#robin especially for the same reasons!!

[raconteur-wanpi]

Actually, speaking of the whole Sanji & Usopp Meta again (I won't shut up about it ever) and the common complaint of "why wasn't Usopp in WCI?", the more I think about it, the more I come to the conclusion that it IS because they are foils.

It's kind of a joke I've seen around that "WCI wouldn't have happened if Usopp was there" but I actually genuinely believe that. Do you think Sanji would have the guts to lie out of his teeth (the whole pretending he was a cruel haughty prince this whole time) to drive away his crew during that carriage scene, if the Certified Crew Liar who Lies to Protect Himself and Others was there? To call him out? To immediately recognize that behavior? Do you think Sanji would have it in him to FIGHT LUFFY, if Usopp, who was deeply scarred by his own brawl with Luffy, was there to watch them? When Usopp reminds Sanji of his past self? Would Sanji find the strength or the courage to make Usopp relive Water 7 in that scene? Would Sanji find it that easy to lament about his weakness compared to his powerful siblings during the entirety of the arc if the "guy that survives being the Weak Human in a world of Monsters" was there to remind him it IS possible to survive? Especially when you accept the help of your friends?

Usopp wasn't in WCI cause it would have been over like ten times quicker lmao. Sanji needed to feel isolated and desperate in his solitude for the arc to work, and the best way to do that is to separate him from one of his major foils. And I think it's the same reason his other two parallels, Zoro and Robin, weren't in it either.

[enobariasteeth]

I love that Batman is so popular with macho toxically masculine men because Bruce Wayne is arguably the saddest, most pathetic, wet cat, weirdo little freak to ever be written

[elfindreams]

I am a normal person with a job and various normal hobbies but also if you sliced open my brain you would find a region which has existed for years and is singularly dedicated to storing my needlessly overspecific post-OOT / MM Zelda headcanons covering the span of several in-universe decades and in fact aren’t headcanons because they are all completely correct and accurate and ~thematic~

[dukeofthomas]

@daisybell-on-a-carousel you are so right and correct. perfectly said perfectly conveyed oh my god

The thing is, I actually think it's a super interesting angle to look at the intersection of trauma and mental illness and vigilantism and coping mechanisms with Jason's character.

But, for me, if you want to seriously ask at what point does Jason need therapy more than he needs the vigilante lifestyle it's not Red Hood Jason you should be looking at. Red Hood Jason was literally murdered and the mysteriously resurrected. That's not something you can therapy your way out of! That's something that no amount of talking will ever help you understand, because it's a completely incomprehensible event!

No, if anyone needs therapy it's 12 year old Jason.

It's 12 year old Jason, who has poverty trauma and homelessness trauma and prison system trauma and parentification trauma and drug related trauma and, depending on your reading, potentially sexual trauma.

It's 12 year old Jason, who is taken in by Bruce - a man who is *also* severely traumatised (in extremely different ways) and chooses to dress up as a Bat and punch people about it instead of seeking healthy coping strategies.

It's 12 year old Jason, who Bruce decides - without psychiatric training or so much as a second opinion - needs the same outlet that "helped" Bruce and "helped" Dick.

And by the time aditf rolls around, Bruce is maybe just realising that he's made a mistake. But it's too late, because for two years he's told this child - a child who arguably feels indebted to him, a child who is extremely isolated and had very few if any other trusted adults to talk to - that violence and avoidance is how you deal with emotions.

I think that's fascinating to think about!

That Bruce's own failure to process his trauma left him blind to what Jason might actually have benefited from! That if Bruce had noticed Jason struggling earlier, if he'd reacted differently or explained himself better in aditf, Jason might not have felt the need to travel around the world alone looking for a woman he'd never met and only just learned about!

That if *Bruce* had been healthier, had been to therapy instead of throwing all his energy into vigilantism, none of this might have happened!

Reframe Red Hood Jason as a tragedy of Bruce's own making, not because of the classist bullshit that Jason was always going to end up a criminal and Bruce failed to stop that, but because Bruce's terrible coping mechanisms became *Jason's* terrible coping mechanisms and nobody likes to see the worst parts of themselves in the mirror.

[catgrandpa]

Gotham has always been weird, so when the groundskeeper at the cemetery noticed the Wayne kid’s plot was disturbed, he just chalked it up to more of the same ol’. Alright, so ‘disturbed’ may be a tad too light of a word, but what’s an empty grave in the grand scheme of Gotham? God knows in a city like this one, they could use all the burial room they could get. He figured he’d just jot it down on the website and hope nobody noticed for a while.

Too bad he didn’t account for the 13 year old boy in Bristol who periodically checks the cemetery’s website when he’s feeling particularly lonely.

Plot Removed.

Tim Drake stared at the two words under the heading for Jason Todd’s plot number. Removed? What do they mean ‘removed’? They can’t just remove a plot? That’s a person down there! That’s Robin down there! You can’t Remove Robin!

Calm down. Deep breaths. Assess the situation.

Robin has been dead for 5 months and 14 days. There is no reason for a grave to be removed that early, especially one of a member of such an affluential family. Chances are likely it’s a simple clerical issue. He can call first thing in the morning and make them aware of the mistake. He can have it all fixed in 5 hours.

Just a phone call.

In 5 hours.

…

Tim hates talking on the phone almost as much as he hates waiting.

Well it won’t be the first time he’s snuck out to head to Gotham proper at 1am. It can’t even really be considered sneaking out if there’s no one home to catch you.

Buses stop running at 2, so he layers a couple sweaters under his coat and grabs his best running sneakers so he can comfortably make the trek back.

Just a quick trip to settle his nerves. Maybe get a few shots in if he spots Batman, but really he just wants to see with his own two eyes that things are okay and Jason can rest.

It’s 1:37 by the time he gets to the headstone reading ‘Here Lies Jason Todd’ and the gaping, muddy pit in front of it.

This- This doesn’t make any sense. This is not removal. This is destruction. Desecration. Somebody did this. Somebody-

Assess the situation.

A hole in the ground, approximately 1.5 feet in diameter.

Mud and grass flung outward but with little force.

Large chunks of earth turned over and shoved away.

No signs of tool marks or clean lines of entry into the dirt.

Dragging claw marks.

Staggering, shuffled pairs of foot prints in the mud.

A trail of dirt.

Something… Something large clawed its way out of the ground here. Something large and bipedal and- and humanoid.

Tim refuses to jump to any conclusions he can see all the facts laid in front of him. He’s going to cautiously follow the trail and simply hope to any god listening that he isn’t the world’s first line of defense against the zombie apocalypse.

He’s been walking for 23 minutes and there’s good news and undecided news. Good news: he’s closing in on the target and the trail isn’t taking him out of the way so his trip home won’t be prolonged. Undecided news: The potential Zombie Robin is heading directly for Wayne Manor.

As zombie apocalypse news, this is very bad. From Tim’s collected observational evidence, his not-so-professional opinion is that Batman, faced with a horror movie level zombie of his dead son, would not respond well, and would likely not fight back.

In Batman and Robin news? Tim’s unsure. If Jason is simply back? What could that mean for them? Batman can have his Robin. He wouldn’t have to continue nearly killing others and himself every night in his grief. Jason could-

No. Stop. Do not jump to conclusions.

Hope only brings heartbreak.

What would Batman do? Get close and see if the target is a threat.

Target is male. Mid-teens. Dark hair. Pale skin. Leaning against surfaces as he walks. Appears injured and disoriented.

Minimal risk assessed. Approaching and attempting contact.

Target identity confirmed: Jason Todd.

“J-Jason?” It comes out as a croaked whisper. Jason shows no sign of acknowledgment.

Tim clears his throat, steps right in front of his path, and tries again.

“Jason. Jason, stop I want to help you.” Still nothing.

“Please, Jason. I can help, I promise I can help!”

Why isn’t this working?! Why can’t he just do something right for once?! He wants this to work, he wants to help Bruce, he wants to fix Batman, he wants to not be alone, he wants-

“Robin!”

Robin jerks to a stop.

Tim reached out his hand.

“Robin. Robin please, I’m sorry you’re going through this, it’s really scary, I’m really scared. But I just want to help you. Help you find Batman. Help you get home.”

Jason just stares at him. Of course he does. Of course it’s not going to work. Why did he even bother hoping he could help?

Hope only brings heartbreak.

His sight blurs as his eyes fill with tears and he starts to lower his outstretched hand.

His arm is slowed as a cold hand weakly grasps his own.

“Don’t… scared… Bat… help… Dad… help.”

A relieved sob tears out from Tim’s chest and he gathers himself together. He yanks his extra sweater off and gently pulls it over Jason’s cold shoulders. Jason lets Tim drag his arm over his shoulders to try and carry some of his weight.

“Okay, Robin. Yeah. Your dad will help us.”

Batman will solve everything once Tim gets Robin home.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Steve and Eddie work together in an aquarium, and Eddie is losing his mind. He's in love, he's got the most embarrassing crush, but Steve doesn't even notice him.

They barely interact, and Eddie only knows Steve's first name. He doubts Steve knows he exists, he's just one of many tour guides (but he's amazing with kids and especially teenagers, so he's actually a great tour guide, thank you very much!)

Back to Steve. Steve, with his lean muscles, easy smile, thick hair and beautiful, but somehow sad eyes. That Steve.

The Steve who works in the aquarium as a merman.

Eddie could watch him for hours, floating in the tank with grace Eddie didn't know existed, with his sparkly yellow mermaid tail, flowing hair and chest hair, and that man can hold his breath for so long? Think of the options, the possibilities!

The mermaid show is insanely popular among all the kids and teens, even adults. His best friend Chrissy was the one who recommended Eddie to the aquarium, she's the main mermaid, and god, if Eddie wasn't gay, she'd have him at her feet. She always looks so effortless, twirling underwater in her emerald green mermaid tail, spinning around Steve. They make such a beautiful pair, it makes Eddie want to weep.

Fortunately, she's already in a happy relationship, so Steve is reportedly still single. Chrissy makes Eddie massage her feet in the evenings - he offered, they're cramping from a bad fit of the tail - and graciously answers all Eddie's reasonable questions, such as "how do his hands feel?" ("Wet. We're swimming, remember?").

She keeps telling Eddie to ask Steve out, but Eddie isn't stupid. That man is the god Poseidon himself, and Eddie is but a humble crab in his kingdom. So he admires him from afar, longing, pining and making Chrissy's head hurt.

But Steve's just so good with kids, Eddie can't keep his mouth shut. He always mutters something to Steve as he's ushering the kids away. "Great show, sweetheart," or "I love that smile, Stevie," or "need help getting that tail off?" He's only a man, and no one can hear him.

Except for a nosy tour coordinator listening in through his earpiece, Robin Buckley. She also happens to be Steve's best friend, Chrissy's girlfriend, and a menace to society.

And maybe one day she tells Steve to just smooch the tour guide, maybe she spills a few of the longing whispers and wishful stares, but she's only human too. A human who's had to listen to Steve's ramblings about the cute guy who always pulls the kids' attention like a magnet, who even through the blurry glass tank seems to be having an amazing time. Steve sometimes asks Robin for an extra earpiece and listens to the rest of Eddie's tour after the show. He loves his enthusiasm. Once Eddie even drew a heart on Steve's tank, can you imagine that, Rob?!

Maybe Robin and Chrissy have to work together to give the two idiots what they need, because Eddie considers himself too nerdy and plain for Steve, ans Steve thinks he's too dumb and shallow for Eddie.

Maybe Chrissy fakes slipping into the mermaid tank and drags Eddie with her. Maybe Robin is there and quickly gets Steve to jump after him. Maybe she makes the innocent mistake of insuating that Eddie can't swim.

And maybe, when Steve and Eddie are back on firm ground, confused and wet, Chrissy splashes them with water and asks if pretending that it's mouth to mouth resuscitation would help, or if they can finally kiss and stop pining for each other.

And one more maybe...maybe in a few weeks, when Eddie ushers the children away after the show, he kisses his palm and presses it against the tank, and watches Steve do the same, before he can give him a proper kiss after their shift.

[acid-ixx]

brutus: both arms cradle you now (villain au concept)

ft. yandere! harley quinn (brief mentions of the poison ivy and catwoman) x gn villain! reader

— masterlist !

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

"so, you're saying you hate the batman, for personal reasons, cupcake?"

you've never expected to have a therapy session with one of your mentors who took you in.

harley quinn, the girl who took you into her abode right after she found you bloodied and laying in a crimson bath of your own one faithful night; death your only comfort.

she, alongside her other company, are well-known people within gotham's criminal gallery. she's known to be obsessed with her ex back then, chasing after his toxic love despite hers being consistently thrown away, she's been seen fighting, or even sometimes helping your father when he's wearing the cowl just to find the joker, she dons clown makeup and displays athletic talent for combat—

she's not the type you'd expect to be well-versed with a person's mental health, with her playful attitude and bouncy steps, but with the way she notices your uncomfortable body language whenever you stumble upon the bat, or how you simmer in silent rage watching him care for his vigilante partners during times they get injured; you'd have to admit she's more than qualified to ask you sensitive questions nobody ought to ask a violent criminal like you.

you don't know it, but you share far more similarities with the girl than you thought; chasing after love never once reciprocated, she has every right to know what makes you so triggered seeing the vigilante every damn time he's within the vicinity.

she has every right because she's the one who saved you when you thought your life would be all over.

when you believed that that day would be the time your soul would leave your body, you'd suddenly awoke to her gentle coos and her retelling her company on how she stumbled upon you. and another woman's palms are on your heated forehead, an unnatural shade of green, yet she helps swipes away your hair for your head as she listens intently to harley's story; she gazes at you just as softly as the other. she's seated right beside a familiar face, too, with cropped, jet-black hair and cat-eyes. it was her expensive duvet that you lay on.

it was there that they coddled you collectively.

they've been your saviors then, and your mentors ever since. it's what you've never asked for, to be cared for by criminals who fought on the opposite side from your fathers, but you've been craving affection your entire life that you'd never once complain about.

now, in the same apartment, her question lingers in the back of your head, you feel goosebumps rise on the topmost layer of your skin, and your heartbeats hasten against the cage of your chest.

despite that, she merely looks over at you, her eyes held a calculating gaze. it's not exactly nerve-wracking like batman's whenever you had your occasional encounters with him, but you can tell she's psychoanalyzing every aspect of your being.

like a therapist for most, but to you, she does so because you know she cares.

gone was the ditzy smile she likes to wear on her playful lips, or the active, bouncy lilt she has whenever she sits upon the swivel chair to talk to you. she stares at you, with piercing blue eyes and furrowed brows, nitpicking every reaction you conjure.

it seems like now's the time she wants to open up with such a sensitive topics.

especially right after the incident where you cried after watching batman speak to the youngest robin, with the sweetest, most poisonous tone you've ever heard from the man. it makes you want to vomit watching it, makes you wish to shrivel outside-in your costume and burn until you're mere embers.

you ask yourself, 'do i hate him?'

truth is...

god, you wish you do. but you're different now.

you have new people to care for you, now and you'd rather throw away that heart wrenching life you had back in the past. batman is nobody to you now, you wish you could lead yourself to believe that he was just your usual opponent, nothing more, nothing less.

yet you merely shift on your cushioned seat, ignoring the blaring telltale signs in your head to stay silent, and reply to her albeit the unsureness in your tone. your words taste bitter, sour, salty, and no way sweet. every unpleasant flavor swirls in your tongue in a cacophony of emotions; and you wish to cry the longer you speak, tongue-tied and wishing to will away the ache in your chest.

"i don't hate him, harley, at least not anymore... it's different, i don't know what to feel about him. maybe it's rage, maybe i want to exact petty revenge on him because of my past with him. don't know. it's all complicated..."

"if it's not hatred, then it's something else, no? you feel something deep within for him, don'tcha, sweetheart? you can't lie to me, you're hurt, and scarred, because of him and his other vigilante partners, i can tell."

she replies, quicker than you do, with empathy and comfort laced in every syllable of her words, and you're taken aback at the kindness and understanding. your eyes flutter away from her worried ones, and you look down to your clenched palms and feel the callouses from all the harsh training you've conditioned yourself to endure, dismissing the way she stands from her chair to walk over to you.

hurt... that's true. you're hurt, and all the emotional scars that lay within you are still open, bleeding, and it aches deeply. every time you build new memories with these people, the pain of the past overpowers whatever improvement you make in life; as if it's haunting and taunting you.

when she kneels down to the level of your lap, just right beneath your vision so you could see her beyond the layers of hair that cover your watery eyes, you see her soft gaze and find her dainty fingers holding your palms, ones you didn't notice dig nails deep into skin until the rivulets of blood escape.

when she squeezes your hands, you follow along the patterns of inhaling and exhaling through her squeezing, a silent session with her to help you calm down from your foreboding emotions; your hastened breaths and brimming tears. you've been so used to ignoring all your emotions that you forget what panic attacks felt like in so long, not until you discover that you've been having small bouts of it every day; not until you realize how it's always your mentors comforting you through every one of your silent sufferings instead of ridiculing you for it.

"calm down, cupcake... i just wanted to know why, so i, alongside the girls, could help you through your emotions. what type of mentors are we if we can't help you, no? you've been so tense lately, we couldn't even see your cute, little smile these days. so don't forget you're still allowed to cry, sweetie... let all your emotions out, 'kay?"

she speaks, with a gentle timbre in her voice, and you allow her to embrace your form, one you didn't realize was shivering until now. yet you still bury your head further into her body without shame and allow yourself respite for once; allow yourself autonomy to be controlled by repressed pain and sorrow you've tried to bury deep into the marrows of your bones and the cages of your heart.

and now you realize why, why you're all crying all the same like last time, and you simply cry for longer at the realization.

because what contrasts with love, was indifference, and never hatred. you once loved batman, bruce, with all your heart because you're his kid, and your momma taught you to love without any expectations. but he sees you with indifference, with nothingness. no care, no emotions or opinions about you, unlike harley's who holds you in her arms and comforts you throughout your lengthened crying.

he doesn't even look at you. the thought bothers you more than ever.

"it's— you're right," you whisper through your hiccups, burying your head further on her stomach as her right hand plays with the strands of your hair, scratching your scalp in a comfortable pattern. she hums as a reply, and allows you to continue.

"i'm hurt, harley... it's so painful just thinking... thinking about how much i'm in pain because of him... but he's, he's—"

"shh, you don't have to force yourself to open up anymore, sweetheart."

when she releases her hold on you, you let out an embarrassingly loud cry, hands swiftly trying to pull her back to embrace you; too desperate to let go, too paranoid that this is all a dream, you wish to sink into her warmth forever.

but she holds you back, just as quickly with her warm palms at your wet cheeks, and looks at you. like you're her savior, her peace, and her everything.

her next sentences satiate the foreboding hunger in your heart, one too starved, one that craved and wished to take what it never have.

she feeds you with love and affection too sweet that it rids the bitter taste in the back of your throat and the bile that slowly rises every time you reminisce.

"i get'cha, sweetie. you wanted something from him you can never have, and when he didn't give you that, it destroyed you entirely you felt like you can never pick yourself right back. been there, done that—"

"—but look at where we're both at now! living the best of our lives, doing fun, risky heists and making ourselves happy with what we think is good for us, no? you get where i'm getting at, right?"

you don't. you feel like melting into her hands and never leaving. she gives and you take, take, and take everything she offers you.

and she knows you don't understand, so she continues rambling knowing you'd grasp into every word she says, not once breaking eye contact with you. she stares fondly, you gaze back reluctantly, unaccustomed to the affection your mentors shower you with. but you don't pull back, she becomes sad and sulky when you do.

you want her to be happy.

"sweetheart, i'm telling you the past is past! get him away from your mind and throw all the thoughts about him away! if you were nothing to him, then he should be nothing to you, easy as pie."

"you deserve better people in your life, like me, and pam, and selina. i can tell you're rough around the edges but that doesn't mean you should strip yourself away from any privilege to be cared for and loved for by people who love you as much as you love them. he's nothing to you now, alright? it's painful, but you can move on from him. i trust you can— you know why?"

harley questions you, with all the confidence in her tone, taking your head to lay it on her body again, positioning it so you could hear the buzz heartbeat, you bury yourself deeper into her warm body and nuzzle into fabric. your heart hastens, but it wasn't panic, it wasn't even fear or hurt, but a drive and motivation that burns deep inside of you; that this is what you always wanted, and needed to protect, and what she generously provided.

all her words echo through your head like it's the truth, your holy grail.

"you have us now, sweetheart. to love, to guide, and to protect you. we're everything you need now."

and you believe her like she's god.

just this once, you do. you're allowed to hope, to dream, and to finally feel special. to be embraced like the fantasies you had in the past, to be held and comforted through every gut wrenching experience, just as she does, now.

for once, you allow yourself to be loved, even if it means it's by the same hands that stain itself with blood, all shed in the glory of your name.

a/n: happy halloween! i was laying in bed and suddenly had thoughts about this. i don't like this drabble at all ngl erm 😭 this post is related to events prior to the out for blood chapter (idk if i should make it canon to the plot or not) and what i said in this fanart post. despite this not being my favorite piece of work, i like writing about other charactersn too though, especially when they're so soft to the mc. so yeah! if you guys like more of this, please do comment since idk what to feel about this.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Robin might platonically marry Steve, though it's not the only reason, just so she can say dramatically in an argument:

"That's it! I'm divorcing you, and I'm taking everything!"

It's usually only said when they're playing monopoly. Steve would respond with:

"Fine! But I'm keeping your last name and the kids!"

"I never wanted them in the first place!" Robin shrieked.

"What a rude thing for our dad to say," Dustin said.

They were eating popcorn and watching the whole thing unfold before them.

"Well, it's not like we don't all have daddy issues," Max said. "Except for Lucas."

"What am I looking forward to with that? Any advice?" Lucas said.

"Don't date older men," Max said. "Especially ones who are old enough to actually be your father."

"You mean the same age as Robin?" Lucas asked.

"Yeah," Max said.

"Damn, there was this cute college guy - "

"Cheating whore!" Robin shrieked.

"And here it comes," Max grinned.

She hollered and flipped the table.

"Yeah, that's right, I cheated. Dustin isn't yours!" Steve yelled.

"I knew it!" Robin gasped.

"Okay, so when Dustin said that things get intense with Steve and Robin during Monopoly. . ." Nancy said, trailing off.

"Yeah, he wasn't kidding," Jonathan said.

Eddie was gaping with Jonathan, Nancy, Vickie, Chrissy, and Argyle while the kids watched from the sidelines.

"Who else isn't mine?! I bet it's both Mike and Dustin. They both could be Eddie's! Look at them!" Robin yelled.

"Babe, I swear, I didn't touch Steve," Eddie said to Chrissy.

"Okay, first off, Dustin and Mike are not actually Steve’s sons, and two, this is just a game," Chrissy said. "Also, Steve can't get pregnant."

"Oh no! Did the doctor say why?" Eddie asked with a gasp.

"Eddie? Did you smoke with Jonathan and Argyle without me?" Chrissy asked.

"Totally," Argyle said.

"The wedding rings were a nice touch," Nancy said.

"Oh, no, they actually got married. I was the witness!" Vickie exclaimed happily. "I got to kiss the bride!"

"What?!"

"We were at Steve's house when Steve's parents came home and immediately started ragging on Steve about what a disappointment he was, that they were his only family. . .blah, blah, blah. Anyway, Robin was like "not anymore" before dragging him out of the house. We went to a wedding chapel, and I watched as my girlfriend married her platonic soulmate," Vickie said. "It was a beautiful ceremony. Didn't you notice that Steve took her last name?"

"I thought he kept calling for Robin whenever someone said Harrington," Jonathan realized. "He was correcting them."

"Buckley!" Argyle laughed.

"Yeah!" Steve and Robin yelled, looking at them.

"Holy shit," Dustin muttered.

"Well, hey, we're no longer bastards," Max said. "Except Mike. There's no fixing that."

"Hey!"

[wonderjanga]

Marvel and the Street Kids

Billy likes helping people. Especially people who have, and are still going through something he’s also experienced. Hunger, brokeness, homelessness, if you’ve had to go through any of those things, Billy’s probably going to favor you more than most of the other people he’s saved. I mean, after all, he knows what all of that feels like. It’s why he helps out around soup kitchens a lot. It’s why he donates a hefty bit of his paycheck to homeless shelters and charities. It’s why he works to keep drugs off the streets, and crime at a low. He doesn’t want anyone, man, woman, or child to experience what he has. So, here’s a couple instances where he’s helping some homeless kids we know. (Btw this is the same AU as the Billy and the Robins post. In that post, basically Billy knew Dick and Jason when the two were both Robins) Roy: *in Speedy costume* “Hey Robin, who do you go to whenever you need advice?”

Robin!Jason: *in Robin costume* “Batman, why?”

Roy: “Right, cool. Cool, but what if you can’t ask him a certain question?”

Robin!Jason: “Oh, then I go to Marvel!”

Roy: “Marvel? Like Captain Marvel?”

Robin!Jason: “Yeah!”

Roy: “Huh. Uh… okay then.”

Robin!Jason: “Why do you ask?”

Roy: “No reason.”

Then, a little bit after Oliver kicked Roy out, Marvel was in Star City because Green Arrow needed him for whatever. As of now, Roy was walking down the street, upset because obviously. It’s been an about three days since he was kicked out by someone he considered his dad. All because he had a wee little problem with painkillers, and wee little problem with heroin. You’re supposed to help people who’re addicted. Especially if they’re family. You don’t just kick them out… right?

Roy: *walking down the sidewalk*

Marvel: *flying when he sees him*

Roy: *not paying attention*

Marvel: *flies down in front of him*

Roy: *bumps into Marvel* “Hey, watch where you’re goooo…wha…?” *slowly looks up until he’s craning his neck to look up at him*

Marvel: “Aren’t you GA’s boy?” *looks confused* “What’re you doing out this late?”

Roy: “What?”

Marvel: “Yeah! You’re uh…” *snaps fingers a couple times, thinking* “Speedy. Right?”

Roy: “Do I know you…?” *looks Marvel up in down*

Marvel: “Oh, my bad.” *holds hand out for handshake* “I’m Captain Marvel. I don’t think we’ve properly met.”

Roy: *doesn’t shake hand* “Well you already know me. I’m Speedy.” *shrugs*

They both talk. Marvel gets Roy to open up a bit after he gets the kid a hotdog. While they’re both sitting on a bench eating their respective hotdogs, (I saw the Marvel in civvies post and he’s wearing that exact fit. He magicked up the red sweater, the yellow hat, and the jeans so they could eat in peace) the archer remembers his conversation with Jason. So, he decides he might as well bite the bullet since his friend hyped up the guy so much.

Roy: “Hey… I gotta ask something.”

Marvel: “Hm?” *mid chew*

Roy: “You wouldn’t happen to know any good struggle meals, would you?”

Marvel: *finishes hotdog* “Yeah? I do. You wanna learn some?”

Roy: *hasn’t told Marvel about him being homeless now* “Yeah.” *takes bite of his hotdog*

Marvel: “Okie doki then.”

Roy: “You aren’t gonna ask why?”

Marvel: “It’s not really my place. Unless you want me to ask?”

Roy: “Nah, not really.” *finishes his hotdog*

Marvel: “Then I won’t.” *stands up* “Alright! To the nearest Chuck E. Cheese!” *points in a random direction*

Roy: *also stands up, raising a brow at him. Moves Marvel’s arm in the correct direction* “Why are we going to a Chuck E. Cheese?”

Marvel: “You’ll see. Cmon!” *starts jogging in the direction Roy corrected him to*

Roy: “Dude, wait up!”

When they’re now outside the Chuck E. Cheese…

Marvel: “Alright. So, here’s what you’re gon— Are you good?”

Roy: *out of breath because they just ran about three blocks* “Yeah… Yeah. I’m good. Just uh— gimme a sec.”

Marvel: *gives him until he feels better*

Roy: *looking better now* “So, what were you saying?”

Marvel: “Right, so what you’re gonna be doing is, see those tables?” *gestures to the booths through the Chuck E. Cheese’s windows. Some booths have leftover pizza and chicken wings in them*

Roy: *nods head*

Marvel: “Okay, great. So you’re gonna go steal all of that.”

Roy: *blinks at him before the most befuddled, bamboozled, puzzled expression crosses his face* “What?”

Marvel: “You’re going. To steal. All of that.” *gestures to the tables again*

Roy: *looks between Marvel and the tables* “Dude, I am not stealing scraps from the fucking Chuck E. Cheese tables.”

Marvel: “How else do you expect to get food then?”

Roy: “I don’t know! I expected you to teach me some cheap recipes or something stupid like that!”

Marvel: “Oooooooh, so you don't want struggle meals then.”

Roy: “No, I do. A struggle meal is something like a ketchup sandwich. This is way worse than a goddamn struggle meal.”

Marvel: “You and I clearly have different definitions of a struggle meal, but okay. Also, chill with the cursing, man. I can teach you something cheap if that’s what you actually want.”

Roy: “Okay then, thank you, because the day I need to steal scraps from a Chuck E. Cheese, is the day I lose my dignity.”

Marvel: “Yeah, yeah, come on. Let’s just go to a grocery store.”

Then, there was Cassandra Cain. She was homeless for about nine years before she went to Gotham when she was seventeen. During her homelessness, she never really stayed in one place. One of the places she ended up in was Fawcett when she was about sixteen. There, she met Captain Marvel. She man saved her from a mugging she was about to take care of herself.

Marvel: *staring at her because Solomon’s whispering about how she’s worthy*

Cassandra: *staring right back, picking up confusion in the man’s body language*

Marvel: “What’s your name, miss?”

Cassandra: *stares blankly at him* (Guys, this is before she learned most stuff. So she has no idea what he’s saying and has to go off of body language alone.)

Marvel: *stares back* “Can… You not speak?”

Cassandra: *continues to stare blankly*

Marvel: *sighs* “I’ll take that as a no.” *reaches into pocket dimension*

Cassandra: *startled when she sees half the man’s arm disappear*

Marvel: *pulls out some money and puts it in one of her hands* “Please take this. I can tell you don’t have a home. Starving isn’t fun.”

Cassandra: *sees understanding in Marvel’s body language and looks at the money in her hand then back at Marvel*

Marvel: *hovering off the ground* “Stay safe, miss.” *gives her a little wave before flying off*

Cassandra: *watches him go*

They meet more times after that, and soon, Cassandra ends up being one of the many homeless kids he checks up on. Cassandra comes to enjoy the man’s presence, and Marvel comes to enjoy hers as well. She eventually gets a really good read on the man after a while and he gets a good read on her. She even mimicked the man’s bodily expressions sometimes with a nod here, or a shrug there. Marvel even got to learn her name after she gestured to one of the other kids who had a cast on their leg. He guessed a couple times before he got her actual name. They ended up having to charade it, Beetlejuice style.

Marvel: “Cassie?”

Cassandra: *makes a so-so motion with her hand* (something she picked up from the man) *makes a motion that was supposed to convey it was longer*

Marvel: “Longer…?” *pauses to think for a solid 20 seconds* “Cassandra?”

Cassandra: *gives him a thumbs up* (another gesture learned from him)

Marvel: “Wait that’s actually your name?” *body language shows he’s happy he got it right*

Cassandra: *blankly stares* (Again guys, she has no clue what he’s saying)

Marvel: “Oh, this is awesome!” *body language shows he gets happier. He starts yapping about stuff*

Cassandra: *listens even though it’s all gibberish to her*

Cass liked that she could depend on someone. The man was… sunny. That’s the best way to put it. She liked listening to him talk. He never expected an answer or response. She liked that. She also liked that when she did try to respond, he was patient and did his best to try and understand her. Their friendship (sort of father daughter thing) continued until she was almost seventeen, and soon, things came to an end.

Marvel: “You’re leaving?” *body language shows concern*

Cassandra: *saw him look to the backpack stuffed with things for the trip to the next town. she nods her head*

Marvel: *body language shows disappointment for a moment before acceptance* “I see.” *gives her a warm smile* “It was nice knowing you, Cassandra.” *gives her same little wave he gave her when they first met* “I hope we get to meet again.”

Cassandra: *waves back unlike the first time they met and leaves*

They actually met again, unbeknownst to Marvel, when he was in Gotham to help Bruce with something. They got paired up together to go and do something for the mission.

Marvel: “You know, you remind me of this girl I knew from a while ago.”

Cassandra: *silence and a stare because she knows he’s talking about herself*

Marvel: “Yeah, she would’ve done that same blank stare too.”

Cassandra: *wondering how he knows she’s pulling the same face as herself*

Some goons decided to interrupt them before she could figure that out.

[lizbetlovesbyler]

my biggest personal byler proof is just how much they remind me of my first queer relationship before we started dating

queer characters are incredibly easy to fuck over, even without intention. often spelled out or intensely sexualised to prevent misunderstandings for a mostly heterosexual audience, queer storylines are exaggerated and thus become unrealistic.

stranger things doesn’t do that with its queer characters. take robin:

this scene is done beautifully. genuinely beautifully.

robin admits her feelings for tammy and how she locked them away, not just because tammy didn’t like her back, but because she is a queer girl in the 80s. her feelings are unnatural and unwelcome in hawkins.

steve’s acceptance of robin in this scene makes people forget how horrifically this could have ended:

As for Mike and Will

you don’t write a perfect representation of mutual teenage queer pining between childhood friends by accident.

queer pining is quiet and suppressed (especially for young people and ESPECIALLY in the 80s). It is unhealthy to suppress these feelings the way queer people tend to, it’s beyond the typical “secret crushes” straight people experience. queer pining can destroy people when they’re not supported.

through robins character, and wills arc in season four, we can see clearly the duffer brothers understand the nature of queer love, and wish to do it justice.

will ending up with some random last minute jock is unrealistic and does not do his character justice.

mike staying in an insecure relationship, constantly worried his girlfriend will grow out of him and leave him, rather than accepting will’s unconditional love for him, accepting his own love for will and letting himself be who he is, does not do his character justice.

even so, if they tried to set up byler in a way that would come across clear to the GA, it would, by default, become unrealistic and unrepresentative.

neither are yet able to admit to close friends and family they are queer, but they are supposed to convey that part of themselves to an (understandably) dense/heteronormative mainstream audience?

queer teenage love is not the same as straight teenage love, it doesn’t shock me that the majority of the audience isn’t able to pick up on byler beyond wills feelings, and they’re not supposed to.

we all say what we see, they don’t see the queer love brewing because they’ve never experienced it, they’ve never been mike and they’ve never been will. they’ve been max and lucas and nancy, steve, jonathan, etc etc

doesn’t make their heteronormative perspective accurate, they are just straight. they understand will and mike the same they do lucas and dustin. mike says they are friends, they have no reason to think otherwise. they do not know what queer love actually looks like, the duffer brothers do. the actors do. we do.

you are not delusional. you are queer.

if byler was widely agreed upon at this point in the story, it would not be an accurate representation of queer romance. that is the point.

my moneys on the latter and they better get every award for it.

[a-bad-case-of-the-stephs]

There is an idea that Stephanie Brown was crime fighting as The Spoiler for fun, that she saw it all as a game. This reading isn't out of nowhere, it's supported by the things she and other characters say, especially in War Games (2005). However this understanding of Stephanie Brown's actions doesn't account for the large majority of her time as Spoiler, and oftentimes directly contradicts things she says or does.

This is important because how we understand why Stephanie keeps acting as The Spoiler informs what is true about the character. If she's doing it solely for kicks, it's not exactly unfair to call her a reckless idiot who should have listened when Batman and Robin told her to go home and stop wearing her costume.

So, should she just have listened when she was told to go home over and over again? Did she never take crime fighting seriously? Or was she battling against her father's sins to prove herself worthy? Or is there something else entirely going on? It seems like even Stephanie doesn't know at times:

Robin #40 (1993)

There are points where she makes light of her involvement, likening it to something she's doing for "the fun":

Robin #5, Robin #25 (1993)

And times where she rejects that same premise utterly:

Spoiler/Huntress: Blunt Trauma (1998)

It's very tempting to see this as character progression, she starts her first appearance in a Robin comic calling being Spoiler a "goof" but by the time Cataclysm rolls around, she says she isn't doing it for "the fun of it". However, this idea doesn't align with her first appearance and attitude at all.

I'd like to propose a reading which can account for the multiple reasons stated that she returns time and time again to being the Spoiler: the Spoiler represents Stephanie's agency and serves as a way for her to empower herself.

If we're determining why Stephanie Brown is Spoiler, we have to start where she starts, analyzing the her first appearance, and her motivations for creating the Spoiler mantle.

Stephanie's anger at her father + feelings of helplessness and lack of agency + desire to protect others = The Original Spoiler

I’ll stick to only evidence and panels which refer to or depict her time before becoming the Spoiler, or during her very first Spoiler "mission".

Let’s break it down

1.Stephanie Brown's Anger at her Father

This one's pretty self explanatory. I'll get into how her hatred of her dad has to do with Stephanie's feelings of helplessness and self loathing later. But for now, Stephanie's anger at her dad is pretty clearly one of the main things motivating her very first Spoiler appearance.

Detective #648

2. Stephanie Brown's Lack of Agency

Her father is an abusive piece of shit to Stephanie and her mother. He never stays in jail for long, and now that he's been cured of his clue-leaving psychosis, he might not go back at all.

80 Page Giant: Secret Origins (1998)

Her mom is, as Steph sees it, hopelessly addicted to her pills and drinking, Steph is unable to help, as she states: “talking to her didn’t do any good”

Detective #467 / 80 Page Giant: Secret Origins (1998)

Creating this costume and persona is not only a way to get back at her dad, it’s about her seizing power, it’s a decision to have agency, to no longer be helpless. She is no longer a passive observer in her dad's crimes, she is the force actively 'spoiling' it.

In her first story as Spoiler, we see that culminate to a dark point: she’s so desperate to have some control of her life and by extension, her father who has been robbing her of it for years, that she nearly kills him.

Detective #649

When Stephanie became the Spoiler for the first time, it was about her anger at her dad, and finally having control over his influence over her life.

But most crucially, her first appearance as Spoiler is also largely about her desire to help others.

3. Stephanie’s desire to protect other people

This is established solidly in her first appearance as the Spoiler. She states that she was stalking her father “trying to make sure nobody got hurt”

Detective #468

And later in the same introductory arc, she only jumps into the fight when Batman’s life appears to be in danger:

Detective #469

This applies to her mother too, who she sees herself as responsible for protecting.

Stephanie identifies her father as a trigger for her moms struggle with addiction, and the same shot which shows Stephanie sewing together her first Spoiler costume also features her mother, sleeping next to an empty glass and pill bottles.

80 Page Giant: Secret Origins (1998)

The 80 Page Giant furthers this idea by recontextualizing the scene where she jumps into the fight with her dad in Detective #649 by adding her internal monologue in that moment: clearly reframing her actions through the lens of this protective instinct towards her mother

80 Page Giant: Secret Origins (1998)

I'm sticking to her first appearance backstory stuff primarily, because for now I'm just making a case for her original reason for putting on the costume, but I think it's worth it to mention something Steph says about "one of the first" missions she gave herself as Spoiler.

Steph says she made it one of the very first missions she wanted to achieve as Spoiler to track down the man who nearly sexually assaulted her as a child. Despite the fact that she was severely traumatized by this (unable to stand being alone with men for years afterwards) she didn’t try to do so out of revenge, but specifically because she knew he would go after more young girls.

Robin #111 (1993)

She first becomes the Spoiler in order to stop her dad from hurting her mom, herself, and other people any more than he already had. But why does she keep going? Especially, why does she keep fighting crime after her dad is locked away in prison?

And if she's Spoiler because of her genuine desire to help people, and her anger towards her dad, and her feelings of helplessness, where does the idea that she does it for "fun" come from?

Contextualizing "The Spoiler" as a way for Stephanie to give herself agency is the strongest reading which answers both of those questions.

Much of what we see Spoiler do, is directly paralleled to what Stephanie cannot.

The most obvious example is her stopping The Cluemaster.

Stephanie Brown might be stuck with an abusive, criminal dad who never stays in jail for long, but The Spoiler can make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else.

80 Page Giant: Secret Origins (1998) / Robin #111 (1993)

But there are more covert examples of this as well.

Stephanie Brown might not be able to make her mom get clean, only able to watch as she seems to succumb to her addiction over and over again, but the Spoiler can confront and potentially stop her gymnastics coach from dealing drugs after one of her classmates overdoses, in a way which is shown in conjunction with Steph's relationship with her mom.

Showcase '95 #5 (1995)

Her rage at being misled by her gymnastic coach, her anger at him for betraying the kids who "looked up to you", mirrors her anger at her mom in this same comic for how her struggle with addiction has affected their relationship. Spoiler attempts to do what Steph wishes she could: fight and defeat addiction, as a proxy for her desire to help her mom, and her frustration that she can't.

Stephanie Brown might be in a relationship with a selfish asshole, but as The Spoiler, she gets the attention of a smart, honest, good guy:

Spoiler/Huntress: Blunt Trauma (1998)/ Robin #80 (1993)

Robin (debatably) is the one who instigates this idea. (Kissing a girl on the mouth, even if i was out of relief for her saving your life, sort of sends mixed signals as to whether or not she has a shot.)

Robin #5 (1993)

Tim himself juggles with the fact that he both feels a responsibility to discourage Stephanie from acting as Spoiler, but doesn't, because he doesn't have an excuse to hang out with Steph, but he can spend time with her when she's Spoiler.

Robin #41 (1993)

Stephanie Brown doesn't get loved, doesn't get understood. Not by Dean, not by her mom, and certainly not by her dad. But Spoiler? Spoiler seems has a real shot.

Steph doesn't really feel like her mom cares, and she knows her dad doesn't. She wants to feel powerful, she wants to feel useful, she wants to protect people, and she really really wants to be loved.

She sees Spoiler as a way to achieve all these things, and that’s how she uses the identity.

Therefore, the Spoiler feels empowering, specifically in contrast to Stephanie Brown and her garbage home life and her helplessness and feelings of inadequacy.

This ties into something I haven't really explored yet, Stephanie Brown's canonical self loathing. This seems to linger in the periphery of her earlier time as Spoiler, but picks up significantly during and after her pregnancy arc.

She's dealt with blaming and hating herself in her past, we get a mention of how she had to overcome believing she was a bad person in the wake of her nearly being sexually assaulted:

Robin #111 (1993)

And she deals with feeling of inadequacy and self hatred again and again in her time as the Spoiler as well.

Steph refers to her boyfriend, who is unable to tell her his real name, share the majority of the stuff going on in his life with her, and who always has to wear a mask around her, as potentially "too good" for her. I don't care how cool and nice you think Tim Drake is, I think this is definitely indicative of at least some self esteem issues.

Robin #57 (1993)

Her self esteem issues become more clear during her teen pregnancy arc. She tells Tim straight up that she would understand it if he had cheated on her/left her.

Robin #59 (1993) / Robin #62 (1993)

This ties into why she acts as the Spoiler as well.

Stephanie blames herself in part for her dad's crimes.

She obviously didn't make Arthur Brown commit his crimes. This is just another instance of Stephanie's self loathing informing how she acts, in this case, being part of her rationale as to why she is Spoiler.

Robin 80 Page Giant (2000)

As Stephanie, she was helpless to stop Cluemaster from abusing her mom, unable to stop how his presence pushes Crystal Brown further into her addiction, unable to stop him from hurting other people and herself with his crime. This lack of agency explored earlier combined with her self blame leads her to believe it's her job as the Spoiler to "make up for" the bad she wasn't able to stop before, a responsibility which is obviously not on her. We see this also in the 80 Page Giant: Secret Origins (1998), where she briefly refers to 'spoiling' his plans as "her job", in a way that indicates a degree of responsibility.

It's no wonder that Stephanie becomes so attached to the Spoiler mantle. As Stephanie Brown, she is helpless and unable to control her environment, and she deals with thinly veiled self hatred and blames herself for this helplessness. But Spoiler gives her the opportunity to take control. That's why she returns to it time and time again, against the wishes of pretty much everyone.

This reading also aligns with the instances we get where Stephanie is portrayed as doing crime fighting for "fun". While I think its clear enough by now Stephanie clearly isn't out there for "the thrill", it's absolutely no surprise to me that Stephanie refers to it as a "rush".

It's, quite frankly, a little bit of a power trip. Of course it feels fucking fantastic to finally have a say, to no longer feel useless and helpless and guilty, to finally get to do something about all the shit that used to crush her. To finally stop feeling helpless and worthless, to have a chance at being loved. It probably feels fucking fantastic!

Why in god's name would she ever want to give that up? For her, I think its a very easy choice, the potential danger of acting as Spoiler brings upon herself doesn't factor in all that much at all.

The Spoiler as a symbol of Stephanie's Agency theory accounts for the multiple different and somewhat contradicting explanations we are given for why Stephanie acts as Spoiler.

I want to emphasize that this is not a bad thing, and also not entirely selfish. Agency means the freedom to go after the guy who she was powerless to meaningfully stop as an 11 year old (telling her asshat of a dad about it only got her yelled at and dismissed), but who might still be out there preying on other young girls. Spoiler means having the agency to protect her mom from her dad. Spoiler means having the agency to protect her neighbors.

But Spoiler also means this 15 year old girl gets to feel strong and loveable and worth something for the first time in a long time.

[brucewaynehater101]

Tim with hannaki disease

spending his childhood choking on flowers

Barely able to breathe rejection after rejection

Jason is attacking him at the tower and he can’t stop coughing out flowers

when dick gives Damian Robin, Tim leaves the cave spitting out petals

imagine if he died of suffocation during the Bruce quest

Fuck. I love hanahaki disease.

Tw: death, blood, asphyxiation, fictional disease, dead body description, gore

For those of y'all unaware, it's a completely fictional disease where having unrequited love results in the person growing flowers in their chest. It's usually romantic, but I prefer the platonic versons (especially child-parent angst, holy fuck).

I've seen two types of hanahaki:

The love is actually unrequited

The person only perceives the love as being unrequited

Either way, the progression is as follows:

Person coughs up one petal

They start coughing up more and usually blood

They cough up an entire blossom

They die trying to cough up the entire flower (blossom and stem)

There are four outcomes to hanahaki disease, depending on what rules you are working with:

Love becomes requited

Person dies

They have a surgery to remove their ability to have feelings

They lose (voluntarily or not) their memories about their unrequited love

Some people play with flower meanings of the petals being coughed up. I fucking love those versions so much.

Let's get into the AU! The timeline is mine to fuck around with, so excuse any non-canon progressions.

~~~~

Tim has chronic hanahaki disease from his parents. They visit often enough to quell the worst symptoms and mitigate the damage, but they don't stick around enough (or show enough constant attention) for the petals to go away.

Janet once asked Tim if he'd like to get the surgery. Tim said no. Janet respected that choice and never asked again even though Tim was like nine at the time. It also becomes a fear of his. He wakes up in cold sweat at the phantom idea of just not being able to love anyone. It terrifies him, even if the feeling of asphyxiation is the only other option.

When Janet dies and Tim becomes Robin, he does his best to hide his condition from Bruce. It worsens, from the way Tim adores and loves the Bats, but Tim manages.

It's a rough few years, but slowly, the ice begins to melt. The Waynes show Tim more and more affection. YJ also shower him in so much care to the point that Tim has days of uninterrupted breathing.

It's a novel but welcome feeling.

Jack waking up from the coma complicates shit. His condition worsens again, but it's manageable.

Until Tim's sixteenth birthday.

The teen will never admit, but that test nearly fucking killed him. Bruce never finds out how close he was to killing his Robin, but Tim knows. He'll never forget how thorns scraped along his throat at the idea that he can't trust anyone. He'll never rid himself of the intimate knowledge of how blossoms taste in his mouth and the sickly sweet smell of blood mixed with flower petals.

Tim has to quit Robin, for his safety, health, and as a "fuck you" to Bruce, but realizes he can't keep in contact with Dick, Alfred, or Barbara without it. He can't contact his team.

He has to go back, so he does.

Tim's not sure if it's better or worse that Bruce didn't know about the hanahaki. If the man did, would he still have done the test? Due to him never showing remorse or guilt for his actions, the teen doesn't know.

The question pesters him even when his dad finds out about Robin.

It plagues him through Steph becoming Robin and dying.

It festers into his bones when, while wearing those same damn colors, he hears his father die.

That is one or many reasons "Uncle Eddie" was created.

Tim can't quite trust Bruce, but he finds himself still loving the father-like figure in his life. He finds himself forgiving him. He leans into the hair ruffles, shoulder pats, and gruff words of affection. He lets himself be loved.

Then, an undead asshole in a gleaming red bucket comes to kick Tim's ass. The teen can't help but laugh at the way his life bounces between breathing and dying at the drop of a hat.

He's just barely able to hide the flowers from both Red Hood and the Titans.

A little assassin appears, and each attack brings a petal.

Each new death hampers Tim's ability to breathe. Tim tries, but it's so fucking hard. How is he supposed to live without them?

With the ticklish scrape of petals, Tim doesn't think he's supposed to.

Bruce isn't dead. Tim knows, with every fiber of his being, that Bruce can't be dead. Tim won't survive if he is.

Even if Tim loses everything, even if these damn fucking flowers consume him, at least his death will have a purpose.

That's what he tells himself as he lies in a pool of blood beneath the stars. The sand at his back is soft in comparison to the stem piercing his throat and tongue. The sound of his choking is joined by the bubbling wheezing of Pru.

Ra's peers down at the body already set with rigor mortis. Tim's jaw is pried apart by a bouquet of yellow carnations dripping in blood.

The demon head hums at the sight, a dangerous gleam to his eyes. With the flick of a hand, two assassins grab the young detective's corpse. The other three bodies are taken as well.

Tim's eyes fling open as the teen gasps for air.

It's wrong. It's wrong. It's all wrong. He's empty.

He's surrounded in green.

Oh fuck.

For awhile, Tim just soaks in the soft expansion of his lungs. He marvels at their capability.

He can't remember a time when he's been able to breathe so easily. It's enchanting and allots the teen a giddy sort of relief.

Through the destruction of both the Spiders and the LoA, he finds himself taking small moments to just breathe. It's a simple joy he can't help but partake in.

Tim logically knows there's a price. His breaths cost him, though he doesn't know their price. He should be dead and buried within the flowers.

He is neither.

He is alive. He is free (from the petals. It takes him a little bit to become free of Ra's).

Tim brushes aside these valid and alarming concerns to focus on his goals: escape, take down Ra's, and derail whatever retaliation occurs.

So that's what Tim does. He ignores the insistent sense of wrongness and focuses on the task at hand. He coordinates his friends and family. He faces down Ra's. He gets kicked out of a window.

With a grim smile, his body goes lax and his eyes flutter shut

He's done.

When Tim springs up from unconsciousness, Steph's voice reassures him he's safe. She tells him he's in the batcave.

The tension to bleeds from his body as Damian mutters a demand. Tim's eyes dart from Robin to Batgirl to Batman (Dick) to Alfred.

That sinking feeling of wrongness returns.

Dick's eyes are trained on the teen as he asks Tim, "How did you know I'll be there to save you?"

It's obvious the man is worried. It's obvious he's so fucking glad he caught his younger brother.

The lie falls from Tim's lips as smooth as any truth, "You're my brother, Dick. You'll always be there for me."

Dick's face brightens with fond relief.

Tim watches. He observes the reactions of his older brother. He catalogs the effect of his words on the man he's admired and loved for thirteen years.

He notes all of this.

And he feels nothing.

[shushmal]

Robin has a love-hate relationship with Steve-and-Eddie. Love, because those are her best friends and her best friends are in love with each other and they never leave her out of anything. Hate, because sometimes she wishes they would because she keeps accidentally third-wheeling herself.

She doesn't hate it that much though, if she's honest. It's just fun to complain, especially because it riles the both of them up.

But right now, she's being quiet so she can witness one of her secretly-favorite Steve-and-Eddie rituals—of which there are many, but this one is silly and endearing.

It starts like this:

The waitress sets down their drinks, lemonade for Robin, coca-cola for Steve, and a cherry soda for Eddie.

"Don't you dare," Eddie says, even as Steve reaches for Eddie's drink, slipping his straw in next to Eddie's and slurping obnoxiously. Eddie doesn't even pretend to stop him anymore. "Unbelievable."

"I just want to taste it!"

"You could just get a whole glass of it! All for yourself!!"

"It's too sweet, I don't want a whole glass."

"What, so you think you can just help yourself to mine?"

Steve's grin is far too smug, even for Robin, even when Steve slides it to her so she can take a sip. Steve is right, it is really too sweet and she wrinkles her nose, but it's worth it for the offended gasp Eddie makes when she slides it back to him.

The diner is their favorite, because everyone who works there has given up on understanding their weird dynamic: Robin and Steve squished into on side of the booth while Eddie's spread out on the other, Robin making gagging noises whenever Steve brushes against her, even though they never sit in any other configuration. The staff has long since stopped asking which of them was her boyfriend, and that's perfect for her.

Besides, she knows that under the table, Steve and Eddie have their ankles locked together like the disgusting love-sick dorks that they are.

The Steve-and-Eddie show continues when their meals come out. Chicken fingers and fries for Steve because he's an actual child, and breakfast for dinner for Eddie because he likes to be contrary. And then the real performance begins.

They "fight" over the ketchup bottle, which really means that Eddie picks it up and Steve snatches it out of his hands—only for Steve to spread it over Eddie's scrambled eggs (gross) for him before he adds a disgusting amount to his own basket.

Eddie makes a game of stealing Steve's fries when he thinks he isn't looking (Steve is, he's tallying each one up in his head, Robin knows this because she's doing it too), and when he finally "catches" Eddie in the act, he steals Eddie's last piece of bacon—the one that's sat untouched for the last five minutes for this very reason.

Then, Eddie's "forcing" Steve to try his grits, like he does every time, and game eats a spoonful of it, every time, and then complains at length how much he hates it (and he actually does hate it, the texture is just not for him, Robin knows because it's the same for her too).

And then they do the worst, most disgusting thing ever: they split the pancake in half. Without fail. Without argument. Every time.

Robin, slurping on her strawberry milk shake that she will NEVER share with anyone ever, thinks that stupid pancake is like the symbol of their love or something. Sh's sure if they weren't in public, they'd be feeding it to each other.

"What?" They say it in unison, and Robin hates when they do that to her.

(Eddie complains about it right back at her, because she and Steve do the same thing to him all the time. They should blame Steve, since he's the common denominator, but he just looks so pleased about them both that they can't rag on him for it, so Eddie remains Robin's sworn enemy and vice versa.)

"What what?" she sneers at them, voice quiet. "You two are disgusting, it's like you're making out right in front of me right now."

"What are you, homophobic?" Eddie hisses back, just as quiet. "I'm in love with your best friend, Buckley. I'm making out with him in front of you for the rest of your life."

"Ugh! I hate you so much."

"Right back at you."

And then they start kicking at each other beneath the table, no doubt catching Steve's ankles in the crossfire. He doesn't tell them to stop though, and Robin can see that pleased, sappy smile on his stupid face out of the corner of her eye, so she lands an exceptionally harsh blow to Eddie's shin in retaliation for making her best friend so happy. He digs his heel into her toes in return.

[moiraimyths]

can you elaborate on what you mean by romance being a social construct? just trying to understand here, because by that logic to be aromantic is to be against the social construct of romance or what most people view as romance

What does "romance" or "romantic" mean? Most people when answering that question will list specific signifiers or feelings that we commonly associate with romance or romantic feelings, but these things don't have to be romantic. They're 'coded' as romantic because we associate them with romance as a byproduct of our culture. Simple example: Kissing on the lips. Pretty safe to say this action is frequently cited as a romantic gesture. But is it objectively a romantic gesture? No. There are plenty of cultures, currently and throughout history, where kissing on the lips is not romantic. Hell, kissing in some cultures isn't a thing at all/considered unsanitary! Therefore, kissing on the lips is not objectively romantic or some universal phenomenon. It's socially constructed.

The same thing can apply to romantic feelings. First: Feelings of sexuality that often (but not always!) go toe to toe with romance are not inherently romantic. You can be attracted to someone, or be intimate with someone, and not feel romantic feelings. So we need to separate sexuality from romance. What does that leave us with? Great care for someone? A feeling of closeness? A desire to never be parted with someone? Are these feelings romantic? Yes, but they aren't always. Stripped of any other pretenses, you could easily apply those feelings to your friends or family members. What makes them romantic is socially contextual, and subjectively determined. Therefore: Romance is a social construct.

People who identify as aromantic will have different reasons for subscribing to the label. Some may be aromantic because the feelings typically associated with romance just don't happen with them, and sometimes (but not always!!!) asexuality plays a part here as well. But for other aro folk, it's not always that consistent. Maybe they do feel those feelings, but only under some circumstances. Or maybe they feel some of those feelings, but not all of them, or inconsistently, or don't really think of those feelings as romantic at all or in the moment. Romance, like sexuality, is more fluid than we tend to realize, but romance as a specific, socially determined construct can be suffocating for those who don't quite fit in the box. Especially once you start throwing in the other social expectations that romance is typically associated with: Living together, marriage, having kids, permanence, etc. In those instances, some folks may gravitate toward the aromantic label simply because they oppose the rigidness of the construct.

Ultimately, our purpose with our arospec characters (Keagan, Robin, and Daonna) is to explore these variations.

EDIT: Hi! If you're reading this, we just wanted to quickly note that we're actually indie game developers! Right now we're making a fantasy visual novel about Irish mythology, and the game can be played completely platonically. Some of our characters are also arospec! If that sounds like something you may be interested in, check us out on Steam or Itch.

[kiwi-bitchez]

Like Magic

Eddie Munson x Reader, 18+ mdni

Summary: Incredibly troupey enemies to lovers smut. The gang takes a trip together and a game of never-have-I-ever creates a new tension between you and Eddie. The classic "no one has ever made me come'' situation. A bit overused, but it still gets me every time. Hope y'all enjoy!

Warnings: afab reader, she/her pronouns, use of y/n, drinking (all characters are 21+), kind of Asshole!Eddie but not really, fingering, kissing, oral (m and f receiving), Eddie has a dick piercing because I said so, piv sex, unprotected sex, plz be safe irl this is just fanfiction, Eddie has big dick energy in this one, I said what I said, rough-ish sex but Eddie's def more of a soft dom here, a few pet names (princess, mostly), spelling/grammar mistakes, corny ending

Word count: 14k (oof… got a little carried away with this one besties)

Steve said it would be a getaway. A trip dedicated equal parts to celebrating Nancy's first big article getting published and to cheer Steve up after having been dumped by his most recent situationship. The former was the initial reason to take the trip but after finding out about Jessica or Jamie or whatever her name was you had a feeling the latter was the true motivator. Either way, Steve had found a cheap cabin up by a lake and had pitched the trip as a fun way to "get in touch with wilderness." You had a feeling it was going to be more drinking and board games than hiking and fishing, but that was fine by you. 

It was nice to put in for the time off from work and have something to look forward to. A week away with your friends. And Eddie. It's not that you didn't consider him a friend... well, you didn't. But it wasn't for lack of trying on your end. You'd use the term friendly acquaintance. A person with whom you share several close friends but for some reason refuses to be friendly to you- that kind of friendly acquaintance. Okay, maybe the word friendly was a bit of a stretch. 

There was an odd tension between the two of you that you couldn't quite figure out. When Robin had introduced you to her friends from high school, all staying very close over the years, you immediately hit it off with them, easily integrating yourself into their quirky dynamic. Even though Eddie sort of stuck out like a sore thumb among them, you never treated him any differently than you did Steve or Nancy. You liked that their group was so mismashed. You had made it a point to not to turn your nose up at him for any reason, expecting he typically got that reaction from those who didn't know him. At first you actually found him to be quite charming. 

There was just a certain coldness he had towards you that you found off putting. Knowing what little you did about him, entirely through Robin's introductory ramblings, you could understand why he might be wary of new people. It was that you had put in an effort to get to know him and be friendly that had upset you when he didn't return the sentiment. Not only did he treat you with a certain dry curtness, but he seemed so warm and loving to everyone else. He'd ruffle Robin's hair, bear hug Steve, share a cigarette with Nancy when she was especially stressed and tell some long winded story that had her cracking up and forgetting why she was ever tense in the first place. You didn't expect immediate closeness, but a little bit of that warmth from him would have been nice. 

The awkward tension between the two of you manifested as joking jabs that hit a little too close, sarcastic remarks and rolled eyes. If he was going to go out of his way to push your buttons, you had no problem doing the same. It never ruined the energy when you'd all hang out as a group, but it was an underlying feeling you could't ever seem to ignore, as much as you'd tried. So this trip was going to be a celebration for Nancy, a distraction for Steve, and a challenge for you. 

The cabin really was a great find to credit Steve. You had all pitched in a little money to cover the expenses and were pleasantly surprised when you found out there were actually enough beds for all of you, a half decent kitchen, hot water, nothing special but certainly nothing to complain about either. You had access to a small dock and a beat up canoe, a little fire pit out back, the basic necessities for a half decent vacation. That, supplemented with the box of booze Steve had lugged up from the car and all of your excitement to let loose was sure to make for a good trip, if not at least a memorable one. 

You had all scoped out the digs, poking around the shed outside and unloading all your stuff from the cars. You felt somewhat settled in and ready to slip into vacation mode right as the sun began to set. Steve and Nancy had taken care of bringing groceries for the week, unpacking a week's worth of dry pasta and snacks into the dusty pantry. Steve took it upon himself to cook a small meal for everyone in the kitchen, nothing fancy but still appreciated given the minimal kitchen setup, always the mom of the group. Eddie messily makes himself a rum and coke, offering Robin one as well and blatantly ignoring your presence. Not that you wanted a stupid rum and coke from him anyways. He hands her the drink and you avoid eye contact and push past him to fix a drink for yourself, quickly shuffling off to check if Steve needed any help in the kitchen. 

"Too many cooks in the kitchen, y/n," Steve places his hands on your shoulders and backs you out of the small space, "go relax, I think I can handle boiling pasta by myself." 

You were mostly trying to avoid the living room where Nancy, Robin, and Eddie were all settled, but Steve was right, the kitchen was far too small for you to be taking up space while he tries to cook for five. With a sigh you make the short journey over to the couch, wedging yourself next to Robin and quietly sipping on your drink, making a mental note to make the next one stronger. You easily fall into conversation, listening to Robin tell some story about when she and Steve used to work at an ice cream shop years ago, some exaggerated memory she kept referring to as "mint-chocolate-chip-gate," easily pulling laughs from all of you. 

Hours later, empty plates scattered around the small makeshift dining area, a few more drinks in your system, you had hardly thought about Eddie at all. You'd managed to avoid his snippy remarks for the majority of the evening, both relishing in the good feeling of the start of a week off. It was always when you felt the tension slip away that it came back harsher than ever. The five of you crowded around the small table, playing cards shuffled into a messy deck. Robin had started a never-have-I-ever game, although childish, still fun and silly as none of you took things too seriously. 

"Never have I ever," she searches her brain for something riveting, "faked an orgasm."

You and Nancy give her a fake-annoyed glance and take sips from your cups, not a huge surprise on anyone's part. 

"Not fair Rob," you say, looking up from your cup, "just because you only have sex with women doesn't mean you have to target those of us unfortunate enough to be attracted to men." You and Nancy laugh.

"Sounds like the unfortunate ones are the guys you're sleeping with," Eddie mumbles. You shoot daggers from your eyes at him, "I'm just saying, how can you expect it to be any good if you're not being honest."

"Fuck off," you roll your eyes, "I'm sure you've been on the receiving end of more than one faked orgasm, Munson, it's kind of a universal truth for all women."

"Well I don't know if I'd say that-" Nancy interjects, "universal truth is kind of a big claim."

"Never have I ever," Steve interrupts, clearly trying to change the conversation, "accidentally poured salt instead of sugar into my coffee while on a first date and was too embarrassed to say anything so I just drank the salty coffee and suffered in silence."

"Oh my god," you burst out, everyone giggling, "that was such a pointed attack! I'm never telling you anything ever again!" You take a sip from your drink, being the only person in the group who has experienced that oddly specific situation. 

"If you all are going to target me with the knowledge of friendship then I'm coming for all of your asses," you set down your drink and try to think of something that will surely get them to all drink, "Aha! I know, never have I ever had an orgasm during sex with a partner." Your mind was sort of still in the gutter from Robin's statement, and you knew for sure you'd get them all with this one, you knew that you were in a slim minority with that fact. It wasn't that you choose bad partners, well, that was sometimes part of it, but you just couldn't get to that place when someone else was doing it to you, only ever by yourself. You just figured it was a slight abnormality, and had resigned to a life of solo play and half decent but never truly fulfilling sexual encounters. 

Steve groans, annoyed you brought the conversation back to the sexual topics he had previously steered the group away from, taking a drink alongside everyone else. 

"Ha!" you gloat while everyone takes their long sips, "knew I'd get you all there. Keep trying to come for me with my oddly specific embarrassing stories and you'll all be sorry in the morning."

"I don't really think having a shit sex life is anything to brag about, y/n," Eddie snips at you. 

"I'm not bragging, it's the whole point of the game to get people to drink, stupid," you shoot back, starting to regret revealing that level of personal information to him. 

"Well maybe if you weren't so busy faking your orgasms you'd actually chill out for long enough to actually have one," he hurls back, the thick tension settling between the two of you.

"Jesus, Eddie, mind your own fucking business," you feel blood rushing to your face and your jaw tenses up. 

"You were the one who brought it up, sweetheart," you hated how calm his voice still was, raising his hands up in fake defense, "never have I ever NOT made my partner come."

"Oh fuck off," your voice was seething, "you can't say that. There's, like, no definitive way to prove that's even true!"

"No, I'm pretty sure I know it's true," he was so fucking smug and it annoyed you to no end.  

"OKAY," Steve breaks the awkward silence that had settled around the rest of the group, "I want to play cards, what do we think? Cards? Anyone?"

'Yeah, whatever,'' you felt bad if you had accidentally ruined the fun everyone was having, but it wasn't your fault Eddie decided to be such a dick about it. You help Steve shuffle the cards and start dealing, letting the heated energy dissipate around you as you wiggled your way back into normal conversation with everyone.

Several rounds of cards and a few drinks later the night took hold of the group and sent Nancy off to bed, Robin off to search for some advil that she knew she'd be grateful for in the morning, and Steve mostly asleep slumped in his chair at the table. You gently shook him awake and he grumbled a thank you and a goodnight as he dragged his body down the hall to his bed. This left you and Eddie with a half decent mess between the drinks, the aftermath of dinner, and the cards. He had started to gather the cards back into their deck while you debated on taking care of the dishes or putting it off until morning, ultimately deciding that tomorrow-you would be very thankful if tonight-you sucked it up and just cleaned up now. 

"I got the rest," you start picking up everyones mostly empty cups and moving into the kitchen to tackle the mountain of dishes. Jeez Steve, how many pots does it take to boil pasta for five people? "Night, see you tomorrow," you say without turning back to look at Eddie. 

He came up next to you and grabbed the dry towel off the counter, taking the soapy cup from your hand and wiping it away before stacking it on a clear part of the countertop. 

"You wash, I'll dry, yeah?" he's already moved onto the next plate you had sponged down.

"It's really fine Eddie, I've got it," you appreciate the sentiment, but didn't like feeling so cramped standing with him in the small kitchen. 

"I have manners, you know," he makes a harsh gesture to the dishes, urging you to get on with washing, which you do, "plus I'm not gonna let you take all the credit for cleaning up after everyone, you aren't anyone's mother or maid here." 

You weren't really sure how to take that, but decided to ignore it as you continued to scrub away, silently handing him the dripping dishes as you finished cleaning them. 

"I know you don't really care for me," you start, feeling the need to fill the awkward silence between you, "but can we please not make Steve and them regret inviting us both? Like, I know you're capable of being civil. I just really don't want to spend this whole trip walking on eggshells worrying that we're ruining the fun. So, this is me apologizing for anything I do this upcoming week that pisses you off for whatever reason, just know I didn't do it on purpose, and it's not worth freaking out over. I'm just trying to have a good time here, that's all."  

You really couldn't tell if you felt relieved or more anxious after saying all that to him. You meant it. You really didn't want to drag any unnecessarily tense baggage around with you while everyone was just trying to enjoy their trip. You wanted him to know this, at least to feel like the blame was off your back if he was a dick to you, at least you tried to clear the air on night one. 

"What? Still got your panties in a bunch over that game?" you didn't have to look over at him to hear the smirk in his voice, "Because I remember you were the one getting all in a huff about it."

"This is exactly what I'm talking about," you turn over sharply to look at him, "please just stop being such an asshole to me."

"Learn to take a joke, sweetheart," he had been drying the same mug for a little too long now, "that stick up your ass is probably the reason you can't reach the big O."

"Please, for the love of god, fuck off," you tried to not raise your voice too much given everyone's sleeping state, "What do you want me to say? Hmmm? 'Oh Eddie, I'm so jealous of all those girls you make come with your magical guitar fingers, oooooooooh, please pick me'." You roll your eyes and prepare to storm off to bed when his whole posture shifts in front of you. 

"Magical guitar fingers? Hmmm?" he's really making you regret saying that, even sarcastically, you start putting the rags away, wanting to just finish up the dishes and get the fuck out of the kitchen. "You said it babe, not me."

"You're so insufferable," you bring your fingers to your temple, Eddie Muson manifesting as a special form of personal headache.

"This is exactly what I'm saying," he mockingly gestures to you, "you're the one always getting so worked up over nothing, I'm as cool as a cucumber, I think the problem might be you."

"Is everything a fucking joke to you? Can you really not be serious for three fucking seconds while I try to be straight with you about us getting along on this trip?" Your grip on the dish towel tightening. 

"Me? Joking? About something so serious and romantic as having precious y/n her first orgasm with my 'magical guitar fingers' that she so obviously fantasizes about? I would never." He clasps his hands across his chest, always the fucking jester. 

In a moment of white hot rage, and wanting to put him in his place, and only a tiny fraction fueled by your physical attraction to him, as much as you've tried to fight that off, you march the three steps in between the two of you and grab his wrist in your hand, holding his hand up in between the two of you.

'Fine, do it then," you maintain harsh eye contact with him, your faces only a few inches apart, "you won't. Better yet, I don't even think you could." 

For the first time, you felt as if you had the upper hand, you had never rendered him speechless before. He always had some snippy comeback to everything you said, at a rapid fire pace that was honestly impressive given how subtly clever his remarks were. 

"You wanna bet?" He cocks his head at you, trailing behind just a beat slower than he normally would. 

You just raise your eyebrows and glance down at his hand, still in your grasp, lips pursed and voice secretly caught in your throat. 

"You just say the word," he starts, voice slightly softening, "and I bet you that I can make you come using just this hand- scratch that, just these three fingers," he lowers his pointer and pinky, leaving his middle two and thumb sticking up, "in less than five minutes right here in this goddamn kitchen."

"Yeah, for what?" were you seriously considering this? Why were your thighs clenching together? 

"I make you come, and not only do I get to live in your memory forever as the first idiot who had the sense to make you finish, but you're gonna be so sweet to me the rest of the trip. Make my drinks, fetch my lighter, roll all my joints with those cute little dexterous fingers of yours, be nothing but pleasant and lovely without the slightest hint of attitude." His words made you fume, but you were also inexplicably turned on, his breath fanning across your face as he spoke sending tingles down your spine. 

"And when you can't, what then?" you tried to match his level of composure, but the gleam in his eye told you that he saw straight through your facade. 

"If-" he starts, "you manage to hold out on me and I can't get that pretty pussy of yours to gush all over my super magical talented guitar fingers, I'll leave you alone for the rest of the trip. We never bring it up again, or you can tease me about it for the rest of our lives, totally up to you. But I'll be so civil and polite you'll hardly recognize me the rest of this trip."

You let your grasp fall from his wrist, holding your unsteady hand out to him to shake, "Deal." 

He truly thought you were bluffing up until this point. When you had first met he had been impressed with how sharp you were, how you managed to meet his level of sarcasm so easily. At least he thought you had been sarcastic, after a few fumbled interactions he got the vibe that you weren't joking around with him in the jabby-playful way he was. If he was honest wit himself, he knew he sort of used this as a defense mechanism when meeting new people. Put up the walls and if they didn't like him, that was just fine.

The tension in the air was as thick as it had ever been between the two of you. You refused to break eye contact, refused to let him win. As much as you'd like to think this would be an easy way to put an end to his snarky attitude, there was no denying that a large part of you was excited, if not intrigued at the prospect of him touching you like that. Eddie was hot, you had never denied that. But the butterflies in your stomach and slight buckle of your knees indicated a little bit more than surface level attraction. 

Breaking the handshake he takes a few purposeful steps forward, backing you against the nearest counter. He places a hand on either side of your body, caging you in, leaning his head down to speak directly into your ear, voice low and raspy. 

"We doing this, babe? You say the word and I'll let it go now, but otherwise I'm gonna need you to unbutton those cute jeans for me."

There was no way in hell you were turning back at this point. You try to give him your best 'fuck you' expression and say, "Can't even unbutton my pants, how the hell are you gonna make me come?" Regardless, you follow his request and unbutton your pants, and better yet, slip them down your legs to let them pool at your feet.

You were still locked in between his arms against the counter, closer than you had ever been to him. As your pants hit the floor, you notice his gaze flicker down to get a look at you, then quickly back up to your face. All the while he had shifted over slightly, arm now fiddling with a dial on the stovetop. He was setting a timer, cocky bastard. He adjusts the stovetop cook timer to five minutes and casually hits the enter button, as if he had nothing to prove, as if the few extra seconds meant nothing to him. 

He brings his attention back to you, knowing you were fully aware of the timer he had just set. Rather than plunging his hand straight into your already dampening underwear, his first move was surprisingly to bend down slightly and cup the backside of your knee, lifting one foot out of the pant leg that was scrunched around your ankles. From the crook of your knee, his hand slowly moved up your thigh, giving it a squeeze, acting as if he wasn't on any sort of time constraint. As promised, once he reaches your underwear he only uses one of the three promised fingers, running the tip of his middle digit along the top elastic of your panties, quirking an eyebrow, looking at you for one last assurance of consent before the two of you crossed the line. You give him a curt nod, knowing what his questioning glance meant, and with that he dips his hand into your simple cotton underwear. 

Once again, you almost expected him to just shove his fingers inside of you and get on with it, but he took several long moments to run his middle two fingers up and down your slit, never entering your hole, but collecting some of your wetness and dragging it up to massage the hood of your clit gently. You wouldn't have been surprised if the oven timer went off at any given moment. It felt like he had been touching you for far longer than five minutes, despite only forty seconds having been passed. He continued to gently roll your clit between his fingers, placing one on either side of your bud and just letting them slowly massage it back and forth. 

You were slowly losing control of your composure. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of any sort of reaction, but a shallow gasp that you were sure he noticed escaped you. You mentally prepared yourself for a comment from him, a chuckle or signature smirk. Eddie never shut the fuck up, you wouldn't have been surprised if that was true in the bedroom too, or in this case, the kitchen. What did surprise you was the breathy "Good girl, that's it" he mumbled into the side of your face as he increased the pressure of his fingers ever so slightly, "just like that, relax for me, doing so well."

Fuck. 

Your body responded to his words before your mind could make the conscious decision to, and you melted back into the countertop slightly with an exhale. His foot wedged in between your legs slowly slid them open a bit more, letting his ripped denim clad leg settle in between yours, his hand sinking a bit lower and slowly entering you with just his middle finger. The hand that wasn't occupied with your pussy gently came down to toy with the band of your still-on underwear, gently tugging them down as he managed to slip his second finger into you. 

"That's it," he began to curl them ever so slightly, allowing you to adjust to the feeling of him, "your pussy's so pretty, so good, sucking my fingers right in." 

His two middle fingers were sunk all the way into you, and he was moving them in a way that had you involuntarily drop your jaw and let shallow whimpers out with every roll and thrust. This was entirely different than anything you had ever experienced before. Up until now, 'getting fingered' for you was an annoyingly uncomfortably forplay where your partner would shove a hand in and out too fast just to make sure you were wet enough to proceed with the act. Eddie wasn't even bringing his fingers out of you, he settled them in and wiggled them around until he noticed your breath catch, and just let them push into this spot that you didn't know you had. Your own fingers never could reach that deep and his were filling you perfectly, thumb toying with your clit, not too hard, but just enough to add to the sensation. Damn, he was good at this.

When his fingers finally hit that new spot inside you your body reacted with a subtle roll forward of your hips and your head fell back to rest against the cabinets, eyes fluttering shut on their own accord. "Mmm, there it is," his voice was still gentle against your ear as he continued to make you gasp and squirm, "anyone ever find this pretty little spot inside you before?" He let his fingers slide all the way out of you, spreading some wetness from your hole up to your clit with a few circular motions before sinking back down inside you. 

You were biting the inside of your lip, no longer trying to hide your reactions from him, but trying to keep them quiet enough to not wake anyone in the cabin up. You wouldn't dare answer his questions out loud in your state, but you give him a quick shake of your head to indicate that, no, no one had ever touched you quite like this before. 

"Such a fucking shame," he increased the pressure on your clit, not increasing speed at all, but just curling his fingers a little harder, swirling his thumb a bit more deliberately, "bet you'd make such gorgeous noises for me too, can't have anyone wake up and find us like this though, yeah? Those pretty little whimpers are for me only."

Why were his words doing more to you than his hands? Not that you had any complaints about the care and attention he was giving your center, but his face pressed so close to you, letting out sweeter words than you had ever heard from him, that was what was making your walls tighten around his two fingers. Your mind had completely slipped away from the timer, no longer questioning whether you had three seconds or three minutes left, all you could do was feel. 

There was a soft squelching coming from where his hand made contact with your pussy, wetness coating his fingers and spreading to your thighs with each of his shallow thrusts. While you would typically feel a little embarassed, hearing your own arousal only turned you on more, that along with Eddie's soft "mmmm, that's it" and "good fucking girl." 

You were starting to feel it, that familiar tightening. Familiar, but so different from when you got yourself there. It was the difference of jumping into water versus being pushed in. When you jump in yourself, you have time to build up the courage and the cold water is less of a surprise and more of an inevitability. This was as if someone had thrown you over their shoulder and could fling you in at any moment, entirely out of your control. You feel your head start to spin, your walls start to tighten. 

Before you could let the tightening band in your lower half snap, any thought of purposely holding back and trying to not come for the sake of the bet was far gone, he takes his unoccupied hand and harshly tugs on your chin. Your head had started to roll back, pressing against the cabinets for support, eyes fluttering shut as you almost reached your peak. You were jolted back to reality as he cups your jaw and forces your head to stay upright. 

"Eyes open," your impending orgasm teetering right on the edge, you would do anything he said in this moment, "you're going to keep your eyes open and look at me while I make you come." His words with a few more expert swipes of his thumb against your throbbing clit had you gasping for air. It was truly unlike any orgasm you had ever experienced. 

You tried your best to follow his directions, keeping your eyes as open as you could, maintaining eye contact with him through your high as your mouth dropped open and your moans caught in your throat, silently shaking and thriving as the tension in your body eased out in waves of pleasure. His gaze burned into you, fingers keeping such a steady and consistent pace as you rode out your peak. Mumbled phrases escaped him and only made your orgasm last that much longer. Why the fuck was Eddie Munson calling you "pretty girl" making your legs shake? This shouldn't be happening. That had never been a turn on before, none the less coming from a man you typically found insufferable. 

With the last pulse of your walls you found yourself acting on pure adrenaline, you completely blame the endorphins for your next action. His hand was still firmly planted on the side of your head and your thoughts were spinning so fast, you had to ground yourself, and your body decided that lurching forward and kissing Eddie was how you were going to do that. Fingers still slowly rolling inside of you, thumb now coming to rest on your overstimulated clit, he was taken aback by your action, but leaned into the kiss and swiped his wet tongue through your bitten swollen lips as you melted into him. As soon as you felt fully entangled in him, completely consumed by his hands, mouth, scraggly hair, all of him. You jerked back, quickly apologizing, "Fuck, uh, sorry, I-" 

He slowly drags his hand out of your drenched thighs as you try to find words, bringing his two fingers up between his lips to suck them clean. You wanted to moan out at the sight but were still scrambling to figure out what the fuck just happened. He casually leans over and pauses the oven timer with a beep.

"Hey, 4:20, nice!" you roll your eyes at his immature comment, "we have forty more seconds on the clock, wanna go again?" he jokes. 

You were so far beyond caring about this bet, you had way bigger issues to tackle than having to wait hand and foot on Eddie for the rest of this trip. You awkwardly pull up your wet panties and readjust your pants around your legs, not sure what to do or say. 

"Was that good? Better than when you do it yourself?" he asks, sarcasm indetectable in his voice but you were sure it had to be there.

"Do you actually care to know or do you just want to hear me say it? Fine Eddie, you win. You have magical sex fingers and made me come in like three minutes, congratulations. It was great, the best orgasm of my life. You were right, you told me so." 

"Well that's great to hear and all but I wasn't looking for an ego boost or anything, babe," his tone was lighthearted and you weren't expecting it, "I just know it's like wayyyy different for me when its my hand versus another person, not to mention the difference between all the holes and whatnot."

"Gross!" you laugh and scrunch up your nose, not noticing how he was pouring you a glass of water. 

"I'm just saying!" He holds his hands up defensively as he silently hands the cup to you, "I've never experienced a female orgasm so I just wanted to know if it was any different than when you use the showerhead."

"Oh my god I-" you start, in between gulps of water.

"Oh, don't even start," he cuts you off, "we both know that all girls do that, don't try and be all shy with me now babe, I know what your 'oh' face looks like."

You feel a heat rise to your cheeks and you bury your gaze down into your almost empty glass of water. "Yeah Eddie, it was different and it was better. Your fingers rank higher than the jet setting of my shower head, do you want a trophy?" This sort of banter usually had a sharper edge to it between you, but there was a new softness and humor to the way you communicated. Maybe he was just being nice because he felt bad for you, because you were so desperate that you came from three fingers on a kitchen counter in less time than most top forty radio hits. 

"I'm glad it was good for you," he says, almost sincerely, "night sweetheart." With that he turned around and exited the kitchen, keeping his composure all the way down the hall until he could burst into his room, rid himself of his clothes, and pull his cock at the thought of how you felt wrapped around his fingers, the little whimpers and noises you made, how you looked right at him as you came, how you kissed him afterwards. 

You were left somewhat dumbfounded, standing in the middle of the kitchen with an empty cup in your hands, looking around as if something else was going to happen. You weren’t expecting him to invite you back to his bed for a cuddle or anything like that, but you had just experienced the most earth shattering orgasm of your life followed up by some joking conversation and a friendly cup of water? It just didn't feel right. Then again, who the fuck has their first orgasm from someone else while being timed. 

You didn't regret it though. You actually felt a sense of relief. While you were pretty aware that your past sexual partners had been a bit selfish or underwhelming, a part of you had always wondered if that part of you was broken. If there was a part of your brain that would never let you reach that vulnerable state at the hands of someone else. That you would only ever trust yourself to let go and feel that kind of pleasure. Nope. Not broken. Definitely not broken. 

You feel like you're in a trance as you walk back to your room, shower, slip into pajamas and drift off to sleep. You started to wonder how the energy would be between you and Eddie in the morning, but as soon as you gave it any thought your brain decided it was time to shut down. You'd deal with it when it happened. 

Your head still felt cloudy the next morning, processing the sexual high and confusing social situation you now found yourself in. You knew one thing for sure, you'd never be able to look at Eddie again without thinking about last night. Suddenly the thought of him playing guitar, shuffling a deck of cards, smoking a joint, all felt inherently sexual to you despite never having that connotation before. You were fucked. 

What's even worse is when you tried to rub one out in the shower to ease some of your nerves before going downstairs for coffee all you could think of was comparing how your hand felt to Eddie's. It's like he put a stupid curse on you, that all your orgasms would now feel half hearted. It's like you were hungry and were served a peanut butter and jelly sandwich when you could smell a chef preparing a five star meal in the room over. Sure, a PB&J is fine, but now that you've had fine dining it just didn't quite cut it. On top of that your newly corrupted brain couldn't help but theorize about what else Eddie was capable of. He made you come in basically four minutes with three fingers. As soon as you let your mind wander you pull yourself out of it, make the shower as cold as your body can stand, and gear up to face the music, or at least put on an awkward front in front of all of your friends. 

You were the first person in the kitchen, but you heard a fair amount of shuffling going on around the creaky cabin so you suspect your friends will be down soon. You take it upon yourself to put on a full pot of coffee and survey the pantry for breakfast options. 

"Morning, y/n," Steve greets you passively, eyes clearly set on the coffee that's almost done brewing. 

"Oh wow, did you do the dishes last night?" Nancy inquires, her and Robin taking their places at the table while everyone waits for the coffee to finish. 

"Oh yeah, it was nothing. Eddie and I did it, only took like five minutes," you wince at yourself.

"Were the two of you up real late?" Steve questions, "I tried to get him up a minute ago but he was knocked out." 

"Oh," you start, relying on pouring coffee to everyone as an excuse to not make any eye contact, "I'm not really sure, we were only really up for like ten, twenty minutes after you all went to bed. Maybe he stayed up late in his room." None of it was a lie. 

"Whatever, let him sleep this beautiful day away," Steve's whole demeanor changed after a single sip of caffeine, "I say we go down to the dock and check out that canoe, maybe have lunch on the dock? Could be nice." 

A murmur of agreement among the group settled the plans for the day, relaxing by the lake, doing exactly what you had intended this trip to be about. You all scarfed down quick breakfast and coffee and separated to change into swimwear. You hated that you thought of Eddie as you picked out your swimsuit. Did he even see you like that? When he called you pretty last night, was that all part of an act to win some stupid bet? You'd be better off assuming so, you decide, you don't want to get wrapped up in your own thoughts about how he thinks of you only to be totally wrong. But you secretly did hope that he'd check you out at least once.

You sprawled out on a big towel on the rickety dock, letting Robin, Nance, and Steve figure out the canoe. It didn't look like it could comfortably for more than two, and three was pushing it, so you decided to sit this one out considering the lake water looked a little murky. You set yourself up comfortably with a glass of lemonade and a book you were halfway through, letting the sun sink into your skin and illuminate the pages as you squinted at the words through the sunshine. You could hear their friendly bickering off in the distance, their canoe now a tiny speck off on the horizon of the lake. You could occasionally hear Robin shriek as Steve threatened to tip them all over. 

You felt the dock creek behind you before he said anything, not bothering to turn around from your comfortable position, knowing it couldn't be anyone but Eddie. He made his way down to your towel, inviting himself to plop down next to you and dip his toes into the lake below. He was only in his boxers and a ratty tshirt, a mostly full cup of black coffee sloshing around in the mug he held.

He made you nervous, not sure what the energy would be like between the two of you now. You almost felt worried that nothing would have changed at all. You ignored the buzzing in your abdomen and kept your eyes on your book as he kicked up the lakewater and sipped his coffee next to you, seeming comfortable in your mutual silence. 

“Reading anything good?” you knew he’d be the one to break the silence, ever the chatty Cathy. You were surprised at the genuine question rather than a smart remark or joke at your expense. 

You told him what you thought of your current read, filling him in a bit on the general plot. Part of you decided that you no longer had the right to give him the edge you usually did. He had won the upper hand fair and square and you were willing to accept that. You could play nice, play by his rules. 

You felt like your conversation was going well, or well enough. He asked to see your book, which you willfully handed over. You’d regret doing that. He dog-eared the page you were on and quickly set your book off to the back of the deck before moving at lightning speed and scooping you up and hurling you through the air and into the lake water. What the actual fuck was his problem. 

Before you could even register the cold lake water you emerge from your splash and gasp for air. You don’t even have a moment to find where the dock is to cuss him out before you see his cannonballed form fly above you and crash into the lake next to you. His shirt and coffee were abandoned with your book and he emerged from the water with that stupid goofy smile. 

That stupid goofy smile that made you less mad that he had thrown you in the lake. What was wrong with you? You should be pissed. Why did his annoying antics suddenly make you feel giggly? You knew exactly why, but wouldn't allow yourself to think about it for longer than a moment. 

“Eddie you bitch!” you splash him as soon as you can locate him and that stupid smile. You couldn’t help but smile too. He knew you wouldn’t stay mad. The two of you play-wrestle for a moment, splashing each other and taking turns pushing the other under the lake’s surface.

“I was reading,” you continue to protest. 

“And now you’re swimming!” He splashes you again, “We’re on a lake trip, y/n, not a library trip.”

You debated swimming out to where the canoe was, but mutually decided that sounded like too much work. Instead you took turns jumping off the dock and diving down to the bottom of the lake for rocks and other random junk. Eddie even found an old boat anchor. 

Once the other three came in from their canoe adventure you all ate packed sandwiches for lunch in the sunshine on the dock. You couldn’t help but take in the moment, knowing you'd be nostalgic for it in the future. You were surrounded by some of your best friends without a care in the world, only focused on pb&j sandwiches and who was going to make the fire later. 

After a backyard bonfire and several failed attempts at roasting hot dogs on sticks you all started to slow down and let the day in the sun take you to bed. You showered the feeling of lakewater off your skin and out of your hair with lots of soap and as hot of water as the cabin would allow. You thought you’d cozy up in bed and read some more of your book, or even crash right to sleep, but a nagging feeling kept pulling at you. 

As sleepy as you wanted to be, and as interesting as your book was, your mind couldn’t pull itself away from the idea of what Eddie was doing down the hall. It was late enough that the others were probably asleep, you probably should be too. After rereading the same sentence four times you decided to abandon your book and just follow your curiosities. 

Before your better judgment could stop you, you lightly knocked at Eddie’s door and cracked it open. You peek around the sturdy wooden door to see him propped up on the headboard, shirtless with a giant book in his lap. His lean chest and arms were littered with random tattoos, nothing you hadn't seen before swimming or when he wore those unbuttoned and ripped up shirts that he often did, but this time you couldn't help but stare at them. 

“Sure just come right in,” he comments with a joking tone as you peek around the corner of his door. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you half whisper through gritted teeth, “I just-” 

You didn’t know how to finish that statement. You just what? Were curious about what he was doing? Wanted to see him? Wanted to know what he would say if you came to his room?

To your surprise he shifts to the side of his bed and opens a space next to him, lifting the sheet that covers his lower half and patting the space next to him. Your eyes widened in surprise a bit before you moved a bit too enthusiastically across the room and settled onto the mattress next to him. 

“Hope I’m not bothering you,” you start, genuinely feeling bad if you were intruding. 

“You? Not at all. I’ve only read The Lord of the Rings eighty times or so,” he turns over the enormous book in his lap. 

“Wow, I didn’t know you could read,” you immediately felt bad, but knew your tone was joking enough to be permissible. 

“Very funny,” he sets the book on his nightside table, turning his attention to you. You suddenly felt a spotlight on you, a sudden stage to explain the reason you showed up in his room. Truthfully you didn’t have one. Or, you didn’t have the words to tell him why. 

“I-” you start, noticing how small your voice sounded, “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Is that so?” He looked genuinely surprised. 

“Yeah, I just-” you still don’t know where you’re going with this, “I just wanted to apologize if I ever gave you the impression that I didn’t like you. I know we kind of go back and forth a lot, but I never really meant to make you feel like I dislike being around you. I just want to start over with you, if that’s okay?”

“Is this because you know all the rumors about my magic guitar fingers are true,” he smirked and leaned his head into yours, an action that would typically make your blood boil that you now found endearing. 

“No- well yes- but no,” you couldn’t help but be flustered, finding yourself fidgeting with the hem of his sheet that you had tucked your feet under, knees pushed up against your chest, “I just thought that things were going to be really awkward between us today, or that you were going to be a huge asshole to me. But I just realized that maybe I hadn’t been fair to you, and maybe you weren’t fair to me either, so it would be nice to start over?”

“Do you want to start over right now, or do you want to start over, including last night?” He already knew that even if the two of you ‘started over’ neither of you could forget, or even pretend to forget what had transpired in the kitchen. You let out a sigh. You were thinking the same thing.

“Up to yout,” you look up at him through your lashes, “I’ll leave and never bring it up again, but I can't pretend like I haven’t been thinking about it since it happened.”

“Is that so?” He cocks an eyebrow.

“Shut up, you know it is,” you bump his shoulder with yours. 

“Is it because you touched yourself and realized it didn’t feel the same?” his voice grew deeper, and you could feel his gaze pressing into the side of your face, “or because you imagined it was my fingers between those pretty legs of yours.”

You couldn’t help your head from falling back against his headboard and eyes to find solace in the ceiling before gathering the courage to answer him. His face was already inches from your neck, all you needed to do was close the gap, but a part of you was still worried. 

You look tentatively into his eyes, big and brown and drawing you in, but you don't let yourself lean in all the way. You had initiated the first kiss between you two last night in the kitchen and had been shaken with worry that you had crossed a line. You didn't want to embarrass yourself again, so you held back. What if he thought that was too intimate? You hoped he didn't. Even though it had left you tense and anxious, kissing him was just as memorable as the orgasm he had given you. You remembered how his mouth tasted, how he slipped his tongue past your lips immediately, how you didn't have to think about anything other than how he was making you feel. 

Eddie, on the other hand, knew exactly what you were thinking. He knew that he'd left you a bit high and dry last night. If he was being honest, he wanted to stay in that kitchen and kiss you over and over, offering to take you to bed, his bed. He left for two reasons: he wanted to maintain whatever aura of mystery and intrigue he had garnered by making you feel so good, the tensions were high and it felt right to keep the game up, Eddie enjoyed the cat and mouse, back and forth that the two of you had, and this had taken it to an incredibly fun and elevated state, and he had to leave to release his cock from the confines of his pants. If he was going to fuck you, he was going to fuck you right, and if you had stayed in that kitchen any longer he would have either busted in his pants or promptly three seconds after you made any sort of move on him.

He knew you were nervous. That you found him hard to read and unpredictable. That's probably why the two of you never really got along, and he knew it. He knew that the orgasm he gave you was the most pleasure you had ever felt, and that you hadn't stopped thinking about it for a moment since. It was written all over your face. He couldn't blame you. If he had never had the pleasure of climaxing during sex or at the hands of another person he surely would be in a spell over it too. He knew you needed to be taken care of, and that he had proved himself to be trustworthy of doing so. 

While you were caught in your own head debating whether Eddie would kiss you or not, it only takes him a split second to crane his neck around to meet your face and catch your lips in a kiss backed by purpose and intent. He knew how to read your body language. Eddie grew up worrying what everyone around him was thinking of him, or what they were planning to do to him/ He knew how to tell when someone was angry or upset or disgusted. An arch of an eyebrow or a twitch of a hand could mean the smallest things, things that always came back to bite Eddie. He also could tell that your breath was caught in your throat and you were overthinking still, he knew to let the kiss linger for a moment and let you find your footing before deepening it.

The moment he feels your shoulders relax a bit and your head lean ever so slightly into his, he cups the sides of your neck with his hands. Those hands. Littered with tiny stick and poke tattoos and those clunky metal rings. Who the fuck wears jewelry to bed? You had taken note of how his rings had felt shoved down the front of your underwear the night prior, and now you relished in how the distinct metal felt against the soft skin under your jaw. 

Last night you kissed him in the heat of the moment. Now he was kissing you. Really kissing you. Tugging on your bottom lip and running his tongue across yours until your stomach felt like you were on the dip of a roller coaster. Kissing you until you were breathless and your cheeks began to run hot, until you couldn't tell whose tongue was whose, or could hardly remember where you were or what time it was. You would have traded every sexual experience you'd had for what he did to you in the kitchen last night, and you'd trade every kiss up until now for the one you found yourself in. 

His hands were in your hair, and his lips moved from yours, now wet and pouty, down to your neck. He kissed, licked, nipped, sucked against your skin, gently tugging your hair in the direction he wanted to open your neck up for him. When his bottom teeth dragged across a particular spot in between your jaw and ear a soft moan escaped your lips. You immediately sucked in a sharp breath.

"MmmHmmm," he mumbles into you, still attacking that spot that had elicited the noise, "let me hear you."

You let out a groan and moved to straighten your neck, wanting his mouth on yours again. The hand in your hair kapt you exactly where he wanted though, now using a touch more force. 

"You wanna know a secret?" the hand not in your hair ran up and down your rib cage underneath your shirt, trailing from the band of your pants up to the underside of your breast and then gently back down, "Do you know what you do to me?"

"Mmmm, no what?" you could hardly recognize your own voice, now pitched up and airy. 

"Those pretty noises you made for me, and the thought of you wrapped around my fingers has been driving me crazy all day, y/n. Do you know what I thought about while I jerked off last night? Those moans, and that pretty cunt you have, and the gorgeous face you made when I got you there. It's all I can see when I look at you now. It made me come so fucking hard last night and it's gonna take a lot of time and illegal substances to make me forget it." 

You wiggled your hips up into his touch, wanting him to move faster but knowing he was going to take everything at his pace whether you liked it or not. "Fuck Eddie," he sucked on your earlobe and continued to bite against your soft skin, "you think I'm pretty?" You sounded fucking pathetic, you wouldn't have caught yourself dead asking any boy that, let alone Eddie before tonight. 

"Pretty? I think those little moans you make are pretty. And that cunt you have, prettiest I've ever seen. That little bikini you had on today, that was pretty too. You wear that for me?"

"Maybe," you gasp out as his hand dared to venture lower, still over your pajama pants but dipping up and down where he knew your wet slit was. 

"Sure, lots of things about you are plenty pretty, but fuck," he loved how responsive you were, already rolling your hips against his hand despite the layers of fabric preventing you from getting what you really wanted, "You? you really are somethin' else." 

He could tell you were tired of his teasing, so in between kisses he tugs your shirt up and lets you pull it over your head. He presses your warm skin against his, using all his strength to stay in the moment and feel how nice your tits feel squished up against him, rather than immediately ravish you. He'll get to that, he knows you deserve his patience. 

“Just-” you gathered your thoughts, “tell me you want me too, that this isn’t some sort of power trip or pity fuck. I don’t want it if this is some game to you.”

His heart sank a bit at your inquiry, worried that you thought of last night as some sort of power trip for him, although that was what the two of you had framed it as, a power play. He knew there was something deeper and hoped you had felt that too.

“Of course I want you. As much as it was nice to put you in your place, you brat, I didn't make you come to prove anything. I made you come because I wanted to.” 

“Will you do it again?” your voice was barely a wiper, your neck craning around to meet his intense gaze. 

“Again with my fingers,” he shifted so you were now slumped beneath him, his leg slotting comfortably between yours and his hands coming to cup your cheeks, shoulders angled above yours and hair creating a perfect curtain around your faces, “and my tongue, and my cock,” he leaned down to kiss you, “and all the other ways you’ll let me show you.”

You were a mess. A puddle of arousal and swarming thoughts of nothing but Eddie. Your hands flew up to tangle themselves in his beautiful curls, massaging the nape of his strong neck. The most passionate and enthusiastic kiss you had ever participated in. You were on fire for him. Any former doubt or worry that the actions of last night had on you dissipated into the air along with the breathy moans you couldn’t help but let out in between kisses and touches. 

His knee pushed your thighs apart and you willingly splayed yourself out like a ragdoll for him to move and manipulate under him however he pleased. Before you could focus on his hands dipping into your underwear, he bit at your lower lip and pulled back, causing you to crane your neck and chase after his lips as he moved away. You were about to pout about the loss of contact, but his fingers dipping through your wet folds were plenty distracting. He sits back a bit to focus on pulling down your pants and underwear while still stroking you with his opposite hand.

You were too busy squirming under him, both from his slow methodical fingers against your cunt and a half hearted attempt to kick off your garments that were now pushed around your knees to notice his unwavering gaze that raked over your newly exposed body. His resolve was about to break, along with the dam that held back his desire and excitement to feel every inch of you, to make you feel good, to be the first person to make you feel good. He had always thought you were gorgeous, but picking fights is a lot easier than trying to flirt so he settled for riling you up the only way he thought he could. 

He swats backwards to assist you in removing your final articles of clothing which are caught on your ankles, and as he leans back forward into you he sinks two thick fingers into you with a smirk on his face. It was a sudden stretch, but you'd be lying if you said you weren’t wet enough for him to slip in without any resistance. Your eyes want to squeeze shut, but you can't help but keep your sight locked on the shit eating grin that spreads across Eddie's face. He knew exactly what he was doing to you. He had made you fall apart in just over four minutes last night, and now he was going to take his time and have his fun with you. How could he not? You were so responsive to him, whimpering and writhing with every small movement, muscles tensing and your perfect lips parting open every time he curled his fingers upwards or brushed your clit with his palm. 

He swoops down to give your tits some attention, and you let yourself tangle your fingers into his unruly curls. Between licks and nips he mumbles into your skin, "so fuckin' perfect" and  "doing so good for me." He can feel your walls squeezing his fingers, soaking his palm, so he slows his roll a bit, wanting to draw you out a bit longer. You wanted to pull him up for a kiss, but he was deeply concentrating on sucking the perfect purple hickey to the underside of your breast. You could have sworn you heard "mine" come out of his mouth in between sucks and heavy breathing, but you couldn't be sure. 

Once he released your skin with a wet pop, you tugged at his hair to beg for a kiss. Eddie liked you all whiney and desperate for him though, so he just lets you tug on his hair as hard a you want as he continues moving down your body, teeth dragging across your ribcage, his hot flat tongue licking a stripe across your hip bone just before blowing a stream of cool air across the new wet trail. All the while his fingers slowly rolled inside of you, making this delicious wiggling motion that had you feeling full and seeing stars. 

He pulls his fingers out of you, taking a mental picture of how hot it was that your slick had soaked him down to his rings. Before you can sit up with any sort of protest, he cups his hands on the backs of your thighs and pushes forward to effectively fold you in half. Your head perks up, about to inform him that he is wildly overestimating your flexibility, he cuts you off. 

"Just lay back," his hands run up and down from your inner knees down to your ass and back up, "lay back and let me make you feel good, you can do that for me, yeah?"

"Yeah okay," you breathe out as he places a tender kiss to the part of your thigh just under your bent knee, a part of you that had never had any sexual connotation before, and now the feeling of his lips were permanently seared into the skin there. 

The last thing you caught sight of before your eyes rolled into the back of your head was Eddie spitting straight onto your pussy, not that it wasn't wet enough already, and immediately going in to lick a fat stripe up the middle of your center. You felt your breath hitch in your throat as he repeated the action, his grip on the meat of your thighs tightening and leaving fingerprint sized indents. He attached his lips to your clit and rolled it against his tongue in a way that you had never experienced. 

Sure, you'd been on the receiving end of head before, but not like this. It had always been a 'hey, I just need to make sure your pussy is wet enough for my dick' sort of situation and never a 'it would be my pleasure to die here in between your thighs' situation. The moans that escaped you were shaky and broken, unlike the noises coming from between your legs, a sinful combination of wet slurping and Eddie deeply moaning and humming approval into you as he ate you out. 

Your legs began to shake, partially from your growing orgasm, and partly from this advanced yoga position Eddie had you in. He slid a hand down from the juncture of your leg to toy with the pooling wetness at your hole. You let your wobbly hand replace his holding your knee back for him, keeping you spread open and on display as he stuffed two fingers into you, continuing to suck on your clit. 

"Ohmyfuckinggod," your words slurred together in a high pitched moan, "Eddie- Eddie, fuck." You were no longer in control of the noises coming out of your mouth, a barely coherent slew of Eddie's name, 'fuck's' and 'please.'

He groaned into your cunt, picking up the pace and curling his fingers into you just like he had the night before, this time with the added pleasure of his mouth devouring you. You were not long for this world. 

'You're gonna make me come," you warned him, your voice sounding on the verge of a sob, "feels so fucking good, Eddie, please."

Your eyes screwed shut and legs fell from their pushed back position to clamp around his head as your orgasm took over you. Crashing waves of pleasure that were pulling you out like a riptide. All you can feel is the release, hardly noticing your shaking legs or broken moans. Eddie moves up to catch your lips in a deep, wet kiss, slowing his hand as you ride out the end of your orgasm, still quivering around him. 

You were severely out of breath, but refused to break the kiss. His slick, swollen lips swallowed your moans and anchored you, bringing you back down to earth. 

"Mmmmm," he hums into the kiss, "you need to quiet down, unless you're tryina get me in trouble," he whispers into your lips, dipping down for another soft kiss as you regain your composure. 

"Fuck, sorry," you pant out. 

"Don't apologize to me," he slowly pulls his hand from your center and you wince slightly, "if it were just the two of us in this cabin I'd insist you let those pretty moans out to your heart's content."

"I'll be quiet," you reach down to palm him through his low hanging pajama pants, "will you please fuck me? Need to feel your cock in me so badly Eddie, I know you're gonna make me feel so good again."

A feral groan rumbles in his chest, head tilting back towards the ceiling as you stroke what felt to be an incredibly well endowed cock. 

"You sure you're up for it?" Now it was his turn to show the hint of neediness in his voice.

"Are you sure?" You question back, getting a better grip through the material of his pants.

"You know I wanna fuck you," he ruts into your hand ever so slightly, "but I need to hear you say it."

"I already did Eddie," you mumble into his neck, "Want your cock so bad, I want to make you feel good too."

He rolls over onto his back, and slips off his pants and boxers. You shift onto your knees next to him, unsure of what position he'd want you in. As his hard cock springs out of his elastic waistband and onto his stomach you lose control over your facial muscles and let your slack jaw hang open, eyes bulging slightly. 

"Wh-" a look of concern on his face grows as he notices your expression, looking from you, down to his cock, then back to you, "Oh! The piercing?"

You were completely frozen, because the only thing more shocking than the two little metal balls sticking out of his cockhead was the fact that Eddie Munson had a pornstar dick. Thick, long, girthy, perfectly curved, the most glorious shade of blushed pink. No wonder he had decided to bedazzle it, it was gorgeous. Not only was it the largest and most aesthetically pleasing dick you'd ever seen, in real life or photos, you sure as hell had never had one that big inside you. 

"Yeah, the piercing-" your voice trailed off, still gawking at it. 

"Shit, I'm sorry if you're like, super freaked out," the worry in his voice snapped you out of your trance, "I guess I maybe should have warned you-"

"No no," you were quick to correct his concern, reaching down to wrap your hand, which hardly fit, around it and give a few experimental strokes, "it's fucking perfect." You were visibly salivating, wanting to feel how the metal balls felt against your hot tongue. 

"I mean, it's okay I guess," you say, sitting up, "I wouldn't want to give you an ego or anything," joking sarcasm rolled off your tongue, "but fuck..." the way he twitched in your hand drew you back in, not thinking twice before leaning forward and letting your tongue run from the underside of his shaft up across the metal balls that decorated the head, all the way up to his leaking slit. Your tongue gathered his precum and went back to explore how the piercing felt against your lips, rolling it across your tongue, placing open mouthed kisses to the head. 

"Shit-" he hisses out, Eddie knew his dick was fine, maybe a little bigger than average or something, but no one had ever stopped to admire it, compliment it. Then again, most of Eddie's sexual escapades were just that, escapades. Random girls in bar bathrooms, quickies in the back of his van, a few weed customers who he didn't mind exchanging a good quick fuck for a discount. Sure, he'd heard the 'oh you're so big' line mid thrust, but everyone said that about the person they're fucking, right? 

After feeling his hips twitch a bit underneath you, you release his cock with a soft pop and climb on top of his torso. Grinding down on his hard length with a few slow forward rolls of your hips, you can't help but lurch forward and capture his lips in a kiss. You let out a deep moan as you feel the head of his cock catch your clit as you drag your wet folds up and down his shaft. Your foreheads stay pressed together as your mouth opens in a silent gasp, his hands coming down to guide your hips and dig his fingertips into your ass. 

"Fuck, princess," his voice was low and sexy, and the new nickname had you bucking your hips a little harder, "lay back and let me make you feel good again. This is all about me giving it to you right, yeah? So let me do all the work." 

You know his intentions were sweet, but you kept his hips pinned under yours. "Eddie I-" you pull back a bit to meet his eyes, "you can fuck me however you want in a bit, but... I've never had anything that big inside me before and..."

"Shhhh," his hands ran up and down your sides, "we can take it slow, promise. You can sit on my cock and take it at your own pace, let it fill you up right, don't wanna hurt you." 

With that you nudged his tip into your entrance ever so slightly, taking a moment to feel how his piercing dragged across your cunt and left a cool metal trail that sent a shiver down your spine. Once you slipped the head inside you, it really wasn't any different from an unpierced dick, other than the sheer girth of it. Your teeth caught your lower lip, sinking down to take the first two inches or so, letting your opening adjust to its size. 

It was taking everything in Eddie's willpower not to thrust up into you, or grab your hips and roll them down onto his aching cock. But he knew better than that, and the last thing he wanted was to hurt you in any way. So he stayed still, holding in a deep and shaky breath as you started to take him. Part of him wanted to look away from the gorgeous faces you were making, because if you were going to bat your eyelashes and tuck that perfect lip in between your teeth he was going to come a lot sooner than either of you would like. But he can't bring himself to do it, loving the way your eyebrows furrowed slightly, almost like when you were angry. 

You were fully seated on his cock now, breathing slowly and leaning back to sit up straight on it, somehow pushing it even deeper into you. 

"That's it," Eddie's hands still gripped at your hips, making sure you were steady on him, "that's my girl, taking me so well." 

You experimentally shifted your weight front to back, rocking your hips shallowly against his. You felt Eddie move underneath you, reaching his hand from its place on your hip to your back. He adjusted his position, and pushed up against the headboard to sit upright, now holding your torso against his. He smoothed your hair across the back of your head. 

"It's okay if you need a minute," he took your chin in his hands, clenching his jaw as you continued to rock your hips into his, "don't want you to hurt yourself. 

"Just feel so fucking full," you whispered into his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck for leverage, "need you to fuck me, fuck me deep and hard, please Eddie, need it."

He arches his hips up slightly to meet your hips as they come down, and your eyes practically spin into the back of your head. He takes it slow, his first few thrusts from under you are careful and gentile. You continue to mumble "please" and "more" into his lips, so he scoops you up from your back and flips you over, not removing his cock from deep within you as you settle down into the mattress. Your legs wrap around his hips and he pushes his dick all the way into you, reaching a new spot that knocks the wind out of you. 

"Fuck just like that," your words are hardly there, "so fucking good, Eddie, Eddie..."

"Beautiful," he fucks into you a little harder, "your pussy was fucking made for me." His hands were settled on the backs of your thighs, keeping you spread nice and open for him to pound his cock into you. He lets one hand press into your lower stomach, pushing his cock down while inside you, causing you to let out a gasp. He lets his palm spread your on your lower abdomen, letting his thumb creep closer and closer to your clit, catching it every so often as your hips rolled back and forth with his thrusts. 

"You gonna be good and let me make you come again?" he asks, the cocky edge in his voice has you losing all coherence, "so pretty wrapped around my cock."

The movements of his thumb are much more deliberate now, rubbing your clit in tandem with the movement of his hips. He wasn't fucking you particularly fast, but he was making sure his cock was buried all the way inside you with every thrust, rolling his hips forward and punctuating each thrust with extra pressure. 

"Oh my god, I-" your head was thrown back into the flannel pillowcases, body starting to tense up again. You were still so wet and turned on from your last orgasm, but coming while his massive cock was in you was going to be entirely different, you could feel it. 

"That's it, come on my cock," he could feel the muscles in your thighs start to tighten, the walls of your pussy fluttering around him as he drew methodical figure eights on your clit. You felt so fucking good around him, so warm and wet and tight, swallowing his cock up with every thrust. That plus those damn sounds you were making. But Eddie had a goal, and couldn't be distracted by the overwhelming pleasure coursing through his body, his one and only focus was to push you over the edge, to take care of you and do it right. 

The choked sobs leaving your heaving chest were the first indicator that you were about come, that and your pussy gripping him like a fucking vice. You weren't able to form words as you fell apart for him, just letting broken moans escape you as your body shook and released all that tension. Part of you could hear a string of praises coming from him, but all you could focus on was the ripple of your orgasm tearing through your body. 

You start to come down for it, catching your breath, until you feel him pull out of you entirely and push you legs back as he had before, and dip his head down to lick down your quivering center. He lapped up your wetness and sent a few aftershocks buzzing into your core. His tongue slowed down and he let you settle down, before pushing his tongue entirely into you and letting out the most sensual groan right into your cunt. 

"Holy shit," you let out, looking down at him and realized that next to seeing his dick for the first time, Eddie lapping up your orgasm was the hottest thing you'd ever seen. 

He sat up and let his cock rest in between your puffy pussy lips, his pierced head sitting right on your sensitive clit. He lets the weight of it fall into his hand and gives your pussy a few taps with his cock, sending your hips jerking from the sensitivity. 

"Eddie," you start, eyes glassy and voice hoarse, "please keep fucking me, don't want you to stop."

"You want more?" a comment half cocky and half serious. 

"Mhmm, want you to fuck me hard," your hands came up to play with your tits, "want you to come in me, use me, give it to me hard how I know you like it."

"'S'that right," he quickly grabs your hips and flips you over, angling your ass up in the air for him, "you wanna take all my come like the good girl you are?"

"Please," your muffled voice comes up from the sheets, "I'm on the pill, it's okay, it's safe."

"Mmm fuck," he slips his cock back into your soaking wet hole, guiding your hips back and forth with his big hands, "thank you, so fucking perfect for me, you can tell me if I go to hard, yeah?" 

"Yeah Eddie," you try your best to bounce back on his cock, but know he's doing most of the work moving your ass to slap against his hips, "I want it hard."

With that he takes the initiative to snap his hips forward with every thrust, pulling your gorgeous ass back against him and twitching inside you every time it comes flush with his lower stomach. He can't help but bring a flat palm down to smack it, loving the big red handprint he leaves behind, and loving even more the muffled moan that leaves you when he does so. 

"Y'like that?" he already knows you do, but just wants to hear you say it.

"Yes, again, please," each word comes out as a short gasping breath. He smacks your ass again, watching it jiggle against his palm has him thinking he's died and gone to heaven, you his personal angel. 

Although he can feel the end in sight, he wants to feel your pussy squeeze around his cock again, so he snakes his hand under your arched hips and toys with your clit. You're beyond fucked out at this point, but can't help but prop yourself up on straightened arms to give him more room to rub against you. He leans down to press his chest against your back, one arm coming down by your side to support his weight as he fucks down into you. 

"One more time," he lets out into the skin of your shoulder, "can you come for me one more time, princess?"

“I-” you start, about to tell him you’re unsure, but then he starts rubbing fast strokes against your clit and you’re already seeing stars. 

He’s fucking into you fast and hard, just like you’d asked him to. The feeling of you clenching down on him has him biting your shoulder to hold back his grunts and moans. As soon as he feels your pussy start to gush around him, your arms collapsing and legs shaking under him, he lets go with a soft grunt and spills his come deep inside you. 

He lets his cock stay there for a moment, pulsing inside you, relishing in the feeling of your hot cunt wrapped around him. He pulls out slowly and you let out a small yelp, letting your hips fully sink down to the mattress without his hands to heep you propped up. 

He runs a hand across your thigh, and you acknowledge your attention with a hum. 

“M’gonna go get something to clean you up,” his voice is soft and you nod into the pillows, making a half hearted attempt to roll your body over. He uses his discarded sweatpants to wipe off his forehead and chest, suddenly aware of how sweaty he is, you both are. 

He slips on his boxers and creeps down the hall to the kitchen, grabbing a big glass of water and a clean hand towel run under the sink. He slips back into the room to find you paid out on the bed, all sweaty and fucked out, it’s the best you’ve ever looked to him. 

He lifts you up by the shoulders and helps you sit up while you take a few sips of water and let out a “thank you” in between sips. He runs the warm cloth in between your legs a few times to catch anything sticky, before tossing it into the pile with his dirty clothes. 

You were already mostly knocked out, all the energy completely drained from your body. Typically you’d awkwardly dance around the notion of spending the night or not, but your eyes felt too heavy to care, and your body was already molded into his sheets. He flicked off the bedside light and got settled into bed next to you, thinking you were already completely asleep. 

“Thank you Eddie,” your voice was sleepy and almost didn't cut through the air.

“No problem, good sex is dehydrating,” he responds, assuming you meant the thanks for the water and towel. 

“No thank you for taking care of me,” you roll into his arms, snuggling up against him, “I didn’t know sex could be like that.” 

“Like what?” he partially knew what you meant, given that the three times you’ve ever come during sex all happened in the past hour. 

“Like magic,” you’d have been embarrassed to say it in other circumstances. But the post sex bliss and intense sleep that was washing over you made you sort of hazy and elated. 

“Yeah I think you’re pretty magic too,” he wrapped you up  in his arms, feeling the same tiredness, “good night y/n.”

The next morning he felt a sort of sore stiffness in his body, wiping the crust from his eyes and suddenly remembering the events of the night prior. There was an empty warm spot in the bed next to him, indicating you must have slipped out recently. He shook out his messy bedhead and threw on some sweatpants. 

A short trip down the hall brought him into the kitchen, where you were making a pot of coffee. You heard him come in from the hallway, and you suddenly tensed up at the thought of facing him. How did he look so damn good mid yawn, rubbing his face and his hair a wild mess. 

You turn towards the coffee machine on the counter, frantically trying to think of what to say or how to act towards him. Before you could give it too much thought, you feel his presence directly behind you, his arms caging you in and his back pressed against you. 

“Are you pouring me a cup?” he asks, hunching down to rest his chin on your shoulder. 

“Yes,” you elongate the word, taking in his scent and feeling his hair tickle your neck, “this is how you take it right? No cream, no sugar.”

“Mhmmm,” he mumbles into your hair, giving you a quick peck on the side of your neck before moving to grab the cup. 

“Wow okay early bird Eddie,” Robin’s voice cuts through the air of the kitchen and he immediately grabs his coffee and moves away from you. There’s no way she wouldn’t notice and the two of you cringe at the somewhat compromising position. 

“Okay I don’t think I want to know what the hell that was about,” she points between the two of you. Ahh Robin, master of the art of subtlety. 

Steve comes into the kitchen, immediately sensing the awkward air between everyone in the small space. 

“Oh god,” he looks from Robin’s pointing finger to the two of you with somewhat guilty expressions, “was THAT all that noise I heard last night? Jesus Christ you two.” He turns out of the kitchen dramatically, leaving Robin with a bewildered expression and the two of you cringing. 

“At least they’re fucking instead of fighting now!” she calls to him as he continues to walk down the hall away from you. 

Amongst Robin yelling and Steve leaving in a huff, Eddie manages to sneak his hand behind you and pinch your ass, making you jump a bit and the coffee in your cup to slosh around. He gives you a wink and starts to head out of the kitchen. 

“I’m gonna have my coffee by the lake, you joining me?”

Maybe this trip was going to be something special after all. 

All Eddie Fics Taglist: @eddielives1986

[apomaro-mellow]

some time travel shenanigans

Eddie thought the hardest part about time travel would be convincing everyone of that fact. Turned out he didn't need to do much convincing. Perhaps that was due in part to the fact that he was only from a few years ahead and thus didn't look too different from the version of himself lying comatose in the hospital.

His hair was just a bit longer and he had a beard now. But everything else was about the same.

No, the real struggle was holding back certain truths of the future. Of course, many of them had questions and the more logical ones reasoned that they shouldn't know anything unless absolutely necessary. So thankfully Eddie was spared from a constant barrage of questions. But even that wasn't the hard part.

The biggest challenge, the most difficult part of being here, was having to pretend that he wasn't head over heels in love with Steve.

To have to watch him from across the room and not be able to kiss, him, to embrace him, not even being able to hold his hand. And it cut him every time their gazes met. There was a question in Steve's eyes that he longed to answer.

The first night he spent in the past, Eddie could only think of his Stevie. How easily he'd been allowed to touch him in his own time. But he couldn't now. He had to wait. In a few days his younger self would wake up and the near-death experience would give him the guts to tell Steve that he was gay.

And then a few days after that, he'd reveal that he had a crush on someone. And then about a week after that, he would find Steve about to kiss another man and find the nerve to cut in between and confess.

Now that Eddie thought about it, he guessed he had to thank the guy who tried putting the moves on Steve. Having his feelings out in the open had made him feel more confident, stronger. And that passion helped aid in defeating Vecna's second coming. Eddie almost wished he knew who the guy was.

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

Everything had been going just as Eddie remembered it. The Harrington house had become the base of operations, even when Steve's parents returned. The military set up too and while they helped stem the demodog population, they did very little to help with Vecna.

His younger self woke up, injuries healed thanks to the bat venom now coursing through his veins. His return came with a message from Vecna. One that was a riddle that Eddie already knew the answer to.

"I can tell you what he's planning and how to counter. But some of you won't like it."

"Um, hey, who the fuck are you?"

Both Eddies stared each other down and it was so quiet you could hear a cotton ball drop.

"Who was supposed to tell present-Eddie about future-Eddie?", Robin asked.

"I'm sorry, who!?", Eddie exclaimed.

"You from the future, try to keep up", Dustin said.

Eddie's eyes were glued to his so called future self. And then only tore away when he caught a movement on the side. Steve shifting his balance. Steve.

"Okay, if you are me from the future, I have some questions."

"Most of which I can't answer. Especially that one."

"So you're useless then."

"Give him a break", Steve said, coming to the older man's defense. "If he told us everything that'd mess with the whole space-time whatever."

"Continuum", about three voices said for him.

"Yeah the whatever."

"...How long has he been here?", Eddie asked, wondering just what his future self, someone who seemed more bold and comfortable in his body, got up to with Steve.

Older Eddie just shook his head and chuckled in a way that reminded him too much of Wayne. "I haven't been here long enough for what you're imagining."

And then things progressed just as he knew they would. He knew his younger self was about to go and tell Steve about his crush. He could recall it happening during a supply run and even remembered that Steve had been wearing a camo jacket with a soft blue shirt underneath.

Seeing them get closer just made him long more for his own Stevie. Was he thinking of him now? Sometimes Eddie met the gaze of Steve from now and wondered if he could see the future they had together.

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

Steve knew the other Eddie was hiding something. At first he thought it might be how the venom was effecting Eddie's body. But once present-Eddie woke up, that had been made apparent and he was still acting weird. Steve didn't think it was malicious anymore. But it was definitely something.

Sometimes he caught the other man staring at him. Other times they had to hand things to one another and his touch lingered, like he wanted to touch Steve more. Steve knew yearning when he saw it. He just didn't understand why it was being directed towards him.

He got an opportunity to seek out answers one night. A lot of people were housed at the gym as a shelter after the quakes. But life was more dangerous now and that meant a lot of patrols in a lot of areas. So when someone reported odd noises outside, Steve, future-Eddie, present-Eddie, and a few well armed citizens went to check it out. It was about half a dozen of them in total and they broke off into groups.

Nancy's group was the one to find the thing, kill it, and radio in that everyone should get back inside before it got too late. Steve grabbed older Eddie's wrist, stopping from following orders. They were alone now, having split from the group. There was no better time than now.

"You keep acting weird. Especially around me", Steve said.

"Well someone thinks they're special", Eddie grinned.

There was just a sole light on this corner of the building and it mostly shone on Steve, which was fine by Eddie. He was having a hard time schooling his expressions now that they were alone.

"Something happens to me in the future, doesn't it? Do I die? Is that it?"

"No, no Steve you don't die", Eddie assured him.

"It's not just the way you act. You say my name weird too. Do you really hate it that much? Hate me?"

"No", Eddie bit out, turning his body half away.

"I thought we were really becoming friends. You-he's told me things. Secret things. But the way you're acting now it's like things change between us. I wanna know why. Is it me? Did I do something?"

Eddie heard his voice hitch up and then clear and knew that was how his baby sounded when he wanted to cry but held himself back.

"Stevie, sweetheart, baby", Eddie breathed out and held his face and it felt like a weight lifted from him. Calling him just 'Steve' had felt like walking with dumbbells attached to his ankles.

Steve's shoulders relaxed too, like he had also been carrying a weight. "That's what you call me, then? All that?"

"All that and more, my love." Eddie's voice was hushed, afraid someone or something might overhear.

"So that crush Eddie told me about is...?"

Eddie nodded, eyes closing for a moment, glad that he could at least have this about being apart for so long.

"Then you know how I feel", Steve said.

Eddie's eyes opened and he looked into Steve's. There was that question. One that Eddie longed to answer but he feared it wasn't his to reply to. Not at this time. Not now. And yet....

"Please", Steve whispered, eyes flickering to his lips.

Eddie wasn't strong enough to deny him. Not as a dying man in a drought being offered a drink of water. Just as he was about to give him, he was shoved back. Hard. He saw his own familiar curls and bolted, and odd sense of deja vu hitting him just as hard as the shove.

"Steve!", present-Eddie unknowingly took his older self's place in front of Steve. "I have to tell you something. Something really important and I need you to listen, okay?"

"Eddie?"

"I'm a goddamn idiot. An absolute fool for you and it shouldn't have taken some other guy trying to kiss you for me to get the gumption to tell you but it did and there it is and I...and I..." His expression pinched. "Wait, who was that guy?", he turned slightly to look for him.

Steve touched his cheek and brought his attention back. "It was...it doesn't matter who it was. You're here now."

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

When Eddie next opened his eyes, it was immediately followed by his Stevie kissing him all over the face. Everything came back to him, as well as new pieces of information.

"Wait, so that guy who was putting the moves on you that night-"

"Was you, yes", Steve confirmed, face splitting with how big he was smiling.

"And you just sat on that for years? Wait, how does that even work, you knew it was me but it couldn't be me until I got back to do the time travel and-"

"Don't think too hard about it, babe", Steve kissed his temple. "Just be grateful something gave you the kick in the pants to do it."