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godmadeaterribleerror · 2 days ago

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More Than You Could Ever Know - Part 2

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Big bonus chapter for fans of Ben being obsessed with Her.

Title from All I Want For Christmas is You by Mariah Carey

Word Count: 9.2k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Ben and Ryan go shopping, and you all try to find a tree. Usual Warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, tooth rotting fluff, established relationship, Christmas Special

Part 1 - Part 3

Read on A03!

Ben wasn’t sure when stores got so fucking big. He’d seen big box stores before—despite what She insisted, he wasn’t a fucking dinosaur—but this was downright insane. It was a goddamn warehouse, and a poorly designed, maze-like one at that. There was no fucking logic to any of this shit, because Ben took a turn from what seemed to be an electronics isle and ended up surrounded by fucking cheese. It didn’t help that it was only him and Ryan, and they both needed Her for this modern navigation shit. But She was off doing her stupid surprise—Ben had tried to call it a secret again and She’d stuck Her tongue out and flipped him off—so they had to figure this shit out alone, together.

It wasn’t going that well.

“What the fuck are these.” Ben grunted, his eyes narrowed on the shelf in-front of them, filled with weird looking, round stuffed animals. And a mango. And one brown thing that seemed to be staring into his goddamn soul.

Ryan—standing at Ben’s elbows and tapping his fingers on the half-full cart—shrugged nervously. “I think they’re called Squishmallows?”

“Stupid fucking name. What’s that,” Ben gestured to the brown one. “Even supposed to be-“

“Pancakes.” Ryan mumbled. “I think?”

“Huh.” Ben glowered at the plushie, and realized Ryan had nailed it. Stuffed pancakes. She’d like stuffed pancakes. “Good work, kid.”

Ben grabbed the pancakes, tossed them into the cart, and tried not to drown in the hot, bright pride bursting in his chest at Ryan’s grin as he started to push the cart once more.

“Wait.” Ben halted Ryan with a hand on his shoulder, and pointed back to the shelf. “You want one?”

Ryan turned a little red, his voice a soft fucking whisper as his heart stumbled in his chest. “Yes, please.”

“Grab it and we’ll get moving.”

Ryan nodded, choosing one of the weird animals—Ben would figure out exactly what the fuck it was later, but his best bet right now was a cat—and they moved on through the store.

“We got your pants.” Ben scanned around the store, half his attention on what they were supposed to be doing and half on making sure no fucking pussies started filming them. “And the shit for dinner.”

“And Butcher’s shirt,” Ryan added, and when Ben glanced down at him, he was frowning at the cart. “Do you think he’ll like it? He has shirts.”

Ben shrugged. “Everyone has fucking shirts, Ryan. Butcher will just be damn grateful you got him something.”

Ryan hummed, sounding slightly unconvinced, his bod still tensed, so Ben kept talking.

“And the asshole is fucking impossible to buy for. Trust me, kid, the shirt was a good idea. Butcher will like it.”

“Did you,” Ryan looked up at Ben with widened eyes. “Did you buy him something?”

“Have to. Got him for Secret Santa. And, fuck, don’t tell,” Ben muttered Her name. “I told you that shit. Supposed to be a fucking secret.”

“I won’t.” Ryan shrugged. “I mean, you’ll probably tell her, right?”

Ben snorted, because he would tell Her. The first damn thing he’d do when She got home was pull her into a long kiss and grumble against her lips that he’d told Ryan. And She’d hit his chest and give him a flat glare, teasing him about really not understanding the secret part of Secret Santa, and that would be it.

And Ryan fucking knew that. He knew that She and Ben didn’t lie to each other, and that when she hit Ben it was never painful or angry, and when Ben rolled his eyes at Her it was because she was a pretty fucking brat with a smart mouth, and he wouldn’t have her any other damn way. Ryan knew they’d never hurt or be really mad at each other, and he was finally starting to fucking get that they’d never hurt or be mad at him.

It was why, when Ben shook his head and kept walking—never going faster than Ryan could keep up with—the kid’s heart stayed even, and his face remained relaxed. Relaxed for Ryan, so still a little fucking small and nervous, but without panic or fear. And that was as much as Ben could ask for, because he wouldn’t have Ryan any other way either.

“What else do we need.” Ben asked, keeping his vigilant watch on the store around them as Ryan responded.

“Um, I need scrabble for Kimiko?” Ryan mumbled Her name, and Ben’s whole fucking body roared with love from the goddamn sound of it. “Needs something too- as well.” Ryan corrected himself, and Ben chuckled at his puffed-out chest and toothy smile.

“Good work, kid.” He muttered, patting Ryan on the back. “Got ideas?”

“For-“

Ben said Her name, and She glowed a little around his skull. He really fucking missed Her, and if he couldn’t sense that she was a least half-way across the damn city he’d go find Her. Keep his gaze away from Her stupid fucking surprise, but also keep Her by his side. Make Her help him and Ryan with this shit, because She’d know what to do. She always fucking knew what to do.

He’d missed Ryan’s answer. Ben had gotten so lost in the instinct of Her, alight in his body, that he hadn’t heard what the hell Ryan was trying to get her.

“What.”

“Butterfly bush.” Ryan mumbled, staring sheepishly at the cart. “I read about them in my science class? They’re plants that attract butterflies, and you said she likes butterflies? I dunno-“

“Ryan.” Ben snapped, making his voice stern. He didn’t know how to do that soft, sweet shit She did, but Ryan seemed to understand his own, harsher words just as well. Understand that Ben wasn’t fucking mad, just firm in what he said. “That’s a good fucking idea. They sell them here?”

Ryan nodded slowly, his heart slowing to an easy rhythm. “I think so?”

“Well,” Ben shrugged, looking around for some sort of sign that said Perfect fucking gift for amazing wife. “Let go find it.”

It took half a fucking hour, but they found the butterfly bush. Stashed in the back of the goddamn store, real damn pretty and all fucking pink and green. She’d fucking love it. Ben grunted that to Ryan, that this was a damn good gift, and the kid looked like he might explode with joy and pride. Christ, Ben might explode with joy and pride. They’d managed to get everything She’d asked them to—gifts, clothing, food—plus some extra shit like the pancakes, nobody had died, and he and Ryan were doing an amazing fucking job knowing Her. Ben had all his gifts for Her lined up, and they were fucking excellent, but the butterfly bush was a stroke of goddamn genius. Ben wasn’t sure where the hell Ryan got his brains from, because Ben wasn’t an idiot, but he wasn’t that fucking smart, and Homelander had been a goddamn pussy dumbass. Maybe the kid’s mom, Butcher’s dead wife, but a smart lady shouldn’t have married fucking Butcher.

She’d say people might argue that She shouldn’t be married to Ben, but that she also loved him and adored him, and didn’t really fucking care what random fucking pussies thought about them. That maybe Ryan’s mom had seen something better in Butcher, just like She saw something better in Ben.

But that was why Ben was almost certain Ryan had to, somehow, against all fucking odds, be related to Her by blood. The kid was too generous like that, too kind like that, too fucking smart to be anything else. Ben could fucking see Her on Ryan’s face as they wandered through the store for Kimiko’s scrabble. See Her in the wide awe at all the stupid shit on the shelves, in the real, raw fucking happiness when they found what they were looking for.

See Her in the slight, hopeful gape on Ryan’s face as the kid halted in front of a terrarium, tracking the turtle inside with bright eyes.

Fuck, Ben could hear Her in Ryan’s voice. Hear that soft, gentle nervousness She had when she asked Ben for something. The tone Ben could make himself say no to if he tried.

Shit.

“Can we get it?” Ryan whispered, pointing to the turtle, swimming real goddamn slow around its tank. “Please?”

Ben scowled. That thing was real goddamn small—easily crushable if he and Ryan weren’t careful—and alive. It was fucking alive. It would need to be fed and cared for, and fuck Ben if he was going to do that-

“I’ll take care of it.” Ryan added, and Ben realized the kid had turned to look at him. Look at him with fucking puppy eyes. “I promise. It’ll stay in my room, and I’ll feed it and watch it and clean its tank-“

“Ryan.” Ben grunted. “Why the fuck do you want a turtle-“

“I like them.” Ryan glanced back to the tank. “They’re really peaceful. And, um, I just think they’re cool. I’ve always wanted one.”

Ben raised his brows. “Always.”

Ryan nodded. “I, um, I couldn’t get one. Mom said it was because I was too young, but I think it was because of, of the thing-“

“Fine,” Ben grunted, glaring at the turtle. He’d been going to give in anyway, might as well do it before the kid got all fucking sad in the middle of the store. Where random fucking asscucks could film it and put it online. Ryan could cry in the car, or when they were home, or when Ben was allowed to break phones and faces when people tried to exploit his son’s pain. Not when it could be avoided by buying a stupid fucking turtle. “But,” he said Her name, already reaching down the connection. “Has to approve this shit first. Deal?”

Ryan nodded eagerly, and Ben called Her name between their heads.

Benjamin. Is everything-

We’re fine. Ben glowered at the turtle, his voice a little lower than he’d like. Can we get Ryan a turtle.

There was a moment of silence before She responded, long enough for Ben to wonder if she somehow hadn’t heard him. What.

Ryan wants-

I heard you, Ben. But it’s December in Pennsylvania, where the fuck did you find a turtle for Ryan to want it.

Ben smirked into the air. Costco. This place is a fucking marvel, Sunshine, I got burger meat and pants-

I know how Costco works, my love. Why are you looking at turtles.

Ryan wants it.

She sighed in Ben’s head. I got that. He knows turtles can live for, like, twenty years, right?

Ben frowned. “Ryan, how long do turtles live.”

“Some can live for fifty years! And they’re so small, isn’t that cool?!”

Ben grunted, reaching back to Her. He knows. And he promised to take care of it.

Where does he want to keep it-

His room.

There was a beat of silence, and Ben knew She was considering it. He could practically fucking feel Her brain thinking.

I’m worried he’ll crush it, Ben. She mumbled in Ben’s head. He’s so much better at controlling his strength now, but if something happens on accident, he won’t forgive himself.

I know. But I’ll make sure that shit doesn’t happen. Ben watched Ryan carefully as he muttered to Her in the silence. I’ll carry it home, and Ryan and I can do some grip exercises to practice. He really fucking wants it, Sunshine.

She let out a long, slow breath in the sounds of the store around them. Okay. He can have one. But it’s your ass if something happens to it, Benjamin.

Ben grunted an agreement, rolling his eyes at the air, but he knew She could feel his affection, warm and stupidly fucking gooey in his body. Feel the radiance over his ribs when he nodded an affirmation at Ryan, and the kid grinned so widely it made something in Ben’s chest goddamn explode with pride.

“Thank you!” Ryan bounced slightly on his toes, grabbing Ben into a tight hug. “I’ll take good care of it, I promise. Thank you-“

“You’re welcome, kid.” Ben grunted, because She’d punch him if he just dismissed Ryan’s thanks. “Let’s grab it and get home.”

Ryan didn’t stop smiling for the rest of the goddamn week. She didn’t stop smiling for the rest of the week. She got home from Her secret, kissed Ben with a bright, happy hum Ben could feel everywhere around him, and let Ryan drag Her upstairs to look at the turtle.

“Oh, wow.” She titled Her head at it, crouching next to the tank with Ryan watching Her nervously. “That’s adorable, Ry. Have you named it?”

“Um, maybe? I’m not sure it’s a good name-“

“What is it?”

Ben could hear Ryan’s heart stutter nervously. “Bowser?”

She laughed. An amused, perfect, easy laugh with a pretty smile and nod that made Ryan’s heart ease, and Ben’s entire existence so fucking good.

“I like it.” She nudged Ryan’s shoulder with her’s, still watching the turtle. “It looks like a Bowser. And if we get a cat we can name it Koopa.”

Ben glared at Her. “We are not getting a fucking cat, Sunshine.”

“Fine,” She smiled at him, pretty eyes sharp and amused on his, full of love Ben could feel in the whole goddamn world. “A dog.”

He rolled his eyes, Her smile only grew, and Ben couldn’t find it in himself to be really, truly pissed. She was too fucking perfect for that. Everything was too fucking perfect for that lately. Because the next week passed in a blur, and it was almost all perfect, happy shit like this. It was kissing Her and helping Ryan wrap his gifts, eating dinner with his goddamn family every night, talking to them and watching tv with them and laughing with them.

Even work wasn’t entirely fucking dogshit. Kimiko and Frenchie were just a weird as before, but Ben was used it by now, and he’d even started to pick up some of that sign language shit. Enough to understand what gestures were names and when Kimiko was asking him a basic question about Her or Ryan. How they were doing—really fucking good—and if She would be picking Ben up from work. On office days She usually did, and they were always there for an extra damn hour as She and Kimiko got caught in a conversation, Ben and Frenchie standing awkwardly off to the side.

But Ben had adapted to that as well. Learned how to talk to Frenchie more, enough to ask him for a favor. A favor for Her that Frenchie had said yes to without hesitation, and they’d been working on for about two weeks now.

And everything was really damn good.

If every rogue supe in the country didn’t take a fucking break until New Years, Ben was going to start killing people again.

His whole damn day had been spent in the car. Four hours to New York and back, half the time it had taken to do the actual fucking mission. And the only reason they weren’t in and out of that in twenty minutes was because the bitch had decided to run, and she didn’t have a no-murder rule. And Ben was fucking busy. They had to get their tree today, Ryan had to be picked up from school, and Ben had to talk to Her about what the fuck they were going to do about Butcher’s gift.

He wished She was here. She’d have backed the Ice Lady—or Queen or Countess or Duchess, Ben couldn’t be fucked to remember—into a corner in ten damn minutes, and they wouldn’t have had to use Frenchie’s dogshit flamethrower to sedate the bitch and get her into the van. She wouldn’t have sneered and mocked the SFBI agents when they turned the Ice Lady in, or spilled coffee on their evidence for arrest, dragging out the process another forty minutes. She wouldn’t have missed the exit off the goddamn highway.

Actually, if Ben was being honest about the woman he loved, She probably would have missed the exit. She was amazing at fucking everything, but not driving.

But She was also fucking fast. Ben would’ve been home a damn hour ago if She had gone with them.

He wouldn’t have been ten minutes late to pick up Ryan either.

He hadn’t stop to change when Butcher dropped him back home. He’d grabbed the keys and fucking booked it to the school. Ryan would be okay by himself until Ben got there—and Ben would explain, because the kid wasn’t allowed to think She and Ben would ever fucking forget about him—and She hadn’t reached down the connection to ask why the hell Ben was late, so everything was fucking fine. Butcher and his reminders about getting the Ice Lady paperwork in before Friday could shove it, because anyone could fill out a damn form, and Ben might have been the one who actually caught Ice Lady, but Kimiko had been right goddamn next to him. If it was that fucking critical, she could do it. Ryan was more important.

He didn’t bother to lock the car when he parked it. The time it took to get Ryan wasn’t long enough to hot-wire, and if anyone tried to steal Ben’s property, he’d throw them onto the roof. And Ben’s property was a frost-bitten jacket and gun. Only a dumb fucking pussy would try and jack a car that had a gun.

Picking Ryan up from school was always a fucking trial. It was a nice school—She’d found it, working her perfect fucking ass off to make sure they treated Ryan like any other damn kid—and most of the kids weren’t entirely little shits, but Ben was one more goddamn incident from punching a parent. There were dumb ones, who seemed to think Ryan was some sort of fucking threat to their children, and the fucking pussies who’d been brainwashed by Vought and Homelander, who didn’t like Her. The school had received a petition to ban Her from school events, because She was a murderer and felon—She’d been fucking pardoned, and everyone She’d murdered goddamn deserved it—and She’d spent a handful of days quiet and hollow. Only eating when Ben put food in front of Her and told her to, only moving mechanically—her every gesture and breath over-controlled—and only sleeping when Ben held Her and ran his hands through her hair, muttering soothing words.

“You’re not a murder,” Ben had said Her name, kissing her brow as She clung to his chest and his whole fucking body felt ill. “You’re a good fucking person. Better than any of those pussies-“

“They’ve never,” She’d taken a long, slow breath, and curled her smoking hands in his shirt. “They’ve never killed anyone. Good people aren’t murders-“

“Good is respective.” He’d tugged lightly on Her hair, just enough for Her to look up at him. Pretty, sharp eyes that were glossy and heavy, that made something in Ben’s chest fucking contort and ache. “They’ve never had to kill Homelander, or Sage, or fight their fucking asses off to keep the damn world spinning. You did, and you didn’t ever fucking break.” He’d dropped his brow to Her’s, holding Her soft, tragic gaze. “You’re fucking perfect, and they’re just sad, weak fucking idiots.”

She’d nodded, letting out a strangled, slightly pleading sob, and Ben had understood. He’d just had to stay there, and hold Her until this passed. It always fucking passed, and Ben always stayed by Her side until it did. Until Her body went loose in his arms, and her hands drifted up to hold his face as she offered him a soft—but really fucking real—smile.

“Subjective.” She’d whispered, playing with the hair of his beard. “Good is subjective.” Ben had rolled his eyes, and Her smile had grown. “Smartass.”

She’d hummed, guiding Ben’s lips down to her’s, kissing him until Her heart was at an even pace again, and Ben could breathe again.

I’m your smartass, Pretty Boy.

Damn right you’re mine, he’d pulled Her lower lip between his teeth, smirking at Her breathy moan. I fucking love you, brat.

I love you too. She’d wrapped her arms around his neck, and Ben rolled them over, keeping Her safe and warm and happy under his body.

He’d kissed Her into the mattress until there weren’t any ghosts of horror over her beautiful features, until that presence of Her felt like a halo over his head.

Am I allowed to kill them. He’d said between their heads when they’d separated, his weight dropped carefully over her body as She played with his hair and he rubbed circles on her skin. Just fucking one, Sunshine. Let me kill one.

Maybe one.

Her answer had been quick, and Ben had looked up at Her with a surprised grin. You’ve got a fucking name?

I didn’t say that-

Is it Pigtail’s dad-

No-

Puppy Pack’s mom-

Ben-

Glitter Glasses-

Benjamin. She’d whacked his chest, giving him a stern glare that didn’t even make him flinch, because that was Her glare when she wasn’t really mad at Ben, but was just being a too kind, too perfect miracle of a woman. Learn the children’s names.

He’d given Her a flat look. I’ll learn their dumbfuck names when they stop acting like Ryan’s got the fucking plague. Who is it.

You’re not allowed to say anything. Or kill anyone.

Ben had nodded, watching Her carefully as she took in a long breath, burying Her face as she answered.

You know the girl who always wears the leopard-print boots-

Yeah. Cat Boots.

Georgia, Ben. Her name is Georgia.

I don’t give a fuck what her name is. He’d frowned, scanning over her pretty, nervous pout. It’s her mom. Fake Face.

She’d flushed slightly. Maybe.

In the moment, Ben had just grunted, flipped them over, and fucked up into Her until she unraveled with bright eyes and needy moans above him. He’d praised Her and kissed Her until she was only happy, then made Her dinner and grumbled from across the table that, if She wanted, he would kill Fake Face.

She’d dismissed him, because she was too fucking good and knew that Ben would carve himself open and crush his body under a million scalpels and boxes of gas before he left Her.

Fake Face should count herself lucky that She was so kind and forgiving and perfect, and even more fucking lucky that Ben loved his wife more than goddamn anything. That Ben wasn’t going to kill anyone, because She’d be sad about it.

But Ben still really fucking wanted to kill Fake Face. She was a fucking annoyance, looked at Ben like he was some sort of slab of meant, and looked at Her like she was the scum of the goddamn earth, when this lady couldn’t hold a candle to Her. It was like comparing a burnt-out matchstick to the fucking sun, and Ben didn’t understand how anyone—even a jealous, dick-riding plastic bitch—could look at Her and not feel like they were seeing something holy.

Fake Face had introduced herself to Her and Ben the first time they’d picked up Ryan. There had been quick handshakes, sickly sweet words from Fake Face, and grunts from Ben as he’d pretended to listen, mostly frowning down at Her. She’d been clinging to Ben’s arm as Fake Face asked him if he was really as strong as the stories said, and She’d felt heavy and sick in Ben’s body.

What’s wrong. He’d muttered down the connection, and She’d shaken her head slightly.

She hates me.

Ben had frowned at Fake Face, who was getting dangerously fucking close to touching him. Why the fuck would she hate you.

I don’t know. But touching her, it- She’d swallowed, nails digging into Ben’s arm. It felt someone was pressing a gun right against my brain. And my hands were itchy, and my skin felt wrong, and it was bad, Ben. I didn’t like it.

That had been enough for him. Ben had been happy to hate Fake Face just from how the bitch made his perfect, infinitely amused and kind wife look like She’d been kicked in the stomach. Then there had been more pickups. Pickups where it was just Her, or just Ben, and Fake Face seemed to have two separate personalities. With Her, she was crude and cold, and they’d figured out fast that the lady was, at least, a Vought supporter. Likely a Homelander supporter as well. And Ben had been ready to snap some fucking spines when the flirting had started. Unwelcome praise about how Ben was such a good man, for being there for Ryan—he’d defiantly tried to kill Ryan, only two years ago, but Fake Face seemed to forget about that part—and calling him Soldier Boy before correcting herself to Ben with fake giggle that hurt Ben’s ears, and the questions about how a man like him got mixed up in this whole mess.

It seemed like a pretty fucking simple answer. Ben had fucked up, and he’d repented, and now he was here. Still repenting, still with Ryan, always with Her.

Then Fake Face had called him Benjamin, and—after nearly breaking his jaw and her face—Ben had started being incredibly fucking careful with the timing of how he picked up Ryan, just to avoid this pest of a woman and her skin-crawling advances on him. He knew She did the same thing, and that enough made Ben’s blood feel fucking heated and wired.

He knew his reputation. He knew that he was a sex symbol, that he’d been the fuel of wet dreams for a damn near century. He also knew that, if he could, he’d rip all those fucking fantasies out of people’s minds on principle alone. Ben was fucking Her’s, and you couldn’t pay him with all the gold in the world to look anywhere but Her. It would be pointless anyway, because Ben couldn’t look away from Her if he fucking tried. She was everything beautiful in the universe, and then more. She was a force of goddamn nature, and alive in Ben’s body, and if his eyes were gauged out and his nose was cut off he’d still feel how fucking beautiful she was in a deep, critical part of his body near his heart.

Ben needed to figure out a way to shut Fake Face up for the rest of her fucking life. He wasn’t allowed to kill her, and they were still being careful around the school, so he couldn’t call her a plastic, disrespectful fucking bitch, and those were all his ideas.

He’d ask Her later. She’d have a way that didn’t end in having to explain to Neuman why they’d had to send a cleanup team to a high school.

Right now Ben just needed to stand—rigid and taut—as Fake Face walked up to him with a well-crafted, sickening smile and he waited for Ryan to get the fuck back to the pickup spot.

“Ben!” Fake Face chirped, bouncing to stand right fucking in front of Ben’s path. “I haven’t seen you at pickup all week-“

“My wife,” Ben grunted Her name, because he was going to say it at every damn possible opportunity. “She’s been doing it.”’

“Hm, well, I haven’t seen her-“

Well, She fucking hates you. “She’s fast. Busy.”

Fake Face hummed, tapping a finger to her chin in mock thought. “Ah, I understand. I’m a career woman as well, but my Georgia is always my top priority-“

Ben wasn’t allowed to kill the bitch. His fists were clenched and the glow in his chest would just have to be slightly released to disintegrate Fake Face, but Ben wasn’t allowed to kill her. “Ryan is our top priority.” Ben grunted. “She just doesn’t have time to fucking gossip.”

“I see. Does she have time for you, Ben?”

His vision was red, and he refused to fucking answer. If he answered, he’d spit and roar and draw attention. He didn’t fucking need attention. He needed to take his son home to pick up his wife, then take them both to get a Christmas Tree. A big one, that Ben would put stupid rainbow lights on and She and Ryan would smile at.

Fake Face seemed to realize Ben wasn’t going to respond, and switched the topic with only a slight cough. “Are you getting each other gifts for Christmas? My ex husband and I never did, he said that it was-“

“We are.” Ben snapped. “Her idea.”

It had been Her idea. She’d grabbed his face between her hands and said Benjamin, I love you very much, and if we don’t get each other stupid gifts for Christmas, I’ll kick you in the balls.

“Oh, well, if you need gift ideas-“

Ryan walked out of the school with some of the best timing Ben had ever goddamn seen, and something bright bloomed over Ben’s ribs as Ryan’s face split into a wide smile.

“Ben!” He shouted, closing the remaining space in only a few steps and pulling Ben into a likely bone-breaking hug. “You’re here!”

“Of course I’m fucking here,” Ben muttered, holding Ryan until the kid decided he’d had enough. “Butcher’s just a slow dumbfuck. Let’s go.”

Ryan nodded, starting past Ben to the parking lot, and Ben had almost entirely forgotten about Fake Face until she was grabbing his bicep, and he had to tense his every muscle to halt his instinct to slam her fucking head to the floor.

“What the fuck are you-“

Fake Face was giving him that cheap, twisted smile and those syrupy fucking words, not at all caring how she’d damn near just been killed. “Jewelry.”

Ben scowled, jerking his arm fully from her touch. “Speak fucking clearly-“

“Ladies love jewelry.” Fake Face said, giving Ben a pout that made her look constipated. “I’m sure your wife would love some.” Ben fucking loathes the way she said wife. Like it was a lie and not the only thing he’d ever been sure of. “And I’d love to help you pick some out for her.”

Ben looked Fake Face dead in the eye, not bothering to contain his disgust for her and that awful proposition, and never bothering to hide the sheer fucking pride and love that existed in his body for Her. He hoped She felt it back home, where Ben could sense her, peaceful and content and likely wearing one of Ben’s shirts. Maybe She’d ask Ben what he was doing, and he’d get to hear Her voice. Tell Her how he was defending her honor.

“She doesn’t wear jewelry.” He snapped, his eyes narrowing. “She’d fucking burn it off when I made her cum. Waste of money.”

Fake Face gaped, and Ben didn’t bother to wait for her to speak before he marched after Ryan, clasping him on the shoulder and steering him fully back to the car. He might have just made shit worse. Ben knew there was a possibly that Fake Face would think he’d been flirting, and would keep trying stupid fucking moves. But Ben was pretty sure he’d also made it real fucking clear that he wasn’t planning on fucking anyone but Her ever again. That was the whole point of marrying Her. Making Her and the rest of the world really fucking get that they belonged to each other, and anyone who tried to take them away from each other should be prepared to face the goddamn consequences. Consequences Fake Face better fucking understand, because Ben was weak compared to Her. Everyone was weak compared to Her. If She wanted to, she could burn out the sky.

If She had been present for that conversation, Fake Face might have ended up a husk of a bitch on the pavement. It was why Ben only told Her about this shit when they were in their room, where all She’d do is scowl and pout and glare at him, then start to climb up Ben’s body as She kissed him like she was trying to leave a mark. She knew there wasn’t a damn thing to worry about—Ben made fucking sure of it—but that didn’t stop Her from grinding in his lap or clawing at his chest when he finger fucked Her.

It was just another fucking perfect thing about Her. How She was a terrifyingly brilliant, sharp woman who adored the whole world, and She went slack and blissful under only Ben’s touch. How She wanted him, wanted Ben so fucking much she’d get all fucking angry at the idea of him being looked at.

“You’re a fucking person,” She’d grumbled once, Her face buried in Ben’s chest. “It’s, it’s rude-“

“I’m well fucking aware that I’m a person,” Ben had drawled Her name, tilting her chin up so she could see his teasing smirk. “I think you’re just possessive.”

She’d flushed. “I’m not possessive-“

“You are.” Ben had muttered, and leaned down to ghost one, soft kiss over her lip. “It’s fucking hot.”

It was. It made Ben’s whole body buzz and hum and fucking glow, that he was wanted enough for Her to be possessive. Not his body or name or image, Ben. Ben was fucking loved enough that She lost her damn mind when people acted like he was just a face. And then She’d turn around a call him Pretty Boy, and beg him to fuck Her, and it was so much goddamn better because She was the one doing it.

And Ben fucking loved Her. His whole fucking life was Her and Ryan. His whole damn purpose wasn’t Fake Face, it was finally getting that fucking tree. It was letting Ryan chose the tree—as long as it was a proper, green, massive fucking pine tree, Ben didn’t fucking care what it looked like—and telling Her about Fake Face as She was tucked into his side. It was making fun of that bitch with Her, and setting up the tree when they got home so Ben could get the lights up. It was seeing how beautiful She’d be into the shifting colors, how She’d probably look like some sort of fucking siren or painting when she was cast in shadows under the glow.

It was about finally having something so fucking good, and caring for it, and never goddamn losing it.

“How was school, kid.” Ben asked, dropping behind the wheel as Ryan pulled his buckle on. “Any shit I should know about-“

“No!” Ryan shook his head, his smile never faltering. “It was a really good day, Ben. We’re learning about Feudal Japan, did you know one of the first ever novels was written by a handmaiden?”

“No, I don’t fucking read. But,” Ben pushed on, before Ryan even had a chance to frown. “I damn near didn’t finish school. You’re a hell of a lot fucking smarter than that. Keep talking.”

Ryan didn’t keep talking, and when Ben glances at him he had a soft, nervous expression.

“What-“

Ryan mumbled Her name. “She said not to let you call yourself stupid.”

Ben snorted. “Fucking sounds like her. I’m fine kid-“

“But you’re not stupid!” Ryan protested. “You taught me how to use my powers! And how to grill! And about chemicals! I passed my science test because of that.” Ben could see Ryan’s chest puff slightly in his periphery. “Mr. Kline said he’d never seen someone eat the samples, not need to go to the nurse, and get a hundred percent.”

It was hard for Ben to fight the small grin on his face, and damn near impossible to stop the flash of pride through his body. “Fine. Tell me about the stupid fucking book.”

Ryan seemed satisfied, launching into a history lesson Ben really fucking tried to listen to, but didn’t understand a damn word of. He was practiced at this, though. Between Her and Ryan, Ben was a fucking master at grunting at all the right moments, nodding and shrugging like he got what they were saying, and letting them tire themselves out. Then he’d ask a few questions because it made their faces light up with joy, stash a few of their answers just to prove that really did fucking try. For them, Ben would always fucking try.

And She must have felt it. How Ben’s entire body was focused on Her, on Ryan, because She became colorful and alive around his head as Her perfect, musical voice hummed in his head.

You’re late, Benjamin.

Blame Butcher and Ice Lady.

Ice Lady?

Ice Lady. Ben repeated, frowning into the air. With the fucking ice-

Powers? Ice Lady with the ice powers? Ben could almost see Her pretty, teasing smile, and he rolled his eyes.

Brat.

Cunt. What did Butcher do?

Asshole was pussying around when we turn Ice Lady over. Made me fucking late to get Ryan.

But you-

I got him. Ben glanced over to Ryan, who had settled into his seat with an easy silence, bobbing his head slightly to the radio. He’s good.

Did you-

No incidents. Said today was good.

And-

He told me about his classes. Going well. Ben smirked at the road. Your faith in me is fucking astounding, Sunshine.

She scoffed between their heads. Fuck you, Ben, I’m just worried about him-

He’s fine. And I’d be happy to fuck you, beautiful, but you’re going to have to keep it together until tonight. Think you’ll survive?

You’re such an asshole.

You love me.

I do, you dummy. She sighed in the hum of the engine. Drive faster. I’m bored.

Ben grunted, and pressed the pedal down. He’d still be safe—Ryan was in the car, and Ben’s own need to see Her didn’t outweigh the kid’s safety—but he wanted to get the fuck home. Back to Her.

She was waiting in the driveway when they pulled in. Ben hadn’t even stopped the car when she moved to stand at the driver’s side, hugging herself as She waited.

She looked so fucking happy. Just as beautiful as She’d always been, just as perfect, but fucking happy. Bouncing slightly on Her toes as Ben grunted that Ryan should go put his shit away before they left, smiling at them through the window in such an easy, natural way it made Ben’s chest feel soft. Made him goddamn glow.

He’d barely stepped out of the car when She was on him. Pulling Ben down by his shirt into a long, deep kiss, sighing into his mouth when he picked Her up off the ground, and wrapping Her arms around his neck when they pulled apart.

“Hi,” She whispered, her smile all joy and adoration that made Ben fucking high. “Ready to get a tree?”

“Fucking born it.” Ben nipped at Her nose, carefully setting Her back down on the pavement. “I’m driving.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “You can’t stop me-“

Ben gave Her an amused, flat look. “I could very fucking easily stop you, Sunshine.”

Her eyes narrowed as he raised his brows in a silent challenge. Big talk, Pretty Boy-

You know it’s not just talk, beautiful. He winked at Her, holding Her gaze. You’re not fucking driving.

But-

No. Ben kissed Her brow, grinning against her skin. Not a chance in damn hell.

Asshole.

Yep.

She rolled her eyes, leaning into his side and frowning at the front door of their house. Is Ryan okay? I know you said he had a good day-

He’s fine, Ben muttered Her name, shifting her against his chest and wrapping his arms around Her stomach. Fucking bounced out of the school like it was his damn birthday. Saved my ass as well.

Saved your ass? She tilted Her head back, frowning up at him. What-

Fake Face. Ben grunted, and She sighed. I still think you should let me fucking kill the bitch-

No murder, Ben. Not very Christmas spirit of you. She tapped her fingers on his arm, offering him a small smile. And I kind of like that these are our problems now. I can handle someone throwing themselves at you. And I get it.

Ben raised his brows. You get it?

Yeah. She shrugged, dropping Her head back on his shoulder, and Ben could feel all Her love rushing through his body. I mean, you’re very fucking pretty, my love. I’d throw myself at you.

He snorted. No, you fucking wouldn’t.

Yes I would-

Don’t lie, Sunshine. Ben held Her pouting glare with a smirk. You never fucking threw yourself at me, you barely damn liked me.

I liked you, She mumbled between their heads. I love you, Ben-

I love you too, brat, but you were never that pathetically annoying and desperate. You never fucking needed to be, he squeezed his arms around Her, kissing her brow and muttering Her name in the wind. You already have me.

She smiled at him, kissing the underside of his jaw. Very romantic, Benjamin.

He rolled his eyes, dropping his face to Her neck, sucking on that one spot. Shut up.

Even as She molded into him, whimpering slightly as Ben kissed up her neck and behind her ear, Ben knew She was fucking right. It was a damn good thing that the worst shit in their lives right now was Fake Face and Ryan getting changed so damn slowly. Not life or death, no screaming or blood, just Her swaying in Ben’s arms and his whole body feeling fucking alive in her presence. And neither of those worst things would be difficult to deal with. Fake Face was just an annoying bitch, and Ryan was finished in the next five minutes. Ben lived a life where he could kiss his wife until She was slack jawed and glossy eyed, guide her into the passenger’s seat of their care, and get his family out of the driveway before She had a chance to start thinking again. Now the worst problems were that they needed that goddamn tree, and Ben had to ignore Her pretty glare as he drove them to the farm.

You cheated. She grumbled in his head, playing with his hand in Her’s, and Ben smirked.

I don’t have a damn clue what you’re talking about, Sunshine. I’d never fucking cheat, I’m a goddamn gentleman-

Fuck you-

Not with Ryan in the car, darling. Ben’s grin became toothy and wide as She stuck her tongue out at him, his attention turning to Ryan’s pale face in the rearview mirror. “You good back there, kid?”

“Yeah, I’m just, um-“ Ryan swallowed, his heart a little uneven. “I’ve never gotten a Christmas tree before? Do we have to do anything?”

She twisted in Her seat, giving Ryan a sweet smile and soft words. “You don’t have to do anything. If you see one you like, tell us, and we’ll take care of the rest of it.”

Ben squeezed Her thigh as he glanced back at Ryan. “It’s real damn easy, kid. You’ll be fine.”

“What if I, what if I pick the wrong one-“

“It’s a fucking tree.” Ben gave Ryan a firm look through the mirror. “Long as it fits in the house and has branches, it can’t be wrong.”

Ryan nodded slowly. “Mom always got lights for our tree-“

“We got lights, Ryan.”

She blinked at Ben. “We do? When did we-“

“Last week.” He grunted. “When you were off doing your mystery shit.” Which you still haven’t fucking told me about-

And I won’t until it’s relevant, Pretty Boy. “Ryan,” She frowned into the air, tapping Her finger’s over Ben’s hand. “Was that enough for shopping? Because I need to go back to Best Buy for Secret Santa-“

Ben shot Her a look, his brows drawn together. “I thought you finished that shit.”

“No, I got your gift,” She gave him a sweet smile. “This is for-“ She cut herself off, and Ben rolled his eyes. She wasn’t fucking fooling him, she’d been nowhere close to slipping up. “I can’t tell you-“

“Shut the fuck up, Sunshine.” He raised Her hand to her mouth, pressing a kiss to Her knuckles. “Ryan, tell her about that book shit.”

Ryan’s face lit up, and Ben only got a light whack on his knee as she twisted to listen to Ryan’s repeated lecture about the Japanese lady and her book. She’d, apparently, already fucking known about the book, because of fucking course She did. The rest of the car ride was a conversation Ben tried—and fucking failed—to keep up with, and when they parked the sun had already dropped out of the sky, leaving them some of the last fuckers wandering the farm.

It was better like that. Ryan could wander—Ben keeping a careful ear on his heartbeat—Ben could keep Her tucked safely under his arm as She lit a careful fire in her palm, and none of them had to worry about invasive fucking pussies trying to talk to them. Ryan and Ben could even throw snow at each other without worrying about accidentally murdering someone.

“If I get hit,” She mumbled, her head leaning on Ben’s chest. “I’ll kick your ass, Pretty Boy.”

Ben snorted, another ball of snow already in his fist as he scanned over the tree line, waiting for Ryan’s next strike. “What if fucking Ryan hits you, you’re not going to kick his ass-“

“Is it Ryan’s job to protect me?”

Ben gave Her an amused grin as she blinked at him with fake fucking innocence. “You’ve got a smart fucking mouth, brat-“

She shrugged. “You love it- Ben!”

He’d hauled Her up his chest, swallowing her squeak of surprise with a deep, sloppy kiss and turning his body to take the bullet of Ryan’s snowball.

“Fuck, Ben, I’m sorry-“

She and Ben both pulled back from each other with wide eyes, and Ben grunted as She half-climbed up his body to stare at Ryan.

“Did you just say fuck?”

“Um,” Ryan’s voice was far too damn nervous, his heart rapid, and when Ben adjusted his body to see the kid, he was flushed and gaping. “I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry-“

“I’m not mad, Ry,” She pushed out of Ben’s hold, offering Ryan a reassuming smile. “I just didn’t expect it.”

“Am I,” Ryan looked between Her and Ben with wide eyes. “Am I allowed to swear-“

“Of course you’re fucking allowed to swear,” Ben grunted, pulling Her back under his arm. “Do we look like goddamn hypocrite pussies to you, kid?”

“No?”

“Then swear as much as you fucking want. But,” Ben raised a finger, narrowing his eyes at Ryan. “You have to go find that tree.”

Ryan nodded, and his heart sounding a little more steady, and bounced back into the trees.

When Ben looked back to Her, she was smiling at him. A real, loving, soft smile that made Ben’s whole body pound and riot with Her. Just fucking Her.

What-

You’re a good dad, Ben. Her smile widened, so fucking adoring it might kill him.

It’s not that big a damn deal-

No. She held Ben’s hand over her shoulders, letting him guide them after Ryan. It is. You’re an amazing, handsome, grumpy old dad. Ryan and I are very lucky to have you.

Ben only grunted, because he was fucking lucky to have them. For them to forgive him enough to let him stay, to offer him their trust and love when they were the only two, truly fucking good people in the world. Whatever.

She glared at him, but let it go, and they walked in silence for another few minutes—Ben’s whole existence only Her and Ryan’s heartbeats, just as fucking calm as they should always be—until she tugged on his arm.

I got an early gift for you, by the way.

What-

Butcher. I figured out what you can get him. I’ll show you when we get home.

Ben frowned into the dark. You’re getting his, and mine, and your secret fucker, and shit for Ryan.

Yeah. She shrugged. But those last three were really easy.

He raised his brows. Your secret shit was easy.

She hummed. Yep. My person’s really predictable, and loud about what they like. You just have to be around them for five minutes and you’d have figured it out as well.

It’s MM.

I’m not going to tell-

Annie.

Ben-

Hughie.

She sighed. Ben, I’m not telling you.

Ben narrowed his eyes at Her. It’s fucking Hughie.

I said I’m not telling you, cunt. She whacked his chest lightly. So shut the fuck up and drop it.

It was defiantly fucking Hughie. And Ben would’ve gotten Her to admit it—with enough teasing words, grumbled praise, and long kisses Ben could get Her to tell him fucking anything—but Ryan reappeared with a wide, bright expression.

“I found it!” He bounced on his toes, grinning between Her and Ben. “It’s that way, and it’s really big and spiky.”

She nodded, tilting Her head at the direction Ryan had pointed to. “Ben, if you go with Ryan, I can go find the tree-cutter people-“

Ben scoffed, keeping Her pressed against his side. “Don’t be fucking insane, Sunshine. Let’s go, kid.”

Ryan glanced at Her—Her attention focused on Ben with a heat he could feel over his ribs—but started walking, Ben pulling Her after him.

Ben-

I can get the tree, he muttered Her name, glancing down as he squeezed his hold on Her. We don’t need some pussy with a fucking saw.

Are you-

I’m fucking positive. He kissed the top of her head. Trust me.

She sighed, but nodded, and grew loose and easy in Ben’s body.

And he was right. Ryan presented the tree to them—he’d done a damn good job, and when Ben told him so the kid lit up like the fucking sun—and Ben barely grunted as he ripped it out of the ground.

He started moving without a damn word, supporting it on one shoulder, and smirked at Her open, pretty fucking gape as he twined his free hand into Her’s. Her heart was fluttering in Her chest, her beautiful face slack with need, and Ben felt something in his chest try to pound out of him, into Her.

Don’t fucking drool, Sunshine. He winked at Her, waiting for Ryan to be in his view before he started the walk back, and She just swallowed, Her voice breathless between their heads.

Fuck you-

I will, darling. When we get home I’ll throw you around as much as you fucking want. He shifted his grip on the tree, and felt his dick twitch as She half slumped into his body, her gaze pure fucking love and want. Swear it.

Ben never got to throw Her around. She’d nodded, tugging Ben to walk a little faster, and paid for the tree with fingers tapping on the counter, but they’d barely made it halfway back to the house before She was asleep in the car. It wasn’t even that fucking late, but Ben saw Her body slump in the passenger’s seat—Her presence in his head turning into a natural, eternal and peaceful glow of beauty—and heard Her heartbeat slow a moment later. When he glanced in the rearview mirror, Ryan was knocked the fuck out as well, and he smiled.

He left the tree on the roof when they got home, and got them both to bed. He unbuckled Ryan first—She’d kill Ben if he left Ryan in the cold car alone—and carried him up to his room with careful steps.

“Ryan,” he muttered, setting the kid carefully on the bed. “Ryan, wake the fuck up.”

Ryan’s eyes blinked open, still clouded with sleep. “Ben, wha…” He trailed off with a yawn, and Ben sighed.

“Need to get changed, kid. And brush your teeth.”

“What’s goin’ on-“

“You’re going to bed.” Ben grunted. “But you’re not doing it in fucking ice-covered clothing. Change.”

Ryan nodded slowly, starting to shuffle around the room, and Ben returned to the car.

She was so fucking beautiful. There were glittering drops of melted snow on Her eyelashes, and her mouth was parted as a small amount of drool fell from Her perfect lips. He swiped his thumb over it, She barely stirred, and Ben realized she was knocked the fuck out. And he wouldn’t be waking Her up for the fucking world.

Ben carried Her upstairs—just as he’d done with Ryan—but when he reached their room he set Her down carefully, and stripped her himself. Careful slow movements that didn’t disturb her, changing Her into his shirt—not bothering with underwear—and tucking Her under their covers before going to check on Ryan.

The kid had passed out without turning his lights off or getting under the covers. Ben fixed both of those things, brushed some hair from Ryan’s forehead, and checked on that stupid fucking turtle so Ryan wouldn’t wake up to it dead. It was sleeping under a sun lamp with a damn worry in the world, and had more than enough food to last into the next three damn years. Ryan had been keeping his word, and the thing was growing like a fucking monster. And the kid seemed to damn love it, so Ben gave it a little fucking extra food as a silent, stupid thanks for doing whatever the hell it was doing to make Ryan smile.

She was still asleep when Ben returned. Curled into his side of the bed, Her face pressed into his pillow, and soft, incoherent mumbles falling out of Her mouth until Ben joined Her. She let out a blissful sigh as he pulled Her into his arms and tangled his legs with Hers, her pretty face buried in his chest and that flower shampoo she used like a goddamn drug. Making his body relax, because it was right where it should be, and his brain lull into an easy sleep.

Easy fucking sleep he’d get to wake up from in the morning without screams or tears, with his perfect wife still clinging to his body and all Her love alive inside of him. She’d get that promised fucking when She woke up as well, and he’d make everyone pancakes for breakfast, then drive Ryan to school. He’d grab the tree when he got back, wait for Ryan to get home before he put up the lights, and She’d watch them both with a smile before telling Ben what he should get Butcher.

Then it would be Christmas, and he’d get to give Her his goddamn amazing gift, and She’d kiss him, and everything would be so fucking good.

Ben’s life was really fucking good.

End Note: I don’t care if they don’t sell turtles at Costco in my universe they do.

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eskawrites · 1 year ago

Note

Arren tracked her down in the training yard. It was hardly impressive, this is where she always went when she needed... Time. Space. Alone and busy enough to shut her mind up.

"This is how you're getting ready? You want to be all sweaty on your wedding day?"

"Leave it be, Arren." She notched an arrow and took aim at the farthest target. It was no challenge, really, but it was the best she could do unless she wanted to shoot at Arren. Which, under the circumstances, she just might.

"It's a big deal, you know," he prodded at her.

"It's nothing. What difference does it make?" She asked. She had been asking it of herself since Tenar had proposed this arrangement. She hit the target dead on. It was cold out, and quiet. Flurries fell around them, muffling everything but their conversation.

"Lark," he set his big hand on her shoulder, weighty and familiar even through her armor and the quilted padding underneath. "You're gonna be queen. That's a pretty big difference, I'd say."

She scoffed. "Tenar is the queen."

He let go of her and leaned back against the outer wall of the barracks.

"And what will that make you?"

She notched another arrow. She drew and fired and split her first arrow in two.

"Whatever Tenar needs me to be. It makes no difference."

Bro how’d you know Lark would be having a crisis the morning of???

But also akgjalgkakfjdahs whaaaaat this is incredible wtffff. Just gonna cradle this close to my chest. It’s them! My kids! My dorky rogues turned heroes turned royalty!! They’re so lost and stressed and good and they love each other so so much!

#genuinely could be straight out of my notes here #dufrau what! WHAT!#I’m very 🥺😭🥰🥰🥰 about this #tenar ALSO finds lark before the wedding. like very very close to time she sneaks across the castle into lark’s room #breaking every sacred royal tradition and scaring the shit outta lark #these kids just doing their best not realizing they’re all the best thing that’s ever happened to this kingdom #Erathia #tenlark #ngl this is reallyyy making me wanna write an Erathia trilogy #which ironically wouldn’t even include any of these things but still!#asks #dufrau #are you KIDDING me I love this what a gift

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majestyeverlasting · 1 month ago

Text

𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐞.𝐦.

This piece contains 18+ content.

Pairing Eddie Munson x Female Reader [friends → lovers]

Summary Eddie holds good on his promise to take you out on a date, and as the night comes to a close, you realize you’re not ready to say goodbye [fluff, smut, 4.3k].

A/N This is the long-awaited continuation of come whatever may. You can read that first if you'd like, but enough context will be provided here. Spoiler alert: the sex is very soft, teasy, and desperate because they’re in l-o-v-e. Haven't written smut in nearly two years, but I evoked the muses of times past—and thus!...

PART 1

∘°∘♡∘°∘

Summer is long gone, but when you open the door to Eddie holding flowers, the warmth that rises to your cheeks makes it feel nearer than ever. It’s a vibrant bouquet composed of white roses, red lilies, baby’s breath, and leafy foliage. The wrapper crinkles as he extends them to you with an easy smile and soft hello. Your eyes flick back up to his after admiring the delicate blooms.

There’s a healthy flush to his cheeks, his curls neat and defined. The black leather jacket he’s wearing clings to his slender frame with a polished edge. Under the weight of your gaze, he huffs out a chuckle that reminds you you’re still on earth.

“Gonna let me in, sweetheart?” Charm drips from his voice and shimmers within his chocolate eyes.

Nodding, you shuffle backwards, allowing him to enter and push the door shut behind himself. As he steps further inside, you can feel his gaze sweeping over your outfit. An olive-green corduroy dress layered over a beige turtleneck that’s soft against your skin. His smile grows, glinting bright enough for anyone to believe he just won the Lotto when, really, it’s just the pretty sight of you holding the flowers he bought.

“These are beautiful.” You raise the bouquet, but Eddie’s eyes remain on you. Seeking refuge from his gaze, you tuck your nose down to inhale the sweet fragrance of the petals. “They smell amazing too.”

“That’s all you, sweetheart.”

You get shy when his eyes meet yours. “You like my outfit and everything?”

Eddie swallows back a degree of his earnestness so he doesn’t sound too far gone. “Of course I do, are you kidding me?”

Seemingly out of nowhere, Robin descends the staircase with a bag slung over her shoulder like she’s prepared to leave, hair tied up in a messy bun. Given your parents were away in Indianapolis for the weekend, you’d asked her to come over and help you get ready so you wouldn’t be alone.

Eddie’s eyes flick to her, clearing his throat. “Did you help her pick this out, Buckley?”

“Obviously,” she smirks. “Nice hair.”

“It is really nice,” you agree with a soft smile. Eddie lifts a passive shoulder, chest fluttering.

“Rob, do you think you could…” she takes the bouquet without you having to ask. The two of you had shuffled through the attic and dug out a vase earlier that afternoon.

Eddie had promised this date, along with flowers, a week ago when you slipped away from Steve’s party to be alone. That night, he’d kissed you in the heat of the moment but wanted to backtrack and do things right. You deserved that much.

The time you’ve been looking forward to has finally come.

With your hands now free, the only thing you can think to do is wrap your arms around Eddie. The world goes still as he hugs you back, nerves quelling beneath your skin. For a moment, you merely enjoy the warmth of the same arms you’ve been wrapped in countless times before. With your head tucked into his chest, enveloped by the faint scent of his cologne, you release all the worries that ride on the sweeping coattails of change. For a moment, he’s just Eddie, your best friend.

When you pull away, he leans in, tilting his head with that familiar, boyish curiosity. “You alright?” he asks quietly, searching your gaze.

You nod, a smile breaking through. He takes your hand in his and gives it a squeeze, “Just checkin’.”

Robin soon walks back into the foyer. “I put the flowers in a vase for you,” she announces, taking her hair down and shaking it out. “Hate to admit it, but you two are actually cute. It’s disgusting.”

“Hey,” Eddie lifts his hands, laughing. “Little victories.”

She adjusts her bag on her shoulder with a content sigh. “Welp, I’m about to go pester Harrington at Family Video.” She turns to Eddie, playfully narrowing her eyes. “You better treat her right, ‘cause best believe I’ll be hearing all about this date.”

When she slips out the door, Eddie smiles at you in silent assurance.

●・○・●・○・●

The sun hasn’t quite begun to set, but orange and pink faintly blend on the horizon. A cool fall breeze flows in through the cracked windows as the radio plays softly. Eddie had asked his Uncle Wayne to borrow his pickup truck because it’d be more romantic than his bulky van. You can’t say whether he was right, only that you’re grateful to be riding shotgun with him—headed to an unknown destination, no less.

You’d already guessed through a list of places that Eddie denied with amusement. Sighing, you look out the window to people bustling about, walking dogs and strolling out of shops. You’re coming out of the more commercial side of town, nearing Lover’s Lake and the state park.

“I give up,” you sigh.

Eddie chuckles, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze, ignorant to his warming effect on you. “Okay, fine, I’ll give you a hint.” That makes you peer over at him in interest. “If I had to guess, I’d say not a lot of people have had the chance to try it out yet.”

That’s a dead giveaway. Your mouth falls open in surprise. “That new place along the lake—Stillwater Grill?” The twitch of Eddie’s lips is telling. “No way!” The excitement in your voice makes his chest tighten.

Stillwater was supposed to be good, from what you’d heard. A slightly elevated dining experience minus the formalities and steep pricing of a restaurant like Enzo’s. Where classic American favorites embrace small-town charm, according to the paper.

Upon your arrival, the parking lot houses a pretty decent number of cars. Lover’s Lake provides a serene backdrop that catches the evening light. Couples stand outside admiring the view. Eddie opens your door and helps you out of the truck like a proper gentleman. You happily tuck yourself into him as you walk inside.

When you were younger, you often wondered what love would be like. Books and the movies always presented countless possibilities, but you always believed it’d be special for you. So different that nothing else would be able to compare—perhaps, selfishly. One thing for sure, you never could’ve dreamed up someone like Eddie.

As he sits across from you under the dim glow of the lights, laughter and chatter filling the air, you wonder if you’ll ever be able to put all this into words. Belly full, you realize what you’ve enjoyed even more than the food and cozy, rustic atmosphere was is company.

Eddie has an inexplicably magnetic way. There was a magic in getting him all to yourself. In relishing the lovely sparkle in his eyes that suggested he was always on the verge of laughter. The passion he exuded made it seem like the way he loved a given thing was biblical. He could talk the ear off a cornfield if he wanted but knew instinctively when to listen. Even your passing remarks seemed to bear some semblance of importance to him.

Conversing with him had always been easy, but without other people vying for his attention, you were truly able to admire the boy before you. To embrace the deepening attraction.

As you wait for the waiter to bring the tab, you don’t realize you’ve grown silent and begun blinking at him with the fondest eyes.

●・○・●・○・●

The wooden stairs of your front porch creak under both your footsteps as you climb them, stopping in front of your front door as the night settles around you. Moths flutter around the lanterns framing the door, crickets chirp in the lawn. Eddie kicks at a dead leaf, combing through a sea of thoughts in search of the right words.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask,” he says. You wait for him to continue. His doe eyes search yours for the briefest moment, seeing right through you it seems. “Would you like to be my girlfriend? ‘Cause I think it’s gonna be hard for me to quit you.”

Your mouth opens a couple times in a mix of giddiness and surprise. “Yeah,” you finally breathe. “Yeah, I’d love to be your girlfriend.”

Smiling, he steps forward to capture your lips in a slow, sweet kiss that you feel everywhere. It manages to outshine the first, more desperate, kiss you’d shared a week prior. This one is steady and sure, like a promise sealed with a prim bow. When he pulls away to look into your eyes, you shyly duck your head.

“I’ll call you tomorrow?” he asks, lifting your chin.

He doesn’t want to go, instead wishing he could stall and stay right here with you. He’s parted ways with you hundreds of times before, but now he can’t seem to figure out how he ever did. That’s how he knows he’s in trouble. The best kind.

“I’ll pick up,” you promise.

He stands at your door until you see yourself inside. It’s quiet without him. Your eyes land on the flowers he got you, now in a vase in the living room thanks to Robin. Too quiet. The sound of your front door reopening stops Eddie in his tracks. He turns around with a slight furrow between his brows.

“Everything okay?” he calls, mindful of his volume.

You make a small motion for him to come back to you. He listens in a heartbeat.

There’s a weighted look in his eyes beneath the playfulness, “Miss me already?”

“No,” you lie.

●・○・●・○・●

It’s a wonder how you manage to make it feel like there’s a pleasant fire kindling within him. What started out as yet another easy conversation, has turned into you straddling his lap on the couch, the fabric of your dress riding up your thighs as the TV drones in the background.

Everything feels heightened now. The brush of your lips against his, your fingers gently scratching at the nape of his neck.

Eddie’s lips part in a soft, shuddering breath when you roll your hips over him.

“Hold on a second, sweetheart.” His eyebrows are pinched as he pulls back from the kiss, hands stilling you.

You blink down at him all owl-like. “Did I do something?” you murmur, purposely shifting over him again.

He restrains from canting his hips upwards. There’s a softness to his gaze even though his cheeks are flushed hot.

“If getting me worked up counts. You’re real good at that.” His shamelessness is dizzying. “Just don’t wanna get ahead of myself.” It’s a subtle invitation, a chance for you to call things off in case you aren’t on the same page.

But you can feel warmth pooling low in your belly. “What else am I good at?”

He knows you’re game then. For whatever this is, whatever it’s bound to become.

“Trying to pretend I’m not driving you crazy too.” He chuckles when you duck to hide your face in the crook of his neck, kissing the sensitive skin there.

There’s a gentleness to the way Eddie’s hand slips beneath the hem of your dress, meeting the delicate skin of your inner thigh.

“Eddie,” you murmur, lifting from his neck as his fingers continue their trail upwards.

“Hmm?” He pauses, thumb stroking your skin in soft circles.

“Can we go to my room?” A slight shiver runs through you as his fingers move to trace along the crease of your thigh.

“Your call, sweetheart.”

Before he withdraws his hand, he snaps the waistband of your panties and grins when you straighten.

●・○・●・○・●

The lamp on your nightstand casts everything in a dim, warm glow. Eddie shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your desk chair, eyes roving over the notebooks and pens strewn about. The sight of his tattooed arms makes you move to kiss him again, letting your lips wander to the corner of his mouth and his chin in a trail of warmth. He throbs in his jeans when you slip your fingers beneath the hem of his shirt and curl them into his stomach.

Reluctantly, he pulls away from your lips and steps back enough to pull the fabric over his head in one swift movement, muscles rippling as the dark ink on his torso is revealed. With newly disheveled hair, he kisses you backward onto the bed, crawling over top of you as you settle into the mattress with a pleased hum.

Having the upper hand allows him to press hot kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck as you huff out sighs and caress his milky skin with buzzing fingertips. Nothing about his movements is rushed, each press of his lips intentional enough to believe he'd had them planned for years.

Eddie didn’t know your body yet, not in the way he’d like to. But he was reading it in real-time. Cataloging every writhe and hitch of your breath so he knew where to return. The obsessive part of his brain often gets on his nerves, but he’s grateful for it now. Grateful he wants to see every move and sound you can make. There’s an artistry to it, a musicality.

An inkling of panic arises when he begins to suckle on the side of your neck as you offer it. Not because he’s being rough, but because it’s overwhelming enough to want to crawl out of your skin. A soft whimper rises up your throat as your hands find his flexed biceps, digging in. You’re unsure of whether to pull him closer or push him away.

Eddie rises from your neck on his own accord, running a finger over the spot. “You like it when I kiss you here, huh?” There’s a slow, honeyed quality to his voice.

When you offer a helpless nod, he leans back down again, and you shudder as his mouth laves over the same sensitive area a little ways beneath your ear. Exasperated, you blindly paw for the waistband of his jeans, fingers shaky as you fiddle with his belt buckle.

Feeling your struggle, Eddie moves to press a final kiss to your throat before pulling away from your neck.

“Stupid thing,” you pant, pouting up at him for help.

Chuckling, Eddie reaches down with one hand to undo it with ease. Then, watches with blown pupils as you hurry to undo the button and zipper. He slips off the bed as smoothly as he can to remove his pants, black boxers tented and straining. A spark of heat surges through you as you press your thighs together at the sight.

No sooner is he crawling back to help you out of your clothes. The lacy underwear set you’re wearing beneath is a pretty shade of baby blue, and Eddie can’t help but palm himself.

“Jesus,” he sounds awed and devastated at the same time. “You’re so gorgeous...”

Before he’s even had time to process, you take off your bra, baring your chest for him to see. Your nipples pebble with the new exposure and all of two seconds pass before he’s surging forward, sending you tumbling back to the mattress in a breath of startled laughter he swallows down like a lifeline.

You gasp into his mouth, back arching, as he cups one of your breasts, circling and rolling your nipple between his fingers. You’re barely kissing him back anymore, but he continues licking into your mouth as your lips part around shallow exhales.

That’s when the phone begins to ring. Eddie sits back on his haunches despite your attempt to stop him.

“Might be important.” His voice is rough.

“They can leave a message.”

He smirks, dragging a hand through his hair. “You sure?”

Lifting your leg, you run a careful foot over the swell of his boxers. He twitches at the contact.

“You’re all I care about,” you murmur. “Need you, E.” There’s a desperate edge to your voice that draws him right back in.

“You’ve got me.” He runs a lone finger down the front of your panties. “Can I take these off?” You’re only half listening to his words, nodding to whatever. “Lift up for me.” The muscles of your thighs tremble as you do.

Tossing your panties aside, he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your belly button. Then another one just beneath it. A surprised sound rises up your throat when he gently spreads you open to kiss that swollen, sensitive part of you that’s pulsing with need.

“Oh, gosh—” you stutter out, hands threading into his hair.

“Need me right here?” His voice is laced with a smile, and you can’t help a breathy laugh. Prideful warmth ignites in his chest. “Or do you need me somewhere else?” He trails playful, ticklish nips along your inner thighs, making you squirm.

“Eddie, please…”

He’s gracious enough to begin rubbing your clit in precise, measured circles, intently studying the pretty scrunch of your face.

“Firmer,” you instruct breathily, “—just like that, just like that.” Your legs spread wider instinctively, arching when he collects your slick with a slow, heavy finger.

You’re already so on edge from his previous attention that it only takes a few moments before you ascend into bliss, muscles growing taut as your mouth falls agape. The strong, rhythmic pulses serve as your only touchpoint to reality along with Eddie’s tender caress at your slick, fluttering entrance. One he didn’t even have the chance to breach.

“Look at you…” he says, voice thick. “Made it easy for me.” He laughs a little, more turned on than anything.

“It’s not funny,” you halfheartedly assert, cheeks prickling.

“No,” Eddie agrees. “Just super-duper hot.”

As he raises up, you realize his other hand is tucked into his boxers, lazily stroking himself. A second wave of desire builds within you, overlapping the remnants of the first and any sense of embarrassment that had begun to kindle. It’s spurred by the deep flush of his cheeks, the way his eyes are soaking you in like he’s just witnessed the most beautiful unraveling.

Under your hazy, watchful gaze, he scrambles off the bed. Without warning, he shoves his boxers down, kicking them from around his ankles. His arousal impressively springs up towards his stomach. You bite your lip at the rosy, leaking tip, the gorgeous vein snaking prominently along the underside.

Eddie peeks over at you with a dazed quirk of his lips before retrieving his wallet from his jacket. He pulls out a square foil packet and promptly rips it open with his teeth.

Upon crawling back into the bed, he isn’t expecting you to take his cock in a loose hold, stroking upwards from the curly hair at the base to circle your thumb around the tip. There’s a pleasant tug low in his gut as he kicks up in your palm.

“Sweetheart…” His voice is soft, nearly a plea. You let your hand glide back down, this time venturing lower to cradle the soft weight hanging beneath. He nearly buckles forward. “What're you doing to me?” he rasps.

“Nothing,” you murmur innocently, wetting your hand and giving him a few more easy strokes, enjoying the warm, veiny feel of him before withdrawing your touch.

He curses under his breath as he rolls the condom down, his gaze never leaving you as you reposition yourself to take him.

“Eager beaver,” you lilt as he crowds over you.

“Yeah,” he exhales. “I am.”

He lines up at your entrance, tip catching as he collects your slick with a wavering breath.

You open your legs even wider. “Want you,” you murmur, breathy and sweet.

The expression on his face is like something from a painting, raw and rapturous as he eases into your encompassing warmth. He takes it slow, giving you time to relax around him as you breathe through the dull ache of welcoming him in. A low, guttural sound escapes him once he’s buried all the way.

Your chests brush. Tears prick in your eyes at the closeness, the feeling of being filled so completely.

“You’re unreal,” he murmurs, lips clumsy against your chin. “Like I made you up in my head.”

He begins moving, slowly drawing back only to push back in. A steady rhythm finds him as your mouth falls open, legs hooking around his thighs. The muscles of his back ripple with his effort, and you chart every tense line with your fingertips.

With a low groan, he makes a minor adjustment to better reach that spongy spot within you. You arch into him with a whimper, breath catching in your throat.

“There she is,” he whispers, reaching between your bodies to rub firm, steady circles against your clit.

“Oh, god…” It sounds like you’re in pain even though you’re the furthest thing from it. When you close your eyes, tears stream down your face in twin streaks, surprising both of you. Eddie tenderly wipes them away, gaze soft.

“You’re okay,” he promises. “It’s just me, angel.”

Except, Eddie isn't just anything. You’ve never felt so close to someone, so in tune, and somehow, it’s Eddie—sweet, goofy, wild-haired Eddie—who knew exactly what you needed. He picks up the pace as you arch and writhe beneath him, body yielding without question.

“You feel so good,” you whimper, clenching around him.

His groan reverberates against your neck as his hips jerk sloppily, “Can’t say stuff like that…” Those words only make you tighten around him again.

The dazed way he mouths at your shoulder lets you know he’s clinging onto composure. You’re too warm, too everything—snug, and soft, and beautiful. He’s not ready for this feeling to end. This heady, binding haze of pleasure.

“Eddie,” you breathe softly. “Wanna ride you…”

Your plea nearly finishes him off. “Yeah?” he croaks.

You nod, whimpering. He barely withstands the feeling of slipping from within you. Shifting onto his back allows him a moment of reprieve, but he nearly loses himself when you straddle him, sinking back down with a circle of your hips.

You brace your hands on his ribcage, steadily rocking on top of him as your head tips back. Sweat glistens in the divot of his sternum as he attempts to move in time with you. When you speed up, he closes his eyes to calm himself down.

“Hey…where’d you go?” You croon, grazing your nails from his chest to his quivering stomach, relishing the feeling of his warm, dewy skin beneath your fingertips.

The wrecked way he forces his eyes back open almost makes you fall apart. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips as a greater sense of urgency awakens between you. It’s in the way you speed up, both eager, desperate, chasing. He memorizes the way your body moves over top of his, the bouncy sway of your chest.

“You look so pretty taking me like this,” he shudders. “My pretty girl.”

“Eddie…” you coo, high and breathy.

“I know, sweetheart,” he chokes out. “Wanna feel you come around me so bad.” He’s babbling now, “Shit, I’m not gonna last. I can’t take it anymore, angel...I can’t—”

The earnest crack of his voice sends you tumbling over the edge, vision spotting. Pleasure radiates throughout every fiber of your being as your walls contract around him. He stills your hips with a firm hold, bucking upwards and coming undone in surging waves. You slide your hands over his abdomen to feel him flex with each strong jolt that wracks him.

As your body begins to relax, you blink down at him, lips parted as you catch your breath. Eddie throws an arm over his face as he sucks in air, neck and chest flushed pink. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows.

Both of you shudder as you ease off him. The pleasant ache of loss pulses between your legs as you partially lay down on top of him, hooking a leg over his waist. He traces along your thigh in light, soothing passes. You can feel his chest rising and falling.

“You okay?” he eventually murmurs.

You nod, kissing his shoulder. “You?”

“I think so,” he chuckles weakly.

●・○・●・○・●

The afterglow brings a quiet stillness to the air. Clean and beneath the sheets, you study Eddie’s long lashes, his nose, his plush lips. He eventually cracks a self-conscious smile.

“What?” he questions. You shake your head because you don’t know what to say. He doesn’t look like he believes you. “C’mon...”

So, you think of something, a small truth you’re willing to give him, “I just really enjoyed spending time with you tonight.”

He hums, a mischievous glint flickering in his eyes. “What was your favorite part?”

“Probably the food at Stillwater,” you say, though your fingertips are tracing along his jaw, then down his neck, trailing to his waistline to lightly brush between his hip bones as he squirms. “Best I’ve ever had,” you lilt.

Eddie breaks into a flustered laugh, leaning over to sleepily kiss the coy smile from your lips.

“But really, though,” you say afterward. “Thanks for tonight. Never met a guy quite like you.”

Eddie realizes then that he’d better get a head start on counting his lucky stars.

Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think.

NEXT PART | PART ONE

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson friends to lovers #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #stranger things day #stranger things s4 #stranger things s5 #st s4 #st s5 #eddie x reader smut

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wonderjanga · 2 months ago

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Father’s Day

@autistic-human’s post and @moonlightcycle571’s comment on said post were the inspiration for this one. I love dad Marvel soooooo much, cause I think Billy would try his best to be a good adult figure without even realizing it can come off as parental. He’d just be doing what he would’ve wanted someone to do for him, which was be there for whichever kid no matter what. So what happens when a bunch of angsty teens with trauma meet him? He’s obviously going to try his best to be there for them!

Like Kon, when he first met Marvel, he didn’t really know what to think of the man. He was nice. Almost overwhelmingly so. He also helps Kon with anything if he ever needs help. He’s also almost always around and is willing to talk about virtually anything with Kon too. And this isn’t just exclusive to him, but to everyone. (It makes him feel slightly queasy sometimes. He hasn’t realized what he’s feeling is jealousy whenever his parental figure’s attention is on another kid.) So that’s why when Father’s Day came around and M’gann suggested they all do something for Marvel, he was a little dumbfounded. One, because he just came to the realization that he thinks of Marvel as a kinda dad, and two, because what were they going to do? Marvel isn’t actually their dad, so what if the Captain finds it weird? Kon really doesn’t want to think about Cap finding all of this weird.

The YJ eventually decided to just get Cap a gift. They were all pretty sure that’s what you were supposed to give fathers. Now the question is: what to give him?

Marvel: *goes to Mount Justice to check in on the kids*

YJ: *All in the kitchen fighting about how to frost the cookies cause they all did it differently*

Marvel: *hears them and comes to the kitchen*

YJ: *doesn’t notice him*

Kon: *Does notice and picks up his batch of cookies and goes to Marvel* “Cap.” *presents cookies to Billy*

Marvel: “Huh?” *stares at cookies. Kon’s cookies are a bunch of mishapen blobs with smiley faces* “Are these for me?”

Kon: *nods head* “They’re you.”

Marvel: *takes a cookie with one of the biggest smiles Kon has ever seen on the man’s face* “This is amazing… thanks Kon!” *bites cookie* “They’re really good too!”

Kon: “Really?” *eyes shining at the praise*

Marvel: “Yeah!” *finishes cookie and is about to grab another one*

Other YJ members: *now notice Marvel and Kon* “Wait! Wait! Wait! Try mine next!” *they all proceed to take turns shoving cookies into Marvel’s hands*

Marvel: *eats them all and gives each of them stellar reviews*

About after thirty minutes of Marvel and the kids eating cookies…

Marvel: “What was all this for by the way?”

YJ: “Huh?”

Marvel: “What was all this for? I mean, it’s not my birthday, so…” *doesn’t know it’s Father’s Day*

YJ: “Oh uh… We just felt like it.”

Marvel: “Oh. Okay!” *just happy to gobble the last, remaining cookies* “By the way, this means a lot to me. Even if it was just a spur of the moment thing. I appreciate it.”

YJ: *all super duper uper happy he loves it but trying not to show it* “No problem.” (Spoiler: they’re not very good at hiding it.)

Then there’s Damian. He’s always had a love-hate relationship with Marvel’s happy go lucky, friendly attitude, but it sort of reminds him of Grayson so he’ll never admit it but it’s leaning more towards love. The man has also weirdly never once gotten mad at him, or at anyone as far as he can tell. He’s extremely patient, and the fact that Damian hasn’t pushed the limits of that patience yet is surprising to the young Wayne. The man also knows a surprising about of animal facts and lets him pet his tiger. So that’s another bonus. The man also doesn’t underestimate him solely based on the fact he’s a child. So, when the Father’s Day holiday rolls around, he decides he would reward Marvel for being an admittedly commendable person.

Marvel: *standing by the window of the Titan’s tower, looking at Jump City*

Damian: *appears from nowhere* “Captain.”

Marvel: *jumps before looking to Damian* “Yes, Robin?”

Damian: *holds up Alfred the Cat* “This is Alfred the Cat. I’m giving you the privilege to pet him just this once. Say hi, Alfred.”

Alfred the Cat: *meows*

Marvel: “Hi.” *little wave to Alfred* “Nice to meet you, Alfred.” *shakes Alfred’s little paw before petting him*

Damian: *lets Marvel get a single pet in before pulling Alfred away* “Alright, that’s enough.”

Marvel: “Oh- uh…” *smiles at Damian* “Thanks for letting me pet him, Robin.”

Damian: “Your welcome.” *nods at him before walking off to bring Alfred back to the manor*

Then there’s also Raven. She honestly had no intention of even thinking about the holiday, considering the fact her father is a demon that actively sucks and ruins her life. Then she saw Damian do his thing and after thinking about the Captain and how the man cares for her and her team members… she supposed he should get some type of reward. The man is extremely nice after all.

A little while after Damian’s departure…

Marvel: *back to looking out the window*

Raven: *also appears out of nowhere* “Marvel.”

Marvel: *jumps just like with Damian and looks to her* “Yes, Raven?”

Raven: *presents Marvel with a mini version of himself*

Mini Marvel: *waves to Billy*

Marvel: “Wha?” *bends down slightly to look at Mini Marvel with a confused smile* “Is that me?”

Raven: *nods head* “It’s a new spell I learned. I wanted to show you.”

Marvel: *pokes Mini Marvel in the stomach* “This is… Amazing!” *gives her a wide grin* “You’re amazing!”

Raven: *a little surprised she feels happy at the man’s approval but isn’t really hating* “Thanks.”

Marvel: “Actually, wait. Hold up!” *mutters a spell and in his hand spawns a Mini Raven. He places the Mini Raven in Raven’s palm with the Mini Marvel*

Mini Marvel: *fawning over Mini Raven*

Mini Raven: *blankly staring at Mini Marvel and lets it fawn*

Marvel: “And you’re saying you learned this spell on your own?” *looks away from the Minis and to Raven* “That’s awesome. You did a wonderful job.”

Raven: *doesn’t really know how to handle all the praise* “Thanks… I’m uh… I think I left the stove on.” *instead of heading to the kitchen, runs off to her room*

Marvel ended up later telling the other members of the JL how many gifts he’s gotten that day. They were a little confused and wondered how many kids Marvel could have. But no, they found out that a lot of their own kids think of him as a somewhat father. Also, a few of the adults might’ve thought about slipping Marvel gifts when the man wasn’t looking cause Billy being a dad isn’t just exclusive to the kids.

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mywritersmind · 2 months ago

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SIX TIMES TOO MANY (OR JUST ENOUGH?) - LN4

summary : in which the universe can’t seem to stop bugging you. six times when people thought of you and lando as more than childhood friends.

listen up : no warnings!! childhood friends! sometimes genuis just strikes🤷🏻‍♀️ requests for kimi franco and lando are open!!

word count : 820

⋆｡‧˚⋆

The first time it happened, you had laughed it off in a drunken haze of excitement.

“You and Lando!” Your best friend squealed, “You two hooked up, didn’t you!?” she hit your arm playfully, the biggest grin on her face as yours mirrored the opposite.

“Lando and I? No way!” You shook your head rapidly just as he danced up to the two of you, a drink in hand.

He spun you around and laughed in your ear and slurring his words as your friend gave a curious look.

The second time was an older woman complimenting you and Lando on the street, saying how lovely of a couple you were. Lando had laughed it off with ease.

The third time was far more embarrassing, a young fan had asked Lando to sign his cap and as he did, the kid grinned at you and whispered, “Don’t worry! I won’t tell anyone you’re in love!” He had skipped away after making your jaw drop.

Why did everyone think you were a couple? It was ridiculous and out of reach. You and Lando had been best friends since childhood, besides your first kiss, nothing had ever happened.

You weren’t blind, he was attractive. You just chose to ignore the way he mindlessly changed in front of you and how his curls fell in his face. You chose to not think about him winning a race, sweaty and exhausted, falling right into your arms as he whispered his thanks to you for just being there.

The fourth time someone mentioned it, it was your own bloody mother. She had liked a photo you sent of your group on vacation, replying with “Oh! You and Lando are just the sweetest. Open your eyes, love.”

It was mortifying, especially in public. It made things odd with Lando, after someone would mention it, he started to act squirmy.

He almost always had some sort of girlfriend, though he claimed he didn’t date.

The fifth time was by far the worst.

“I get it!” Your boyfriend had scoffed in your face, “I’ll always come second to him!” You had such a headache from trying to break things off with him that his last statement might as well have split your skull open.

“Him?”

“Norris! Just admit you’re ending things with me to be with him!” He stood up, paced the room, “I’m such an idiot.”

“What- That’s not the reason!”

“Sure! God Y/n you’ve always been drooling for him!” What the hell?

It was your turn to scoff, “Fuck you! I’m sorry you can’t imagine why anyone would break up with your dumbass but we’re done because I don’t fancy you like you do me! Don’t blame my friend.”

“Sure. ‘Friend’. Go cry to him.”

The sixth was the one to change everything.

“I never realized!” Max Fewtrell laughed with you, drinks in hand and leaning against the bar.

“Realized what?” You raised a brow, sipping your drink.

“Lando’s in love with you!” you almost spit out your drink, “I mean- I always figured he had a hard on for you but shit… he’s totally whipped!”

He’s drunk, you reminded yourself.

“Shut up Max.” It wasn’t funny anymore.

“I’m serious, Y/n!” He shook his head, turning towards Lando who was looking bored with a girl next to him, “He hasn’t gotten with anyone for months! That’s saying something! He talks about you all the time and fuck have you not noticed the way he looks at you?”

The way he looks at you? How could you not notice?

He does it just then, turning his head to face you two but keeping those magnetic eyes on you. His previous bored expression was gone instantly, a smirk gracing his face as his eyes stayed on yours. It practically made your heart skip a beat.

“Oh.” Is all you can manage before Lando looks back to the girl.

“I’m just saying… maybe all those times you complain about- when people think you’re a couple or would be perfect together, maybe they’re a sign.” Max gives you one last knowing look before his spot is replaced with Lando.

He leans against the bar in a lazy fashion, looking tired yet all his energy is focused on you, “Having a good night?” His voice- fuck that voice.

His voice which haunted your nightmares and fuled your fantasies.

“A weird one, definitely.” you laugh but it’s not really funny, Lando gives you a concerned look.

“You wanna leave?” and when he says it, you know he’d come with. You know he’d go anywhere for you.

“No.” You shake your head, looking up at the brunette and feeling your breath ragged and unfocused. You swallow, then smile, “Let’s dance.”

A grin breaks out on his face as you slip your hand in his, “Anything you want, Y/n.”

#fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 imagine #lando norris #lando norris fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #lando x reader #f1 fic #lando imagine

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heavysighing-dreamyeyes · 1 month ago

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Ever Since We Met

Spoiler: Jason dies in the warehouse. ~1.5k words

Jason Todd is six years old and snot nosed when he falls in love with his best friend. Sure, he doesn't exactly know what love is, but he makes sure he's standing next to you when the class lines up so he can hold your hand.

He gets a weird feeling in his stomach (he’s not completely convinced that it’s jealousy, despite what the teacher tries to explain) when you follow other kids around the playground instead of him.

But, he does recognize the excitement he feels when you seek him out to be coloring partners during class instead of the girl sitting next to you.

He loves you as much as a six year old can. Especially when he gets to sleep over at your house and you turn your bed into a fortress of blankets and pillows for you both to sleep in. Those nights are his favorite, and you both drift off to whispered stories and hushed giggles.

Jason Todd is ten years old and getting used to growing pains when he develops a crush on his best friend. At least, he thinks it’s a crush. It feels different than being in love, even if he hasn’t quite grasped the fact that he is in love.

He's more hyper aware of what he does now, how he treats you. Sometimes, the way you smile makes him stumble over his words, and his face go hot. He distracts himself and you from it by asking about homework or that one TV show you that you watch on Saturday mornings.

Jason decides he likes that you’ll press to his side when you’re reading, lost in your own worlds together without a need to fill the silence, crush or not.

He likes that you’ll trade half of your sandwich for his and sneak him doodles and notes during class. (He won’t admit it, but he keeps them in a box under his bed. Sometimes they’re the only reason he doesn’t run away from it all)

He doesn’t bother to mask his obvious preference for you, even when the other kids try to tease him for his crush.

You’re always quick to threaten anyone who tries to put him down, anyway, and he’s more than happy to do the same for you. And when you offer him a high five for scaring off some of the older kids, He decides it doesn’t matter if it’s a crush or not, as long as you stay his best friend.

Jason Todd is twelve when he becomes Robin. It’s hard, well, not being Robin, that’s a magic entirely its own, but being away from you.

He lives in a manor that's bigger than the entire floor of the apartment building he used to live in. He's learned how to do a backflip while throwing a punch in midair. He has more at his fingertips now than he's ever had in the entire first eleven years of his life.

But he misses you. Sometimes, it feels like a phantom limb. Something he's always reaching for, but never quite grasping. It helps that you've gotten a scholarship to his new school, but it's still not enough.

He can't explain it, but he gets greedy for your time. You don't seem to mind the sporadic hangouts, or how often he has to cancel or leave. He kind of wishes you would, just to show that you care as much as he does.

He redoubles his efforts to be a good Robin when you tell him about the dealer that moved into the apartment next to yours. He resolves to be a better friend when you tell him the fancy suits he has to wear to galas look good on him.

His feelings don't change once, even if he hasn't quite found a balance between vigilante and civilian, he knows you're the one thing he can't let go of.

Jason is fifteen years old and about to die when he realizes the person he wants to see most is you. He's always known it, in the back of his mind, but as the blaring red numbers tick lower and lower, he just wishes he could hear your voice one more time.

It's you. Always been. And he's never said it. Never let you know.

His body aches. His leg is twisted the wrong way. His breathing is shallow and raspy. His vision is blurring, and he wants to live. But his mom is still trapped in this warehouse with him, and he's Robin. Robin helps, and that's what he'll do.

Jason drags himself to his mother's side to help, moves despite the gnawing, indescribable pain with every movement.

He's still trying to help, trying to sheild her from harm, as the numbers drop to zero. Zero. Zero. Zero.

What happens next doesn't hurt more than anything else did. And he has enough time to picture the color of your eyes before it all goes to black.

Jason Todd is eighteen when he dons the name Red Hood and becomes Gotham's biggest crime lord in a matter of months.

He stays far away from you, even if your memory has haunted him since the moment he woke up in that cursed pit. (and if he tries to remember, the moment since he first woke up in his own grave)

He's eighteen still, when his empire crumbles and he's left without a path, a purpose. He carries the weight of his years with the league, sags under the strain of not knowing who he is anymore.

He stays far away from you, sticks to the cracks and shadows of Gotham until his name is no longer whispered in fear. Then, and only then, is he brave enough to take off his helmet in front of you.

It's a relief and a terror all at once to finally see the color of your eyes from something other than a memory, and when his heartbeat starts to stutter, he knows he's never really grown out of being in love with you.

You've gotten older. (He shouldn't be surprised, he has too. He just always pictured you growing old together)

Your eyes still light up like he's your favorite person in the room. (He thinks he's allowed to be surprised about that)

But it's when you breathe out that he's home, that he figures out you've been waiting for him. Neither of you seem to know what to say after that, but you don't run for the hills in terror. And for the moment, that's enough.

Jason is twenty-one and passing the first (legally) acquired bottle of alcohol you've ever bought. You laugh about how it still tastes the same, and his heart nearly leaps out of his chest at the sound.

He loves you. It sings in his blood, settles on his tongue, he just doesn't know how to say it. He shows it, or at least he tries, but sometimes he's still waiting for this all to be a dream. It should have been impossible, how easily he slipped back into your life.

It was easy. So easy. Everything was easy with you. That's probably why he spills his guts.

He doesn't quite say it the right way, doesn't manage to get the word 'love' out. But he says enough to get his feelings out.

It's not poetic, not grand as you deserve, but somehow he manages to articulate the way butterflies create a hurricane in his stomach when you're around, how his gaze is always drawn to you, how he can't help but lean into the sound of your voice, the warmth of your touch.

Maybe he says a little too much about how he's been head over heels since the day you've met, because you just stare at him.

He's almost ready to run, to blame it all on the one measly shot he's had. This is, until you kiss him. And oh, it's everything he never dared to dream it would be.

It's a little messy, sure, the angle a little strange as you crane across the couch to tangle your fingers in his hair. But it's perfect, it's you, and Jason falls in love all over again.

Jason Todd is twenty-three and still learning how to say I love you. It's not that he loves you any less, if anything, he loves you now more than ever. It's just still something he's getting used to.

Love is something you've given to him so freely, something he's happy to return. But it scares him, sometimes. He worries that if he says it out loud too much, the universe will realize how great of a gift he's been given, and rip it away.

It might be irrational, but he holds the word love close to his heart anyway, unwilling to test fate anymore than he already does by putting on that red helmet.

He whispers it to you in the dead of night instead, says it with touch instead of sound, shows it with soft, shine of his eye. He squeezes your hand when you say it to him, does his best to make it clear he feels the same, even if he can't get the words out.

He'll get it eventually, figure out how to get it off his tongue. He has to.

Especially if he wants to show you the pretty little band of shining, precious metal he has tucked away in a velvet box.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you

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unboundprompts · 28 days ago

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Hello! Can you help me and/or give me examples of how to write a pre-teen? Specifically a slightly mature for their age but still socially-awkward, selfless, empathetic, extroverted 10-year-old

How to Write a Pre-Teen

Voice and Language

Simple but specific vocabulary: Pre-teens might not use very complex words, but they often know and throw in some “big words” they’ve recently learned or mimic words they hear adults use. Don’t overdo it, though—they’ll often misapply or half-understand these terms, which can create natural, humorous moments.

“It’s totally, like, a catastrophe that I forgot my project.”

Expressive dialogue: Pre-teens are enthusiastic and often exaggerate. They can also shift quickly between emotions, from excitement to frustration.

“That was the best movie ever!” might turn into “Actually, I mean, it was kinda boring in some parts, but, you know, overall…”

Thoughtful yet blunt: Kids this age often haven’t fully learned the “filters” adults use. They can be direct and say things that are surprisingly insightful or unexpectedly honest.

Thoughts and Perspective

Developing identity and opinions: They’re beginning to form their own beliefs but still echo the views of family, teachers, or friends.

“Mom says people should never lie, but I wonder if little lies are okay if they help people feel better…”

Questioning and introspective moments: Pre-teens are curious about life, relationships, and “big ideas.” They may ask questions, but sometimes keep their deep thoughts to themselves, exploring them internally.

“If friends are supposed to be there for each other, why do I feel alone even when they’re around?”

Struggle with abstract concepts: At this age, they’re just beginning to understand abstract ideas like justice or friendship but often approach them in straightforward, literal ways.

Behavior and Actions

Impulsivity and energy: They might shift quickly between activities and emotions, getting distracted or excited without much control over it. They may also blurt out ideas or act before thinking, especially if they’re extroverted.

For instance, a character might immediately jump up to help someone even if they aren’t sure what to do, or they might “borrow” something without fully considering the consequences.

Physical awkwardness: Pre-teens can be a bit clumsy as they’re still growing into their bodies. This can lead to endearing, awkward moments.

They might knock something over, trip over their own feet, or feel self-conscious in ways that show they’re still figuring themselves out physically as well as socially.

Friendships and Social Dynamics

Navigating social rules: Pre-teens are very aware of social “rules” but may not fully understand them. This is an age when they care a lot about what their friends think, but they’re also just beginning to question these dynamics.

A pre-teen might want to befriend the “cool” kids but feel conflicted when they realize their values don’t align. Or they may try too hard to impress friends and feel self-conscious afterward.

Conflicted loyalties: Friendships are often intense at this age, and they might struggle with conflicting feelings if friends argue or if they feel left out.

“I really like hanging out with Sarah, but I know Emma doesn’t. Maybe if I can make them both laugh, we could all just… get along?”

Small gestures: Pre-teens often show they care in understated ways, like sharing snacks, giving a small gift, or cheering someone up when they’re down. For a socially-awkward pre-teen, these gestures may come out clumsy but sweet.

Insecurity and Self-Awareness

Self-consciousness mixed with bravery: Pre-teens often fluctuate between trying to fit in and wanting to stand out. They might do something brave but then doubt themselves or quickly retreat if things don’t go as planned.

For instance, a character might volunteer to speak in front of the class only to feel panicked once they’re in the spotlight.

Hyper-awareness of themselves and others: They’re beginning to notice how others perceive them and may get flustered easily or worry about little things, like if their clothes look okay or if they sounded silly.

“I shouldn’t have laughed like that… I bet everyone thought I sounded so weird.”

Joking as a defense: Pre-teens often use humor to cope, covering up their awkwardness or discomfort by making jokes.

Reactions to Conflict and Emotion

Quick emotional shifts: They might go from laughing to frustrated to embarrassed in just a few minutes. They feel emotions intensely and may have outbursts or react strongly to things adults might dismiss as minor.

Heroic ideals vs. real-world disappointments: Many pre-teens have an idealized view of right and wrong, fairness, and heroism, and they may be disappointed when things don’t align with these ideals. They’re just starting to understand that people aren’t all good or all bad.

“I don’t get it… why would she lie about something like that? Friends are supposed to be honest!”

#writing prompts #creative writing #writeblr #dialogue prompt #story prompt #prompt list #ask box prompts #how to write #how to write a pre-teen #writing advice #writing tips #writing resources #writing help #on writing #writing reference

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deaconusdelirium · 6 months ago

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ᰔᩚ Older bf!Simon indulging his kid at heart

Simon never really minded the fact that his childhood was stripped from him, it happened, it’s over, what can he do about it? Nothing. Best move on to more important things. He thinks about it, but it no longer effects him. He’s human, so at some point he’s going to watch a kid play to their hearts content like it was a foreign thing to him

Simon who raises a brow at every little thing you do when he finally starts to love you. Watching you stare at the toy section a little too long before picking out a coloring book and even longer at the crayon section. The basket in the crook of his elbow as he crossed his arms.

“What’s the difference, luvie? They all color the same” he huffed quietly, earning a soft glare in return. “Oh hush, they’re not the same. See? These ones are pastels, these ones have glitter, this one has forty colors-” you go on as he rolls his eyes and stares off down the aisle. His attention immediately being brought back as you all of a sudden stop. Then he seen what you were eyeing. The colored pencils. He looked at them and then at you before sighing and walking over. Grabbing them and show them to you. “What’s the deal with this one?” He asks, trying to find the difference yet again between the crayons and then pencils. You step forward and then smile almost sadly. “I’ve never really had colored pencils, always seen them but my parents told me they’d go in the trash one way or another” you replied. He didn’t even think twice before putting them in the basket

Simon who watches you later on that night color in the first page that stands out to you. Seeing you color outside the lines but never really seeming to mind. “Inside the lines, darlin” he mumbled as he laid in bed. One arm propping him up as you laughed softly, “oh hush, leave me alone. I like it” you smiled, “you like it messy?” He asked, “well… when you put it that way it sounds sloppy. But everyone always got mad that I colored outside the lines. Found being too perfect was always boring and never really fun. But I like this” you leaned back, looking at the paper as he nodded. Picking up a pencil and then gave a small scribble to the paper.

Simon who finds comfort in walking beside you down a sidewalk. At first he was confused, one second you both were walking and the next he was yanked back, “what’s wrong?” He looked around for any sign of trouble, then looked down at you, realizing you were counting your steps in the large rectangles in the concrete. “I stepped four steps in the last block, if I take another step, this one will be five” you muttered. Deciding not to question it, he picked you up, setting you in the next block and started walking along side you again. Now every time you walk together, he counts how many steps you take in each one, stopping and waiting for you if you need to jump a little or if you mess up your numbers, “you’re at three, luv”

Simon who pretty much never questions anything you do anymore, you want something? He’ll get it for you. Even if it’s a little bottle of bubbles, he’ll grab an extra bottle just so that if you ever run out, you’ll have another. He won’t admit it, but likes seeing which bubble will last the longest before popping

Simon who goes shopping with you and helps you pick out a stuffed animal, which turns into stuffed animals. “Oh- look at this one Si, this one’s a seal” you picked up a chunky looking stuffed animal. Giving a squish before holding it out to Simon, who gives a squish and then takes it into his large calloused hands. Scrunching it a few times and lays his head on it, then nods. Looking at the others, “look at this one, babe, it’s a shrimp” he chuckles, picking it up and showing you. A smile blossoming on your face as you grab it. You both going home with stuffed animals of your own, who later get turned into cuddle buddies. Sedrick the Shrimp and Samuel the Seal

Simon who will bring you your favorite lunch with a nice drink on the side to your work. Walking in pass the reception desk and into your office, seeing that you’re on a call, he holds your food so he can personally give it to you as he walks around the place. Mindlessly playing with a few little trinkets you got lying around. He puts the bag of food between his chest and arm, the drink in his hand while his other squeezes the chicken stress ball. Giving a small chuckle as its eyes pop out with every squeeze. Then he finds another little toy. A crane of sort that has a string attached to the tip that’s holding a ring at the end. A small hook on the beam as he tries to get the ring onto the hook. Giving a quiet “yes” as he finally gets it. Then hands your food over with a kiss when you’re done

Simon who stays up with you one night, not having to worry about waking up early for work. So he has you get up, telling you he’s hungry and that he wants to get something to eat. Then when you tell him you have to get ready. He protests, pulling your hand and tells you that he’s not going out to impress anyone and that he’d rather you be comfortable than walking around fully dressed with your clothes you wanted to wear tomorrow, just to get fast food. Tells you that he feels better when you feel good. Both of you don’t have to worry about the burdens of adult life that early morning

Simon who goes to the Lego section with you- well, more like he drags you to the Lego aisle. Telling you that he likes this one he seen a few days ago. Pretends to look for it when he made it up as an excuse so you two could actually look for something to build together. “Look at this one love, it’s a picture frame” he holds up a box, showing you. “I like that one, but I also like this camera one” you also hold up the box, he looks between the two. Eyes darting to the side before something catches his eye. “Baby, look. These are bracelets, you put little legos on them”. He immediately grabs the box, dropping them all into the cart, not even minding the price it’ll come out to. “We should look at the friendship bracelets” he buys you the bracelets anyways, going home and building the legos together, putting a Polaroid of you two beneath the camera one. Putting a picture in the picture frame one, and you both wearing the lego bracelets

Simon who picks out baby clothes, not boring bland pink or blue ones. No, those are too cliche, no, he wants something that will make those beautiful eyes he knows your little baby have, pop out. Even if he has to special order a few clothes and blankets, he’ll do it. Little onesies that have pictures of Sedrick and Samuel that were obviously custom made by the best and most liked shop.

Simon who signs your little one up for whatever their heart desires. They want to try soccer? He’s going to buy them a small goal and a ball so they can practice in the backyard of your home. They see an event coming into town and they want to go? He’s more than willing to take them. They want money for a book fair? He knows the teachers are assholes so he waits until they get home so he can go back with them. Helping them pick out whatever their little heart wants. Erasers, book marks, little toys, it’s all theirs. They want extra cuddles for the heck of it? He’s bringing you down with the two of them.

Simon who ends up healing his childhood through you and his kid. Even if he was a little embarrassed about it all in the beginning, he realized that he’d rather make memories than skip them being shy and hurting you and your kids’ feelings.

(He totally has his own stash of toys and his own coloring books he’s accumulated over the years he’s known you. He even has his own blankets with hero’s and stuffed animals of his own) ᰔᩚ

not really proof read, but you get the idea. Just had this in my head for a bit

#olderboyfriend!simon #simon riley hcs #older bf!simon #simon ghost riley hcs #simon riley fic #simon riley headcanons #simon fluff #simon riley x reader #Simon Ghost Riley #call of duty #idk what other tags went here but ok

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moonstruckme · 4 months ago

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It's me once again! Bothering you twice in a day, I'm annoying like that, ha just kidding. But yes James is soooo wholesome, it's crazy how he became my favorite boy. So Mae, I suppose you are super busy because being such amazing writer is no easy job when you have requests coming all the time but, if you have the time, whenever that is, could you write something about James? Like James being so wholesome, the best boyfriend, the fluffiest thing you can think of, maybe something with words or affirmation and kisses and hugs and just very lovely things, feel like I need that. If you can of course.

Hope you are having a very cool weekend and my username is basically my favorite colors and it has something to do with Van Gogh and my favorite singer but this kid knows something, haha it's so funny, kind of serendipitous if you ask me :) love that. Well, I'm going to set you free, read you soon.

P.S. Sorry this was so loonng

Hi lovely, thanks for requesting!! Sorry this took so long lol, I had to wait until I had an idea that wasn't already in my requests but I appreciate your patience! This is perhaps more hurt/comfort than straight fluff lol, but he is the most wholesome ever <3

cw: concussion

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 603 words

James’ hand is especially gentle as he strokes over your hair. Your nose dents into his thigh, and his jeans are coarse and scratchy but the slight pressure is nice.

“Still dizzy?” he asks, carefully quiet.

“A little.” Your own voice is thin, fraught. “Not as bad.”

He sighs, and you feel too weird to decipher whether it’s in relief or dismay. “I’m sorry, angel.” He lifts one of your hands to his mouth, kissing the side. “Is it hurting in any one place?”

“It’s my whole face. But most in my forehead.”

James’ touch is featherlight, ghosting over the spot where you’d smacked your head on the stairs. “Here?”

“Mhm.”

He makes a worried humming sound in response. You sit in silence for some time, and it’s not uncomfortable, but nothing is comfortable for you right now. You feel terrible, unlike yourself and unsettled because of that and also weepy but not as much as you are embarrassed. And dwelling upon any of this for too long makes your head spin worse. You don’t think you’re dying though it feels like you might be.

The warm bead rolling down your nose brings you to the realization that you’re crying. James’ coo follows a moment later, and his hand splays protectively atop your head.

“You’re okay, sweetheart. Do you feel alright to sit up?”

“Okay,” you mumble.

He does the work for you, though it’s hard to keep track of the movements. One second your head is on his lap and the next you’re propped against his chest, one muscled arm supporting your back while James rests his lips against your forehead.

“You’re okay,” he promises. “You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

“I don’t really feel like going to dinner anymore,” you admit, tasting salt as a tear finds its way into your mouth.

“Oh,” James lifts his lips to look you in the eyes, “honey, I didn’t expect you to. I’m going to call Remus and cancel in a minute, okay?” He brushes a lock of hair away from your face with his pinkie finger, stroking a sweet line down your cheek. “If you go anywhere, it should probably be to the doctor.”

“No.” You close your eyes, too upset to care about the low whine that escapes you. “What’re they gonna do?”

“I don’t know, baby.” James traces the same line again. “They might want to do an MRI or something. I’ve had a concussion before, they’re serious business.”

You sigh, leaning your head on his shoulder. The material of his jumper is soft beneath your cheek. “I can’t think about it right now.”

There’s a brief pause.

“Okay. Okay, we can talk about it tomorrow, if it’s still bad then.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry.” James’ arm wraps around your middle, squeezing lightly in a gentle sort of hug. You think that he’s being very careful with you, which you appreciate. You don’t imagine you could handle much more sensation at the moment. “I know it sucks, angel, and you’re handling it so well. We’re gonna do our best to get you feeling better. I love you so much, you know?”

You feel like you might cry again. You don’t think you have the energy to stop yourself. “I know,” you tell him. “I love you so much, too.”

“Heaps and heaps.” He gives you another little squeeze, his ability to repress his affection tenuous at best. “Probably the most anyone has ever loved anyone, if we’re being honest.”

“James.”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t do that kind of math right now. I love you a lot, okay?”

“Okay. Same here.”

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pucksandpower · 4 months ago

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A Little Arson as a Treat

Logan Sargeant x protective!Reader

Summary: after news that Williams has dropped Logan mid-way through the season comes out, you decide that revenge is best served hot

Warnings: they literally set James Vowles’ house on fire

“You think they’ll be able to tell it was us?”

Logan’s voice is shaky, his eyes locked on the flickering flames dancing up the side of James Vowles’ house. The orange glow reflects in his wide eyes, making him look like a boy who just realized he’s in way over his head. His hands are buried deep in his jacket pockets, and you can see the nervous twitch of his fingers beneath the fabric.

You snort, not taking your eyes off the fire. “No way. They’ll think it was an electrical fault or something. We were careful.”

“We weren’t that careful,” he murmurs, almost to himself, biting his lip. “This is ... this is insane.”

“Maybe,” you admit, leaning a little closer to him, feeling the coolness of the night brushing against your skin in contrast to the heat radiating from the fire. “But what were we supposed to do? Just sit back and let them throw you out? Nine races left, and they think they can just-”

Logan cuts you off, his voice tight with emotion. “It’s not just the races. It’s everything. It’s like ... they’re saying I’m not good enough, that I never was.”

You turn to face him, your heart squeezing in your chest. He’s not looking at you, his eyes fixed on the fire like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “Logan, that’s bullshit, and you know it. You are good enough. They’re just too blind to see it.”

“Am I, though?” He finally meets your gaze, and you can see the doubt etched into every line of his face. “I mean, if I was, they wouldn’t be dropping me, right?”

You sigh, frustration bubbling up inside you. “This isn’t about your talent. This is about politics, money, and a bunch of old men who can’t see past their spreadsheets. You know that.”

He’s silent for a moment, just watching the flames as they start to consume the upper floor. “So, we burn down his house?”

You shrug, a small, defiant smile playing on your lips. “Sometimes you’ve got to make a statement.”

Logan shakes his head, a disbelieving laugh escaping him. “You’re insane.”

“You love me for it.”

His eyes soften, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. “Yeah. I do.”

You reach out, taking his hand in yours. His fingers are cold, trembling slightly as they curl around yours. “We’re gonna get through this, okay? You’re not done. Not even close.”

“Tell that to the team that just replaced me with a kid from F2,” he mutters, but there’s less bite in his words now, more weariness than anger.

“They’ll regret it,” you say firmly. “They’ll be watching from the back of the grid while you’re out there somewhere proving them wrong.”

“And if I don’t?” His voice is so quiet you almost don’t hear him.

“You will.”

He looks at you like he’s trying to absorb your confidence, to borrow just a little of the fire that keeps you burning so brightly. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know you,” you say simply, squeezing his hand. “And I know that you’re going to fight like hell to get back on the track. And when you do, they’ll all see what they lost.”

Logan takes a deep breath, nodding slowly. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

“Only because I’m right.”

He laughs again, a real laugh this time, and it warms you more than the fire ever could. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievable enough to commit a little arson as a treat?” You tease, nudging him lightly.

His smile fades a little, and he looks back at the house, the flames now licking at the roof. “You really think we’re going to get away with this?”

You tilt your head, considering. “Even if we don’t, what are they going to do? Kick you off the team you’re already off of? We’ve got nothing to lose.”

“I’ve got you to lose,” he says softly, his grip on your hand tightening.

Your heart skips a beat, and you swallow hard. “You won’t lose me. Ever.”

He turns to you fully now, the fire forgotten, his eyes searching yours. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

For a moment, the world shrinks down to just the two of you, standing together in the night, hands clasped, hearts beating in time. The fire is a distant roar in the background, a symbol of the chaos that’s been following you both for weeks, but it’s nothing compared to the storm inside Logan, the one you’re trying so hard to calm.

“So,” he says, his voice a little lighter, “what’s the plan? We just walk away?”

“Pretty much,” you reply, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

He hesitates, glancing back at the house one last time. “No ... I guess that’s all we can do.”

“Good. Because I’m starving, and I’m thinking burgers.”

Logan blinks, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “Burgers? We just committed a felony, and you want to go get burgers?”

“Don’t you?”

He stares at you, then shakes his head with a disbelieving grin. “You’re insane.”

“I’m hungry. Big difference.”

Logan chuckles, the tension in his shoulders finally easing as he lets out a long breath. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, squeezing your hand again. “I really do.”

You smile, pulling him away from the sight of the burning house, guiding him down the street like it’s just any other night and you’re just two people out for a walk. “Come on, there’s a place a few blocks over that makes the best burgers.”

Logan falls into step beside you, the smell of smoke fading as you put more distance between yourselves and the scene of the crime. “I’m still on a diet plan, you know. Think they’ll have something that fits?”

“Probably not,” you admit with a grin. “But I’m sure we can figure it out.”

He laughs again, a sound that makes your heart swell. “You’re seriously insane.”

“Maybe. But you love me for it.”

He shakes his head, his smile softening into something more tender. “Yeah. I do.”

As you walk together, hand in hand, you can feel the weight lifting off Logan’s shoulders. It’s not gone entirely — it won’t be, not for a long time — but for now, in this moment, it’s lighter. And that’s enough.

“So, what do we do after the burgers?” He asks, his voice casual but laced with something deeper, something that says he’s already thinking about the future, about what comes next.

“After the burgers,” you repeat, pretending to think it over. “We find a way to get you back on that track.”

Logan glances at you, surprised. “You’re not giving up, are you?”

“Never,” you say firmly. “This is just the beginning. We’re going to prove them wrong.”

He’s silent for a moment, then nods. “Okay. What’s the plan?”

“First, we get you back in a car. Then, we show them what they’re missing.”

“And how do we do that?”

You smile, squeezing his hand. “One step at a time. We’ll figure it out.”

He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize this moment, to hold onto it for as long as he can. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t be stupid. You deserve everything.”

He smiles, but there’s a hint of sadness in it, like he’s not quite sure he believes you. “I just ... I don’t want to let you down.”

“You won’t,” you say, your voice soft but certain. “You never have.”

Logan doesn’t respond, just pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you walk. The night is quiet now, the fire just a faint glow in the distance, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s a sense of peace between you.

“Burgers sound good,” he says after a while, his voice warm and content.

“Yeah?” You ask, looking up at him.

“Yeah. And then maybe we can figure out that plan of yours.”

You grin. “Deal.”

As you walk, the world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you, together against the odds, against the world. And in that moment, you know that no matter what happens next, you’ll face it together.

The fire is behind you, but the real battle is just beginning. And as long as you have each other, you know you can win.

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stevie-petey · 7 months ago

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episode five: the flayed

Slowly Steve aims away, the sound trickling against another wall now, and you share a disgusted look with Robin. With a sigh, she squeezes your hand. “If we make it out of here alive, I promise I’ll throw you the best birthday party ever.” “I don’t know, I think Steve peeing five feet away from me will be pretty hard to beat.”

Summary: you have the worst birthday of your life, you almost strangle steve with your bare hands and then later get snot all over him, erica is your savior, dustin is doing his best, robin starts to suspect things, and the russians have opened a gate to the upside down. its all pretty miserable tbh. but hey ! at least steve won a fight !

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, violence, cursing

Words: 7.2k

Before you swing in: hi loves !! chapter five we get some more insight into bug and her very anxious mind. shes just a stressed out gal. bless her. anyways, bug aside im so so so excited to get to chapter 6. i have so many plans for her <3 but !!! for now pls enjoy chapter 5 and more chaotic steve n bug ;)

Everyone is screaming as you all fall.

You lost your stomach about a hundred feet ago.

Steve clings onto you, his chest sturdy behind you as your arms tighten around the kids. Their screams are deafening; you know that you’re screaming too, but the pounding in your head rings in your ears and drowns out their fear.

“We’re going down!” Steve screeches, arms now even tighter around you as he braces his back against the wall.

“No shit Harrington!” Robin is on the opposite wall.

Your nails dig into Steve’s arms, both from panic and from anger. “I fucking told you!”

As you scream at the teen, Erica and Dustin pry apart from you and run over to the vault’s buttons. They begin to argue, the rush of the room’s falling almost makes it hard to hear what they’re saying, but you know they’re freaking out just like everyone else.

“Push the button!” You hear Erica yell at your brother, and he turns to her with pure melodrama to screech back at her, “What do you think I’m doing?”

Steve pulls you further into his chest as he screams at the kids. “Press something! Just press the button!”

It’s a mess, the room fills with more screaming as everyone argues and pushes against one another in futile attempts to prevent the vault from plummeting even further. Your nails dig further into Steve’s arms and you close your eyes, too numb with fear to do anything else.

Then, suddenly, everything stops.

The room comes to a halt, you’re no longer plummeting to imminent death, and everyone crashes against the wall or ground while a giant box lands on you and Steve.

He takes the brunt of the damage, the box having fallen from behind him, but the impact is enough to send you crashing to the ground with your elbow catching against the side of the shelf the box had come from. Groaning, your knee shoves into Steve’s body, causing him to wheeze in pain. “My groin, you’re on my groin.”

You ignore him and get up, not offering your hand to him, and make sure Dustin and everyone else is okay. Seeing your stoic manner, Steve groans. “A little help here, anyone?”

Again you ignore him and make your way further into the room and stand there, slowly coming to the realization of what’s happened. Your limbs feel heavy, your head is pounding, and you’re locked in an apparent elevator made by Russians after falling hundreds of feet below Starcourt.

“Is everyone okay?” Robin hesitantly asks after Dustin has helped Steve up from the ground.

“Fine,” you rasp out, body still in shock.

Steve’s body is in its own state of shock as he starts to freak out yet again. “Yeah, I’m great, now that I know that Russians can’t design elevators!”

He shoves past Dustin and starts to jab at the buttons once more, but it’s no use. Robin tries to stop him, but Steve continues to press the buttons repeatedly anyways. He’s frantic, his eyes wide an wild with fear, and you stand in the corner as watch as he starts to realize himself just how fucked the five of you are in the current situation.

After days of ignoring the possible danger, it’s now glaring in his face, and Steve becomes even more frantic when he notices that you’re still standing behind everyone, silent.

He’s fucked up.

“It’s an electronic lock.” Robin starts to explain, and you listen silently. “Same as the loading dock door. If we don’t have a keycard, it won’t operate, meaning–”

“We’re stuck in here.” Dustin announces, already having figured it out himself.

The pounding in your head intensifies at your brother’s words as fear claws its way into your throat. You’ve spent the last two days pleading with everyone to listen to you, to be cautious and not go in over your heads about the Russians, and yet here you are: locked in a fucking elevator with Steve looking at you with utter guilt.

You had been right the entire time.

And yet no one bothered to believe you.

As Erica announces to the group that if she isn’t back by uncle Jack’s party tomorrow then her mom will ransack the town to find her and Steve yells at her about how he doesn’t care about the party if you all end up dead in the Russian elevator, a defeated and deranged laugh begins to swell from your chest before it forms into complete hysterics.

The laughs fall from your mouth in a frantic manner, and everyone slowly turns to look at you. Erica doesn’t understand what’s going on, though Steve, Dustin, and Robin share horrified looks; they all know that you’ve officially crossed the line that separates anger from insanity.

“Dead in a Russian elevator, huh?” You manage to bitterly spit out in between bouts of laughter. There are tears in your eyes, though no one is sure if they’re from laughing or anger or despair. “God, Harrington, you really fucked up.”

You’re practically wheezing now from laughing so hard, hunched over as the action takes over your entire body. You had been right, and yet you’re now stuck in an elevator with Lucas’ little sister and your own brother, responsible for their lives even though you’ve never asked to be. Ever.

Steve tugs at his hair, just as overwhelmed as you are. He’s terrified of what he’s dragged you into, and he’s even more terrified that he was the asshole who refused to listen to you. Defensive, he throws his hands up in the air in defeat. “Why would you even listen to me? I mean, I’ve never been right a day in my life!”

“Oh, so this is all my fault?” Your body manages to move towards him, now standing toe to toe as you sneer in his face.

The laughter is now gone.

“You’re the one who let me continue this stupid Russian adventure–”

“I begged you to listen to me, but you refused to!”

Steve lets out his own deranged laugh. “How was I supposed to know we’d end up in a goddamn elevator of death?”

“God, how hard is it for you to admit that I was right?” Your fists shake as they clench against your side, your voice is raw from screaming. “Would it fucking kill you to admit that maybe I’m not just some pathetic people pleaser and that I actually know what I’m talking about–”

“Guys!” Dustin shoves the two of you apart, afraid that you’ll tear Steve’s eyes out any second. He points up, gathering everyone’s attention again, and reveals an opening in the elevator’s ceiling. “What if we climbed out?”

Hope sparks in your chest when you see the opening and you’re the first to shove past Steve and the others and start climbing up the boxes to get to it. Dustin follows, then Steve, and when the three of you climb up and out of the elevator, the small spark of hope in your chest quickly vanishes when you look up and see the hundreds of feet the elevator has fallen.

“What were you saying about climbing?” Steve’s voice echoes off of the walls surrounding the elevator. They’re smooth, pure metal and infrastructure, and you swallow down tears.

There’s no way any of you can possibly climb up them. You’re stuck.

Admittedly, Dustin handles this realization a lot better than you do. He immediately starts to come up with another plan, he has his radio, he can call for help, and as he comes up with new ways to reignite the hope with Steve, you wordlessly descend back down into the elevator. You don’t spare the two boys another glance as you leave, too emotionally exhausted and still shaking from the waves of guilt and anxiety that plague you.

After you’ve silently left, Dustin turns to Steve. He feels just as awful as the teen, they both failed to listen to you, and now they’re left with your stoic anger that leaves them both feeling raw. “We fucked up, man.”

“She needs us right now,” Steve claps his hand against the boy’s back, his words strong but voice frail. “Let’s go.”

They climb back down into the elevator as well and find you, Robin, and Erica all sitting against the walls, silent. You must’ve already told the girls what the three of you found above. There’s nothing you guys can do now besides wait for whatever comes next, even Dustin can recognize that.

Your knees are drawn into your chest, your chin rests against them as you sit alone at one wall, and Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen you so small before. Sighing, he looks at Dustin, who gives him a nod to wish him luck, before he makes his way over to you and sits down. You don’t react to Steve’s presence besides allowing your head to fall against his shoulder, and it’s enough to calm the relentless remorse he feels within him.

No one speaks for a while.

The hours pass, the room silent as you all realize what the fuck you’ve gotten yourselves into.

–

You’re not sure how much time passes by, the walls within the elevator block out all possible sunlight, but eventually you figure it’s well into the night. After the initial shock had worn off, Dustin, Robin, and Erica had sat closer together and tried distracting themselves with sleep while you sat against the wall with Steve; your head never leaves his shoulder, and neither of you talk.

However, by what you figure is hour five, you desperately need air. You can’t sleep, the walls have started to close in around you once more, so you stand up, side step your sleeping brother, and climb up to the top of the elevator once more.

Steve follows you; he always follows.

He finds you sitting at the edge of the elevator, feet dangling over the ledge with your shoulders drawn in. Slowly he approaches you and sits down next to you, shoulder to shoulder, thigh pressed against thigh. You don’t say anything, and Steve again feels horrible for not listening to you earlier; he knows that for once it has to be him that is strong enough for the two of you.

“Talk to me,” Steve breathes out, pleading. It’s just you and him now, one one else, away from prying eyes. You’re safe with him, you will always be safe with him, but he needs to hear your voice and bring color back to your cheeks. “Please.”

Hearing the desperation in his voice, knowing that Steve has never once meant you any harm, that he’s just as scared and alone as you are, you finally break.

You throw yourself into Steve’s arms and sob. The tears come all at once, there is no build up. The moment you are in his embrace, the moment your ear presses against his chest and you hear his heartbeat, the tears come.

“I hate that I always end up here,” you cry into his chest, all that you’ve swallowed down now comes spiraling out of you. “I’m just–I’m so fucking frustrated. I–I keep doing this to Dustin, he’s always in danger because of me.”

Your voice hitches as your breath stutters. There’s more that you want to say, the guilt that has haunted you since Will biked home that fateful night swells within you, but your tears prevent you from voicing any of it. “I–I’m supposed to keep everyone safe but–God, it’s hard when no one listens to me. No one ever listens to me.”

You were supposed to listen to me.

Though you don’t say it, Steve hears it anyway.

He’s silent through it all, frightened and aching, knowing you keep so much within you. Steve has never seen you cry before, he’s never seen you break like this, and he despises himself for being the reason why.

Another miserable sob escapes you and all Steve can do is pull you in closer, furious at the world for the fact that he cannot fit you into his chest where he can keep you safe behind his ribcage, next to his heart.

You cling onto Steve and allow the last few years you’ve carried on your shoulders to finally crush you. “I just feel so useless–how can I…” you sniffle, try to steady your breathing as the words on your tongue terrify you. “How–how can I love if I can’t–I have to protect everyone.”

Your voice breaks once more and Steve allows you to take all the time you need. He continues to hold you through it, he presses soft kisses to your face, lips wet from your tears, he plays with your hair, he does whatever he can to engrave his apology into your body.

“I’m so stupid,” you pull away now, the tears slowing and embarrassment creeping through. You’re overwhelmed with your debilitating need to protect the ones you love, as if you cannot love someone if you cannot save them, and you know it’s stupid and immature to believe such things. As the exhaustion sinks into your body, you realize with a start what day has creeped upon you while in the elevator.

It’s July third.

With Steve looking down at you with a sinful guilt in his eyes, you wipe your own eyes and laugh pathetically at your realization. “This entire situation is stupid. It’s my seventeenth birthday and I’m stuck in a fucking death elevator.”

Steve’s arms tighten around you and he draws in a quick breath at your words. It’s your birthday. He had thought he couldn’t feel worse about what he dragged you into, but he had been wrong. You should be in your room right now, tucked away from danger, celebrating the first moments of your birthday with Steve crawling through your window with the gift he worked so hard to convince the party to help with.

Instead, you’re crying in Steve’s arms with imminent death looming over you because of him, and he thinks he’s never felt tears as heavy as yours.

“I’m sorry,” he gently lifts your chin with the same finger that has caressed your face a million times. The soft gesture makes you weak, and when your eyes meet Steve’s, he brings his lips down upon your forehead. He lingers, his lips are rough but familiar, and there’s more he wants to say. The words build within him, all the apologies, but he knows they’d fall on deaf ears. You’re exhausted, you’ve revealed more to him tonight than you ever have before, and he knows the vulnerability stabs at you viciously,

Instead, Steve kisses your cheek next, then your other cheek, then the tip of your nose, your chin, your eyebrows, anywhere his lips can reach, and the action causes a small giggle to blossom within you. Hearing the sound he loves so much, Steve smiles. “Happy birthday, angel.”

Your hand comes up to his face, and though a part of you warms at what Steve has said, another part of you aches. Jonathan has always been the first person to wish you a happy birthday, a tradition from when you were kids and snuck into each other’s windows the second the clock struck midnight. Now Jonathan is gone and Nancy is angry and you’re tired of it all. With a bittersweet smile, you cup Steve’s cheek in the palm of your hand. “Thank you, honey.”

The world stills between the two of you for a brief moment, his face in your hand and your heart in his arms. It’s reminiscent of earlier in the breakroom, the uncertainty that drapes over you and Steve while the certainty secures you both to each other.

It isn’t perfect, Steve’s uncertainty has hurt you, but he holds you with a certainty that makes you believe that somehow the two of you will make it out of this alive, together. He nuzzles his face into your palm as if he physically needs to be closer to you, and it settles something that stirs in your chest.

Exhaling, you rest your head in the crook of Steve’s neck and curl into him. He pulls you in closer, as he’s always done, and eventually you fall asleep, exhausted from everything.

Steve isn’t sure how long you sleep in his arms, his muscles ache from holding you, but he accepts the burn as punishment for the hurt he’s caused you. He sits there, staring at the metal walls, and falls asleep himself.

–

You wake up to Dustin trying to contact someone on his radio. His annoyingly loud voice causes you to groan in annoyance, you’re warm, comfortable, and had been dreaming about something that left your chest feeling light.

“Code red, I repeat, code red. Does anyone copy?”

Rolling over, a pair of arms hold you near a sturdy body, and you remember now that you fell asleep in Steve’s arms. Burying your face deeper into his chest, you groan again. “Make him shut up.”

“Good morning to you too, Y/N.” Dustin kicks your sneaker before going back to his radio. “This is a code red, I repeat, a code red. Does anyone copy?”

Steve sighs, sounding just as tired as you feel. “The kid has been at this for the last hour or so. Woke me up, too.”

You hear Dustin’s footsteps as he paces. “We are innocent children and we are trapped under Starcourt Mall. The Red Army has infiltrated Hawkins.”

“‘The Red Army’ is dramatic.” You mumble, still mourning that you’ve been woken up.

Dustin ignores you. “If we are found, they will torture and kill us.”

“How peachy.”

Steve snaps his fingers at your brother, motioning for him to shut up. “Hey, you gotta take it easy on that thing. Gonna drain the battery.”

“That’s what we’re worried about right now?”

“Go back to sleep, Y/N.” Dustin kicks your sneaker again with a scoff. “The mall just opened, so someone could be in range.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “What, you think Petey the Mall Cop is gonna rappel down here and save the day?”

You give a thumbs up to what the teen has just said. “‘Rappel’, good word choice there.”

“Alright, why are you two such cranky pants after getting to spend the night together?” Dustin asks, off put by your snarkiness. He knows you’ve never really been a morning person, but your face is still buried in Steve’s chest and you haven’t looked at Dustin since waking up.

“Shut up, Dustin.” You and Steve say at the same time, both too drained to entertain his usual teasing.

Your brother sighs and changes the subject. “I heard you guys talking all night, did you at least figure out a way out of here?”

You shift in Steve’s arms, now uncomfortable. Neither of you had talked about what to do next, for once you had been selfish and put yourself first, allowing yourself to cry. Sensing the brewing guilt, Steve covers for you both. “No, we’re still exactly nowhere, which is, ya know, probably just a little bit of the reason why we’re feeling just a tad cranky.”

“What he said,” you hide a smile in Steve’s chest, but he feels it anyways.

Then, because he’s Steve and is physically incapable of allowing you a moment of peace, he taps your shoulder. “Hey, uh. Not to ruin this, but can you get up so I can pee?”

“Here?” You and Dustin exclaim in unison, both of you equally disgusted.

“Well where else am I supposed to go?”

“Ugh,” you wrinkle your nose and get up, hating that Steve has a point. However, rather than stay and watch the guy pee, you decide to leave and check up on Erica and Robin. You’ve been up here long enough, anyways. “Keep your body fluids away from me.”

As you climb down, you hear Steve screaming at Dustin to turn away as your brother wishes you a happy birthday.

They’re such idiots sometimes.

“Did I just hear Dustin screech about someone’s birthday?” Robin asks you as you jump down the last box and join her side. She’s in front of the elevator’s panel, inspecting the buttons.

You wince, not liking the reminder of what today is. “It’s… my birthday.”

Robin gasps and grabs at your hand. “Is it actually? Oh my God–” She’s cut off by the sound of liquid splattering against a wall, and with horror the two of you realize that it’s Steve’s piss. Making a face, the girl calls out, “Can you redirect your stream, please?”

“I don’t know, I think Steve peeing five feet away from me will be pretty hard to beat.”

Robin laughs and you feel okay for a moment, enjoying the small respite, before the sound of glass banging against metal catches your attention. Turning around, you find Erica slamming one of the vials of liquid against the bars, and immediately you and Robin run to stop her.

“Hey, be careful!” Robin snatches the cylinder from the girl and tosses it to you for safekeeping. “We don’t even know what that is.”

“Exactly, it could be useful.” Erica argues.

You hold the vial up high so that she can’t reach; you know the Sinclairs, they’re speedy little devils. “Please elaborate.”

“We can survive down here a long time without food,” Erica jumps and tries to grab what you’ve taken, but you only hold the liquid further out of her reach. “But if the human body doesn’t get water, it will die.”

You’re momentarily impressed by the girl’s survival knowledge, but Robin is undeterred. “I hate to break it to you, but this is not water.”

“No, but it’s a liquid, and if it comes down to me drinking that shit or dying of thirst, I drink.”

“You are fascinating,” you breathe out, both terrified and in awe. As you stare at Erica in wonder, Robin seems to hear something and leaves your side to press her ear against the opposite wall. Frowning, you join her. “What is it?”

“Listen.”

You do as you’re told and press your own ear against the wall, and it only takes you a second to hear it too. Mechanical whirling, the same sound that you heard last night before all the walls in the elevator came crashing down and trapped you. “Shit.”

Robin nods grimly. “You get Erica while I warn the boys.”

Within a minute you’ve helped Erica climb the top of the elevator as you all hide up there. No sooner than when you’ve closed the roof’s opening, one side of the metal wall begins to open and the footsteps of men can be heard.

Through the grates, you and Steve hunch over as you watch two men walk into the elevator. They’re big, dressed in a bizarre uniform, and one of them is smoking. They talk about something, their words are terse, and for a moment you worry they’ve figured out that you’re hidden above, but eventually they grab a few boxes and make their way outside.

As the men move back and forth below you, grabbing more and more boxes, you look up at Steve and find him staring at the green liquid you still have in your hands. During the frantic rush to get Erica to safety, you had forgotten to set the chemicals down. His eyes narrow slightly, as if asking you if you’re thinking what he is, and distantly you remember how much force the cylinder seemed to be able to withstand when Erica was slamming it.

If you truly are on the same page as Steve, then it’s a fucking risky plan, but it’s the only chance you have.

You hand the vial to him and nod, silently urging him to be safe. Then, you turn to the others and risk whispering what you and Steve have thought of. He keeps watch, hand on the small of your back to indicate to you when to stop talking, and soon the plan is formed.

The moment the Russian men have left the elevator, Steve quickly jumps down from the roof and slides the chemicals underneath the rapidly closing door. You watch nervously, and when the cylinder miraculously holds up against the metal door, you exhale in relief. Steve waves for you and everyone else to jump down as well. “Let’s go!”

You jump down first and slide Erica’s backpack over to Steve before helping her down. Once she successfully slides under the door, you help Dustin down next. The glass starts to splinter under the pressure, the sound of it creaking fills you with dread, but you push the fear down and help Robin next. “Go, go, go!”

When it’s your turn, you hold your breath and will yourself to slide underneath the door to join the others. As you go under, you see the glass start to splinter even more, and you quickly roll onto your stomach and frantically wave at Steve. “Steve, you need to hurry!”

He scrambles underneath the door and only just manages to narrowly escape as the door comes slamming down. Steve instinctively covers you with his body as the glass from the vial shatters, and when you look up and see the green liquid now sizzling as it burns through the concrete floor, you shudder. “You guys see that too, right?”

“Jesus Christ.” Steve stands up and offers you his hand as he inspects the liquid’s damage.

Erica, Robin, and Dustin step forward now too, and the five of you peer over the liquid as it oozes and bubbles, melting everything it touches. You shudder again, you can’t believe that there were boxes full of it surrounding you earlier.

“You still wanna drink that?” Robin turns Erica, smirking.

“You guys think it’d be like drinking lava?” You ask the group, and everyone shakes their heads at you. Adrenaline is still coursing through you, your head feels woozy from lack of sleep and water, and you think you’re slowly losing your mind.

Meanwhile Dustin turns away from you, and when he sees what surrounds you all, his heart drops. “Holy mother of God.”

Turning around, your heart drops as well. There’s a giant hallway that faces you, blue lights illuminating it, and it stretches deep into the abyss. You realize, now, that the elevator had been only the beginning. As you stare down the endless hallway, its length reminiscent of the tunnels you almost died in last year, it hits you that you’ve truly stumbled upon something horrible.

The Russians have been here a long, long time if they were able to build such a vast and complex underground facility.

And now you’re trapped within it, with nothing but your knives to keep you and everyone else safe.

“Well, hope you guys are in good shape.” Steve’s voice breaks you from your thoughts. He pats Dustin’s shoulder and starts to lead the way. “Looking at you, roast beef.”

Unamused with the insult directed at your brother and still angry at the teen for dragging you into this mess in the first place, you trip Steve. He stumbles and only just barely manages to catch himself, which everyone snickers at and Dustin high fives you.

With a sigh, Steve grabs your hand and beckons for everyone to follow. “Let’s go, guys.”

–

It’s a goddamn long walk.

You’re miserable.

It’s hot, you’re covered in sweat and grime, you're starving, and this is officially the worst birthday ever. Sure, you’ve never really liked your birthday, but holy fuck you didn’t think it’d be this bad.

You’re snappier than usual with everyone, which a part of you feels guilty for. Robin tried making conversation in the beginning, but you only responded with curt, one word answers. It truly isn’t her fault, none of this is anyone’s fault, but the anger that simmers within you threatens to boil over and you’re too tired to control it.

Yet Steve keeps your hand within his and walks by your side, unaffected by your unusual anger. He lets you remain quiet, he doesn’t take offense to your terse responses, and he smiles apologetically at Robin for you because he knows you’d do the same if you were able to; he’s there for you.

Steve knows how much anger resides within you, and he helps you brave it.

You love him endlessly for it.

“You think they built this whole mall so they could transport that green poison?” Steve asks the group as they speculate about why the Russians even built this underground system in the first place.

“I very seriously doubt it’s something as boring as poison.” Dustin responds, and you scoff at him.

“Yeah, because poison is boring.”

He looks at you warily and decides not to risk further exasperation. “What I mean is, it’s gotta be much more valuable, like promethium or something.”

“What the hell is promethium?” Steve looks to you, but you only shake your head. Dustin’s the science whiz, not you.

Instead Robin answers him, though her response about some guy named Victor Stone and a cyborg only confuses both you and Steve more.

“You’re all so nerdy, it makes me physically ill.” Erica cringes with disgust, and her theatrics are hard to resist smiling at.

“No, no.” Steve interjects. “No, don’t lump me in with them. I’m not a nerd, alright?”

“Why so sensitive, Harrington?” Robin asks him, smiling at his offense. “Afraid of losing cool points to a ten year old child?”

“He takes his cool points very seriously, Robin.” You now speak up, a slight smile on your face. You’ll never pass up an opportunity to tease Steve. Nudging him with your shoulder, you laugh softly and glance up at him. “Admit it, you’re a nerd.”

If it were anyone else saying this, Steve would adamantly refuse such a notion, but it’s you and you’re finally smiling at him again, so instead he huffs with amusement. “Yeah, alright. Maybe I am, but I still don’t know jack shit about Prometheus.”

“Promethium,” Dustin corrects. “Prometheus is a Greek mythological figure, but whatever. All I’m saying is, it’s probably being used to make something.”

“Or power something?” In their eerie fashion, Robin and your brother now seem to once again be on the same page.

“Like a nuclear weapon?”

“Totally.”

You rub the temples of your head and sigh, your previously brightened mood quickly dims again. “Cool. Nuclear weapons are cool.”

Robin mumbles a quick sorry to you, she wishes she could change the topic, but there’s a question that’s been on her mind ever since you discovered the Russians. “But if they’re building something, why here? I mean, Hawkins. Seriously, of all places.”

As Robin continues to drone on about how bizarre of a choice Hawkins is, you, Steve, and Dustin all slow down and let her and Erica walk ahead. They don’t notice your guys’ sudden change of pace, and the three of you slowly come together; you know you’re all thinking the same thing.

The question has been on your mind for a while, too.

“You think the Russians know?” Dustin finally asks in a lowered voice.

Steve leans forward, his own voice lowered as well. “About–”

“They could.”

“So it’s all connected?”

While the boys whisper to one another, you feel a shiver run through you. Again you remember the sweat that had been on Billy’s brow and how pale he had been. You remember Will’s fearfulness at Weathertop hill, how he had clutched the back of his neck. You remember Mrs. Waters, Jonathan and Nancy, Mrs. Driscoll.

Something isn’t right, and now there’s Russians in Hawkins with a giant maze of high architectural design.

“It has to be.” You say now. “There’s too much to ignore. “

Dustin frowns at you. “What do you mean? Is there something else?”

“The Upside Down, I think there’s something wrong–”

You’re interrupted by Robin. “I’m sorry, is there something you’d like to share with the class?”

The three of you turn to her, wide eyed and caught, and before you can come up with some excuse to get her off your backs’, Dustin’s radio comes to life as a Russian man’s voice speaks through it.

“Walkie,” you, Steve, and Dustin say at the same time, running towards where it resides in Erica’s backpack.

The Russian continues to drone through the walkie’s speakers as Dustin takes it out and Robin extends its antenna. She brings it close to her ear and listens intently, and after a few seconds she starts to speak the language as well, echoing what the man is saying. “It’s the code,” she finally says.

“Wherever that broadcast is coming from–”

“It’s close.” Robin finishes your brother’s sentence. “And if there’s one thing we know about that signal…”

Dustin’s eyes light up. “It can reach the surface.”

“We’ll be able to call for help,” you breathe out, hopeful yet reluctant. It’s your only way out, but you also have no idea what lies within these walls.

“Let’s go!” Robin quickly stands up, plan already formed in her head, and all you can do is follow.

It doesn’t take long to figure out where the broadcast is coming from. Within a few minutes of walking, the walls begin to narrow and you hear more and more voices up ahead. You can sense that you’re drawing closer to the main area of the underground complex, and the closer you get, the tighter you clutch at your knives.

You and Steve work together on guiding everyone. He scouts for places to hide while you keep an eye out for any danger. Slowly, the six of you dodge and weave in and out from corners, avoiding Russians. In an odd sense, the routine is familiar and comforting; you and Steve have done this a million times before, the two of you know how to keep the other safe.

As Steve peers over a corner with the rest of you hiding behind him, Robin whispers into your ear. “How are the two of you so good at navigating scary dangerous situations?”

Her question is innocent enough, but you can sense that she’s piecing things together bit by bit. You try to keep your face neutral, not give anything away, and shrug at her. “We make a good team, I guess.”

Robin gags at this, which you’re thankful for. At least your response got her mind off of things.

Steve motions for everyone to follow after him once the coast is clear after a few guards have walked past. “Clear, come on, let’s go.”

He moves swiftly as you stay behind and make sure the rest of the group follows. Robin looks nervously at you, feeling vulnerable out in the open. “Okay, that was close.”

“Too close.” Dustin breathes out as he follows her, which you roll your eyes at. You and Steve are doing the best that you can, given the circumstances. If your brother wanted to worry about safety, he should’ve considered it twenty hours ago.

“Relax,” Steve reassures everyone. “Nobody saw…” His voice trails off as he rounds the corner.

Your jaw drops. It’s worse than you could’ve ever imagined.

In front of you is what you can only imagine is the main hub of the complex. There’s Russians everywhere, some dressed in guard uniforms carrying shotguns, some dressed in lab coats, and others look like glorified red astronauts.

You’re hopelessly outnumbered, there’s too many of them.

Steve curses and ducks down, pulling everyone with him as he hides behind a cart against the wall. You try to steady your breathing, you grip the back of Dustin’s shirt tightly in your hand. He looks at you in shock. “Red Dawn.”

“Not now,” you close your eyes and breathe in through your nose and exhale out your mouth. “I’m trying really hard not to lose yesterday’s lunch.”

“I saw it. First floor, northwest.” Erica urgently whispers to Steve.

“Saw what?”

“The comms room.”

You whip your head around to face the girl, making your nausea even worse, and Steve can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You saw the comms room?”

“Correct!” Erica leans closer now, the insistence in her voice unwavering.

Dustin frowns. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” this is the most sincere you’ve ever seen Erica. “The door was open for a second, and I saw a bunch of lights and machines and shit in there.”

“That could be a hundred different things.” Dustin says, skeptical.

However, you believe Erica. She’s incredibly pragmatic, she wouldn’t blindly say something that she didn’t believe in. She’s a Sinclair, their morals define them, and Erica’s rant about capitalism and a free market system yesterday only solidifies your theory that she hides away most of her intelligence. “If Erica thinks she saw the comms room, then I believe her.”

She smiles at you gratefully, and Robin nods her head at the two of you. “If Y/N is on board, then I’ll take those odds.”

Steve stares at you, studies your face and your demeanor, and when he sees the set clench of your jaw and the determination in your eyes, he knows he trusts whatever call you make. He pokes his head out from behind the cart, the five of you mimic him, and even though you’re firm in your stance to follow Erica’s gut, it still strikes terror within you when you see once again how many guards there are.

Sighing tiredly, Steve faces the group. “We’re gonna move fast, we’re gonna stay low. Okay?”

You nod at him. “Good luck.”

Steve smiles at you, nerves now calmed, and starts to guide everyone. He masterfully weaves in and out corners, ducks behind carts when someone walks past, and for a brief moment you’re in awe of him. He’s grown so much since that night at Jonathan’s, when he had run away the second things got too intense, and now he’s the one leading.

When he opens the door to the comms room, you’re almost overwhelmed with how proud you are of Steve. Then, naturally, as soon as everyone is inside, you turn around and come face to face with a very confused Russian guard.

And Steve has locked you in a room with him.

Everyone freezes, unsure what to do.

“Nice, Steve.” You sneer at him.

He looks at you incredulously. “Is now really the time?”

As you mock Steve, the Russian guard starts to reach for the gun at his side. Seeing this, you whip your knives out and display them to the man, the blades glint in the room’s red light. He narrows his eyes at you and tightens his grip on his own weapon, and for a moment you fear that you really will have to use your switchblade.

However, Robin is quick on her feet and puts her hand up to lower your knives. She starts speaking Russian in hopes of calming the guard down, and it seems to work at first, but when the guard starts speaking back to her, Robin’s plan quickly crumbles; it’s painfully obvious that she doesn’t speak the language.

The guard reaches for his gun once more, and before you can use your knives, Steve lets out a loud yell and throws himself at the guy, taking him by surprise.

“Steve!” You find yourself screaming, it’s instinctual.

For a moment all you can do is stand there and watch, stunned. The two men begin to fight, fists hitting skin as they shove one another, and you have just enough awareness to keep your knives raised in case you need to step in and help. You know Steve’s track record, yet as the fight progresses, you become less and less fearful for him. He’s holding his own surprisingly well.

Steve jabs his elbow into the guard’s stomach before grabbing a nearby intercom phone and slams it into the guy’s head. He falls, hard, onto the electric panel and hits the side of his head against it even harder.

The moment he lands on the ground, the Russian guard is out cold.

Panting, Steve stands over him and fixes his hair. You and Dustin exchange surprised looks, both of you ecstatic; Steve won.

“Dude!” Dustin exclaims with glee in his voice. “You won a fight!”

“It’s a miracle,” you breathe out in awe, now at Steve’s side as you check for any injuries. He preens at your attention, his eyes glow, and you can’t help but kiss his check. “Good job, honey.”

“Okay, okay, break it up.” Dustin shoves you away from Steve and then crouches next to the guard’s body, unhooking the keys from his belt loop. You roll your eyes at him while Erica questions what he’s doing. Over his shoulder, he responds, “Getting us our ticket out of here.”

Erica scoffs. “You want to walk all the way back?”

“Well, we can hang out for a little bit, relax, have a picnic maybe.”

“Have a picnic? We came here for the radio.”

The kids start to argue, but you don’t intervene. Instead, you fix Steve’s hair with your fingers and gently grab his face, moving it around to make sure he isn’t hurt. His skin is still smooth, untouched. “No bruises this time.”

He winks. “Gotta keep this face pretty for you, don’t I?”

“Yeah you do,” you pinch his cheek, laughing softly. “It’s your only redeeming quality.”

“Hey now–”

Robin suddenly appears, looking panicked. You quickly let go of Steve’s face and walk towards her, now noticing the staircase that she’s just come from. There’s blue light at the top, there’s an energy to it that makes you uneasy, yet it’s familiar.

“What is it?” You ask her, fearing that you already know.

“There’s something up there.”

You follow her up the stairs, and your heart drops at what you see. Steve sucks in a breath, his hand on your back.

There’s a room at the top of the stairs, similar to the one below, and there are several men sitting at control panels. Before them is a giant machine, its circular panel spins as it shoots a beam of light into what you can only describe as an open wound within the wall. It’s narrow, long in length, as orange light spills from it.

When Steve’s eyes meet yours, you both know.

It’s the gate.

The Russians have found the gate into the Upside Down.

Anger courses through you, and this anger is a familiar one. It’s the same anger you felt the day Will went missing, when El sacrificed her life to save everyone, when the men at Hawkins Lab continuously got away with ruining the lives of everyone you love.

After everything you, the kids, and everyone else went through to close the gate, it enrages you to see these fucking idiots trying to reopen it. You had almost died last year trying to end this bullshit, but now you see it had been for nothing.

The side of your ribcage burns, the scar reignited by your fury, and Steve feels your body tense against his. His eyes meet yours again, and without saying anything, you know he understands.

Nodding, the two of you are in agreement.

You have to stop this.

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solarmorrigan · 2 years ago

Text

See, just because Steve lets Eddie and the kids play D&D at his house now doesn't mean he's really interested in the game, just the same as even though El and Max sometimes tag along, they're really there to hang out, not play. They each bring their own things to do, and one night El brings a ball of yarn and a shiny little metal hook and a vaguely rectangular yarn-thing that she focuses very hard on while the boys shout in the background.

Steve has no idea what she's doing; he'd say she's knitting, except he's almost certain that involves some kind of sticks, not a hook. But since he's not really doing anything himself, he sits down next to her and asks what she's up to.

"Joyce has been teaching me how to crochet. She says it will help with my hand-eye coordination." El holds up her project with a proud smile. "I am starting with a scarf."

It's not the world's most attractive scarf, but it's not like Steve could do better. He's still not entirely sure what crocheting is, to be perfectly honest. "Is that different from knitting?" he asks.

El nods gravely. "It is," she says, and takes to showing him how she loops the yarn over the hook and pulls it through the stitches in her scarf and adds a few more inches to the row she's working on.

When Steve's attention doesn't completely wane during her demonstration, she pulls a second ball of yarn out of her bag and presents it to Steve.

"Oh, I don't–" Steve tries to demur, but El is determined, and Steve has seen entire dimensions pale in the face of her determination.

This is how he finds himself crocheting a little chain of stitches with just his fingers, the same way Joyce had apparently started El off. El beams at him and returns to her own project, occasionally checking on his progress. The chain is a few feet long by the time everyone needs to be driven home, and Steve decides it actually hadn't been a bad way to pass the time. Kind of relaxing.

The next time everyone is over, El sits down with her scarf, and after a short while, Steve sits down next to her. He compliments how much longer the scarf has gotten (and it does seem like the shape has evened out a bit as she's been going along). She smiles and pulls another ball of yarn out of her bag. This time, she has an extra hook and seems intent on showing Steve what to do with it.

Almost involuntarily, Steve's attention flashes to the group clustered around the table, hesitating to take the yarn from El, and she frowns.

"Joyce says these types of skills are important for everyone to have," El says firmly, and, well– Steve's not really going to argue.

He learns how to crochet a chain with the hook. It feels odd in his hands at first—the shape too small, the metal a little too slick, the yarn not wrapping naturally around his fingers the way it does El's—but he gets the hang of it. When El is pleased with his progress, she shows him the stitch she's been using: a simple single crochet. It's tougher than it looks, and Steve understands immediately why El's scarf is so uneven; neither of them have ever done anything like this before.

Still, he doesn't hate it.

In fact, he really kind of enjoys it.

He enjoys it enough that he asks El to show him more the next time she's over. She's still new herself and is really only working with pretty much the same couple of stitches, but she proudly teaches him what she knows, and Steve picks it up as fast as she's able to lay it down.

Steve goes out and buys his own supplies, no longer content with mooching off of El's. He hadn't realized there were so many different kinds of yarn, and resigns himself to awkwardly asking one of the craft store employees what type might be best for beginners.

The employee—a woman about his mother’s age with a much warmer smile and far less judgement in her eyes—explains with great enthusiasm what all those different types of yarn might be used for, and how the size of the hook affects the outcome of the project, and shows him so many different pattern books his head spins. He realizes that she probably upsells him on a lot of shit, but he leaves with a few different sizes of hooks, some new yarn, and more excitement for a hobby than he's felt probably since high school.

El and Robin are the only ones who know about his new hobby, of course. It's not really that he's ashamed to tell the others, he just knows how teenage boys work and he's not keen on giving a bunch of fifteen-year-olds another reason to bully him. Maybe in a few months. In the meantime, he crochets at home while he's listening to the radio or watching TV, and he crochets at work during down times. Robin finds his newfound hobby morbidly fascinating, but vehemently denies any and all offers to teach her.

("I will find a way to damage myself with that hook and I think we both know that," she says. "It's just kind of wild to see you with a grandma hobby."

Steve threatens to tell El she called it that, and Robin shortly finds a new label for it.)

Fall rolls around and the air acquires a chill sometime in mid-October. Steve's been making practice scarves for a little while now (largely because he really only knows how to make rectangles at this point, but he doesn’t have the attention span for a whole blanket just yet), and he even considers wearing his least heinous attempt despite the fact he's never really wanted for good winter clothes. Then he notices Eddie.

Most of their little group has begun dressing appropriately for the weather, but Eddie doesn't do much more than add a pair of fingerless black gloves and maybe a heavier leather jacket to his ensemble. Steve's not even sure it's because he can't afford it – he's pretty sure it's because Eddie is committed to his aesthetic. Nancy had tried to force an extra scarf on him one day after a little cold snap, when they'd woken to frost on the ground (the scarf is blue, patterned with white snowflakes; it's actually Mike’s, but Mike is also refusing to wear it and Steve suspects Nancy doesn’t want to hold it, but also doesn’t want to get in trouble for letting Mike lose it), but Eddie had declined, insisting it doesn't match his vibe.

Steve can respect this. He himself has a certain aesthetic going on. However, he can also see that Eddie is definitely cold, and that just won't do.

He picks through the scarves and other various wooly things he's accumulated so far, but decides none of them would suit Eddie and, besides that, none of them are really warm enough. If he's going to make Eddie a scarf, it ought to be a good one.

So Steve sucks it up and heads into Melvald's one day when he knows Joyce will be on shift, hoping she won't be too busy for a quick chat.

When he catches her, Steve explains that El had shown him the basics of crocheting but that his ambitions have outgrown his skills and maybe if she isn't too busy sometime, Joyce would be willing to show him a little more?

Joyce, because she’s a saint, says she would be delighted, and invites Steve to come over on their next shared day off.

When he gets there, she tries to ask him who he's making the scarf for, and the best he manages is, "...someone."

Joyce bites down on a smile. "Someone?"

"It's a surprise," Steve finally declares.

"For everyone?"

"Yes."

Joyce bravely manages to not laugh at Steve and instead asks him what kind of scarf he thinks Someone would like.

Steve decides that it needs to be thick, but it should also be soft. It should also be textured, because Ed– because Someone really likes fiddling with things. He can't get too ambitious with colors or patterns, but he decides that black and grey stripes will be perfectly suitable.

(He doesn't kid himself into thinking that by the time their brainstorming session is over, Joyce hasn't figured out exactly who he's talking about, but she's kind enough not to say it out loud.)

Steve's always been good with repetition and patterns—it's probably one of the reasons he’d found crocheting so relaxing in the first place—and he picks up the new stitches with ease under Joyce's deft instruction. She sends him home with the practice piece he'd made with some of her scrap yarn, and after a quick stopover at the craft store on his way home (he briefly gets stuck between shades of grey, but eventually decides on the silvery one over the steely one), he's ready to begin.

He expects making the scarf to be tougher, but once he gets into the rhythm of it, he sails right through. It takes him less than a week (albeit devoting a few solid hours to it every day, possibly more on his days off) to end up with what is, if he may say so himself, a pretty fine scarf.

The challenge comes in actually giving it to Eddie.

Christmas would be an excellent excuse for presenting it to him, except that's a little over a month away, and Steve doesn't want Eddie to go cold until then. Instead, he takes to keeping the scarf in his glove compartment just in case the perfect occasion for giving Eddie a scarf arises.

And much to Steve's surprise, one actually does.

It's right after the first real snow, and Steve has insisted on driving to pick Eddie up so they can hang out (Steve has nightmares about Eddie's driving when road conditions are optimal, never mind when the roads may be icy). He can see Eddie shivering under his jacket, blowing warm air into his cupped hands (Steve wonders if he could learn how to crochet gloves at some point, too. Ones with full fingers), so he ever-so-casually gestures to the glove box and tells Eddie, "Hey, if you're cold, I've got an extra scarf in there."

He's possibly not as casual as he hopes he is (or maybe Eddie just sees through him, like he always seems to), because Eddie gives him a look. "You do, huh?"

"Yep."

Steve concentrates very hard on the road in order to avoid Eddie's eyes. It doesn't stop him from hearing the little laugh Eddie lets out before popping open the glove compartment.

"Oh," Eddie says quietly as he pulls the scarf out, likely having been expecting another castoff piece of outerwear. "This is... actually really nice."

For a moment, Steve can't help but glance over to see the way Eddie is fingering the crocheted ridges of the scarf, running a thumb over the bright silver stripes picked out of the black, and he immediately looks back up at the road.

"Yeah. You should– you can, uh. Keep it. If you want," he says, and wonders what happened to the days when he was smooth.

"No, man, this is, like, for real nice. I couldn't take this," Eddie says, though he's still holding the scarf in his lap.

Steve draws a breath in. "I mean, I was kind of hoping you would, since it's for you."

"Seriously?"

They have unfortunately arrived at Steve's house at this point, and there will be no avoiding the conversation now.

"Yeah," Steve says. "I, uh. Made it for you. So you should take it. Don't let my hard work go to waste, yeah?"

"You're shitting me," Eddie unfolds the scarf and holds it up in delighted scrutiny. "You made this?"

(Distantly, Steve appreciates that the emphasis isn't on "you made this?" Like Eddie doesn't immediately doubt he's capable, only that he's holding a handmade item at all.)

"Yeah. No big deal." Steve shrugs.

"You made this for me." Eddie looks at Steve, and it sounds like that had been meant as a question, though it comes out in flat uncertainty.

"Yeah. Just noticed you were cold, but you won't wear anything that doesn't match your aesthetic," Steve tries to tease, wiggling his fingers at Eddie's outfit, but Eddie doesn't say anything in return.

He doesn't say anything for just long enough that Steve gets insecure all over again, reaching hesitantly for the scarf.

"But, I mean, if that's weird, or whatever, you don't have to-"

"Nope. Fuck off, I'm wearing this forever." Eddie loops the scarf quickly around his neck and squeezes the ends in his hands. "Jesus, this is soft."

Steve grins. "I'm not sure it'll last forever, but I can make you another after than one wears out."

"You'd better," Eddie says, and he's grinning too. "So, what, you knit?"

Steve points a very serious finger into Eddie's face. "Crochet. There's a difference," he says sternly.

Then, because he can't help it, he bops the end of Eddie's nose before getting out of the car, leaving Eddie to scramble out behind him, laughing and calling him a dork as he goes.

(The kids, incidentally, don't tease Steve nearly as much as he'd thought they would when they find out.

This is possibly because they're more mature than he gave them credit for, but more likely it’s because El is standing beside him and daring them to say anything unfavorable about their shared hobby.

Mostly they just let it slide, though Dustin demands to know why Eddie got a scarf and he didn't. Then Lucas wants one, too, because Mike and Max have already received various bits of outerwear from El, and he's not about to be left out. And then Robin, of course, will want to know why Steve hasn’t made her anything, once she finds out that he’s making things for the kids.

Steve resigns himself to a busy winter spent under a pile of yarn.

It's not really a hardship.)

[Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue | Ao3]

#steve & eleven #steddie #steve harrington #el hopper #eddie munson #stranger things #wanted something wintery before christmas hit #I'm sorry if something about the yarny aspect of this is wrong or awkward #I haven't crocheted in years let me live #solar wrote #eddiesteve

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