think about that one.

And now Saturday.

Dispatch sent them to the sold out arena, some idiot had leapt off the stage likely for a crowd surf, his foot tangled in an amp chord, it reduced his air time dramatically and he brained himself on one of the guard rails.

Excellent. At least he wasn’t dead.

Which given how easily one could wind up six feet under from such a whack to the head, he was lucky.

They parked by the side exit, shuffled in by security, and right through into the arena. The patient hadn’t been moved as per dispatchers instructions to the person who’d called. No moving the idiot until the professionals arrived and determined it safe.

Cameras, flashing lights, big beefy security guards standing in front of them blocking the majority of what was happening from view, there was… quite a bit of blood there. It didn’t look pretty in that lighting. “The crowd’s too much, let’s get him to the ambulance.” Robin’s patience didn’t exist when it came to large crowds.

Too many people. Plus she’d been on shift five hours longer than he had.

“Alright, you two, c’mere” Steve singled out two of the big security guys “we’re gonna need you to help us get him onto the gurney, we’ll look him over in the back of the ambulance.” There were no broken bones, nothing stopping them from moving him just enough to get him to the ambulance unscathed.

And then, somewhere between writing out paperwork, checking vitals, and Robin googling who this guy was, said guy… woke up.

Steve, being closer, was quick to check responsiveness, pupils reacted well to light although a concussion did look likely, they’d cleaned up the blood and found the cause to be a cut just above his left eyebrow that’d probably make a kickass scar and oh.

Without the blood. Oh. Oh he was pretty. Pretty plump lips, long lashes, deep brown eyes, faint freckles across his nose. All that hair. He was pretty.

“Mr Munson? Can you hear me?” He’d asked, while shining that little torch into those pretty brown eyes, left to right to check the responsiveness. And then he spoke and Steve— well. Robin was eyeballing him judgementally pretty damn hard given how fast his face flamed red.

Her head in her hands, her fingers plugged into her ears as Munson rattled off promises of worship and good lord— Steve didn’t know what to say, what to do, what does one do when a hot yet slightly delirious rockstar offers to worship your ‘angelic body’?

What does one do with that?

One awkwardly stutters through thanks while bright red and toasty until they can part with the guy at the ER wishing he’d met him under better circumstances cause it’d been a long ass time since anyone even touched him let alone worshipped him but accepting that he’d probably never see the guy again, so it didn’t really matter.

Until a few days later when the official Corroded Coffin account slid into his DM’s on Instagram, apologised profusely, and requested very sweetly to make it up to him with dinner the next time he was free.

Signed Eddie. With a little angel emoji. How on earth could he say no to that?

[xoxoladyaz]

You're My Heaven, Angel (Paramedic Steve x Rockstar Eddie) - Part 2

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 (Coming Soon)

AN: I just wanted to say a quick THANK YOU to everyone who has been so kind and so supportive of Part 1! I hear you and I, too, want to create a whole series based around this idea. It's a lot of pressure following-up something that's so beloved, but I'm going to give it my best!

Robin must secretly hate Steve.

She must be the most incredible actress in the entire world. She must be the most prolific conman that’s in the business of conman-ing people or whatever. She must have made a blood oath with an elder god during a full moon that no matter how many days or weeks or months or years it took, she would one day make Steve Harrington’s life absolutely miserable. There’s no other reasonable explanation for why she insists on taking the scenic route to Eddie’s room - a scenic route which adds on two additional minutes of travel time instead of heading straight down the hallway (which maybe adds forty seconds tops). 

A route which means Steve has to bear two additional minutes of Eddie loudly introducing him to every single doctor, nurse, patient or family member that they come across on the way to his suite. Never mind that Steve’s worked with most of these doctors and nurses for years now, never mind that he actually goes to Sharla’s poker group when he has Thursdays off with the other fifty-something moms on staff (which Robin never ceases to find absolutely hilarious); no, Eddie is all smiles and arm flourishes, loudly – too loudly – proclaiming that they are now in the presence of his angel, his baby, his angel baby, the love of his life, the apple of his eye, his amor, his partner, his husband – 

“Congratulations, Steve! I didn’t know you got married!” Sue laughs as the entire production passes by. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve rolls his eyes. Eddie blows her a noisy kiss before clearing his throat. He takes a deep breath, and – 

“I’M GETTING MARRIED IN THE MORNING - ”

“Robin, he’s singing again!”

“I know, dingus, I can hear him.”

“DING DONG, THE BELLS ARE GONNA CHIIIIIMMMEEEEEEEE - ”

Steve turns back, risking a glare at Robin mid-step. “Remind me why we’re going the long way around?”

Robin snorts out a laugh, shit-eating grin firmly in place. “Come on, Stevie, we all need the exercise.”

“ – GET ME TO THE CHURCH ON TIMMMMMEEEE – Stevie? Stevie,” Eddie turns and sighs at Steve and okay, Steve can’t tell if Eddie’s eyes are super dilated because of the probable head trauma or if there’s a weird reflection from the fluorescents, but his eyes are, like, legit sparkling up at him. “Steeeeeevieeeee - ”

“Yep, I’m still here.” Eddie grins, flopping to the side so that their joined hands are resting up against his head. He sighs happily, his feet wiggling under the shock blanket, and it’s not cute Steve stop thinking it’s cute – 

“Steve!” He pulls his eyes away just as the gurney comes to a stop in front of Brenda, one of the intake nurses currently on shift. Brenda’s blonde and cute and ethically non-monogamous, but Steve is more of a one and done sort of guy. That doesn’t mean they don’t flirt like crazy anytime they bump into each other, though. (Hey, he’s gotta stay in shape somehow.)

“Looking good today. Is that a new shirt?” She asks with a smirk, her eyes running over his biceps. (It’s not a new shirt, Robin just ran it through the dryer, so it shrunk. Really, he should have gotten rid of it, but it makes his biceps look amazing.)

“Nah, it’s - ”

He has a line. He has a great line. But as soon as he opens his mouth to speak it, he’s cut off by a very loud hissing sound coming from his left and – 

Yep, it’s Eddie. Eddie, who’s glaring at Brenda like they’re mortal enemies. Seriously, it’s a good thing he doesn’t have laser eyes like that one superhero guy because if he did, Brenda would be at risk of getting too tan.

“MINE!” Eddie snaps at the end of his hiss and then, all while still maintaining eye contact with Brenda, he yanks Steve’s hand to his mouth and licks it. And not, like, a gentle lick that you’d get from a puppy. No, Eddie licks his hand like he’s trying to give Steve a tongue bath.

(His first instinct should be to pull away, but instead all Steve can think about it Eddie giving him an actual full body tongue bath - )

“Dude!” Steve exclaims when he does finally pull his hand away. (He hears Robin snort under her breath, clearly having caught onto the fact that his brain broke at the whole licking thing and shit, now he’s thinking about it again - )

“No, MINE!” Eddie growls, and Steve barely has a chance to wipe his hand on his pants before Eddie is grabbing it back, clutching it between both of his hands like it’s his special or something. (Special, was that the word that the guy used? The little creepy guy in that one movie? He needs to text Dustin and ask.)

“Aww, I’m glad to see you’ve finally met someone!” Brenda teases.

“Uh, yeah,” Steve replies distractedly, trying (and failing) to shake one of Eddie’s hands off of his hand because now that they’re actually at his suite, he’s going to need them. “Brenda, this is - ”

“The concussion patient from Lollapalooza, Sarah clued me in,” Brenda says, snapping her gum. “Eddie, right?”

Eddie pauses from wrestling with Steve to sniff at Brenda and honestly, as someone who spent way too much time at country clubs as a child because of his parents, Eddie has the whole I’m-better-than-you-you-poor-person-wearing-Adidas expression locked down. “That’s Mister Eddie to you, Briony.”

Briony? “Who’s Briony?”

Robin kicks the gurney forward with an eye roll and suddenly they’re moving into the suite. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, dingus.”

Eddie finally manages to tear his eyes away from Brenda. He perks his head up at Steve and once Steve’s face is in his line of sight his expression softens, the sparkles coming back in full force. “And it’s such a pretty head, baby.”

Such a pretty head SUCH A PRETTY HEAD – 

“I’ll show you – ow, Robin, seriously?” Steve yelps at Robin’s pinch.

“Stop being horny and help me get him on the bed.”

“I’m - ”

“Don’t listen to her baby, please, please stay horny, and lose the shirt while you’re at it!” Eddie sits up and starts frantically grasping at Steve’s sleeves. “Christ almighty, these arms, arms of heaven, arms of an angel - ” 

“Steve!” Robin barks and shit, he needs to focus. He takes advantage of the fact that Eddie let go of his hand to grab at his shirt and darts down to the other end of the gurney. They lift on a count of three, placing Eddie onto the bed and kicking the wheeled cart out of the way. (Eddie makes a loud WHEEEEEEEEE sound and then immediately goes back to demanding that Steve get naked.) Sarah, who’s followed the procession the entire time, grabs the empty cart and wheels it out of the room just as Brenda steps in.

“Well then, Eddie, let’s get started on intake,” Brenda nods, bringing out her iPad. “Are you ready to answer a few questions?”

“No.”

Robin groans and steps to the side, energetically fluffing and reorganizing Eddie’s pillows so he’s seated up. Somehow Eddie is able to lean around Robin’s wide-armed movements and fix Brenda with yet another piercing glare.

Brenda shoots Steve a look before nodding her head at Eddie.

Right.

“Hey, uh, Eddie, we really need to ask you a few questions - ”

“Hand!” Eddie snaps to look at Steve and sticks his hand towards him. He wiggles his fingers a few times before making a grabby motion. “Hand!”

It’s not cute. It’s totally not cute.

Steve sighs but walks back around from the foot of the bed and places his hand gently in Eddie’s. Eddie links their fingers and squeezes tightly. “Uh, how about now, is now okay to ask a few questions?”

Huffing, Eddie looks at their fingers for a few moments before looking upwards at Steve. Their eyes meet and he grins. “Hi angel,” he lets out a pleased sigh. “I missed you.”

Don’t say it don’t say it DON’T SAY IT - 

“I missed you too, Eds.” 

FUCK.

“Awwwww, my little schmoopers are being all schmoopy-moopy!” Robin sings in her best baby voice. (That’s it, he’s eating the rest of the Chunky Monkey.)

“I’m eating the rest of the Chunky Monkey.”

“Uh, like fuck you are.”

“I'd rather have you eat me,” he hears Eddie whisper and yeah, okay, that’s one he’s just going to choose to ignore for the sake of what little sanity he has left.

“Right, okay,” he hears Brenda try to get things back on track. “About those intake questions - ”

“Oh, don’t worry Nurse Brenda,” the lilting voice of Dr. Suzie Henderson floats into the room. “I can take it from here.”

Steve turns just in time to see Suzie strut into the emergency suite. She shoots Brenda a grateful nod and Brenda, with one last wink to Steve, hands her iPad off to Suzie and heads out of the room. 

“Bye Steve!”

“Bye Brenda.”

“Yeah, bye Brittany!”

Suzie has the best laugh in the world, and she lets it fly on her walk over. “Hey Steve,” Suzie grins at him as she makes her way towards the foot of Eddie’s bed. “How are things going today?”

“Oh, good,” Steve replies quickly before turning to look at Eddie. “Eddie, this is Doctor Suzie Henderson, she’s my sister-in-law.”

Eddie slowly scooches his butt backwards so he’s sitting up more. “No, she’s our sister-in-law,” he huffs before turning and smiling at Suzie. “Hey sis!” 

“And you must be Eddie! I heard you were thinking about marrying into the family.” She lets out a quick giggle at those words but then clears her throat and throws her shoulders back. “Well, if you are serious about joining our Steve in holy – or unholy – matrimony - ”

“Fuck yeah,” he hears Eddie whisper.

“ – then I’m going to need you to answer a few questions.”

“Proceed, milady.” Eddie starts gently caressing Steve’s hand with his fingers. Steve shoots a look at Robin, who makes exaggeratedly sappy faces while glancing between Steve and their intertwined fingers.

(Forget the Chunky Monkey, he’s eating all of the ice cream they have left tonight.)

“Full name?”

“Edward Anthony Munson.”

“Age?”

“Thirty-one.”

“Name of your emergency contact?”

“Oh, that would be Uncle Wayne and Chrissy! Baby, you’re going to love Wayne,” Eddie says, turning to gaze lovingly up at Steve. “And he’s going to love you! Not as much as I love you though, that’s impossible.”

(Steve’s pretty sure that Bambi eyes here is the impossible one.)

“Great, is Wayne and Chrissy’s contact information in your medical file?”

“Uh huh,” Eddie replies dreamily, still gazing at Steve. 

“Okay, speaking of your file,” Suzie taps at her iPad, “any major events in your medical history that we should know about?”

“Hmmm?” 

He can feel it on his face, he can feel his stupid grin on his stupid face, but he chooses to instead focus on helping Eddie pay attention. “She wants to know if there’s major health events in your past that we need to know about, Bambi.”

“Bambi?”

“BAMBI?!” Robin squeaks after Eddie.

Shit shit SHIT -

“I mean - ”

“Bambi,” Eddie hums, blinking rapidly as he slumps back against his pillows. Once he's settled, he tosses his free hand across his forehead and moans happily. “He loves me. He loves me, he loves me, HE LOVES MEEEEEE - ”

Don’t blush DO NOT BLUSH BODY STOP BLUSHING

“Oh my god that was amazing, I have literally never seen you this red, you look like an actual tomato. Oh my god, I have to tell Nance, like, now.”

“Right, yes, okay Bambi,” Suzie interrupts with a snicker, “like Steve said, is there anything we need to know?”

“Well, we’re in love,” Eddie sighs, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Stevie’s hand. “I think I’m still a little high but it’s only weed, I’ve definitely stopped doing cocaine since, like, five months ago. No need to worry about that, angel,” Eddie pats the top of Steve’s hand.

“Yeah, no, I definitely won’t worry about that.” (He’s definitely going to worry about that.)

“Well, thank you for your honesty, Eddie. I’m going to take a closer look at your files once we get them just to get a better picture of your overall health before we run our tests. Now, second set of questions,” Suzie loudly taps and drags a new window on her tablet open. “What is your annual income?”

(Huh. That’s weird. Steve’s doesn't think he's ever heard any of the nurses ask that question before.)

Eddie snorts out a laugh. “God, I make so much money. A fucking stupid amount of money.”

“You have something in way of a retirement plan then?”

“Doc, I could retire for, like, the next five hundred million years.”

Susie hums as she makes a note. “Do you have anything against sharing resources with your romantic partner?”

(Okay, Steve definitely hasn't heard anyone else ask these questions before.)

“Nah!” Eddie scoffs before gently tugging on Steve’s hand to get his attention. “You’ll be the hottest trophy wife, babe. Do you have an apron? I’m going to buy you an apron.”

“And what are your feelings on children?”

“Kids? I love kids. Is he good with kids? I bet he’s good with kids,” Eddie rushes out. “Fuck, you’re going to look so hot pregnant, baby.”

Robin makes a loud barfing noise which Suzie naturally ignores. “What exactly are you looking for in a relationship?”

“Suzie - ”

“Him! My angel,” Eddie slumps to the side so he’s leaning up against Steve’s hip. “I want to wrap him up in a warm towel and keep him forever and make sweet, sweet love to him under the - ”

“OKAY, next question please,” Robin loudly cuts him off.

“So what you’re saying is you’re looking for a committed relationship with Steve,” Suzie ignores Robin's dramatics. “Are you prepared for lifelong monogamy?”

“Absolutely.”

“Suz - ”

“And you’ll work every day to be deserving of Steve?”

“For the rest of my life,” Eddie proclaims and fuck, he actually sounds serious. He actually looks serious too.

Huh.

Suzie quietly observes him for a moment before her face relaxes into a warm smile. “I believe you. Now, dealbreakers. What are your opinions on outdoor weddings? Steve gets scared in churches.”

“What?!” Eddie gasps, snapping back to Steve.

“SUZ – what, no, I’m not afraid of churches - ”

“Uh yeah you are, you said that every time you visit one you get nightmares about being sacrificed on an altar,” Robin chimes in.

“Gee, thanks, Robin.”

“Baby, baby, don’t worry, I’d never let them sacrifice you,” Eddie tries to comfort Steve, but everything that’s happened in the last thirty seconds – hell, the last thirty minutes – is starting to finally sink in and yeah, okay, there’s an obscenely hot and rich and famous rockstar telling Steve that he loves him and sure, he’s partially concussed but the joke isn’t ending, he’s acting like he’s serious and they’ve only exchanged like maybe twenty words total but he’s acting like this is actually happening and what if it actually could – 

“Shoot, we’re going to have to wrap it up here, loverboy,” Robin waylays his runaway thoughts as her beeper goes off. “We’ve got a fainter with a broken nose."

“Okay, okay.” Steve shakes his head and tries to gently extract his hand from Eddie’s grasp but Eddie lurches at the feeling of Steve moving his hands and whines, digging his finger into Steve’s hand.

“Eddie, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get back to work.”

“But – no, angel, please,” he blubbers before turning his eyes on Steve and –

Oh.

Oh no.

They’re even bigger and shinier when he’s crying.

“I’m sorry, Bambi,” he replies totally deliberately, “but I’ve got to go finish my shift. I’ll come back when I’m done, okay?”

Eddie sniffles, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Okay,” he whimpers sadly, and – look, this joke isn't really joking anymore so if Eddie's gonna go all the way, he might as well go all the way too.

He leans forward and presses a quick kiss to the top of Eddie’s head. “Be good for Suzie, okay?” As he draws back, he glances back down at Eddie. Eddie is blinking dazedly at Steve, all glassy-eyed and rosy.

“Wow,” Eddie whispers, and while the smile that appears on his face is small, it’s the warmest one Steve has seen yet. “Whatever you say, baby.”

“Right, right.” Steve nods and then pivots, making a hasty retreat out of the room.

“Later, Bambi,” Robin sings behind him, and then she’s quick on Steve’s heels. The hall’s crowded, though, so they aren’t fast enough to escape the start of Suzie and Eddie’s conversation. 

(“So, outdoor wedding? Maybe in spring?”

“Can it be in Hobbiton?”

“Uh, it better be in Hobbiton!”)

“I’m kinda surprised to see you staking your claim already, dingus,” Robin says, thrusting the portable gurney mat into Steve’s arms as they walk. “I was worried I’d have to make you.”

“I shouldn't have done that. I mean, he’s a patient, Robin!”

“Not anymore, he’s not!” Robin gently bumps his hip. “He's not your patient anymore so now we need to start planning your next move. I mean, he’s obviously going to say yes when you ask him out, but it still needs to be smooth.”

“What – I’m Steve Harrington, I’m always smooth.”

Robin is purposely silent.

“Okay, first of all, rude,” he says after giving her plenty of time to politely agree. “Second of all, even if I did decide to make a move, there actually isn’t a guarantee he’d say yes. Even if he wasn't just doing this because he's heavily concussed, I’ve hardly talked to the guy!”

“I know, he has no idea how much of a dork you are, it’s great.”

Steve offers Robin a hand as he climbs into the ambulance. (Not without shooting her a look once they're both seated, of course because again, rude.) 

Robin shrugs Steve's frown off. “Look, dingus, I know you think that you have all these great lines or whatever - ”

“Uh, I don’t think, I do have them - ”

“ – but they’re, like, obviously lines. Whatever you say to him has to be more real. He needs to know that if he says yes, he’s going to be going on a date with a guy that has the ooiest, gooiest, squishiest little itty bitty heart!” She squeezes her hands together like she’s holding Steve’s heart in her hands (which definitely isn’t concerning given the fact that she’s technically a medical professional who knows just how vulnerable that particular organ is.)

“Robs - ”

“ITTY BITTY!” She kisses the tips of her fingers. “And that’s why we gotta plan, doinkus. Edward Anthony Munson needs to be constantly conscious of the fact that he’s dating the best guy on the entire planet because you are, Steve, you are the best guy on Earth and you deserve a Prince Charming even though the Prince Charming archetype is totally outdated and part of a patriarchal initiative to establish systematic gender dynamics - ”

Well, shucks. Maybe Robin doesn’t hate him after all.

“ - doesn't exist, its still what you deserve. But more importantly than that, if Eddie does start dating you, then I have a better shot of getting him to introduce me to Chris Hemsworth.”

“Chris Hemsworth?"

“Uh, yeah.”

"Chris Hemsworth - Chris Hemsworth? Out of every famous person Eddie could hypothetically introduce you to, you'd want to meet Chris Hemsworth?"

"Well, yeah," Robin takes a brief sip of her water before shooting Steve a playful smirk. “I mean, as great as you are, I wouldn't be opposed to upgrading my emotional support himbo.”

Never mind, she’s evil incarnate.

(And she’s going to be out of Chunky Monkey in about five hours.)

Tags list: @piratefishmama @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @noxturnallyevermore @little-trash-ghost @justforthedead89 @mmmmwaffles94 @omletlove @lostonceandneverfound @sweetwaterangel @punctualhowell @sapphirecobalt-1 @kedtheduck @lunesispunk @mrs-dr-reid @clockworkballerina @stayonmars @maya-custodios-dionach @kahri1 @renaissan-vvitch @xwildangel @sweetarts116 @musical-theatre-gay @ladylokilaufeyson5 @ellietheasexylibrarian @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @designatedgrape @steddiesoulmates @starlightshadowsworld @inmoonywetrust @hellfire--cult @singmeyoursimpsong @sleepdeprivedflower @loserhotline @m-owo-n @magpiemuseum

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

I kind of want to see Steve and Robin become paramedics after this. I just think they'd have interesting ways of keeping people alert and awake.

[lesservillain]

I think we have an emergency…

emt!steve harrington x nurse!reader

[pemsha]

sooo i did that little thing based on @2btheanswertothequestion 's steddie+paramedic steve au (check it out, its my favourite thing right now!!)

[inklessletter]

I don't usually do any fic rec but I think that it is a perfect time for everyone to read @2btheanswertothequestion 's November Paramedic.

It's funny, sexy, relatable, easy to read, pining at its best, friendship at its bestest and as a pretty special bonus, a delicious Max&Steve sibling like relationship.

Gareth I love you.

[steddieunderdogfics]

Visions Of the Things to Be by findafight

Visions Of the Things to Be by findafight

Rating: General

2,866 words, 1/1 chapters

Archive Warning: No Warnings

Tags: Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington Are Best Friends, Eddie Munson Lives, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Pre-Season/Series 04, Post-Season/Series 04, EMT Steve Harrington, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Crack Treated Seriously, Developing Relationship, References to MASH (TV), 5+1 Things, sorta?, Background Steve and Claudia Henderson bonding, the inescapable nature of north america's most popular scripted show of all time, Floor Rum Cake, and the inherent romanticism and dedication implied therein, Steve Harrington Loves MASH

Summary:

The one thing Eddie loved that was, for all intents and purposes, mainstream (eugh) was M*A*S*H. Of course it was. Hawkeye Pierce was a…formative experience for a young Eddie, and he wasn't ashamed of that. The chaos Hawkeye formulated and controlled in his persona was a goal Eddie truly aspired to. His swagger and confidence and easy charm whilst also being a snarky asshole was everything Eddie wanted to embody. So. It was…frustrating when Henderson swanned into hellfire complaining about Steve goddamn Harrington having a fucking wine night (wine!! Night!!) with his mother. OR Eddie loves M*A*S*H almost as much as Steve does, and fancies himself a bit of a Hawkeye Pierce character, only to find out he is...incorrect. About a lot of things. OR OR 5 times Eddie was annoyed at Steve Harrington's apparent equal love of the war doctor show, and a few times he wasn't really annoyed at all.

Thanks for the rec!

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

[sidekick-hero]

Blinded by you

(steddie | 2.1k | rated T | silly fluff | AO3 Link)

There are a few simple truths in Eddie Munson’s life.

Jeff Hanneman is the best guitarist in the world. Mac’n’Cheese counts as a balanced meal. He’s the least organized person he knows.

It’s the last one that gets him into trouble the most. He knows it. He tries to be better. But he can’t help it that his brain is usually all over the place. There are too many thoughts in his head to keep track of them. If he doesn’t write it down, it won’t be happening.

He should have written it down. Uncle Wayne, 10am, breakfast. It’s the first time his uncle visits him at his new apartment. Which is great and all, he’s proud that he found his this place and manages on his own.

Only problem is: he may have forgotten to clean the place.

Now it’s 2 in the morning and he just remembered that in about 8 hours, his uncle will arrive and be faced with what only could be described as a mess.

So, Eddie does the most logical thing that comes to his mind: he cleans the shower.

The showerhead is covered in limescale and Eddie wonders how he even managed to shower this morning. Did he shower this morning? He sniffs under his armpit and decides that no, he definitely didn't shower this morning.

He takes off his clothes and gets the bleach from under the sink. Why not combine both tasks and be done with it? He can be efficient when he wants to be. His uncle would be proud.

The showerhead is over his head and he puts some of the bleach on the scrubber and starts scrubbing the limescale.

One minute he's looking up at his hand scrubbing away, the next there's a burning pain in his eyes. He lets out a yelp and drops the scrub brush into the shower.

"Shit! Fuckfuckfuck."

He squeezes his eyes shut, but the pain doesn't go away. It only gets worse.

There's a distant memory in his mind that when something like this happens, you're supposed to flush your eyes with clear, running water, so he turns on the shower, waits a few seconds for the bleach to wash away, and steps under the spray.

He forces himself to open his eyes and let the water wash away the burning liquid. But there's still too much limescale, so he stumbles out of the shower and over to the sink. He bends over it and opens the faucet.

For the next five minutes, he lets the water run in and out of his eyes, praying to the gods that he does not lose his sight. Even by his standards, that would be the stupidest accident that ever happened to him. And that’s counting the time when he succeeded in breaking both hands at the same time.

The pain eases a bit, but his eyes still burn like hell. He thinks about just going to bed and hoping it'll go away in the morning. But then he imagines waking up to a world of darkness and reaches for the phone instead.

Swallowing his pride, he dials 9-1-1.

Later, he will remember this as one of the most embarrassing and surreal moments of his life. Him, standing in the doorway of his kitchen next to the phone, naked as the day he was born, water dripping all over the floor, his eyes squeezed shut. The receiver in his hand and a nice young man on the other line asking him what his emergency is.

I'm a fucking idiot, seems to be the best answer to this question.

"I accidentally got bleach in my eyes and they're burning like hell. I'm afraid I'm going to lose my sight."

"Okay, sir. Have you rinsed your eyes with clear water?"

Eddie pats himself on the back for his excellent survival skills, happily ignoring what got him here in the first place.

"Yes, I did. For at least five minutes. But it still burns really bad and when I try to open my eyes, everything is blurry and it hurts even more."

The operator on the other side was humming and Eddie could hear him tapping away at his computer. "Very good, Mr. -" The operator pauses and Eddie remembers that he hadn't even said his name, just blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Figures. "Munson. Edward Munson."

"Very good, Mr. Munson. May I ask what exactly happened?"

Shit. How embarrassing.

"I was cleaning my shower."

"At 2 in the morning?" Eddie winces.

"Yes?"

"Okay, Mr. Munson. We're going to send an ambulance to you. Explain to the paramedics what you told me and show them the chemicals you used. And please keep your eyes closed for now so you don't irritate them any more. Do you understand?"

Eddie nods, then remembers that the guy couldn't see him. "Yeah, I got it. Wait for the ambulance. Don't open my eyes. Show them the bleach."

"Very good. Oh, and Mr. Munson. A word of advice? Next time, clean the shower during the day and wear goggles and gloves." Eddie promises to do that and hangs up.

And so Eddie waits. Still naked and wet, his eyes closed.

The doorbell rings and he walks over to the door, stubbing his toe more than once on the way.

"Hello?" he asks through the door, not wanting to expose himself to a stranger and get arrested for public indecency.

"Hello, sir. We're here for an emergency. Something with bleach and possible eye damage?" A deep voice answers from the other side.

Eddie opens the door, eyes still closed, and says, "That would be me." The man gasps softly and Eddie is a little surprised. Doesn't he see a lot of naked people at his job?

He turns and walks to the bathroom, stubbing his toes again on the way, expecting the paramedics to follow him into the apartment.

"Sir, please wait. Where are you going?" The same voice, now closer.

"To my bathroom. The operator told me to show you the bleach. I left it there." A warm hand wraps around his arm and Eddie realizes for the first time how fucking cold he is.

"Sir, we need to examine you first. My partner can get the bleach in the meantime." His next words are not addressed to Eddie, but to the person behind him. "Robin, could you look for the bleach in the bathroom? Make sure you bring back anything you find that might be important."

Eddie feels someone walk past him and he wants to open his eyes so badly. He feels naked, exposed. Vulnerable.

The man in front of him speaks again, his tone soft. Soothing. "I need to look into your eyes and examine the damage. I will shine a light into them. It will probably hurt, but you must keep your eyes open. I promise to be as quick as I can, okay?"

All Eddie hears is 'keep your eyes open', so he does. His eyes are still burning like a son-of-a-bitch, but his vision is finally clearing up. Kneeling in front of him, rummaging through a large leather bag, is the most beautiful man Eddie has ever seen.

The literal angel at his feet chooses this moment to look up at Eddie through strands of golden hair. His beautiful, beautiful face is inches from his dick and Eddie has to do everything in his power to keep it from greeting the man in front of him like an excited puppy. Down boy, he thinks.

He has maybe ten seconds to be embarrassed by his nakedness before he notices a pair of pretty hazel eyes that are examining everything but his eyes. They linger on Eddie's dick and suddenly he's not ashamed anymore.

"You know, I hurt my eyes. Not my dick."

The guy starts and covers it with a cough. *"Sorry, sir. Wandering mind. Let's get to it."

"You can call me Eddie. And I wouldn't mind something else wandering while you do your examination." The most adorable blush adorns the man's cheeks, and Eddie is more than grateful that his eyes may still burn, but they work just fine. What a shame it would have been to miss such a sight.

The paramedic recovers quickly. He stands up again and takes a step closer to Eddie, radiating heat. Eddie wants to rub his cold skin all over it. Did the fumes go to his head?

"Well, Eddie. I think we'll focus on your eyes for now, okay?" Eddie starts to pout exaggeratedly, but hisses in pain as the blinding light hits his eyes. He instinctively closes his eyes and pulls away from the source of his discomfort.

A very warm, very large hand cupped his face and stopped him from retreating any further. "Hey, man. I'm sorry I startled you. But you gotta show me those big brown doe eyes of yours, okay?"

How could he ever say no to this? Eddie opens his eyes again and the hand on his cheek never leaves while the paramedic shines the light into both of his eyes. It hurts, but not as much as before.

"Your eyes are pretty." The guy says softly, and Eddie gets the impression that those words were not meant to come out of the paramedic's mouth.

“If all you wanted was to stare into my eyes, we could’ve just gone to dinner.” Eddie quips and the hand on his face drops, leaving him feeling cold and bereft.

"I mean, your eyes are pretty irritated." After what feels like minutes, but is probably no more than a couple of seconds, the guy turns off the light and puts it away. "But I don't see any encrustations or scar tissue on your cornea. Did you clean them with water?"

Eddie nods. "Yeah. At least five minutes, I think."

The guy hums. "No wonder they're irritated. Ah, Robin. You got the bleach?"

The other paramedic, a young woman also about his age, steps forward. Eddie wonders how long she's been standing there and how he missed it. The fumes have really done something to his head, he thinks.

Mr. Most Beautiful Face in the World takes the container from his colleague and examines it.

"Okay, I got to ask, Eddie. How did you get bleach in your eyes?"

And so Eddie tells them the whole story. It's no less embarrassing the second time he tells it, and the incredulous faces they make don't help.

"So, just to be clear. You accidentally got bleach in your eyes while trying to take a shower and clean said shower at the same time? At 2 in the morning?"

That sounded awfully judgmental, so Eddie does what he does best - deflect.

"You know what else I'd like to accidentally get in my eyes, big boy?"

"Please don't do that. What does that even mean?"

Admittedly not his best line, but he should get some credit for pulling any lines after the night he just had.

"It's the shock! You should be nicer to me, I almost died!"

"Jesus, are you always this dramatic?" Eddie thinks the guy is trying to sound annoyed, but the fond smile on his face ruins that impression.

"No? I mean...does it work? I mean. No, 'course not."

Before Eddie can put his foot in his mouth any further, the other paramedic chimes in. "It's kind of entertaining to watch...whatever this is. Like a very bad romcom or one of those cheesy soft porn things. But we really have to go, Steve. You know, to work?"

And there is that adorable blush again. Eddie has only seen it twice, but he's already hooked. Wants to cause it every day, wants to find out how deep it goes under the very loose, very revealing scrubs the guy - Steve - is wearing.

"You're right, sorry, Robs. Okay, Eddie, it looks like your eyes are fine, just irritated. You should go to bed and rest them for a while. They should be fine in the morning."

With that, they both turn and head for the door. Now or never, Munson.

"Steve, wait!"

Steve turns back to him, an expectant look on his face.

Eddie smiles his most disarming smile and says, "You better write down your number for me in case this happens again."

Steve laughs in surprise, the sound so beautiful that Eddie wants to record it. "You don't remember 9-1-1?"

"What if I just want a certain paramedic to check me out?"

There are some simple truths in Eddie Munson's life. One of them is that while his chaotic mind might get him into trouble now and then, it also got him a date with the most gorgeous guy he ever met.

___________________

As usual, my unending love and gratitude for the worst enablers I ever met, @legitcookie and @yournowheregirl 💜💜💜

Any and all resemblance to persons living or dead should be plainly apparent to them and those who know them, especially if the author has been kind enough to have provided their real names and, in some cases, their phone numbers. 

[imfinereallyy]

does anyone have any good paramedic Steve fic recs? Or nurse/medical field ones? Even firefighter ones? (no cop ones we are acab in this house) I’ve been craving a good steddie with paramedic Steve. I feel like I’ve burned through a lot of them, but I might have missed some. Maybe I’ll write one because they just hit so good.

[hotluncheddie]

i like college au’s where eddie isn’t in college bc ur damn right he would not

[xoxoladyaz]

*trips and 2K words fall out - hope I did right by you @piratefishmama *

Link to Part 2!

Steve Harrington didn’t get flustered.

Like, ever.

Call it dedication to his work, call it “a sign of growth” (Nancy’s words), call it “being-a-reformed-manwhore” (Robin’s words), but Steve knew how to keep his head and stay calm even in the tensest of situations.

He hadn’t always been this way; the Steve of old, i.e. the Steve from Hawkins High School, had been a notorious ass-kisser, using his wiles and charms to get whatever he wanted from whomever he wanted. (A coping mechanism ingrained in him at a young age due to ill-attentive parents and stemming from his own feelings of self-hatred and lack of worth, according to his therapist Cindy. She was brutal but man, she always hit the nail on the head.) But somewhere along the line – falling in love with Nancy, being dumped by Nancy, and then meeting a clumsy redhead named Robin during his second week of paramedic training – he’d learned that he didn’t have to put on a façade to make people care or love him; being Steve was enough, and when he realized that? Game changer. Ten years removed from high school and he really, truly loved his life in a way that he’d never imagined he would as a douchey-seventeen-year-old.

Did he still turn on the charm with people? Of course. But it was never because he was using someone else. It was because he wanted to make them smile, or show that he cared, or help them remain calm in the midst of a high-stress event. And, not to brag or anything, but he knew how to flirt when he met someone he wanted to try dating. He knew all the tricks in the bag, he knew how to play the game, and he always came out on top.

Had he been on any dates in the last few years? No, not really, but he wasn’t looking for hook-ups anymore Robin, and no, it wasn’t because his skills were falling out of use or whatever. He just hadn’t met the right person, but when he did? Please, his future boyfriend/girlfriend/partner would have had no idea what hit them.

At least, that was Steve’s rationale up until this morning. That was before he and Robin were called out to Lollapalooza to get some guy who’d tried crowd-surfing shipped off to the hospital.

That was before he’d laid eyes on Steve and started flirting like his goddamn life depended on it.

/////

“Good afternoon, sir. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

The guy is laid out on the ground, surrounded by empty beer cans and cigarette butts. His security team has managed to get everybody out of the way, which is a miracle in and of itself because good god, the festival grounds are absolutely jam-packed with all kinds of intoxicated people. (He must be really famous to have a security that large and that good to get that done.)

The guy blinks up at him, making a questioning sound. “Whuh?”

Steve shoots a look at Robin, who nods before motioning for Dan and Sarah to grab the gurney. This guy was definitely going to need the hospital. “Okay, sir, what is your name?”

“Ed – don’t you know it? You should know it,” the man slurs out, his eyes slowly focusing in on Steve.

“Um,” Steve shoots another look at Robin, “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m going to need you to give us your name.”

“It should be on your list, right?” The man waves his hand. “Ya know, your list at the pearly gates.”

A loud sigh issues from above him and Steve glanced up to see another guy with short, curly hair sighing down at the prone man. “You’re not dead, man.”

(Steve glances between the two quickly; they’re both dressed in leather pants, although standing guy is wearing a black tee that has the sleeves ripped off while his patient is shirtless. And covered in tattoos. And wearing eyeliner. And whose hair was long and luscious looking and fuck, he’s hot, he’s really, really hot.

Shit.)

The man on the ground shakes his head and then winces at the movement. “Nuh uh, no way man, I’m gone,” he sighed out. “I’m seeing angels, Gare.”

“You’re seeing – oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” the standing man – Gare? – lets out a loud groan. “Seriously, Eddie?”

“Your name is Eddie, then?” Steve jumps in, and the lying man – Eddie’s – eyes lazily fall back on Steve. Their eyes are locked now and Eddie starts to smile, and his smile is wide and bright and oh fuck, keep it together Steve.

“O, speak again, bright angel, for thou art as glorious to this night, being o'er my head, as is a winged messenger of heaven, unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes of mortals fall back to gaze on him,” Eddie says, gesturing wildly at Steve, his hand reaching for Steve’s cheek. Steve darts out of the way and Eddie frowns (adorably), his hand falling back onto the ground.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Huh,” Robin pops up to his right. “Well, he’s definitely concussed, but he can still recite Shakespeare, so that seems like a good sign. I still think we should take him in.”

“I - ” Steve is going to say something, he really is, but in the minute he looks away from Robin, a hand covered in rings grabs onto his and yanks and he falls forward, barely managing from landing on top of Eddie.

“Did you fall just for me, angel?” Eddie smirks at him and shoots him another wink.

“God, please take him in,” he hears Gare speak above him, and Steve barely manages to extract his hand from Eddie’s and push himself up and away.

(It’s just some flirting, Harrington. You’re, like, the King of Flirting. You can handle this.)

/////

Steve, actually, cannot handle this.

Getting Eddie onto the gurney was a process, mainly because Eddie kept trying to grab Steve’s hand and would make crying sounds every time he missed. And not only that, he kept up a steady stream of lines – like, man, Steve thought he had lines, but these were ridiculous.

Hey, can you take off your clothes for me? I want to see how an angel hides its wings.

Is that a ladder in your pants or are you a stairway to heaven?

Hey Gare, how do I ask God’s permission to marry one of his angels?

His friend Gare – Gareth, he’d clarified – just stood around and apologized as they loaded Eddie up into the ambulance. He at least had a modicum of professionalism; Robin couldn’t stop snickering at Steve’s plight and more than that, she egged Eddie on, telling him all kinds of personal information about Steve.

“The only wings he has are the butterfly wings of his tramp stamp, bud,” Robin says when Eddie asks about Steve’s wings again.

Eddie gasps and reaches for Steve (who is trying and failing to get an IV drip going). “Fuck, angel, it’s like you were made for me. My angel,” he murmurs out, and when Steve shifts out of his reach, the guy has the audacity to actually start tearing up.

“Dingus, hold his hand,” Robin hisses from the other side of the ambulance.

“I’m trying to get his IV hooked up, Rob,” Steve hisses back. He barely suppresses a yelp when one of Eddie’s hands slides up his thighs towards his waist.

“Here, let me,” Robin says as she slaps the window to the driver’s seat. She darts over and takes the IV away from Steve.

Sighing, Steve reaches down and grabs Eddie’s hand before it can cup him in his pants. Eddie somehow manages to look simultaneously happy and sad that Steve is holding his hand (and that he's not holding something else.) “Aww.”

“Sorry, buddy, he doesn’t put out before the first date,” Robin laughs again.

Eddie gasps, like he’s offended she would suggest such a thing. “I’m offended you would suggest such a thing! You – you don’t treat a priceless jewel like some common rock! You cherish it and take it out to dinner and then make love to it and have its babies!”

Steve’s beet red. He knows his face is beet red. And judging by the look at Robin’s face as she gets buckled in across from him, she’s enjoying this way, way too much.

“You’re enjoying this way, way too much.”

“What can I say? It’s not every day I see Steve Harrington blush.”

“I’m not blushing,” Steve hisses at her, but he’s prevented from saying more by Eddie yanking him towards his face. 

Eddie smiles, his eyes running all over Steve’s face. “Are you an angel?”

“Oh my God,” Robin snort-laughs into her shoulder. Steve looks up and shoots her a glare.

“Traitor.”

“But if you’re an angel,” Eddie says, drawing Steve’s attention back down to him, “does – does that mean I’m dead?”

“What? No, no, no,” Steve rushes out, trying to comfort him but now Eddie is in tears, and fuck he’s even pretty when he cries, shit shit shit – 

Steve squeezes his hand. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re okay, it’s going to be okay – ”

“Dear Lord,” Eddie starts out, and okay, he’s praying now? 

“When I get to Heaven,” Eddie takes a deep breath, opens his eyes and beams up at Steve, “please LET ME TAKE MY MANNNNNNNN - ”

Jesus Christ, he’s singing Lana del Ray.

“WHEN HE COMES, TELL ME THAT YOU’LL LET HIM IN, FATHER TELL ME IF YOU CAN - ”

Eddie’s really giving it his all with this performance and honestly, Steve would be a bit more impressed if he wasn’t bleeding from his head in the back of his ambulance. (Although in a way that does make it even more impressive.) It’s just – look, Steve’s been subjected to a lot of people flirting and hitting on him in his tenure as a paramedic and he’s never crumbled, not once. But for whatever fucking reason, this stupidly hot metalhead somehow has his heart by the balls (or whatever. Look, he’s a paramedic, not a wordsmith, he doesn’t need to be the words guy in this relationship.

Not that this is a relationship.

Fuck.)

“OH THAT FACE, OH THAT BODY - ”

Steve tears his eyes away from Eddie to look at Robin who is – yep, she’s filming this on her phone.

“Seriously? That’s a HIPAA violation waiting to happen!”

“Please, when you guys get married three years from now, you’ll be thanking me,” Robin’s grin is shark-like. “Besides, it’s not every day your best friend gets serenaded by a Grammy-winning artist.”

So this guy is super famous then. “Huh?” Is all Steve manages to say.

Thankfully (or unthankfully) he’s interrupted by Eddie. “HE MAKES ME SHINE LIKE DIAMONDSSSSS!”

One second of silence.

Five seconds.

Ten seconds.

“WILL YOU STILL LOVE ME WHEN - ”

For fuck’s sake.

Sarah slides open the window to the front. “We’re pulling in now,” she grins, shooting a look at Steve and Eddie, who’s still singing his heart out and has a death grip on Steve’s hand.

“I KNOW THAT YOU WILLLLLLLLL - ”

“Yep, yes, okay, thank you,” Steve says, pulling his hand out of Eddie’s grasp. Eddie immediately starts pouting again and makes grabby hands. “No, nope, it’s time to see the doctor.”

“But, but, angel baby,” Eddie whimpers and god, it feels like he’s actually tugging on Steve’s heartstrings, “I just found you. You’ll stay with me, right? Please please please please please - ”

“Of course he will,” Robin hops in, to which Eddie cheers. “Besides,” she winks at Steve, “Suzie’s the one on shift today. Don’t you think it’s time for Eddie to meet the family, Stevie?”

Steve can feel the blood rushing to his face while Eddie gasps happily. “Yes, please! Don’t worry, baby, I’ll make a good first impression,” he says, patting Steve’s hand like Steve’s the one in trouble right now.

(Which he definitely is.)

Robin and Dan get Eddie (and his gurney) out of the ambulance and onto the ground, and it’s only when Eddie starts loudly yelling – nay, screaming – for his angel of music that Sarah pokes him in the shoulder and Steve gets moving.

He hops out of the ambulance and Eddie stops yelling. “Hi baby,” Eddie giggles and holds out his hand. “Are you with me, angel?”

(He shouldn’t entertain this; Steve Harrington is calm, cool, collected. He’s a goddamn professional.)

Steve sighs, walks over, and wraps Eddie’s hand in his. “Yeah, you demon, I’m with you.”

Eddie beams, and Steve can’t stop himself from smiling back at him.

(Yeah, this guy might be the one that broke his streak, but something tells him that when Eddie is finally in his right frame of mind, Steve will certainly be giving him a run for his money.)

we need more Rockstar Eddie braining himself trying to do a crowd surf and Paramedic Steve having to endure a very embarrassing drive to the hospital where said rockstar keeps asking him if heaven sent him.

[rootedinrevisions]

Through the Wreckage

SUMMARY: When a devastating tornado tears through town, Tyler Owens faces his worst nightmare: the woman he loves is missing. Tyler is thrust into a desperate search through the wreckage to find her. As the storm's aftermath unfolds, it forces him to confront his fears, regrets, and hopes for the future.

A/N: So got inspired for this after watching Twisters earlier today. Just the anguish that we saw from Tyler when he realized Kate was driving into the tornado made me wonder what would happen if the person he loved was missing or in danger. Hence where we ended up here.

WARNINGS: Destruction (ie: a tornado hit so damaged buildings, smoke, dust, sparks, etc.), Blood, Minor Injuries.

WORD COUNT: 3.6k

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell: Himself (RPF), Characters He's Played

Twisters: Tyler Owens, Boone, Scott, Javi

Top Gun: Maverick: Rooster, Hangman, Bob

Marvel/MCU: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

WWE/Wrestling: Cody Rhodes, Corey Graves, Damian Priest, Drew McIntyre, Finn Balor, Jimmy Uso, Jey Uso, Kevin Owens, L.A. Knight, Pat McAfee, Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins (if there is someone you're thinking of from WWE and they aren't on the list feel free to ask! There are so many guys on the roster that these were the ones that came to mind.)

The tires screeched as Tyler pulled up to the scene, gravel crunching beneath his truck. He barely shifted into park before throwing the door open and jumping out. His boots hit the ground with a thud, and the first thing his eyes locked on was the building—partially collapsed, its front wall completely gone. The inside was exposed like a broken shell, with beams hanging at jagged angles and smoke or dust curling into the air from where drywall and bricks had crumbled. His heart sank like a stone in his chest. This wasn’t good.

Behind him, Boone’s truck came to a stop, followed by Dani, Dexter, and Lily piling out of their vehicles. Tyler barely registered the sound of their voices calling his name as they ran toward him. His world had narrowed to the destruction in front of him, and one thought pounded in his mind: She’s in there.

Pulling his phone from his pocket with shaking hands, Tyler checked the last location pinged from your phone. His stomach twisted. It matched this address. He swallowed hard, the weight of dread pressing down on him as his eyes scanned the crowd of people that had been pulled from the building and huddled together on the other side of the street. His pulse quickened as he searched for you, desperate for even a glimpse of your face. But you weren’t there.

“Tyler, man, slow down,” Boone said, gripping his shoulder as he came up beside him. “Let’s figure out what’s going on—”

“She’s not out here,” Tyler cut him off, his voice tight and raw. “She’s not with them.” He gestured toward the crowd of people being tended to by paramedics. 

His chest heaved as the realization hit him like a freight train: You were still inside.

Without another word, he turned and made a beeline toward the first responders standing near the edge of the debris. His strides were long and determined, his jaw set in grim determination as he ignored Boone’s calls to slow down. 

The closer he got, the more chaos surrounded him. The air smelled of smoke and damp concrete, and the sound of crackling debris mixed with shouts from firefighters. But none of it mattered.

“Did everyone get out?” Tyler shouted, his voice hoarse as he reached the nearest firefighter. “Did you see a woman—about this tall, light hair?” He motioned frantically, his green eyes darting around. 

He already knew the answer from their hesitant expressions, but he refused to accept it.

“Sir,” one of them started, stepping forward, “it’s not safe—we weren’t able to get to everyone.”

“Where. Is. She?” Tyler growled, his frustration boiling over. His voice cracked, raw with fear and desperation. “Her phone’s still pinging from here! I need to know if she made it out!”

Another firefighter shook his head grimly. “We’re still doing sweeps, but the building’s unstable. Most of the front wall came down in the collapse. We can’t risk—”

“Bullshit!” Tyler snapped, cutting him off as he took a step toward the wreckage.

Boone and Dexter were on him in an instant, grabbing his arms to hold him back.

“Tyler, don’t,” Boone urged, his voice low and firm. “You can’t go in there, man. It’s not safe. They’ll handle it.”

“She’s in there!” Tyler shouted, wrenching free from their grip. His voice cracked as he pointed toward the ruined building. “I know she is, Boone! I’m not waiting around while they do their sweeps!” His voice was shaking now, and for a moment, the raw emotion broke through his resolve. His chest heaved, his shoulders trembling as he ran a hand over his face, trying to block out the fear clawing at his mind.

The building groaned, a deep, unsettling sound that warned of further collapse. Tyler’s eyes darted toward it, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. 

If you were inside, he wasn’t about to stand by and let the clock run out.

“I’m going in,” he muttered under his breath, and before anyone could stop him, he broke into a sprint toward the wreckage.

“Sir! Stop! You can’t go in there!” a firefighter yelled, his voice sharp with authority.

Another called out, “It’s too dangerous! The structure’s not stable!”

But Tyler didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down. The sound of boots pounding behind him told him Boone or Dexter was probably trying to catch him, but he didn’t care. All he could see was the shattered entrance ahead, the gaping maw of destruction that had swallowed you whole.

As he crossed the threshold, the air inside hit him like a wall—thick with dust and smoke, making it hard to breathe. He pulled his shirt up over his nose and mouth, squinting to see through the haze. The floor was littered with debris—chunks of drywall, splintered wood, and jagged shards of glass. Wires hung loose from the ceiling, some sparking as they dangled.

The creak of shifting metal echoed through the space, and Tyler froze for a moment, his eyes darting upward. A beam groaned overhead, threatening to give way. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to move, stepping carefully over a fallen section of wall.

“Darlin’,” he shouted, his voice hoarse and strained. “Where are you?”

His heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the wreckage, his eyes darting from one pile of debris to the next. The oppressive silence was broken only by the occasional crackle of sparks or the distant shouts of first responders outside.

“Come on, darlin’. Give me something,” he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling. He tried to focus, to ignore the dread clawing at the edges of his mind.

Tyler’s boot crunched on something, and he looked down to see a broken picture frame, the glass shattered across the floor. Around it were scattered papers, children’s drawings, and a few books covered in dust. He swallowed hard, the small remnants of normal life a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding him.

Pushing forward, he weaved through the destruction, stepping over overturned chairs and avoiding the sharp edges of broken furniture. The air grew hotter the deeper he went, the faint smell of something burning making his stomach churn.

And then he saw it.

A shoe.

Tyler’s breath caught in his throat as he recognized it—your shoe, half-buried beneath a pile of rubble. He stumbled forward, dropping to his knees as his shaking hands reached for it.

“Sweetheart?” he called, his voice breaking. He tossed aside chunks of drywall and splintered wood, the sharp edges cutting into his palms. Blood smeared across the debris as he worked, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was getting to you.

Finally, he uncovered your leg, and his heart seized. You were pinned beneath the debris, your body motionless. Dust and grime streaked your face, and your hair was tangled with bits of plaster.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice trembling as he reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face. His fingers were gentle, but his hands shook uncontrollably.

Leaning closer, he pressed his fingers to the side of your neck, searching desperately for a pulse. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. And then he felt it—a faint, fragile beat beneath his fingertips.

Relief flooded him, and a choked sob escaped his lips. 

“Thank God,” he breathed. “I’ve got you, darlin’. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

At the sound of his voice, you stirred faintly, your head shifting against the debris that cradled it. The faintest groan escaped your lips, so quiet he almost missed it. Tyler froze, his heart skipping a beat as his eyes shot to your face.

“Darlin’?” He said, his voice trembling with equal parts hope and fear. He cupped your face with one dirt-streaked hand, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “Hey, hey, it’s me. Can you hear me, sweetheart?”

Your brow furrowed slightly, and your lips moved, though no sound came out at first. He leaned closer, his ear inches from your face.

“Ty...” The broken syllable fell from your lips like a lifeline, and his chest ached at the sound of it.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Your eyes fluttered weakly, just barely cracking open, but it was enough. Enough to send relief crashing over him in a wave so powerful it left him dizzy.

“Oh, thank God,” he murmured, his hand sliding down to grip yours. He squeezed it gently, willing his strength into you. “Stay with me. Keep those eyes on me, okay? You’re gonna be fine. I promise.”

You tried to say something else, your voice a faint whisper he couldn’t quite make out. He shook his head, tears pricking his eyes as he crouched lower to meet your gaze.

“Don’t try to talk,” he urged softly. “Just save your strength, darlin’. I’m getting you out of here. Just stay with me, okay? That’s all I need you to do. Stay with me.”

The faintest flicker of a nod came from you, but it was enough to shatter the fragile composure he’d been clinging to. His free hand pressed to his mouth as he choked back a sob, his chest heaving with the weight of his fear and relief.

The building groaned again, a deep, ominous sound that sent a shiver down his spine. He knew he didn’t have much time. He slid his arms beneath you, cradling you against his chest as he stood.

With you in his arms, Tyler turned toward the exit, his focus unwavering despite the chaos around him. All that mattered was getting you out of here alive.

Tyler adjusted his grip on you, holding you closer as he stepped carefully over the uneven ground. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

The air inside the building was suffocating. Smoke and dust hung thick like a heavy fog, clawing at his lungs with every breath. His throat burned, and each inhale felt like dragging sandpaper across raw skin. He coughed, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before forcing them open again. He couldn’t lose focus—not now.

Sparks rained down from a severed electrical wire overhead, the sharp sting biting into the exposed skin of his arms. He flinched, gritting his teeth as the acrid smell of singed fabric filled the air. 

“Stay with me, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice rough and desperate as he looked down at you. “We’re almost out of here.”

Your body shifted slightly in his arms, and a soft, raspy cough escaped your lips. Tyler’s heart jumped at the sound. Panic surged through him, as he saw how shallow your breathing was.

“You still with me?” He called, his voice cracking. “Hey, can you hear me? Talk to me, sweetheart.”

You coughed again, your eyelids fluttering briefly but not opening. A weak, almost inaudible groan escaped you.

“That’s it,” Tyler said, his tone urgent but soft like he was coaxing you back to him. “You’re doing good. Just keep breathing for me, okay? We’re getting out of here.”

He stumbled slightly as the ground beneath him shifted—a section of flooring sagging under the weight of the debris. Tyler’s knees buckled for a moment, and he tightened his grip on you, his heart racing.

“Dammit,” he muttered, steadying himself before pressing forward.

The building groaned around him, the sound of metal twisting and concrete cracking growing louder. He could feel time running out.

Another section of ceiling collapsed behind him, sending a fresh plume of dust into the air. Tyler ducked instinctively, shielding you as debris rained down. A sharp edge grazed the back of his neck, and he winced, but he didn’t stop moving.

The exit was just ahead—a faint sliver of light visible through the haze. Tyler pushed toward it, his legs trembling with exertion. His vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges as the lack of clean air began to take its toll.

His steps faltered, and he coughed violently, nearly doubling over. For a moment, he thought his legs might give out, but then he felt a small, trembling hand against his chest. Your hand gripped weakly at his shirt, your head lolling slightly against his shoulder.

“T-Tyler...” you rasped, your voice barely audible. 

His breath hitched, and he forced himself to keep moving. 

“I’m here,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’ve got you, darlin’. Just hang on.”

The exit grew closer, but the smoke thickened, clawing at his throat and lungs. Tyler stumbled again, his knees hitting the floor as his body screamed for oxygen.

“No,” he growled, shaking his head as he clutched you tighter. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself back to his feet, ignoring the way his legs trembled beneath him.

The light from the exit grew brighter, and he could hear the distant shouts of first responders outside. They sounded muffled like he was underwater, but it gave him just enough hope to keep going.

Sparks rained down again, burning his exposed arms and neck, but Tyler turned his body to shield you, hunching over as he pushed through the final stretch. His back felt like it was on fire, the fabric of his shirt sticking to blistering skin, but he didn’t slow down.

Finally, he broke through the haze, stumbling out onto the pavement. The fresh air hit him like a punch to the chest, and he gasped, his knees giving out as he sank to the ground.

“Help! Somebody—” he coughed violently, his voice raw and barely audible. “Somebody help her!”

Paramedics rushed toward him, but Tyler’s focus was on you. Your face was pale, streaked with dust and sweat, but your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. He reached up to brush a trembling hand against your cheek, his fingers stained with soot and blood.

“Stay with me, sweetheart. You’re safe now.” He whispered, his voice cracking as tears welled in his eyes. 

Tyler cradled you in his arms, his knees rooted to the pavement as the chaos of the world around him blurred into background noise. His only focus was you.

Your head lolled weakly against his chest, and your breaths were growing more shallow and uneven by the minute. A fresh wave of panic crashed over him as your eyelids fluttered, threatening to close.

“Hey,” he called softly, his voice trembling. “No, no, darlin’, stay with me. Look at me.”

Your eyes opened slightly, your gaze unfocused as you struggled to lift your head.

“I… can’t,” you murmured, the words barely audible.

“Yes, you can,�� he said, his tone firm but full of emotion. “You’re not quittin’ on me now, you hear me?”

You coughed softly, your body trembling in his arms. Tyler adjusted his grip, pulling you closer as if he could shield you from the pain and the fear.

“We have plans, remember?” His voice cracked as he spoke, tears welling in his eyes. “Dinner tonight, just you and me. You told me you wanted to get dressed up, and said I needed to wear that tie you like. I’m not lettin’ you out of that, sweetheart. You still owe me a dance.”

A weak smile tugged at the corners of your lips, but it quickly faded as your eyelids grew heavier.

“And the church,” he continued, desperation lacing his words. “The little church your parents got married in. We’ll get married there, just like you’ve always wanted. You can wear that lace dress you talked about, the one you saw at the boutique last spring.”

You made a small sound, something between a laugh and a sob, and your fingers twitched weakly against his chest.

“And kids,” Tyler added, his voice breaking completely now. “Two–hell, however many you want. We’ll give ‘em the best damn life, I promise you that. Just… just stay with me, darlin’. Please.”

Your eyes fluttered open again, glassy but fixed on him.

“Three or four?” you rasped, a faint hint of amusement in your tone.

Tyler let out a shaky laugh, relief washing over him like a flood. He cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing away a smudge of dirt from your cheek.

“Yeah, three or four is perfect, darlin’,,” he said, his forehead pressing against yours as his tears mingled with the soot on his face. “Whatever you want, sweetheart. Just tell me the names you’ve got picked out, and I’ll make it happen.”

You gave a weak, tired smile, and he could feel the slight rise and fall of your chest against his. But your body still felt too limp, too fragile in his arms.

“Don’t you dare close those eyes again,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “Stay with me, sweetheart. Stay with me.”

Your gaze flickered once more, but before he could plead again, the paramedics swarmed around you.

“Sir, we need to take her now,” one of them said urgently, but Tyler’s arms tightened instinctively around you.

“I’m not leavin’ her,” he said fiercely, his eyes wild as he looked up at them.

“We need space to help her,” the paramedic insisted, their tone gentle but firm.

Tyler hesitated, his heart warring with his head as he realized he had no choice. He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.

“You hang on, you hear me?” he whispered, his voice shaking.

Reluctantly, he let them take you from his arms, his hands trembling as he watched them load you onto the stretcher. His heart clenched painfully as he saw your pale, dust-streaked face disappear behind the blur of paramedics working to save you.

* * * *

The waiting room of the hospital felt like a void. Time moved differently here, stretching out each second into an eternity. Tyler sat hunched over in a plastic chair, his forearms resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together. Boone, Dani, Dexter, and Lily sat nearby, their voices low and subdued as they tried to offer support. But Tyler didn’t hear them. His mind was stuck in the chaos of the collapsed building, the sound of your ragged breaths, the weight of your fragile body in his arms.

He stared at the double doors down the hallway, willing someone to come through them with news. Good news. Any news. His burned skin throbbed beneath the bandages the ER nurses had wrapped around him, but he didn’t care. The only pain that mattered was the fear clawing at his chest. The fear of losing you.

“T,” Boone said quietly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “She’s strong. She’s gonna pull through.”

Tyler nodded absently, his throat too tight to respond. He wanted to believe Boone, but the image of you lying so still, your face pale and streaked with dust, was seared into his mind.

The doors finally swung open, and a doctor stepped into the waiting room. Tyler shot to his feet, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Tyler Owens?” the doctor asked, glancing around the room.

“That’s me,” he said, his voice hoarse.

The doctor smiled softly, and Tyler’s knees nearly buckled with relief.

“She’s stable,” the doctor said. “She inhaled a lot of smoke, and there’s some bruising from the debris, but no major injuries. She’s going to be okay.”

Tyler exhaled a shaky breath, his hands dragging down his face as the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders.

“Can I see her?” Tyler asked, his voice cracking.

“Of course,” the doctor replied. “She’s awake, but she’s still weak. Try to keep it short for now.”

Tyler nodded, barely hearing the last part as he followed the doctor down the hallway. His boots echoed on the tile floor, the sound somehow both grounding and surreal.

When he stepped into your room, his chest tightened at the sight of you. You were propped up in the hospital bed, an oxygen mask resting lightly over your nose and mouth. The faint beeping of the monitors was a comforting reminder that you were still here, still breathing.

Your eyes fluttered open when you heard him, and despite the exhaustion etched into your face, you managed a small smile.

“Hey, cowboy,” you whispered, your voice muffled by the mask.

Tyler’s lips curved into a smile, and he pulled a chair up to your bedside, sitting down with a sigh of relief. He reached for your hand, his fingers curling gently around yours.

“You scared the hell outta me,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Don’t ever do that again, you hear me?”

“I’ll try,” you teased weakly, your fingers giving his hand the faintest squeeze.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Tyler’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, his eyes drinking in the sight of you as if to convince himself you were really okay.

“I meant what I said out there,” he finally murmured, his gaze locking with yours.

You frowned slightly in confusion. “What part?”

“All of it,” he said. “The church, the kids, everything. I want it all with you, darlin’. I want to marry you, and I’ll wear whatever you tell me to.”

You laughed softly, the sound raspy but real, and Tyler’s heart swelled.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you said, your smile softening as tears welled in your eyes. “I want it all too, Tyler. I always have.”

Tyler leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Then let’s start with dinner,” he said. “Soon as you’re out of here, I’m takin’ you to the nicest place in town. No storms, no distractions, just you and me.”

Your fingers tightened around his as you nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Deal. Can we have Italian?”

For the first time in hours, Tyler let himself relax, a small smile playing on his lips as he whispered, “Sure, sweetheart. Anything you want.”