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pellucid-constellations · 4 months ago

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I Have A Feeling You Got Everything You Wanted

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Falling in love with Azriel had never been in the cards. Falling in love with anyone other than the husband your father appointed to you had always been a far-fetched notion. And that was a truth you had lived by. 10 years ago.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Yearning, pining, all that is longing and angst and exes to lovers <3

a/n: Guys I adored writing this so I hope you love it!! Inspired by 'We Hug Now' by Sydney Rose. I so so appreciate hearing what you think. Thank you for reading!!

Read the continuation of Warren's story here

Main Masterlist ♡

You fiddled with the ring on your finger, passing it over your knuckle and twisting it back down.

Your stomach hurt, pain and nausea mingling with such severity you feared you would be sick. The thought was comical, in a way. The company at the table would be so concerned over their dresses and the obscenely expensive tablecloth that you could probably sneak away. But that would still be a feat considering the heavy palm resting on your thigh.

Warren was a nice man. He fulfilled his duties as the man you were to marry with dutiful purpose. He learned your favorite foods, how you liked your tea in the morning, and the shops you frequented. He touched you kindly, respectfully, and he was always nice to your friends. He was nice. But you were not in love with him.

In Warren’s defense, you were never going to be in love with him. Your father had decided that you should be, however, so you were promised to him from a young age. That was typical of the high fae with your family’s rank, and you had evaded that duty for some time now. Your father had given into your whims for several years, allowing you to “galavant around”, as he would say, acting as the Winter Court’s emissary until Warren’s family grew impatient.

Your return to Winter had been met with immediate wedding planning. You had been called upon for floral arrangements and the menu and to finalize the color scheme. Warren had done his best to quell his incessant mother’s demands, but the wedding was a court affair and everyone was thrilled.

Well, most were.

Before you had stepped foot in the Night Court ten years ago, you had been indifferent about the wedding. Sure, it wasn’t optimal to have to marry a man you knew so little about, but it had been an expectation since your birth. Warren may not have been your choice, but he was certainly not the worst choice when compared to the other eligible bachelors in the pool. You had left to act as emissary with a gentle begrudging that cared little for the future.

You had returned with so much indescribable longing that you had trouble speaking to others.

Every decision you made was accompanied by an inundating weight that threatened to crush you. You chose daisies for the aisle and you thought of him. You wore that ridiculous wedding dress with the high neck and drapey sleeves and you remembered how he used to touch you. You sat at this dinner, celebrating the joining of two families, and you reminisced on how it felt to sit with him, with his family, and to feel that you belonged somewhere.

The urge to be sick persisted as your future mother-in-law hoisted her glass in the air, bubbles losing weight and flying up to the rim.

It was cruel—all the mundane things that reminded you of him.

“To my son,” Warren’s mother toasted, white furs puffing around her cheeks. “And his new bride-to-be. We are overjoyed that the long-awaited day meets us!”

You gritted through your smile, raising your glass to your lips. The edge hit your teeth and the sound of the impact vibrated your brain.

“Oops,” you giggled, the splattering of fae wine against cobblestone suddenly hilarious. “Who did that?”

“I believe you are the only one in this alleyway, my love.” Azriel’s smooth voice sent a pleasant warmth up your spine.

You whirled around, night air kissing your bare shoulders. It felt electric when accompanied by Azriel’s adoring smile—addicting.

“You followed me,” you mused, curling your glass into your chest and stepping closer to the Shadowsinger.

Azriel met your steps without pause. “Of course I did.” You smiled at him, light and airy. He brought soft fingers up to brush along your face as he asked, “Are you alright?”

“More than alright,” you were quick to reply. “Just needed some air. It gets so hot in there.”

He hummed, eyes tracing over your features. “Want to go home?”

“I feel that Mor would be angry with me.”

“She would only be angry for a day. Buy her those shoes she was eyeing.”

“And why should I choose to go home with you?”

Azriel pressed his lips against yours in a tender kiss. He moved back, only an inch, and whispered, “Come with me and you’ll find out.”

“That reminds me of when Warren climbed that icy tree in the courtyard. Oh, what a silly child he was!” A boisterous aunt clapped her hands as she shouted, snapping you out of the memory with a small jump.

Your chest ached as you breathed out a laugh and rejoined the table.

Beside you, Warren chuckled, his hand brushing lightly near your knee. “Please, do not bring up anything I’ve done before the age of twenty,” he pleaded. His eyes shone their pretty blues. His hair looked enticingly soft. “I don’t need y/n to have those images in her mind.”

He turned slightly, flashing you a small smile that spelled marital secrets and private conversations through eyes.

Where you should have felt the lightness of new love elating you, buzzing at your skin, you felt the increasing urge to cry. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t cry. You hadn’t cried since the night you left him.

“I’m sure it would only make you that much more endearing,” you teased, swallowing hard when Warren took your words as an opening to dive into a tale of the past.

He didn’t deserve this, in all honesty.

Warren was a nice man.

But Azriel—

“You are so beautiful.”

“You’re supposed to be watching, Az,” you admonished, tucking your face into his arm to hide the heat on your face.

“I am watching,” he argued. He leaned down, your back pressed to his chest, and kissed the skin above your ear.

“Not me. The stars,” you clarified.

You tilted your head slightly, meeting the crook of his elbow where it rounded your shoulders. He kissed you again and again, mapping out the top of your head with the delicate pecks. You laughed and that only egged him on. He turned you and pressed you back until your spine met the railing of the balcony, and then he was kissing your cheeks and your temple—the bridge of your nose and your brow.

“Azriel,” you tried again, but his smile was against your skin and he wasn’t listening. “You’re missing Starfall!”

“I can see it next year,” he murmured against you.

“And you can kiss me whenever you want.”

He paused, pulling back to catch your eyes. You smiled, confused at the serious moment in the otherwise light mood. He had no response to your confusion, only leaning back in to brush his nose against yours.

Maybe he had known.

You had foolishly thought this all to be avoidable, figuring your father would understand that you had found happiness. That he would have cared and given up on this unwanted marriage.

He hadn’t.

“Isn’t that right?”

You blinked, turning to your fiance with a haze in your eyes.

You hadn’t been listening.

The cake on your plate was becoming stale, its untouched state starkly contrasted with the empty glass of champagne to the left. You pulled your lips into a line, searching Warren’s encouraging eyes as he tried to help you. It didn’t work; you had no idea where the conversation was left.

“I’m sorry,” you bluntly stated, voice turned up into the posh tone your father had ingrained in you. You turned to address the table. “I seem to have been lost in my head. I didn’t sleep very well last night. Catch me up?”

Warren gave your knee a fond squeeze before removing his hand to place it on the back of your chair. He leaned down slightly, his voice lowering as he offered a gentle excuse for you. She has been so incredibly busy, he offered warmly, she’ll be even busier when the wedding is over.

You felt as if you were underwater. Your face lit up with another asinine smile and it was difficult to breathe. Not because you weren’t used to this setting—not because Warren was a bad man. This was supposed to be your life. This was what you were supposed to be doing.

There had never been any indication of a different path.

“I love you.”

You whipped your head to the side, abandoning the sketchbook in your lap as your charcoal rolled into the seat cushions.

“What?”

Azriel smiled. He leaned over the pillow separating you, tucking your knees further into your chest as he closed the space on the loveseat. “I said I love you,” he repeated, breath fanning over your lips. “I’ve told you before, but you haven’t heard me.”

You let out an incredulous huff of laughter, your gaze bouncing between both of his eyes. “When? I don’t remember that.”

“At the Sidra yesterday. Last week at the shops. Three days ago when you fell asleep on me.”

“No, you didn’t! I would have remembered.”

Azriel tucked your hair behind your ear and left his hand resting on your cheek. “You are often oblivious to your surroundings, my love. Especially when something is interesting in front of you like fish or jewels.”

You scoffed. “Not true. My father made sure I was very observant. My tutor would smack the back of my neck any time I got distracted.”

Azriel tutted, disapproval darkening his eyes as he brushed his scarred hand to cup the back of your neck. He shifted on the loveseat so you were sat on his lap, his other hand finding a home on the side of your thighs.

“That is cruel,” Azriel remarked. “Being distracted is in your nature. I don’t know if there is a time you are not distracted.”

“There are many interesting things to look at,” you mused, humming as his fingers inched up your scalp.

“I’m sure.” A pause. Azriel had the gall to look unsure. “You do not have to love me back.”

Your posture stiffened, the words leaving you before you could consider them. “I love you, Azriel. I love you, too.”

He seemed to slump against you at that, tension you didn’t know was there leaving his body. He offered you a warm smile and then kissed you—and kissed you and kissed you.

It had seemed like there was another path.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Warren announced to the table. A musician had begun to play the harp in the corner of the restaurant. “My bride and I have much to discuss tonight so we must retire. Please, continue to enjoy the night.”

Confused and disoriented, you took his gloved hand in yours and said goodbye to the correct people. You weren’t supposed to be the first to leave. This was your rehearsal dinner.

Warren guided you into the winding hall, his grip soft and reassuring. You attempted not to trip on your dress as you went, your head throbbing with an invisible pain that seemed to linger these months back in Winter.

It had been months without seeing him.

You were getting married the next day.

It would be final then.

The first step outside the restaurant was both invigorating and unpleasant, the cold air assaulting your senses. It did the job of snapping you out of your thoughts, but then you were left standing in the snow before Warren, and that was a similar form of torture.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he prompted, tugging your cloak over your shoulders. You had missed him grabbing it from the coat check. “You’ve been off since you returned but it’s worse tonight.”

Warren had known you peripherally before you left for the Night Court. You were to be married, so he made it a point to at least meet you before you were gone. He had not known you would be gone for years, but neither had you. The last time you spoke to Warren before you had met Azriel, a wilted salad sat between him and your father, the pair discussing politics and import prices.

Warren would not have known something was wrong, he hardly knew you, but he did anyway. Because he had made it a point to be a good husband.

That’s what made this even more tortuous.

Maybe, if he were terrible, it would be easy.

Your chin wobbled for a moment of breath. You’d pass it off as a chill.

“Nothing is wrong,” you smiled, cheeks already stiff from the cold. “I didn’t sleep well. That’s all.”

Warren closed his eyes, breath a white puff before him. “Don’t lie.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not!”

Azriel tugged his hand through his hair. His face was flushed, feet taking him in a disorganized line around the room. “You are engaged.”

“Not by choice. I don’t know him, not really. I could tell my father—”

“You would be shunned—cut off. I know how noble families are, y/n.”

The use of your name struck you, a stark contrast to the soft, endearing terms Azriel so loved to use around you. You flinched unconsciously, eyes darting around his room to find some sort of explanation for this.

“I don’t care about any of that,” you urged. You remained rooted in the doorway, unable to move. “I’d stay here. I wouldn’t go back.”

“You would leave your family? Your… fiancé?” Azriel spit out the last word. The crumbled missive crinkled in your hand as you clutched it tighter.

“I would do anything to be with you.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t make this my decision.”

The paper fell from your fingers. You brought your palm to your chest, ignoring the harshness of his tone. “No, I know. This isn’t—this is my choice, Azriel. I want to stay here. To be with you.”

“I can’t be the reason you abandon your family. Your responsibilities. You—You lied, y/n. You never told me about any of this,” Azriel bit out, hands curled into fists.

“I’m sorry! I wanted to—I did—but I was so afraid you would be angry. And then I fell in love with you and—”

Azriel held his hand up, abruptly stopping your teary explanation. His chest visibility heaved. “You should go.”

“What?”

“Answer your father. Tell him you’ll comply with the date.”

Tears wet your cheeks, the silence following his demand pressing them down in heavy streaks. He stared back at you and he looked so angry, his eyes a calculated cold. He had never looked at you like that.

“You’re hurt,” you spoke, voice a mess of tears. “You don’t mean that.”

He only shook his head slightly. “I do.”

“Azriel, I love you. I was promised to marry him when I was born. I don’t—”

The muscle in his jaw feathered, effectively silencing you. His shadows were going haywire, half of them wrapped around their master, protecting him, the other half twining around your chest. Did they know you were in pain? Did they know your chest wouldn’t move?

“Okay,” you relented. More tears fell when Azriel only gave you a hard stare. “Okay, I—I’m sorry, Azriel. I love you—”

You choked on a sob when he turned around, apparently unable to watch as you broke down.

And that's what made this the most torturous of all; you could leave Warren—maybe—and Azriel still wouldn’t want you back.

You decided you wouldn’t lie to Warren just as you didn’t to Azriel.

“I fell in love.”

Warren nodded, barely blinking at your admission. “In Night?”

Your brow furrowed. “Yes, but—you aren’t angry?”

“I couldn’t expect you to tie yourself to me. You didn’t know me when we were engaged and I didn’t do the best job at getting to know you when we came of age.”

“I left.”

“To meet your soulmate, it seems.”

“We had no mating bond.”

Warren’s mouth ticked up at the corner. He adjusted the collar of your cloak and dusted the snow from your shoulder. “A mating bond is not always the answer.”

Faelight from the post beside the restaurant gleamed off the bronze hues in Warren’s hair. He leaned back, hands encasing your upper arms. “I’ve missed my chance then.”

Something soft fractured inside of you—because he was right. Warren could be all things kind and loving and he wouldn’t be Azriel. No one would be.

“I’m sorry,” you softly spoke. “I never meant—”

“Don’t apologize. Go to him.”

Your lips parted. “Warren, I couldn’t. We’re to be married tomorrow. I wouldn’t do that to you. And our families would be enraged.”

“I’m hardly concerned about our families. As much as I would have enjoyed marrying you—and I would have, please do not get that misconstrued—there are several noble ladies my mother has lined up and already ready, I’m sure. And as for your family… to be honest, y/n, you came back from Night brighter than I remember you. It seems you have another family waiting for you.”

It all sounded wonderful—wonderful and so, so easy. You’d have Warren as an ally and you could return to the people you’d called home for so many years. You’d feel at home. The loss of your homeland would sting, but it was a worthy sacrifice.

But then you remembered the anger and hurt in Azriel’s eyes, and this was no longer easy.

The light extinguished from your eyes, shoulders deflating in Warren’s hold. “I can’t. He was so angry with me.”

“When?”

You met the blues of his eyes, chest hollow. “He found out about our engagement the night before I returned. He told me to go. He was—Warren, he wouldn’t want me back.”

Warren clicked his tongue. “I can guarantee that he’s kicking himself over that. He didn’t mean it. Imagine you learned he was engaged after so many years together. That can’t have been easy.”

“I know,” you mumbled, ashamed.

“But—” he continued “—if he loves you, he would have regretted that the moment you left. Go back to him. Speak with him. If he turns you away we can still be married in the morning.”

“You would still marry me?” you deadpanned, brow raised in amusement.

“It’s either you or the girl my mother surely has on standby.”

You scoffed out a laugh and pushed at his chest. He grabbed his sweater in mock pain, a charming smile playing on his face.

Despite the task that awaited you, you felt lighter. You let out a resolute sigh before saying, “You’re going to be a wonderful husband, Warren.”

He looked up at you from where he had bent his neck, peeking out from below his lashes. “Just not to you?” he asked.

“Not to me,” you affirmed.

The air in the Night Court felt different—shimmering, somehow, although that may have been chalked up to the anxiety coursing through your veins. The crystalline silk dress still adorning your frame stood out against the dark hues of the court.

It had been a feat to get up to the house. After winnowing into the outskirts of Velaris, you had prayed Mor was home to the tune of several knocks on her door. She was—thankfully—and seemingly more than happy to see you. She had rushed through a tale of how terrible Azriel was doing without you that quickly morphed into a lecture about how pissed she was that you left without a proper farewell.

You had apologized, and she had sent for someone with wings.

Cassian appeared next, rattling off much of the same as Mor only with more shouting and less snapping. After several apologies, Cassian brought you up to the House and then promptly left to the opposite side of the House.

And so, you were left alone with an insurmountable task.

The halls of the House were painfully familiar, each step a reminder of the life you once thought to be forever. You passed your room—only used for the first few months before you made a home in Azriel’s—several sitting rooms, the kitchen; Azriel’s door was closed.

You hadn’t knocked on it in years.

You sucked in a breath, allowing it to fill your chest and then your stomach, and then you knocked. And knocked again.

“I told you to leave it, Cassian,” came Azriel’s reply. “I don’t wish to talk about it.”

His voice was rough and thick. You knocked again, listening close to the wood for the sound of footfall or movement. You only heard Azriel’s bed shift.

You knocked again.

No answer.

Well, if you were going to do this it wasn’t going to be halfway.

You turned the knob, the metal cold and reassuring under your palm. You had done that before.

Azriel’s room was much of the same. Some things were missing; paintings on the wall had been removed, the side of the bed you typically slept on looked all but bare, his curtains had been changed.

Your gaze went out before it went in, and when it went in, you saw him. Hunched over on the side of his bed, Azriel sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. His fingers were threaded through his hair, his room almost unseeably dark. He didn’t look up when you entered.

“I want to be left alone,” he grunted out. He sniffed. “Tell me after she’s married and only then.”

He knew you were getting married tomorrow. He had kept track.

Obviously, that had been a possibility, but you had expected more avoidance. He was angry with you—at you. He couldn’t even look at you when you left, hadn’t told you he loved you as you packed your things and vanished. It would have made sense if he resented you. If he stayed away from all things that involved you.

“I am not getting married.”

His head snapped up at a vicious speed, hands falling into his lap just as quickly. His shadows, once in a clump at his feet, exclaimed in the air before cautiously edging towards you. He took you in, eyes roving over your figure in a panic. You caught the reflection on his cheekbones in the small amount of light filtering past his curtains. His eyes were swollen, his face gaunt.

His voice cracked as it formed the sounds of your name.

Nerves caught up with you. You closed the door behind you and stayed rooted in the same spot you had left him in, feet creating an indent by the wall. You played with your fingers at your waist.

“Um, hello,” you greeted, clearing your throat. It hurt to look at him, you realized. You tore your eyes from his ruined expression to gaze down at your hands. “I realize you told me to leave. And I did—I had every intention of following my father’s requests as you told me to do. But—um. Warren could tell something was off. I was trying my best, I swear I was, but it was hard to fall back into that role after spending so much time here. After being comfortable here. With you.”

You chewed at your cheek for a moment. A bad habit you had picked up in the months back in Winter. Azriel’s bed creaked. He’d stood up.

He was going to leave. You needed to get this out, quickly.

“I know you’re angry and I’m so sorry, Azriel. I had foolishly thought I could avoid the fate my father had set out if I just ignored it. If I just lived out my life here with you. I thought it would all go away so I never told you about Warren and—”

“Please,” Azriel interrupted. “Stop saying his name.”

You could feel his presence. Now directly in front of you, his shadows became more comfortable and had taken to sliding along your skin. Azriel stepped forward until you could hear his breath, but you refused to look up. You couldn’t.

You apologized instead. “I just came back because… I just wanted you to know that you have become my family. You had said that I was making a choice between you and my family, but that’s not true. I feel at home here. And you can tell me to leave again. You can and I’ll—”

“Look at me.”

You sucked in a breath, picking at the skin of your palm.

Azriel placed his thumb and forefinger on your chin, tilting your face up to his. The first touch of his skin against yours had warmth blooming in your gut, but it was quickly replaced with a tight ball of anxiety when his eyes met yours.

“Gods, I’ve missed your eyes,” he all but sighed. You backed up a step until your back met his door. He followed. “Is it my turn to talk?”

You pressed your lips together and nodded.

“Letting you leave—speaking to you like that—has been my greatest regret,” he began, the gravelly nature of his voice conveying more than his words ever could. His lashes were damp as they fanned against his cheeks.

“I didn’t tell you the truth. You had every right—”

Azriel pressed his thumb to your bottom lip and trained his eyes on the skin he displaced. He winced with a slight shake of his head. “I’m talking, my love.”

He continued. “I did not have the right. I was hurt, you were correct, but I wasn’t listening. It was unfair of me to react that way. I wanted you to come back the moment you left.”

“Then why didn’t you come get me?” you whispered.

“I thought you had everything you wanted. I figured—y/n, I have never been the best option. I’m a killer. I have hang-ups. I wanted you to have a way out.”

“I didn’t want a way out,” you stressed, gripping Azriel’s wrist. He had moved his hand back to cup your jaw. “I wanted you. I didn’t care about any of that. I was willing to throw away my entire life in Winter to stay.”

“I know.”

“And then you told me to leave.”

“I know.”

“It’s not fair.”

Azriel let out a tortured breath. His shoulders sagged and his forehead met yours, even though he didn’t ask, even though you weren’t sure who was mad at who anymore. You kept your eyes open as his closed, watching his face twist.

“Wanted?”

You drew back. “What?”

Azriel’s eyes opened. “You said wanted. That you wanted me. That you were willing to stay.”

You could only stare at him.

“Does that mean… is this irreparable?”

“Why do you think I’m here, Azriel?” A broken, defeated smile donned your face. “I don’t think we could ever be irreparable. I don’t think I’d have the strength to keep that up.”

He was kissing you, a hurried press of his lips against yours, and his sticky cheeks became wet once more as they brushed against yours. His hands found the back of your head, your waist, pulling you in closer. His wings came around to keep you in place—unnecessary. You weren’t going to leave.

He pressed harder still, barely enough air between you to breathe. He took the small amount that was there, whispering apologies and declarations against your lips.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know, Azriel.”

“Please don’t marry him.”

“I won’t.”

“I love you. So much.”

You kissed him more, softer, and he let you set the pace. At some point, his feet had guided you to the plush surface of his bed, positioning you at the head without ever breaking from your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he said again—a kiss to your jaw, one along your temple. “I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you. Showing you how much I love you.”

“It’s okay, Azriel. I’m sorry too—”

“Don’t. Please. I played out you returning to me so many times in my head. You never apologized in them. You have no reason to.”

You threaded your fingers through the hair on his nape, eyes cast softly up as he hovered above you. “I could have been more open.”

“I’ve thought about that. I—I was foolish to think you’d want that future. You are nothing like the woman they have forced you into the mold of.”

A small smile. “So you’ve noticed?”

Azriel only kissed you once more before a seriousness cast over his face. “Were you… treated well?”

“Treated well?”

“I believe his name is Warren.”

You fought back a laugh at the way he mumbled the words. “You’re worried he was cruel?”

“Among other things. I know how noblemen can behave.”

“And when did you begin to worry about that.”

“From the moment you said his name was Warren.”

You did laugh that time, shifting on the bed until Azriel laid on his back. You rested along his side, palm flat on his chest. Like a moth to a flame, Azriel’s wings captured you in their own hold. “Warren would have made a good husband. He is a kind man—doting, even.” Azriel tensed beneath you, but you only smoothed your fingers down the plane of his chest. “But I didn’t love him. Maybe I could have tried, before I met you. But not after.”

Azriel rested his hand atop yours, squeezing your fingers. “I will thank him then. For caring for you when I did not.”

You looked at him softly, removing your hand to brush stray hairs from his forehead. “He told me to go to you. I was at my rehearsal dinner. I think if I had opened my mouth I would have said your name.”

He responded with a hand rubbing circles into your back. You laid your head on his chest. “Things will be different now. I can’t go home for a while.”

“You are home,” he replied. “Things may be different, but I will never be different. Not when it comes to you.”

Read the continuation of Warren's story here

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x female!reader #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel angst #acotar #acotar fanfiction

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historical-hollywood · 1 year ago

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[Original caption: "Raquel Torres plays gypsy Sheba Price in the British International Picture Red Wagon, a part well suited to Miss Torres' particular charm. The film is an adaption of Lady Eleanor Smith's famous novel of circus life bearing the same title, also starring Charles Bickford, Greta Nissen, and Don Alvarado."]

Raquel Torres

#historical hollywood #old hollywood #raquel torres #red wagon #1933 #1930s #promotional photos #strike a pose #fetching in floral #the rest of the story #maychachos

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waterislife8 · 2 years ago

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#watercreek #asthetic #water jug #outdoorwater #springtime #naturegreenery #riverbank #lady fetching water #cleanwater #rainwater #floral dress #flowersinherhair #colorful #nativeclothing #water is life

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suninia · 1 month ago

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Dragons and flowers

Dragon Sylus x fem!MC/Reader Tags: fluff, dragon sylusss Words: 3.7k (sorry) 𐙚⋆°. I watched Barbie Diamond Castle again recently and thought of this with Sylus after reading lots of dragon Sylus fics muwehe. First long fic, hope everyone will enjoy it <3

Are you going to die?

You probably will.

You sobbed quietly as the harsh air hits your face. One minute ago, you were just happily transporting your fresh produce of flowers to the townhall, now you're 100 feet off the ground, carried like a helpless kitten by the scaly arms of a terrifying 8ft tall man with half draconic features.

You should've seen it coming from the times you felt like the air seemed to carry something heavy. Something overwhelming. Something that a lone girl living in a small wood cottage by a river cannot simply fight off. You've had lots of close encounters with bears, or even wolves, but this feels different.

This feels like your end.

Yet it never came.

You're always on alert, looking through the woods across the river to see anything, sometimes looking over your shoulder as if a pair of eyes are locked on you all the time but there's nothing. You never caught anything. Not even a mere shadow. Not even when you're wandering in the woods to fetch a few herbs requested to you by the village botanist. There's only ever silence and the strange musk of wild animals in the forest.

Nothing.

"Miss flower! G'morning!" you looked over the river to see a group of hunters with their weapons about to enter the forest for their hunt. You stood up from tending to your garden to approach them wearing a friendly smile.

'Miss flower'. You've made a name for yourself from supplying such good batches of unique and beautiful flowers that adorns the humble homes of your small village. You set up shop every few weeks in the town’s market to deliver fresh flowers to the hardworking housewives and young ladies who ordered them. You even sell special mixes of perfume pouches and floral essential oils which are quite popular to both married and unmarried women.

Although simple, seeing their smiles really makes all the sleepless nights and fighting for your life against terrible storms all worth it.

"Good morning, gentlemen. Early hunt today?"

"Yup! Gotta feed the village y'know. Seen anything lately?"

"Well, aside from the usual animals I feed here then everything else is up to you."

"Ones you marked, right? Aightie, we'll drop by for some sandwiches earlier in exchange for a whole deer, how ‘bout that?" a younger man among them blurted out. The rest of the seemingly older men nudged him in a teasing manner, you just smiled.

"I'll make sure to prepare some!"

You went inside your cottage to make some sandwiches for the hunters’ return later for lunch. You pan-fried some dried meat and eggs, topped it with some fresh vegetables from your garden and some mayo you recently made. You smiled from your hard work and slowly placed them inside your picnic basket when you heard a loud thud from outside your house.

The hunters are back so fast?

Washing your hands and finishing the basket with some of the fresh fruits you sliced earlier, you head over to your door to feed your guests but all you’re met with were field of flowers and your long rows of fresh vegetables. Thinking it’s just some lost animal, you sighed and was about to turn around when your gaze fell downwards, only to gasp from the sight of a dead deer lying on your porch. It looks big and mature, fur all shiny and silky. It's like something you'll get as a first prize for the annual village hunting competition or an offering to the mountain gods. You looked around to see if any of the men were around. No, only silence. The usual silence.

Chills went down your spine.

Who delivered this to your front door?

As the hunters returned, they confusingly looked at the deer that was supposed to be their catch that very afternoon but it mysteriously disappeared. They still managed to hunt a few animals, however, so their trip was not in vain. They offered to butcher the deer in house but you shyly refused, not really good with blood or slaughter. They came back to share a most of the portions back to you the next day so you made a nice roast for them as a gift, then they went on their way.

You wondered how that deer ended up dead on your front porch… but decided to brush it off. It’ll only spawn unwanted thoughts that you’ve been desperately avoiding and that is something you’ve decided to do religiously given your circumstances of living alone.

And once again, peace conquered your small cottage in the woods.

A few days had passed when you observed that your stock of firewood wouldn’t last for more than a week. You admit that you were not the strongest woman out there to chop a big tree by yourself but you try anyway, it's hard to commission lumberjacks to do it for you sometimes because the festival had them busy in the town square so this is a matter to be solved by your own hands this time. You grabbed your axe and a few pieces of rope from the shed and went on your way.

"Awe, here to accompany me today?"

It was one of the deers that you marked. You had saved this little one not too long ago after his mother was hunted and injured by other wild animals, dying shortly after in your peaceful garden which you took the responsibility of letting it rest within the quiet hug of your fresh flowers. You always strive to nurture life while respecting its natural cycle, but perhaps… a little touch of humanity will let your heart rest a little peacefully. Even just a little.

You finally found small trees that are okay to be harvested but you always make sure to plant new ones as a trade. After chopping down a few to nice pieces and tying them up with the rope so you can easily carry the pile on your back, you proceeded to pick up some firewood scattered along the ground on your way back to your cottage. The cute deer helped you out sometimes, bringing you pieces of wood with its mouth which earned him pieces of food and lots of headpats.

You failed to notice dusk approaching until the fiery colors peeking through the tall trees and the howling of wolves from afar caught your attention. You instructed the deer to quickly hide in the hiding spot you made for it a while back then sprinted yourself. Biting your lip, you were afraid that you had wandered too far and possibly…

No. No such thoughts.

Along with your light footsteps, heavier and faster legs surrounded you in no time making your heart beat erratically.

Lucky gods, you were independent but athletically incapable at times. In panic, you tripped over a rock that made you fall face flat into a pile of leaves. You heard growling and the footsteps getting closer just as you're about to get up which made you freeze. You closed your eyes, whether in acceptance of your end or in hopes that the playing dead tactic will work on wolves too… you're not quite certain.

You silently prayed to whichever God is listening out there to at least let you live for another day. Quietly sobbing, this isn't how you planned to go, but is the world that merciful?

Tap. Tap. Tap. In large numbers, four legged creatures circled around you howling in a choir. You bit your lip and held back a sob by capturing your mouth with your palm, wishing that this quiet response will trick these predators from pouncing on their prey.

Closer… closer… and closer. Growling a few feet away from your legs. Sniffing your heels and your basket of wood until they stepped back, preparing to lunge to finally feast on their meal.

Gods. Please.

Save me.

As if the heavens actually listened to your pleas, the wolves stopped their attempts to attack in almost an instant. Chills ran down your spine when you felt this overwhelming energy once again. This familiar heaviness and bloodlust in the air. The strange movement of the wind and the ominous swaying of leaves and branches, this unexplainable ringing of danger in your head… it’s a warning you absolutely cannot ignore.

Something far more dangerous appeared before you... and it wasn't heaven's.

Your heartbeat stopped upon hearing a much deeper, raspier, and mature voice that growled right behind you. It was terrifying. It was territorial. It was overpowering. It made those wolves’ cries sound like that of a 1-month-old puppy. Every heavy footstep the monster made had you counting your remaining seconds of life on this planet. You didn't know what to do other than to write your own elegy inside of your head as the first and only guest to your own funeral.

You closed your eyes shut in silent surrender when you felt something sharp crawl along your spine that made you shiver, reaching for the strands of your hair on your face and gently pulling it. As if it’s checking if you’re alive, you didn’t notice that you’re already holding your breath in suspense, fear crawling into your skin as the last of your days were cut short into ten seconds… nine… eight… seven…

Until you finished counting to one while waiting for the grim reaper to pull your leg towards the afterlife… realization hit you that you were not dead.

Death didn’t come for your soul.

No pain, no suffering.

Just silence.

You raised your head and turned to look around, mouth dry and unable mutter words, your cheeks warm with rivers of your tears, hands and feet bleeding from blisters and scratches as a result of your fall, and breaths slowly returning to your lungs after nearly suffocating yourself. No matter how ruined you looked, the fact that you weren’t mauled to death by a pack of wolves was evident.

Around you were nothing but silence. No wolves, no big scary monsters, not even the small noise of birds and crickets...

Only the quiet trees, the soothing air, and bright moon that came to light up your way.

You were spared from death.

"Are you sure you weren't dreaming?"

"No!" you exhaled loudly, seemingly frustrated while telling your friend Tara what happened that evening. She wouldn't believe you! What is there not to believe?!

"You wouldn't be here if you encountered man-eating wolves."

"Exactly!" you let out an exasperated sigh and leaned on the table lazily, looking at your reflection on the glass of orange juice in front of you when the long ribbon on your hair smoothly fell to your palm.

That encounter was weird… but what was more unusual was you discovering your scattered firewood neatly piled up and tied with red silk on your front porch when you woke up this morning. You got it checked earlier by the seamstress and they claimed that it was one of the expensive silks that’s only woven by rare materials found in the eastern regions. You ended up getting it sewn into a ribbon and wore it, can’t tell if you should be scared or thankful to whoever delivered your wood back to your house.

She pouted, reaching for both of your cheeks to stretch it.

"You need sleep, darling. Thank you for the flowers for this year's festival. You deserve the rest. Also, never go out at night again on your own!"

You walked back home with your empty wooden cart and a bag of coins that the town gave you as payment after supplying a ton of flowers for the upcoming festival. You don't know how to explain what happened to you last night because you didn't see much either out of fear.

But it happened. Terrifyingly so.

You heaved a heavy sigh and opened your gate as you arrived back to your house only to be greeted by a big tree lodged into half of your garden where your precious flowers are planted.

You froze on the spot, eyes blinking, mind blank as paper at what you’re seeing. The tree is bigger than your house, enough to block the whole river and certainly enough to knock your home down like a pile of rocks.

You ran towards your garden, tears welling around your eyes at the sight of your poppies, lilies, and hydrangeas crushed by the sheer weight of a 500-year-old load of wood. Your legs weakened like jelly, collapsing to the ground with utter disbelief.

"My flowers..."

It was heartbreaking, truly.

The wind blew harshly; a silhouette of a flying object flew over you for a split second before a heavy thud and cracking of dirt rang from your back but you didn’t even bother to look at what it was. Your eyes blurred, warm tears staining the dirt as each drop slid along the beautiful petals of your white lilies. Your heart felt like it was being torn into pieces, hands trembling as you caressed the leaves of your once healthy buds that bloomed beautifully under your attentive and utmost care.

Why do these things keep happening to you?

From your sorrow, you momentarily forgot the thing that landed in your garden until fast approaching footsteps rushed towards you, mists of red and black danced around your figure in a fluid motion before a sharp claw captured your chin and gently pulled your head to turn to the side.

Your mouth parted at the sight of a large man… with horns as sharp as blades, scales in the color of charcoal, red piercing eyes that reminds you or rubies, plush lips and soft cupid bow pressing into a think line, and eyebrows knitting together. As if he was frowning… or disappointed? enraged? You’re not certain. His sharp teeth gritted; growls laced with a tremendous amount of savageness that poisoned your heart with fear.

"You are crying." he mumbled, voice breathless, jaw tightening and growing more and more dangerous by the second.

You didn't expect him to speak but you didn't reply either, feeling your chest heavy and your breaths slowly escaping your lungs. He muttered a few words in a language you don’t understand before growling once more. You noticed a sharp and scaly object, moving slowly towards you like a snake. It reached for your face which made you close your eyes, only opening one of them when you heard a deep sigh from the person in front of you. The snake like limb of some sorts was holding your hair up from blocking your face, giving him a clear vision of your flushed cheeks that’s stained with tears.

It's a dragon. A dragon in form of a man crouching right in front of you.

"Was the tree not enough? Do you need a bigger one? Or five more? Tell me what it is that you need. I'm strong. I can get it for you."

His increasing frustration strikes fear into your heart. You let out a soft sob and covered your face in fear that this will trigger this creature into harming you. What will you do now? Who is this? What is this? What does he want? Did he put this tree here in hopes to destroy your house but missed the target? Or did he hope you were there to be crushed by it?

And why is he asking you questions like that?

"My flowers..."

It was your only form of salvation in that fearful moment. The flowers you held so dearly. The ones you've been tirelessly cultivating over the past few months… gone. Just like that.

The dragon's ruby eyes turned to the large tree and noticed the flower beds ruined under it. He stiffened, face met with horror and anger upon the realization of his mistake.

He cursed and turned to you again, gaze sharper than newly polished swords.

That’s it. If you're going to die, at least let you die beside your flowers!

The dragon stretched its wings and grabbed a hold of your waist to pull you upwards in a gentle manner using the same scaly limb that was brushing your hair a few moments ago, which you finally figured out was his tail. Your mouth let out a small cry for help and shrieked when he crouched a bit before stepping back to gain momentum and eventually darted high up in the air carrying you in his arms.

This is the end for you, right?

You closed your eyes in anticipation, prepared to get dropped immediately. But while your eyes are getting disturbed by the large force of the wind that’s making you lose your focus and drying your tears in an instant, the dragon’s large claws lightly covered your face… as if shielding you from the wind’s assault.

You blinked your eyes when it suddenly went quiet and you felt like you were slowly descending. You shook your head to clear your mind a bit before looking ahead, meeting a solemn view of a large field of flowers running towards the horizon. It’s a place that you've never seen before. It was beautiful. It was like a dream. A dream you never knew you can witness with your very eyes like this.

The dragon settled you carefully into the bed of flowers, the sweet scent of the fresh variety of flowers rushing to your nose as you took in a deep breath. Gentle petals brushed against your skin like a gentle greeting, their pollen dancing around you as acknowledgement and announcement of their divine presence. They scattered in the wind like confetti, colors shimmering against the blinding sunlight, almost sparking like stars in the night sky.

You were in awe. Completely pulled away from the agony you were in earlier, heart now filled with gentle joy and fascination.

"Your flowers... I don’t know how to properly ask for forgiveness, I did not mean for that to happen either. Still, I hope I'll earn to be forgiven."

You turned to the dragon that’s now sitting beside you with wings half folded, forgetting that you were basically taken by a dragon that you’ve only heard of in the legends, heavy scales and leather armor draped across the flower bed providing it with a nice shade, silver hair glistened like snow against the bleeding sunset and tail squirming behind him, wagging in quick, graceful motions… reminding you of a happy puppy’s. The red gem on his chest reflected rainbows into his eyes. Sharp, brilliant, enchanting, and oh so beautiful.

"You needed wood so I gave you the biggest one I could find. I did not mean to destroy your nest."

My nest?

"I should've stuck with the deer."

Deer?

"What…?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I am attempting to court you."

Your jaw dropped, hands quickly covering your mouth in shock. Your eyes stayed on him. His eyes burning through you with a fierce, sincere, and surprisingly honest intention.

"M-Me?"

He nodded and held out his hand which you hesitantly took, but did anyway when he waited for you to take his offer or maybe reject him. His eyes looked shocked for a moment when your palm pressed on his rough talons but quickly brushed it off and led you to sit beside him, looking away for a second to wipe his cheek.

"While I don't know how to properly court someone. I would like to try." He muttered earnestly that left you in awe. He searched for something inside his robes and brought it out. His sharp claws pointed to your hand so you hesitantly held it out and yelped from the heavy bag that was placed on your palm. It was small, but really bulky. You looked back up at him, noticing how much you need to crane your head upwards to meet his eyes from your obvious height difference before tilting your head a bit in confusion.

"What is this?"

"Open it."

You gulped before pulling the string and let the pouch's mouth open to reveal shiny pieces of gold ingots trapped inside the fancy pouch. You let out a gasp and quickly turned to him.

"Why are you giving this to me? Don't dragons never share their hoards? I can't accept this..."

"Not to their mates." he gasped for air. "Never to you."

"Why?” you sniffed, thumbs circling on the shiny glare of the pure gold in your palm that you can only dream of having. “But… I’m a human?"

"I do what I want." he stated so firmly that it almost startled you. He clenched his fist. Whispering gentle reminders to himself that you cannot comprehend but it effectively made him calm down.

"You have a soul that I am... inexplicably attracted to and I would love to have you with me. But if you refuse, then I will do as I'm told. As long as you’ll allow it, I would like to be your mate."

"And this..." his tail reached for another thing from his robes and carried another pouch by its string, dropping it towards your palms. You were so overwhelmed with gifts, but he doesn’t look like he’s willing to let you return it.

You opened it and saw a bunch of seeds inside that look like crystals. Once again, you were filled with confusion.

"I've been meaning to give this to you when I saw your garden empty back when the trees were dying. It makes your soil nourished. Fast and abundant. Good for harvest. Take it along with the gold as compensation and gift for the damage I did."

“Been meaning to? Since when?”

“Since last winter.”

“So not that long ago...” that’s a relief.

“No. Last winter. When you first planted your white flowers.”

“You mean last year?!” your eyes widened. He pursed his lips and held his chin in thought, slightly shaking his head.

“I don't have the paper with numbers you humans use.”

“A-And you only approached me now?”

“I wasn't proud of my hoard. My den wasn't warm enough for humans. I couldn't speak in straight human sentences before I read a human book. I wasn't good then, but…” he grinned, his sharp fangs poked out from his plump lips. “I can say I have more than a lot to offer if you're willing to see for yourself.”

“So… you planned all of this…”

“Not this. Never to make you shed tears.” he shook his head.

“Not fear. Never fear.” he gasped, collecting himself first. “I wanted to see how delicately you look at your flowers up close. How your laughs sound like gentle wind chimes when you're with other humans. How your embrace must feel like the warmth of home. How your fingers must feel taste like solace. How your eyes must glisten like shiny coins when you’re full of happiness.” he drew his breath and nodded his head, exhaling loudly before his sharp pupils dilated while reflecting your face.

As if you’re all he sees. As if you’re everything he ever wanted.

“I want it. I want all of it to be mine. I want it to be given to me willingly. Happily. Freely.” he growled and leaned closer, holding your chin with utter softness. You felt like he was taking your breath away as he inched closer to press your forehead against his.

Like a mortal praying to his saint.

Your fears from earlier quickly dissipated from this simple declaration, hoping the flowers sent it along the wind with a sweet goodbye. You have never seen anyone look at you like this… with so much devotion, raw passion, and intense desire to prove that he’s worthy of your hand.

It sent you to the clouds. How can a man of another species make your heart feel like it’s going to burst when no other human person could?

It made you think. All of the efforts he made that you perceived as ‘terrifying’ was his innocent attempt to catch your interest all along. The deer, the tree… so the wolves must be…

“Was it you… when I was almost attacked… and my firewood?”

“You were scared. I didn’t know if it was a good time to introduce myself. It wasn’t. I gave you a big tree to last you a while so you wouldn’t go out in the woods on your own. And if you run out, I’ll get you a new one again. I’m strong. And…” the wind suddenly blew that made your hair sway. His eyes locked on the ribbon tied to your hair, mouth parting as his claws caught it. He closed his eyes momentarily, letting the silence sink in before opening them again, eyes now filled with determination.

“If you’ll give me a chance… I will show you that I am a man who can give you everything.”

A man that can give me everything.

You lied down on the bed of flowers and glanced at him. He signaled to lie down beside you when your eyes met, in which you gave a quiet nod of agreement. He looked uncomfortable, yet he still chose to lay on his side just to level his face with yours, his own eyes hiding an intense feeling of love and admiration.

A dragon’s love, huh?

You didn’t know fiends can be affectionate like this. But isn’t his existence enough to prove that?

Although sudden, it felt strangely warm to be the receiving end of someone's passion like this. You know how easy it is for him to harm you, but he only ever touches you with pure fondness, silently hoping his sincerity will reach you somehow.

And it did. In the most surprising way.

You took a deep sigh and reached for a single flower in between your noses, inching closer to pick it and display it on the dragon’s delicate silver hair, moving gently along the whistling wind.

You spoke out your name, your real one, only for his ears to hear. You grabbed two more flowers and planted it on the hard scales right on his left chest where a human heart would usually be.

“Flowers are my most favorite thing in the world. Nice to meet you…” you closed your eyes when your noses touched, breaths playing along the red of each other’s lips, still etched with a gentle smile.

“Sylus.” he whispered, seemingly losing air to breathe. “Your Sylus.”

You’re still quite unsure with this strange proposal… but looking at this being in front of you that’s ready to surrender his possessions just so you’ll stay beside him, maybe it won’t harm to see for yourself.

And maybe you’d like to learn more about him too.

“And you’re my most favorite thing in the world.”

#l&ds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lads #loveanddeepspace #sylus #sylus x mc #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus fanfiction #sylus fic #sylus fluff #sylus lads #sylus love and deepspace #sylus x reader #sylus x y/n #sylus x you #dragon sylus

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royharperwifey · 17 days ago

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-–☆⁂☕︎Hacked☕︎⁂☆–--

~♡~ Part 2 ~♡~

After, like almost 250 likes on part one (omg) I have finally written part 2. Enjoy. Part 1

[tim drake] [part 2] [slow burn] [mlw] [damian wayne is a cutie patootie] [x reader] [fluff] [reader has glasses] [tim has glasses] [yearning!tim] [cutesy!tim] [awkward nerd!tim]

The silence stretches as Tim stares at you.

"His ward?"

"No, Timothy, his secret love child with Joker. Yes, his ward. He isn't completely heartless." You say. You making Tim look stupid caused Damian to take a liking to you.

"I like you. Make Drake look stupid again." He said, which got ignored when Tim spoke up.

"I– but– HUH??" He was having am existential crisis right now. He rubbed his temples before his brain exploded.

You offered to talk about it over lunch. It was a date. (With Damian poking your arm and asking you to make Tim look stupid again, but a date nonetheless).

>>—♡—>

"So, Sionis is your...?" Tim started as she sipped a hot chocolate.

"Adoptive father. Joker killed my biological parents and Sionis took me in as a 'fuck you' to Joker. But I grew up well. I mean I'm an engineering student. But Sionis is... thoughtful." The tone in your voice told Tim that he was not to push for more information, no matter how much he wanted to.

"Why were you following me, though. You do that to all the girls you hack or am I special?" You ask.

A smile graces Tim's lips. "No, just a regular day in life of Tim The Stalker."

Damian gagged. "You suck at flirting."

"Says the 9 year old who was rejected for the spring dance." Tim shoots back, and Damian stabs a fork into his thigh, not cutting flesh, but hurting him.

"Fuck." He whispers as he presses a hand over his thigh.

"I told you never to speak of it." Damian seethes, clearly it was a soft spot.

"Aw, kiddo. I'll go with you." You smile.

"Pardon?"

"I'll take you to the spring dance. Mine is too lame anyways." It was true, but the dejected pook in the 9 year oldest eyes makes your heart clench.

"Really?" Damian asks, confused as to why a beautiful young woman like you would want to go to a third grader's spring dance.

"Yeah."

>>—♡—>

And that's what happened. That Friday, a dapper 9 year old knocks on your front door at 6pm sharp. You open the door and you're in a cute floral dress appropriate for a primary school dance. Damian smiles with a few missing teeth at you. Alfred, in the car gives a small wave.

Damian gives you a single tulip flower. "Drake said they are your favourite. I hope you like it." He says. You smile and take the flower.

"Thank you, damian, I love it."

You look behind you as Roman Sionis stands there. Being a protective father figure, and wanting to tease the kid, he walked up.

"You better not break her heart, hear me boy?" Black Mask says. Damian nods, tempted to take his sword out and behead the man.

"Yes, sir." He says instead. Sionis kisses you on the head and let's you go enjoy your night.

"Miss, I am Alfred Pennyworth. It is lovely to meet you." The older man says.

"Hi, Alfred." You wave warmly. Damian sees what Drake sees in you. You're warm, fuzzy, chirpy and smiley.

>>—♡—>

The gym of the primary school is lit with neon lights and 10 year olds in the corner trying to act cool with gummy worm cigarettes. You take Damian's small hand and guides him to the dance floor.

"Father never taught me to dance," he admits sheepishly.

"Thats okay. I'll teach you a simple waltz." You say as you take his two hands. You slowly step forwards with your right foot, causing Damian's left foot to go backwards. The dancing teaching takes about 10 minutes until you've managed to teach him the gist of it. Soon, you're dancing with the 9 year old and you realise that this was so much funner than your stupid senior dance anyway.

Damian smiles and fetches you hors d'oeuvres. He's fancy like that.

"Drake has a very big crush on you. Like dinosaur big." He says before shoving a mini-burger into his mouth.

"Really?" You ask, not surprised, per se, but rather delighted.

"Mhm. He once spent over 30 minutes getting ready for a 'fit check' he sent you. He's pathetic." Damian muttered.

You smile as you think back to the random photos he sends. The ones that you look forward to seeing.

"I can see why he likes you. You are very kind and beautiful." He says it matter-of-factly, as though telling an simple fact rather than he, himself, finding you attractive.

"Aww, you're too cute, Damian." You smile.

"You made Drake look stupid. I suppose you are 'cute' as well. Did you enjoy the evening? Did I made an adequate 'date'?" He asks. You nod.

"You were lovely. 5 stars. Who rejected you?" You ask.

Damian turned pink as he subtly points to a ginger girl on the dancefloor who was dancing with a blonde boy who kept looking over at the two of you like he envied the guy who brought a highschooler. "Her. She's really pretty and compliments my drawings." He murmurs.

"Its okay. You'll find someone." You pull Damian into your side. Damian stiffens, but doesn't move away.

"Drake is quite lucky." Is all he says as the two of you walk out to the car.

"It is quite early, would you like to stay for some tea or perhaps some warm milk?" Damian offered. You spot Tim watching you from his bedroom window on the 2nd floor.

"Why not?" You say as you step inside.

As Damian gets washed and dressed for bed, you sitt in the dining room with a cup of tea as Tim walked in.

"Hey." He said. WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?? HEY??? HEY???? WHY DID YOU SAY IT LIKE THAT. He internally panics.

"Hey, stalker." You reply.

"How was the dance?" He asks. "Did bat brat give you any trouble?"

"He was actually so sweet. He told me you had a big crush on me. Like dinosaur." You laugh.

"Who wouldn't? You're beautiful and kind." Tim says it in the same tone as Damian had said it, but with a hint of something extra.

"You think I'm pretty?" You ask as you walk closer to Tim.

"So pretty." He whispers once you're close enough. He brushes some of your hair from your face. "You look stunning by the way. May I have this dance?" He asks.

"You may."

Tim takes your hand, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it before bowing and beginning to dance the waltz flawlessly.

"You dance very well." You comment.

"Rich parents kinda means lots of Galas and lots of dancing. But thank you, you too." He says as he spins you around, your skirt flowing with the motion.

No music plays, but your heart flutters with each movement. Tim is internally celebrating that he is not only dancing with a pretty girl, but that pretty girl is you.

His lip moves between his teeth as he spins you, trying to contain his smile. His heart stops entirely when you press your lips to his when the spin comes to an end.

And he melts. His hands find purchase on your waist as he softly pulled you closer. The world stops and it's just the two of you, in the carpeted living room, Tim in a dress shirt, red sweater vest and trousers, no shoes, mismatch socks and you in all your stunning glory in that dress.

"Would it be considered Stockholm syndrome to kiss my stalker." You whisper once the kiss ended.

"Even if it would, I tend to have a thing for the mentally ill." Tim says, trying to hide his breathlessness that came from his heart racing. Real smooth. About as smooth as low tide's jagged rocks.

"Weirdo."

"I could be your weirdo. If you'll have me that is, if you won't, that totally fine—" You cut him off with another kiss, to which he promptly melts again, his hand splaying across the bare skin of your back, exposed by the backless dress you wore.

Alfred walked in with young Damian holding his hand, who glared at Tim.

"Pardon the interruption, Miss and Master Timothy, but young Master Damian wished to bid his date a good night." Alfred said.

You crouched in front of Damian who was in green lizard pyjamas. "Night, Damian. You were a lovely date and don't worry, I'm pretty sure that ginger girl isn't worth it anyway." You say, making Damian crack a smile.

"Get home safe." He concluded before pressing his little lips to your cheek, to which you returned the chaste gesture. Damian went up the stairs and Tim looked at you as you rose back to standing.

"Do i have to be worried about competition?" Tim teased.

>>—♡—>

"Where's the young boy?" Roman Sionis asked as Tim dropped you off at your house.

"He had a bed time. I wanted to escort the lovely lady home." Tim said. You kissed Tim on the cheek, causing a lovesick gleam to glaze over his blue eyes.

"Thanks, Stalker." You smile sweetly and walk into the house. Black Mask looks at Tim with narrowed eyes, sure he's seen the boy *somewhere* before, but unable to place it.

"Enjoy your evening, boy." The door shut. But that didnt stop Tim from going home and grinning like an idiot. Steph looked at him like he was a lunatic. Damian did not spill information, but he did smile every time he saw the picture of the two of you at the spring dance, you much taller that him, in your pretty dress and makeup. The photo was framed and hidden in his desk drawer.

Tags: @jedidiah1201 @stormz369

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helpimstuckposting · 3 months ago

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You’re an Idiot, Eddie Munson

Prompt: Sick Fic, Roommates, Idiots to Lovers | Rating: T | Wordcount: 13,765 | AO3 | @steddiebingo

Eddie’s an idiot. He knows he’s an idiot. He was an idiot when he asked Steve to move to Indy with him, despite his massive crush on the man. He was an idiot when he got used to Steve in his space, cooking dinner and being an all-around perfect man. He was an idiot when he started turning people down at the bar he went to on Saturdays, and he was an idiot when he stopped going all together, just so he could join Robin and Steve’s movie nights in her apartment.

He got used to Steve in his space, Steve in his plans, Steve in the kitchen in the mornings making coffee for them both; Steve taking naps on their shitty couch as the sun leaked through the window in the afternoon, bathing him in gold like some kind of coveted Greek statue; Steve laughing on the floor as Robin shoves her hand down his shirt to fetch the popcorn he’d dropped. He got used to Steve in every aspect of his life and he was an idiot for… forgetting.

Every time Steve touched his lower back when he dodged Eddie in the kitchen, every time they walked to get groceries and Steve wrapped an arm around his shoulder, every time Eddie lost himself in the jokes and the teasing and the flirting and Steve didn’t push him away, he forgot that they weren’t… well… together. That this was all just Eddie being caught up in his head.

Because he’s an idiot.

Of course his delusion couldn’t last forever, he just… you know, hoped. But when Eddie came home from work early to a pair of high heels by the door that were decidedly not his and probably not Steve’s, and some less than savory sounds escaping from the muffled confines of Steve’s room, Eddie couldn’t exactly shove reality away any longer, lest he want to end up in an asylum.

He found himself on Buckley’s doorstep instead, pathetic brown eyes begging entrance.

“Steve brought a girl over?” She asked, rolling her eyes as she dragged him into the apartment.

He nodded miserably, heading straight for her couch and face planting into the cushions. It was a ratty old floral embroidered thing the three of them pulled off the side of the road, dragged up three flights of stairs, and did everything in their power to clean until it was presentable. Robin loved it. It had tears and loose threads and a slightly wobbly back leg and it was perfect. Perfect for catching Eddie’s tears at the moment, but good for other things, too.

Like movie nights where Robin laid her head in Steve’s lap, and Eddie sat on the floor between Steve’s legs as he carded his fingers through Eddie’s hair. He smushed his face further into the couch. Maybe if he suffocated, he’d forget Steve Harrington ever existed.

“Alright, whiny baby, spill,” she demanded, lifting his legs up so she could slip underneath them.

“There’s nothing to spill,” he mumbled into the fabric, not even lifting his head.

“You haven’t told him how you feel yet, have you?”

“Whuh- no!” He shrieked, pulling his face free and almost kneeing her in the gut as he flailed onto his elbows.

“Hey, watch it, Gumby, I have precious organs in there.” Robin shoved at his knobby knees, rubbing at her stomach like he’d stabbed her.

He rolled his eyes, kneeing her again on purpose until she nearly threw him off the couch, electing to sit on his lanky legs instead of risking bodily injury. Eddie grunted, newly immoble and tried to wiggle his way out from under her before giving up and flopping back down in surrender.

“It’s not fair,” he whined, wiggling his legs under her butt.

“It’s unfair because you literally haven’t said anything to him, you moron.”

“Agh!” he clutched at his chest, wounded like he’d been shot through the heart and he was bleeding out over the faded floral fabric. “That’s rich coming from someone who’s never once told a crush how she feels!”

She squawked and squeezed his side, slapping back as he retaliated. There was something healing about a kindergarten slap fight between friends, at least enough to distract him from why he was on her couch in the first place; why he’d left his own apartment in a flurry and practically sprinted to hers, why he’d had a lump in his throat the size of indiana itself. It slowly dissipated as he dodged her hits and light slaps, the sting against his arms, and the creeping numbness in his legs as they remained squished tightly under Robin.

She gave up with a huff, flopping her entire body on top of his. They both breathed heavily, as if they’d run a mile instead of just attacking each other out of nowhere. He revelled in it. Basked in the tightness of his lungs and the reddening skin of his arms. If he thought too much about why he was here, it would all creep back up his throat like an alien poised to burst through his chest.

But he did come here to talk, to vent, to fish for sympathy about his pathetic crush as it tore through him, the visions of what could be happening behind Steve’s closed door running through his head like a repetitive nightmare that wouldn’t leave him alone. He thought about those pointed high heels that were sprawled where his shoes were supposed to be, and whatever gorgeous girl was previously attached to them before weaseling her way into their apartment.

He felt sick.

“Have you ever thought maybe he’s fooling around because he doesn’t know how badly you’re pining over him?” Robin finally mumbled, face buried in his rumpled Metallica t-shirt. He focussed on the weight of her draped over him, grounding him like a layer of blankets, or a shiny shock blanket placed over his shoulders so he didn’t spiral into nothingness as his life burned around him.

“No,” he mumbled. “Why would I think that? It’s just wishful. He’s straight, we both know that. I’m not going to torture myself with ‘what ifs’.”

“Oh? But you’ll torture yourself with bad ‘what ifs’, like ‘what if he gets a girlfriend’ and ‘what if he moves out’ and ‘what if he discovers my big gay loser crush on him’.” She dropped her voice low in imitation, mocking him with every shot to the heart.

He groaned, “Those are different! Those are realistic! Those won’t get my hopes up only to crush them into dust to scatter across the globe like the ashes of my lifeless corpse.”

“Wow,” she said flatly, lifting her head and looking him in the eye with raised, judging eyebrows. “You’re even gayer than I thought you were.”

Eddie squawked, using the last of his energy to lift himself into a sitting position and toss Robin aside. She grunted as she hit the ground, leaping back up to slap him in the chest one more time for good measure.

“This is serious! This is important! This is heartbreak!” he shouted.

“This is desperate,” Robin muttered to herself, plopping back down on the couch. “Listen. I know he hasn’t exactly said it, but I’m not entirely sure Steve is straight in the first place. Sure, he’s only ever slept with women, but…” she softened, sagging into her cushion, “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Eds.”

Eddie shook his head, unkempt hair tangling as he rubbed it roughly against the fabric beneath him. “No. Nope. Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true!” she begged, clasping a hand around his ankle and shaking it enthusiastically, wishing she could just shake some sense into his whole body. “What straight boy acts like he does?!”

“I don’t know, Buckley, a nice one?” he shrieked, hands twitching to cover his ears like a child and shout out ‘la, la, la,’ to drown out her hopeful pleading.

“He calls your uncle every week for check-ins! He knows your schedule by heart, and he makes dinner for you every single time your shift goes overtime. He knows your favorite foods, he gets you treats sometimes just because he thought about you. I mean, you literally fall asleep on the couch together all the time!” She was whining now, voice propelling into a shout the more she listed, mind scrambling to lay out every single thing that made Eddie fall in love with Steve in the first place, as if that wasn’t entirely too torturous for Eddie to keep listening to.

“Buck, tell me right now he wouldn’t do all of that for you, too, and I’ll concede,” he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest to appear collected, even if he just did it to keep himself from falling apart.

She was quiet. He could see all of her points running through her head, all the moments Steve was generous and kind to everyone he cared about, all the times he did those things for people who weren’t Eddie. She seemed to deflate, just like him as she realized he was just that kind to everyone, and Eddie only got the brunt of it because they lived together. Of course Steve paid attention to him, they spent nearly every moment of the day orbiting each other, that didn’t mean he was special.

“He looks at you the way he used to look at Nancy,” she whispered. Her eyes were pleading, desperate for him to understand even though he couldn’t, he didn’t.

“Buck… I- I want to believe you, I swear I do. God, I want to believe you, but I just can’t,” he pleaded right back, “What happens if I do believe you, and I get my hopes up, and I do what you tell me to and confess and he just… just looks at me. Like he doesn’t know what to say, like he doesn’t know how to turn me down, or he doesn’t know how to talk to me anymore. Because I know he wouldn’t be mean, I know that. But it would be worse to see him not want to turn me down, just because I’m his friend and he feels sorry for me.”

He couldn’t handle it if Steve just looked at him with those wide eyes, mouth agape with words he didn’t know how to say. He didn’t want to watch the conflict in Steve’s eyes as he debated how to let Eddie down gently, how to not hurt his feelings when every single thing he could say would. He didn’t want to flit around the apartment and awkwardly pretend that it was okay, that he was fine, that Steve could be normal around him and everything would be fine, because Eddie didn’t know how to do that.

“So much for not torturing yourself with ‘what ifs’.”

Eddie shook his head. He didn’t understand why she kept pushing, she knew what it was like to pine after a straight person, or presumably straight person. She knew this, the feeling of desperation as she watched from afar, trying to stay sane as the other person dug themselves further and further into her heart like they were carving out a scar that would take years to heal, if at all. She sighed, patting his ankle one more time before she reached for the remote and conceded to ignoring the issue all together. She had tried her hand at persuasion, now it was time for distraction.

They watched a few reruns on TV in silence, until Robin kicked him in the shin, glancing at the clock. “He’ll probably be wondering where you are if you don’t head home soon. It’s been a few hours, I’m sure it’s safe to go back.�� She looked sympathetic, her eyes just as wide and sad as he imagined Steve’s would be if he confessed. He nodded, dragging himself from the safety of Robin’s living room. She followed him to the door, sad puppy eyes maintaining their place. He knew she was frustrated with him, too, but she didn’t show that right now as she hugged him goodbye.

“Just think about it, okay?” she parted with and he nodded, if only to placate her. But he did think about it, he thought about nothing else the whole walk back to his apartment as he psyched himself up to see Steve. He knew Robin was right about some things, Steve was an anomaly of a straight man to Eddie. Sometimes, when they were cooking together or cleaning on a Sunday it felt painfully domestic as they shifted around, weaving in and out of each other’s spaces like they’d known nothing else. Sure, sometimes it felt like the smile he gave Eddie was different than the one he gave Robin or the kids, but he also knew that the tension he felt whenever they were close was one-sided, just Eddie unable to look away as Steve went about his own business like a magnet pulling his cheap metal rings toward him with every motion.

He kept thinking about Robin’s list of reasons, of the tug at his heart every time Steve came home with Eddie’s favorite snacks just because he was at the store and saw them — thought of Eddie when he wasn’t there. He tried to tamp down the hope as he remembered the man doing the same exact thing for Robin, or stocking the fridge up with Dustin’s favorites every time the kid mentioned coming to visit. Steve was just like that, Eddie knew. He knew not to get his delusions confused with reality, no matter how much he wanted Robin’s world to be the right one.

When he opened the door to the apartment, he was greeted by the relieving absence of a certain pair of heels, no evidence that they’d even existed in the first place. He chucked off his shoes, kicking them messily into a pile directly where the high heels had been, like some petty dog marking his territory. She wouldn’t even know — neither would Steve — and yet it made him feel just a bit better to see his beat up work boots shedding dirt next to Steve’s keds, where they belonged. There wasn’t a girl invading their space, no perfume floating around for Eddie to choke on as he pretended everything was okay.

Instead, the smell of a warm dinner wafted from the kitchen, the clanging of pots and pans telling him exactly where Steve was. As he rounded the corner, he could see the man flitting around from pot, to frying pan, to fridge, stirring and grilling up what smelled like Eddie’s favorite dinner.

He didn’t look dishevelled, didn’t have any hickies dappling the skin of his neck and Eddie chose to be thankful for that instead of wondering whether there were other marks in places he couldn’t see. His hair was damp, fresh and fluffy, drying with a slight curl that he never left the house with and Eddie wanted to card his hands through it, drag his nails across his scalp and feel the soft strands against his palm.

Steve whistled as he stirred the sauce in the pot, and Eddie breathed in deep, trying to melt into the scent of Steve and chopped tomatoes and chicken, shoving away the talk with Robin and the sounds he heard as he fled the apartment. He cleared his throat, leaning against the arch of the kitchen doorway to appear casual and collected, like he hadn’t just had a crisis of the heart. Steve startled, catching his eye with a smile and Jesus H. Christ, Eddie was doomed. He was like the sun, he was like beams of warmth shining through clouds after a storm, the sky parting to deliver him like god down to earth for Eddie to reach out and touch, only to brush fingers and be thankful.

Jesus, maybe he was gayer than Robin thought.

“Hey, Eds,” Steve pulled Eddie from his thoughts. He could probably wax poetic about Steve Harrington for every hour of his life, though that kind of behavior would definitely make him run for the hills, leaving Eddie to wallow in his own obsessive tendencies.

“Hey. Whatcha makin’?” he asked, though he already knew.

How long could he lean against this doorway until it was weird? Had he already been standing here too long? Did it look obvious that he was trying to act natural, only for him to overthink his naturalness to a point of being unnatural? He cleared his throat and walked over to the kitchen table. He couldn’t fuck up sitting, right?

“Grilled chicken parm!” He seemed light, carefree, satiated if Eddie wanted to torture himself more than he already had tonight.

“Mmm, my favorite.”

“I know,” Steve winked. He winked, and Eddie wanted to throw himself out of the window. He wanted to walk up to Steve and wrap his arms around him, he wanted to kiss his neck and trail his fingers down his arms, pretend that they lived together because they loved each other and not just because it was convenient to split rent.

He wanted a lot of things.

“Oh!” Steve startled, turning to point his spatula at Eddie, “I got your favorite cereal and some Yoo-hoo, and we haven’t had ice cream in a bit so I got a couple pints and I figured we could get high and watch a movie or something? Robin gave me a bag of tapes she wanted me to watch, because apparently I’m uncultured,” he mocked, voice going high at the end as if mimicking Robin’s voice, though it sounded nothing like her.

Eddie’s giggle came out high and grating, ripping through the air just to torture him. He wished he could grab the sound and shove it back down his throat, erase it from existence. He just cleared his throat instead and hoped that Steve hadn’t noticed how fucking weird he was being.

He just kept thinking of Robin’s insistence that Eddie should tell him the truth, should tell him that he’d been embarrassingly gone on the man since he’d dragged him out of hell itself. And it was embarrassing, just how much Eddie waited with bated breath every time Steve leaned in close, any time they shared air and he was close enough to count the other man’s moles and freckles, close enough to see the flecks of gold and green and whiskey-brown that call Steve’s eyes their home. If any of his friends gained the ability to read minds, he would be fucked. He got teased enough, he didn’t need to add the nonsense poetry he waxed about Steve every moment he had a spare thought.

The other man didn’t seem to notice his crush-induced spiral, turning back to the stove and humming as he continued to stir the sauce. Eddie should call Wayne. It’d been a while — a week, maybe — and if anyone could handle his sad pining, it was his uncle.

Instead, he picked up the book he left on the table that morning and pretended to read, glancing ever so often at the man who seemed to be synonymous with favorites. Favorite foods, favorite snacks, favorite ice cream, favorite movies, favorite person.

The fact that Steve didn’t already know how Eddie felt was kind of ridiculous, especially since Robin hounded him about his pining every time they were together. He knew Buckley wouldn’t betray his trust like that, though. No matter how much she bitched and whined about him, she had his back — even against her other half.

When the food was ready, it was easier to fit back into their usual banter. If ever Eddie got too close to blurting out the truth, he just shoved more chicken and pasta into his mouth and chewed until the impulse went away. Steve talked about his day and his classes, how the students were always hard to reign in when the weather got nicer and no one wanted to learn about history. Eddie thought he'd probably have graduated the first time, if Steve Harrington was his teacher.

You haven’t told him how you feel yet, have you?

He shoveled more food into his mouth.

Steve never mentioned the girl he brought home, or the shoes that were at the door, or the noises he’d heard from Steve’s room. He did mention the cafe he went to for lunch, the sandwich he’d ordered that ‘Eddie you’d love it, it reminded me of that place we went to right after moving here, you remember?’ and he mentioned the store he’d noticed near the grocery, one that just opened and had mini figures and card games and D&D stuff, ‘all that nerd shit you and the kids like, we should check it out some time.’

Eddie wanted to scream; he had no more food to shovel. So, instead, he collected the dishes and stacked them in the sink, and made his way to the living room — busying his hands with the task of rolling a few joints for their movie night.

Steve grabbed a plastic grocery bag full of tapes that he’d left by the door, and went through each movie one by one, holding them up for Eddie to see and judge. Robin was apparently on a John Waters kick, and while Eddie was down for Cry Baby, if Robin wanted Steve to watch Pink Flamingos, it was going to have to be on her terms, thank you.

He watched as Steve fed the tape into the player, and broke out the ice cream pints from the freezer — little spoon for Eddie because he preferred it for ice cream. It was calm, it was domestic, it was torture, and Eddie loved every moment with Steve. He took his glances where he could, when Steve was turned away, flicking his eyes back to the rolling papers whenever he was close to getting caught. He rolled two, figured that was enough to make him act normal again — to relax and get his shit together so he stopped acting like a twitchy little squirrel, hoarding anything Steve would give him.

He gave Steve the first hit, if only to be a creep and feel the dampness of Steve’s spit on the filter. He watched as the smoke left his lips, touching where Eddie wished he was allowed, before it cascaded out and filled the room. He took one more hit before passing to Eddie, fingers lazily brushing as the joint left his hands.

Eddie looked away as he drew in his breath, the dampness of the filter a thrill as well as a condemnation. He’d always felt like a freak, always wore that label with pride, but he’d never felt more like a freak, than when he was around Steve Harrington.

He focussed on the red-hot burn of the cherry as he pulled in a breath, the smoke burning through his lungs as he held it longer than he needed to — holding it there just to feel the white hot cloying at his throat, and grounding him before he did something stupid like lean into Steve’s space and say something flirty.

You haven’t told him how you feel yet, have you?

Buckley, if only it were that easy.

Just think about it, okay?

Actually, he should stop thinking about it. Before the words started spewing from his lips with no interference from his brain, before his heart stopped beating in his chest and came up his throat to speak the words itself, before he had those stilettos by the door wedged into his brain like a lobotomy.

“Eddie?”

He looked over to Steve, who was holding out the joint again. He hadn’t even remembered passing it back after his hit.

“You good, man?”

“Yeah.” He took the joint once more, and tried to stay in the moment. Drifting was for later, right now was for man and dude and buddy.

It was mid way through joint #2, when Steve got cuddly. He always drifted closer, leaned in more to talk about the movie, whispered commentary even though they were home and there was no one else to disturb in the theater.

I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Eds.

He looked at him like he looked at Robin, Eddie thought. He looked at him with warmth and kindness, with a deep affection that was reserved exclusively for those closest to Steve Harrington. He looked-

He looks at you the way he used to look at Nancy.

He was close, close enough to lean against if Eddie just let himself; close enough to brush his nose against Steve’s forehead, close enough to–

Eddie took another hit before handing it back to Steve. He held on to this one, too, until the burn of it took his mind off those too close thoughts. Steve’s lips wrapped around the filter, and in Eddie’s hazy, floaty mind it looked like something he should pray to — the smoke drifting around them, caressing Steve’s skin as gently as it dared, just a whisper as it passed. It was like that, that, you know, the renaissance art style where everything is blended and smokey and otherworldly. Like the Mona Lisa. Steve was the Mona Lisa, and Eddie wanted to breathe in all the smoke that touched his skin.

Steve was giggly now, loose and light headed as Johnny Depp cried glycerin tears and his love interest pleaded ‘please Mr. Jailer, won't you let my man go free?’

He giggled and sang along to the repetitive lyrics and shifted both legs onto the couch cushions, scooting himself closer again, leaving him resting against Eddie’s side. He was warm, so warm against the cotton of Eddie’s t-shirt and he thought maybe if he took another hit or two, he’d be able to blend into the warmth of Steve’s skin and melt together into one person.

The joint was in the ashtray on the coffee table; Eddie would need to lean over to grab it. He glanced at Steve, cuddled up nice and sweet into his side, and he didn’t want to disturb him — like a cat in his lap when he desperately needed to use the bathroom. Steve stretched and snuggled closer, eyes focussed on the TV and not on Eddie’s dilemma.

He was never known as a problem solver, his three years as a senior in high school showed the entire town of Hawkins that he wasn’t exactly the best scholar, but even Eddie didn’t think he was stupid enough to miss what would happen next.

He wiggled his arm under the man, just to grab his attention and not to jostle him free. He thought, oh, Steve would definitely just know what he wanted, because sometimes he forgot that he wasn’t a part of Steve and Robin’s creepy Shining Twins mind-meld. So instead of the man just reaching over to grab the half-smoked joint, he turned his head toward Eddie. Which, obviously that wouldn’t be an issue if Steve hadn’t been snuggled into his side, practically one leg in his lap, but — lo and behold — the movement brought his nose right to Eddie’s cheek.

He could feel his blood rush to the point of connection immediately, lighting his cheeks up like a bright red neon sign — like Eddie was some kind of brothel in the red light district signalling to the public just how horny he was for the man next to him.

He turned slowly — so slowly he wasn’t sure if it was just the weed, or if the whole world was turning in slow motion — just enough to see Steve’s face out of the corner of his eye. He thought maybe Steve didn’t realize how close he was until he turned, just like Eddie, but he still hadn’t pulled away. He smiled lazily at him instead, eyes unfocused and hazy, squinting at the corners like he was still laughing without actually doing it.

“Little close there, Sweetheart,” Eddie whispered, because anything louder than that felt blasphemous, to cut through the sleepy peace of the angel next to him.

Steve giggled, leaning back to actually focus his eyes on Eddie. He could feel the cool air in his absence, Steve’s nose no longer against his cheek.

“Whoops,” he laughed, voice just as small as Eddie’s.

“Could you grab the joint for me? I didn’t want to move you.”

Steve did as he was asked, grabbing the joint and the lighter next to it, and lighting it up for Eddie without him having to even ask. He took one small pull before handing it over, and Eddie fought with himself to hold back a moan as he savoured Steve’s saliva as it once again touched his lips. If only there wasn’t a barrier between the two, if only he could taste it from the source, feel it as he drank Steve in with the desperation of a man lost in the desert.

Steve settled himself back into Eddie’s side, and Eddie did his best not to jostle him as he finished off the joint, thankful that Steve had drifted off to sleep before he did it. At least with Steve asleep, he was safe from the confession that kept springing to the tip of Eddie’s tongue.

The taste in his mouth as Eddie woke up was stale. It felt like cotton on his tongue, dry throat clicking as he swallowed. His thoughts were soupy and his eyes were crusted, joints aching as he stumbled off the couch. He should have tried to fall asleep in his own bed, he wasn’t 20 anymore and the crack of his neck as he stretched took the breath out of him for just a moment. He dragged himself into his room to tug off the jeans he was still wearing, keeping his Metallica shirt and his briefs on from the day before, but he hadn’t bothered with pulling on a pair of sweats — his pale thighs out and about for the world to see.

Steve was in the kitchen, no doubt being the most desirable housewife in all of Indiana by making breakfast for them both. Eddie could smell the toast and butter, the thick scent of coffee drifting through the hallway to his room. He smacked his dry lips in anticipation.

They shared small smiles as Eddie made his way to the table, Steve’s hair sticking up wildly in the back. He looked soft and sleep-rumpled, a small yawn pulling itself from his lips, and Eddie looped his ankle around the leg of his chair to stop from draping himself across Steve’s back. Robin’s words were still floating around like an evil spell, compelling him against his will. If only he could ignore it, shove it into a lock-box and pretend they’d never talked, that she’d never told him to confess in the first place–

The phone rang.

Steve looked from his hand holding the spatula, to the one holding a cracked egg currently spilling into the pan.

“I’ve got it,” Eddie chuckled, squeezing Steve’s shoulder as he passed because he was nothing if not self-indulgent.

It was one of Wayne’s neighbors on the other end.

The call didn’t last more than five minutes.

Eddie hung up the phone, gripping tightly at the plastic handset. He didn’t let go. Couldn’t do much of anything except focus on the racing in his mind. He needed to leave, he needed to call off work, he needed to get back to Hawkins as fast as he could.

“Eds?” Steve asked, voice hesitant and unsure. His eyebrows were drawn together and he had stopped his cooking, clicking the stove off, one hand still wrapped around a spatula and the other halfway to reaching out for Eddie, to touch, to help, to comfort.

“Wayne had a heart attack,” he whispered.

Steve abandoned the breakfast, giving in to the want of reaching out, to cradle Eddie’s elbow in the most gentle touch, like that would help like that would make it better instead of feeling like barbed wire on his skin.

Eddie pulled away, slipping his arm from Steve’s reach and the other man’s hand remained in the air, stuck, like he didn’t know what to do next. They were both still, unusual for them, and it felt suddenly like there were glass shards in the air between their bodies, just waiting to slice them open at any sudden move.

“Is he okay? Eds?”

Eddie nodded, that’s what the neighbor said. That’s what he said. Wayne was okay, Wayne was fine, he went to the hospital on time, he was back home, he was okay.

But, Eddie wasn’t there. He couldn’t be sure, he didn’t know.

“He’s… he’s okay, he’s fine, he’s back home,” he repeated, like a mantra, like he needed to hear the words out loud in order for them to be real. Wayne was fine, Wayne was home.

“Do you want to go, to take care of him? We can stop by the grocery store and pick up some things, I can take a few days off and drive down with you,” Steve was rambling, creating plans and asking about Wayne’s favorite foods, talking about leafy greens and no red meat, about soups he could make and how much PTO he had left, and we, and us, and Eddie wanted to scream.

“Stop.”

Steve did. He cut himself off, hand still raised to where Eddie’s elbow used to be, but he didn’t step forward, didn’t reach out again — kept himself silent. For Eddie. Because he asked.

“Stop,” he said again, watching as Steve’s eyebrows pinched in confusion. He finally put his hand down, standing in the kitchen with his arms at his sides.

“Stop… what?” He asked, and of course he didn’t know, he didn’t know why his desperate need to help, to comfort, to ease Eddie’s worries were just clawing at him with every word, digging into his skin like thorns and dragging, dragging, dragging until his insides were torn to ribbons.

You haven’t told him how you feel yet, have you?

“Stop acting like this, this perfect guy who outshines everyone else.”

A wobbly smile stretched over Steve’s face, mistaking Eddie’s distress for his typical dramatics. He looked like he wasn’t sure whether he should laugh or roll his eyes, not understanding that Eddie was serious because he didn’t know, he didn’t know.

“I want you to stop being nice to me.”

Steve squinted his eyes, “This feels like a trap, is this a trap?”

“No.” Eddie was shaking his head, clearing it out to make room for what he wanted to say, what he needed to say. He needed to put distance between him and Steve, he needed to go help Wayne and take that time to break this stupid crush and maybe, maybe, when he came back he’d be able to act normal around Steve again. “No, this isn’t a trap.”

“Okay… Well, I’m not sure how to stop being nice to you–”

“Well you need to figure it out. You need to– to be meaner, because I can’t keep going out and meeting guys and comparing them to you because they’re not you, they’re nothing like you. And I can’t keep going on dates and wishing they were over so I can just come home and hang out with you and Robin, and I can’t keep coming home to some girl's shoes by the door and pretending that doesn’t kill me just a little bit.”

Steve looked adrift in their kitchen, untethered and unsure. This wasn’t Eddie’s normal dramatics, this wasn’t Eddie throwing out a backhanded compliment to Steve, this wasn’t a ‘god, Harrington, you’re so perfect it must be exhausting’ with a laugh and a wink. This was Eddie in genuine distress, like the call about Wayne had snapped some kind of barrier between him and everything he’d been holding back.

“What are you saying?”

You haven’t told him how you feel yet–

“I love you.”

He blinked.

It was out.

He said it.

“I love you, I’m in love with you. Not like the way you love Robin or Dustin or how I love Wayne,” his voice cracked on his uncle’s name, the panic about hearing ‘he had a heart attack’ still fresh in the air, still squeezing his lungs.

“I love you, so–,” he chokes on his words, trying desperately to hold back the flood of tears that threaten to burst; he has to say it, he has to say it, and then he can leave, he can go to Wayne and he can take a few days to figure out what to do after he just crushed his whole life into pieces, “–so you gotta stop being nice to me, or you gotta fall in love with me, because I can’t do this anymore.”

And Steve did exactly what Eddie expected him to do. He stood. He stared. He looked at Eddie like his brain had paused and he was being wholly rewired just to turn back on again, like he mentally needed to smack the connection back online or wiggle the antenna.

The kitchen felt like it was closing in as he watched Steve blink back to himself, and then glance around the room as he thought of what to say, as he thought of how to let Eddie down gently.

Eddie didn’t want to be let down gently. He didn’t want the pity or the shame or the guilt that was no doubt swimming in Steve’s head as he tried to think of a nice way, a sweet way to ease Eddie’s confession away because Eddie knew, he knew, that Steve wasn’t going to reciprocate. The sad glint to his eyes and the pinched corners of his lips told Eddie all he needed to know.

“I…” he sighed, still desperately avoiding Eddie’s eye contact. “I mean… I’m not… I’m sor–”

“I know,” Eddie whispered back. He didn’t want to hear the stuttered, stilted apology. He had nothing to apologize for, this was all Eddie’s fault. “I know, you don’t have to say anything, I just… I had to tell you.”

“It’s not that I don’t like you, Eddie, I’m just not… I don’t… I’m not into dudes that way–”

“Steve, seriously, please don’t say anything. It’s not going to make this any better, and I just… I don’t want to hear it right now, okay? So, just… Let me leave and take care of Wayne and I’ll come back in a few days and we can just forget about it.”

The other man looked like he wanted to argue, to say something else, to keep apologizing and explaining and assuring Eddie that it wasn’t him, it was Steve and that was the absolute last thing he wanted to hear. So, he turned on his heel and walked back to his room to pack a small bag, leaving Steve in the center of the kitchen with his mouth agape, spatula still in hand.

He was still standing there when Eddie passed, grabbing his coat and shoving his feet into the work boots he’d left scattered next to Steve’s sneakers. The space would be empty again for any high heels that wanted to stop by, and Eddie wouldn’t have to be here to see it. He knew that Steve would call Robin immediately, that she’d know Eddie opened his big stupid mouth and took her advice and that it backfired exactly the way Eddie had told her it would. She’d probably call the trailer at some point, and he’d wallow with her then. Right now, though, he had an uncle to take care of.

The drive was shorter than he’d remembered — a couple hours south of their apartment — and Eddie was thankful there wasn’t any solid traffic he had to wade through. He didn’t think the drive would end well if he had to sit in his van and wallow in his own head. The music blasting through his speakers could only drown out his thoughts for so long.

All-in-all, he did make it to Forest Hills without bursting into tears on the way, so Eddie counted that as a win. Though, the second Wayne opened the door for him, looking tired and a bit more harried that he had the last time they’d seen each other, the dam couldn’t hold the water works back any longer. He felt a little bad, having his uncle console him even though it should have been the other way around — it was Eddie’s turn to take care of Wayne, that was the whole point of being here. Still, he was distraught enough that it overwrote his guilt, and he just sank into his uncle’s hold, instead. Wayne dealt with it the way he always did, patting Eddie’s back and mumbling soft and gruff that he was fine, Eddie was fine, everything would be okay.

When Wayne told him something would be okay, it always felt more real than when he said it to himself.

After the crying session, Eddie insisted that Wayne sit down in his recliner and take it easy, that Eddie was here to let him rest for a bit and take care of things. He’d learned a lot by living with someone who cooked so frequently, graduated from someone who only knew how to boil hotdogs and follow directions on the back of a box, to someone who actually knew how to cobble together a respectable salad. Wayne scoffed at first. Eddie and salad had never really been paired in the same sentence, but he was an adult, and he could take care of his uncle’s diet for a few days, goddammit, he could. He would. He’d be the best goddamn caretaker this side of the Mississippi River had ever seen, regardless of his own mental state.

And his mental state was rough. Taking care of someone was a good distraction, though. He’d called the shop the second he got to Wayne’s and told them he’d need a few days off for family reasons. His boss, Tom, was always pretty understanding, probably the most understanding boss that Eddie had ever had, and he insisted that Eddie call back and take more days if he needed them.

“Lord knows my nephew could use a few more days of responsibility to knock some screws into place,” he’d muttered over the line.

Wayne wasn’t exactly thrilled to be waited on hand and foot, though. He’d always been a laid back sort of guy, but only in the way that he’d take what life gave him and go with it, make the most of whatever it was, and let the rest wash off of him like water off a duck’s back.

“I’m not some helpless little princess, Eds, I can still make my own damn coffee.”

“Actually you can’t,” Eddie whistled from the kitchen, stirring some honey into the steaming mug on the counter. He held back a smile at Wayne’s put-out grimace as he rounded the kitchen counter and made his way to the recliner.

“Well what the hell is this, then?”

“Tea!” he chirped, darting back to the kitchen before Wayne could do anything drastic like trip him in retaliation. “It’s good for you, your doctor said no caffeine and I haven’t been able to go to the store for decaf yet.”

“Pfft,” Wayne mumbled, “Decaf.”

Eddie could hear the eyeroll in his tone, but he wanted Wayne around for a long time, and he wasn’t going to let the stubborn bastard take himself out of this world with a damn cup of coffee. He could drink the tea, and Eddie would go over the list of foods that Wayne’s doctor had left him with. He needed to grocery shop, because Wayne was supposed to relax as much as possible.

The trailer was nearly the same as he’d left it, the only difference being that Wayne had his room back. Eddie had taken all of his clothes and posters and knick-knacks when he moved to Indy with Steve and Robin, leaving Wayne in peace with his own space returned to him.

Though Wayne probably didn’t think of it that way, it was hard for Eddie to see it any differently. It was Wayne’s trailer to begin with, and it was generous of him to give Eddie the only private room, but Wayne deserved his own comforts at this point in his life. And that included being waited on hand and foot when he was sick, despite his protests.

He called out to Wayne once he collected the doctor’s list of ‘heart healthy foods’, and made his way to the store. Of course, returning to the town that tried running you out of it came with a… not unnoticeable amount of stares and whispers. He tried ignoring it as he wandered down the isles, tried to look calm and collected as he grabbed shit like whole wheat bread, and plain cheerios. His cart looked like he’d stolen it from one of the mothers yelling about satanic panic by the time he was done. Eddie didn’t think he’d bought this many vegetables in his life.

The teenage girl at the checkout counter paid him no mind as she scanned his items, bubblegum popping like she was hired straight from the background of a daytime sitcom. The line of three suburban moms behind him, however, were not as unconcerned. There was something absurd about hearing the continued accusations of satanism as he loaded bags of low-fat yogurt and kale back into his cart. At this point, it felt like he could be rescuing kittens from a tree and still catch dirty whispers about him putting them up there in the first place.

He couldn’t wait to get the fuck back out of Hawkins.

Of course, that’s when he remembered exactly what was waiting for him outside of Hawkins. And you know, maybe being the poster child for Satan himself wasn’t that bad, maybe it was even a calling, maybe he’d find it endearing after a few days or weeks or months. Maybe Wayne would grow to like being a couch potato and Eddie could be his butler permanently, you know? Give back to the community that raised him, and all that.

Eddie shook his head as he unloaded the grocery bags from his van, piling up his arms with every bag so he wouldn’t have to make two trips — even if that meant he was using every ounce of strength to make sure his arms didn’t fall off.

Wayne was still in his recliner, cup of tea empty despite his earlier complaining. He was watching some basketball game on the TV, and Eddie listened passively as he emptied the bags one by one. It was all familiar, like he was back home with Steve and he hadn’t shoved both his feet in his mouth before booking it out of the city. He didn’t know anything about the terms being flung around, or the people attached to those terms, but he could almost smell the dinner Steve had cooked the day before, and feel his fingers against his elbow. If he listened to the announcers drift in from the living room, he could almost feel the breath against his neck as Steve squeezed past him to the fridge.

He opened his eyes, unaware that he’d even closed them as the fantasy washed over him. And it was a fantasy, now, since he’d just fucked it all up. He shook his head, taking out the last item from his grocery bags and balling them up to put under the sink. He wondered, absently, if the bags felt at home nestled together inside a bigger bag or if they felt suffocated being squashed in together like that. Did they feel cradled or stifled? Maybe Eddie would feel cradled if he was surrounded by more people like him, people who understood him in a way that Steve couldn’t. Maybe they were just too different.

The ring of the phone on the wall pulled him from his thoughts. It drowned out the commentators on the TV as it rattled away, and for a second Eddie hesitated because what if it was Steve? What if he picked up the phone and it was Steve’s soft tenor voice that crackled through his ear, and made Eddie want to both drive the two hours back to Indianapolis and simultaneously dissolve into a puddle on his uncle’s floor?

“Boy, if you don’t get that damn phone, I will,” Wayne called from his armchair, and Eddie unstuck himself from his spot.

“Munson residence,” Eddie drawled, trying desperately to push away the anxiety from his voice, “We got felons, accused felons, or upstanding citizens, to whom may I direct your call?”

He could hear Wayne’s exasperated ‘ah, Christ’ as he tried to maintain his composure.

“So, you told him, then,” a distinctly non-Harrington voice crackled through the line. He sighed with his whole body, slumping against the wall.

“Robin this is all your fault, you’ve got some balls to call ‘round these parts, you hear?”

“Okay, can it, Houdini. I know you’re defaulting to humor because you’re stressed, but your little disappearing act has really freaked Steve out.” Eddie could practically hear her eyeroll through the phone, could picture her sprawled across her floral couch in her fuzzy ice-cream pyjamas as she pondered how else to ruin Eddie’s life.

“Freaked Steve out? Buck, I panicked! I’m still panicked! He did exactly what I told you I didn’t want to see. He tried apologizing, for Christ sake.”

Eddie slipped down the wall, tucking his feet underneath him on the cheap linoleum tiles. He pulled at the winding phone cord, twisting and twirling it around his finger as he waited for her to respond. He wondered how long Steve had waited until he called her, or if he just went straight to her apartment after Eddie left. Did he stand there in the kitchen for a while, at a loss for what to do? Did he think about following Eddie, or did he try to shove the confession completely from his mind?

Robin’s sigh crackled through the line. “Not that kind of freaked, Munson. I told him to think about it—“

“Have you considered maybe not telling people things from now on?”

“—And I’m sure he’s having a gay little crisis in that big empty apartment, all by himself.”

“Robs, it’s barely 800 square feet, I wouldn’t exactly call it big or empty.”

“That’s what you focus on? Not the big gay crisis?”

“If anyones having a crisis it’s me! I’m gonna have to find a new apartment, a new job, change my name, maybe even flee the country!”

“Okay, that’s a little much, even for you.”

“Nothing’s too much for me, Buck, I’m the definition of much.”

“That didn’t even make sense.”

He huffed out a breath, hitting his head against the wall behind him a couple times to try and knock some semblance of sense back into this conversation.

“Alright, listen. I know you think you’re some matchmaking messiah or whatever,” he could hear Robin scoff over the phone, “But I really, really don’t want to hear it right now. I have to focus on Wayne.”

Thankfully, after a small pause, Robin graced him with a change of topic. She clearly wanted to keep talking about Steve, though, and Eddie knew that she was just trying to be helpful, but he’d figure it out… eventually. He’d figure it out eventually, and that was not today. Probably not tomorrow, either.

She sighed, “So, how long are you gonna be back in Hawkins, then?”

“Eh, right now I’ve got until Tuesday, but… I don’t know Robs.”

He might take Tom up on his offer and call back requesting more days off. He just couldn’t stop thinking about that face Steve had made, lost and confused in the middle of their kitchen, his arm raised like the confession had shut his brain off entirely. He could hear the stilted apology that he’d cut off, because that was the last thing he needed from Steve — an apology for just being who he was, an apology for something he couldn’t control, something he didn’t ever have to apologize for because it wasn’t his fault. He could imagine the same face greeting him at the door once he finally gathered the courage to go back to their apartment, wide eyes looking for something to say to make it right. He didn’t want to see it; he didn’t want to hear it.

“So, if I don’t hear from you in two days, can I send over a search party?” Robin cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to Wayne’s kitchen, and not the one back in Indy.

He knew the party were still in their senior year, he was planning on catching up with Dustin at some point while he was back. He’d need to do that before Robin called any of them, though, just to prove he wasn’t the sad sack she made him out to be.

He was. To be clear, he was the sad sack she made him out to be.

The party didn’t need to know that, though.

“Yeah, yeah, call in reinforcements. I’m fine, I just need a few days to, like… think things through.”

“You’ve been thinking too long, Doofus. Just, don’t go thinking yourself into any holes, okay?”

“Well, there’s one hole I could–”

“Okay, bye!” she shouted before he finished deflecting with a dirty joke. He always knew how to get under people’s skin, it was a talent he’d honed for decades.

He let the phone hang, resting it on his shoulder as he continued playing with the curling cord. He could hear the dial tone droning on faintly by his ear, and he sat on the tacky linoleum, listening and worrying the cord between his fingers until the dial tone had dug its way into his eardrum.

He sighed, planting his feet more firmly on the ground to pull himself back up. He put the phone back into its cradle with a soft plastic click, and made his way into the living room.

The couch sank underneath him, years of use wearing it down until it was both perfectly soft and lumpy with uncomfortable springs. It was like a hug from someone you love, with really boney elbows. If the rest of Hawkins wasn’t waiting outside the door, he’d stay here indefinitely.

“You done usin’ me as an excuse, now?” Wayne’s voice grumbled out next to him. He was reclined back in his chair, feet kicked up with a small hole on the heel of his sock. His eyes were still trained on the television, but Eddie knew he didn’t imagine the question directed toward him.

“I’m not using you as an excuse, old man.”

Wayne chucked, though his face was blank, and reached out for his mug, setting it down once more when he remembered it was empty. Eddie made a move to get up, to refill it, but his uncle waved him back down.

“I know you’re here to help, but you don’t gotta push away yer friends to do it, kid.”

He never really knew what to say when Wayne went into parent mode. It was nice, and Eddie knew he needed it sometimes, but he never really grew up with it. It wasn’t until the start of high school that Eddie had moved in with Wayne, and by that time he was used to parents bailing at any opportunity, or just pretending he didn’t exist. He was used to staying up late by himself, and pretending he owned the place just to make it feel a little less lonely that there was no one in the other room. He was used to the occasional call just to ask if he was up for helping on a ‘job’, and then the dial tone if he said no. He was used to Al Munson.

He wasn’t used to the calculating eyes that were only calculating how to help. He wasn’t used to the silence that preceded genuine understanding, and the desire to find out what Eddie needed to get off his chest. Wayne was always there to hold Eddie’s hand through his worries, to give advice about anything he didn’t understand. Eddie wasn’t used to that when he moved into the little trailer, and he didn’t think he’d ever be used to it, even now.

“I’m not trying to push my friends away,” he answered, instead of saying the other things that were running through his head.

“Just Steve, then?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, sinking further into the faded couch. Were all parents this perceptive? Or was this just a Wayne specialty?

“I know somethin’ happened t’make you drive all the way down here–”

“Uh, yeah, you had a heart attack–”

“–But it shouldn’t keep you down here, s’all I’m sayin’,” Wayne nodded his head, as if that was that. But it wasn’t, because even without Steve, Eddie would have booked it to Hawkins. Even if everything was fine, and he hadn’t made a fool of himself in that stupid little kitchen — even if he was dating Steve, for Christs’ sake, he would have dropped everything to drive down here, and if his van crapped out on him he would have hitchhiked to do it, too. Maybe he was paying special attention to the food lists and doctor instructions, and maybe he was focusing a little more on cleaning up and making Wayne comfortable, and holding himself back from ripping the nosey suburban moms a new one, maybe he was doing that to keep his mind off of Steve and his hovering hand and his sad eyes, but he was here because he loved Wayne.

“Wayne, I’m here for you, alright? I’m here because… because you’re the only dad I’ve got s’far as I’m concerned, and I need you to be okay.”

If Wayne had heard the little crack in his voice, he didn’t comment on it, but the misty haze in his eye that he blinked away told Eddie that he had. Yeah, he was distracting himself from Steve, but that had nothing to do with making sure Wayne was okay.

“Well, I, uh…” he cleared his throat, turning back to the game on the screen, “I ‘preciate you, kid.”

Eddie nodded, because that was that, and he got back to his feet to bring Wayne’s mug to the kitchen for a refill. He’d bought decaf coffee at the store, and Wayne deserved it, even if it wasn’t really what he wanted at the moment.

He spent the next two days doing much of the same. He cleaned Wayne’s room, cleaned the kitchen, used up the leafy greens for a few salads that Wayne insisted he hated, even though he cleared the plates. He wished he knew how to make the soups that Steve did when he was sick, but he wasn’t about to call and ask. Robin didn’t call again, though Eddie could practically feel her hovering by the phone two hours away.

He stared at the phone, sometimes, just imagining what it would be like to call their apartment and hear Steve’s voice. He’d probably sound relieved, happy that Eddie had checked in, though once that excitement bled out of his system, he knew it would be awkward again. He didn’t want to stand there and listen to the cracking electricity through the line, as Steve tried to figure out what to say. He hated not knowing how to talk to Steve. He’d never once been speechless in his presence, never once looked into his eyes at a loss for what to say. He hated it.

He contemplated calling Tom back, too, and asking for Wednesday and Thursday off, just to delay the inevitable. That was closer to happening than him calling Steve.

The dishes in the sink were piled up from an attempt at the grilled chicken parmesan that Steve made, but he’d fucked it up in the end and burned the sauce. They still ate the chicken, but it made Eddie miss the before — before he opened his mouth, and halted everything in its tracks; before he obsessed over Robin’s words, and blurted everything out; before he cut Steve off, didn’t let him finish talking, and fled from the whole city.

Whatever happened to not running anymore? When did Eddie throw that away again, just to disappear the second things got difficult?

He called Tom and asked for Wednesday off, too.

The next day, the dishes were still in the sink, and the groceries were down to just cereal and yogurt. He should have spent more time with Steve in the kitchen; he should have paid attention to recipes and figured out how to do things for himself without Steve around. He’d been self-reliant for so long, he hadn’t realized when he became dependent on another person again, until it was too late.

He sighed – he seemed to be doing that a lot lately – and handed Wayne a new mug.

“I’m gonna go back to the store, okay? Then I think I’ll stop by the Henderson’s or Wheeler’s to say ‘hi’, since it’s been a while.”

Wayne nodded, taking the tea without complaint. “That’ll be good for ya, see someone besides your old man.”

“I’ll be back around five, probably, just so you’re not wondering.”

Wayne grumbled an affirmative, and Eddie took his leave. He had more of an idea what to buy this time, avoiding the things he’d already fucked up cooking and grabbing more simple snacks. The suburban moms still gave him a wide berth, though their whispered gossip still made its way to his ears. He knew they were aware of Wayne’s heart attack, it wasn’t exactly a secret with high security clearance, and this was a small-as-fuck town — and yet somehow, Eddie coming to take care of his sick uncle wasn’t worth any praise to the Stepford Wives. No, only scrutiny was reserved for the Munsons.

He missed Steve.

He didn’t end up seeing any of the kids, either. Maybe Robin was right, though he’d never tell her that. Maybe he was a sad sack that needed saving. He drove to the park, instead of subjecting some poor kid to his shitty mood, leaving the bags of groceries in the car as he trudged his way to the swingset. It was surprisingly empty on a Wednesday, though he supposed it was just barely after school hours. There was also a playground at the elementary school, so maybe this one wasn’t used as much in general.

Either way, he let the breeze pass him by as he scuffed his shoes into the dirt. He should probably call Robin back before she really did call in the party to drag him out of Hawkins. Maybe Steve had figured out what to say by now. Maybe five days was enough time to ignore the giant gay elephant in the room. Did he want to ignore it, though?

Kind of.

But he also didn’t. Robin was right again (though he’d seriously never tell her). The confession was a long time coming, and Eddie should have done it months ago. He should have just sucked it up and said it the second he realized, just so he could squash it early and they could get back to normal. He wanted Steve’s hand in his hair again. He wanted to watch shitty movies on Robin’s trash couch again, all squished together on the two-seater as if they belonged to one body. He wanted to come home and smell Steve’s cooking.

Wayne had a check-up the next weekend, one he’d already insisted several times that he had a ride to, and Eddie didn’t need to be there for. He kind of felt… untethered, in the middle of the playground with his feet swinging idly. It was nice out, the breeze was warmer than it had been for a while, and it didn’t make him feel any better. He was glad Wayne was okay, obviously, but he kind of wished the old man would ask him to stay. Eddie didn’t even want to stay in Hawkins, but he wanted to feel like he was needed somewhere.

Maybe this was how Wayne felt all those years Eddie yelled about ditching Hawkins at the first opportunity. Maybe this was payback.

He shook the stale thoughts from his head, remembering there were a few dairy products in his van and he should probably get back to the trailer to unload them. He was probably ready to go back to Indianapolis tomorrow, probably ready to face the music, as it were.

Wayne wasn’t in his recliner when Eddie got back, but he did hear the tap running and dishes clacking in the kitchen sink.

“What did I tell you, old man? Leave the dishes to me,” he grumbled, kicking his sneakers off as he juggled the grocery bags. They rustled in his arms as he gracelessly fought his way to the kitchen, bags piled high to once again avoid a second trip.

They all nearly toppled to the floor when he saw Steve at the sink, a stack of dishes already in the drying rack as he scrubbed another.

He wanted to swear at god himself, if he believed in any of that crap. He said he was probably ready to go home, not be ambushed in Wayne’s kitchen with his arms full of groceries. He didn’t even know what to do. He kind of felt like running again, feet itching to move and get him as far away as possible, but he couldn’t exactly run to the car with all the bags in his arms. They called his attention, nearly cutting off the circulation at his wrists as they begged to be put down somewhere, anywhere.

Steve was just as frozen, though he must have heard Eddie come through the door. He still had a cup in his hand, suds dripping from his fingers as he paused to watch Eddie malfunction in his presence.

“Hi,” he said eloquently, putting the cup back in the sink and wiping his hands on the towel hanging from the stove handle.

“Uh,” Eddie added helpfully. He glanced at the empty kitchen table, feeling like his arms would break if he held onto the grocery bags any longer, and yet weirdly feeling like they were the only things between him and Steve, like the glass panel at a prison visiting center.

He swallowed around his pride and the lump in his throat, and carefully placed each bag on the table, one by one. Steve was still staring at him as he finished. Just an hour ago, he could have sworn he was ready to talk, to move past this weirdness between them, and yet faced with the man of the hour, his words all dried up on his tongue.

He was still fiddling with one of the plastic bag handles, tearing off the loose tags in the plastic to avoid looking at the man in front of him.

“Wayne’s across the street,” he offered, gesturing to the door. Eddie nodded. “I’m… uh. I brought a couple different bowls of soup and a casserole. I wasn’t really sure what things Wayne liked, but I tried to go for something more classic, just in case. And, uh, I figured I could wash some dishes while I waited for you. I mean, Wayne didn’t seem to mind, so–”

“What are you doing here?” Eddie cut him off. He seemed nervous, shuffling from foot to foot, wringing his hands out now that they were empty of dishes. It was the awkward silence he was dreading, the stuttered responses and stilted words. Steve sighed, looking back at the sink longingly, like he’d rather be slaving away just to avoid Eddie’s eyes.

“I’ve been thinking…,” Steve trailed off, shoe scuffing against the linoleum.

“So I’ve heard.”

“Robin called?” He looked up, meeting Eddie’s eyes.

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded, glancing at the phone like she’d somehow know he was talking about her.

“What… uh… what did she say?”

“Mostly just called us idiots,” he lied.

“Yeah, she’s… she’s been doing a lot of that.”

Steve went quiet again, sneaker still scuffing along the kitchen floor. He cleared his throat, opened his mouth to say something, and then clicked it shut again. God, the silence made Eddie feel like he was full of ants, crawling up and down his legs and wiggling between his toes.

“Steve, you don’t have to make any of this better, okay? It isn’t something that needs to be fixed.”

“I didn’t know,” Steve blurted out, suddenly still in the kitchen like he had been that day in their apartment. His hands were still clasped together, and his foot was still pointed like he wanted to keep grinding it into the tile, but he was still, unmoving. Just his eyes darted back and forth as he looked at Eddie.

“I know, that was kind of the point, Steve,” he sighed, crossing his arms. “I didn’t want you to know.”

“No, I mean, I didn’t know you could like both,” Steve corrected, swallowing. Eddie could hear the click of his dry throat as he did it. “I didn’t know.”

Eddie wasn’t really sure what he meant by that. He glanced to the sink, a pesky water drop dripping into an empty pot, and then looked back down at the grocery bags on the table. He didn’t really know what to ask to clarify, either.

Steve grumbled, like he was frustrated with himself for his choice of words. He was always mad he couldn’t make the right ones come naturally, like Eddie could. But Eddie could only think of the right words when it didn’t matter, when it wasn’t important.

“I only ever liked girls, Eddie. I mean…”

Was this it? Was this the start of the rejection Eddie knew was coming? Steve liked girls, Steve had always liked girls, Steve didn’t like Eddie.

“I thought that liking girls meant that I couldn’t like you, because I didn’t know you could like both,” he emphasized again. Steve stepped forward, dropping his hands to his sides.

Eddie… thought he knew what he was saying. He thought he understood what those words meant, but it was so far out of left field that it didn’t make sense, it was so far past what he’d ever hoped to hear that he was more convinced he was hallucinating than anything else.

“Do you know how many times I brought girls over wishing they were you?”

Eddie blinked. He shook his head. He wasn’t sure he understood English anymore.

Steve took another step forward.

“I don’t want to stop being nice to you.”

He said it with weight, like it meant something, like he was saying something else, and Eddie couldn’t quite put his finger on it — couldn’t read between the lines when he wasn’t even sure he could read in the first place anymore.

He took another step forward, and Eddie had the irrational urge to throw one of the grocery bags at him to keep some distance. He wasn’t prepared for this, he wasn’t ready for this, he didn’t even know what this was, really.

“You said… you said I should either stop being nice to you, or fall in love with you,” he repeated, “and I don’t want to stop being nice to you, Eddie.”

Steve took another step forward, reaching out for Eddie’s hand, and he couldn’t help but compare it to the day he bolted. Instead of stunned and stuttering, frozen in place, Steve looked determined and sure of himself. His eyes weren’t wide with confusion or darting around for a way out, or a way to turn Eddie down that wouldn’t crush him. He stared at Eddie with a sharp focus, still reaching out to touch, but not afraid of the contact. He was so close, only a couple inches between them, and Eddie shook his head to dislodge the barrage of Steve, Steve, Steve running through his brain.

He took a step back, hip hitting the rounded corner of the kitchen table, but his hand didn’t slip from the other man’s grip. He needed space to get his thoughts in order, because he didn’t have any when he was standing this close to Steve.

“I’m not sure you really know what you’re agreeing to right now.”

Steve shook his head, still holding onto Eddie’s hand, grip tight like he was afraid Eddie would run again.

“I do, I know exactly what—”

“I want to have sex with you,” he blurted, snapping back to himself at Steve’s confused blinking. He took a breath, trying to collect himself so he didn’t fuck this up any further, so he could explain to Steve what being nice to him meant, so he didn’t just take Steve at face value and grab onto him desperately, without him knowing the full picture.

“I don’t just want you to be nice to me. I don’t just want everything to go back to how it was, I don’t want to freak you out when you realize how gone on you I am,” he said, begged. He took another breath, wrapping it around his lungs like a blanket and fortifying his resolve. He stepped back into Steve’s space. The hand around his slackened but didn’t let go.

“I want to kiss you,” he whispered, flicking his eyes down to Steve’s lips and noticed with a thrill of satisfaction that Steve did the same. “I want to hold you,” he took another step forward, nearly chest to chest. He could feel Steve’s heartbeat though the soft cotton of his T-shirt, pounding away like it was trying to escape this time.

Steve was still staring at his lips, and with the beating of his frantic heart, Eddie started to believe maybe he did know what he was getting into. Maybe Robin was right, again — Jesus Christ — and Steve really had been freaking out through a sexuality crisis for the past few days. All by himself in their big, empty apartment.

That didn’t sound like the start of a porno when Robin had said it, but now? With Steve looking at him like that? His eyes dark and eyelids drooping with unconcealed desire, still focused on Eddie’s lips like the thought to look away hadn’t even crossed his mind. He licked his lips. Steve tracked the motion, and deliriously Eddie thought of a lion in a nature documentary, stalking its prey. What he wouldn’t give to see Steve drooling over him.

“I want to touch you,” he continued to whisper, the air in the trailer dense and heavy, squeezing around them like the walls themselves were pushing them together. He couldn’t quite tell which one was being trapped anymore, he or Steve. Steve’s palms were starting to sweat. Eddie swallowed.

“I want to hear you moan underneath me, like those girls you brought home.”

He was so close he could feel Steve’s knees nearly buckle, his hand gripping tighter against Eddie’s to keep his balance. He swallowed, blinking back to himself, eyes drifting sluggishly to Eddie’s and away from his mouth.

“Can I be nice to you, now?” Steve whispered, so quiet that Eddie wouldn’t have heard him at all, if there was any space left between them.

The air was so heavy, dripping around them like molasses and he couldn’t get the words back out of his throat. He barely dipped his head in a nod before Steve pushed forward, the screech of the cheap metal table legs only background noise as Eddie was crowded against the wall. His lips were warm, just like Eddie had imagined so many times, soft and sweet. He’d pictured these lips taking him apart in their apartment, on his bed, on Robin’s old floral couch, in the grocery store every time Steve grabbed one of his favorites. Favorites, favorites, favorites; these lips were his favorite.

He could hear the soft breaths escaping Steve’s mouth, feel the hot air against his lips — another favorite. Steve’s hand let go of his, fitting against his hips like he’d already carved out a place for them in Eddie’s skin, perfectly molded to grab and hold and never let go. He could barely grasp onto any fleeting thought floating through his head, all so intangible and opaque, like a mirage drifting in and out of view. But Steve’s lips were an oasis, and Eddie was desperate to drink him in — catalogue every noise and feeling and taste like a new collection of favorites that only Steve could provide. This was infinitely better than chasing any last remnant of Steve on the filter of the joints they shared, better than the passing slide of Steve’s hand on his shoulder or his back as he passed.

He was so preoccupied by the feeling of Steve’s everything sliding and gripping and licking and sighing and clicking into place like a missing piece, he didn’t hear the creak of the step outside, missed the rusted rasp of the handle as it turned just around the corner.

“Well, I’m glad ya’ll’ve figured yourselves out, but it’s a small trailer and I was hopin’ for a beer if you don’t mind.”

After sharing the same space, the two steps back that Steve rapidly took — a sheepish, panicked smile on his face — felt like an entire continent. Eddie gripped tightly onto his hand so he couldn’t get far.

Wayne was standing to the side, face blank but Eddie could still see the twinkle in his eye — like interrupting was a form of entertainment — and he knew the excuse was a lie. The old fart probably just wanted to see their faces being caught red handed. Wayne couldn’t even have beer right now.

“I do mind, actually,” Eddie said, gathering his wits faster than Steve, “The doc said a month, old man, you’re not weaseling a beer outta me.”

Wayne shook his head, muttering about being treated like a flower, and snagged one of the trucker hats from the wall before heading back to the front door. Fucker didn’t even need to get past them, Eddie knew what he was about, he could read that old man like the back of his hand.

“Goin’ for a walk with Fred, don’t wait up,” he called out before making his way back to the neighbors.

“Is that alright?” Steve asked, pointing at where Wayne had just been.

“Yeah, the doc said he should start doing light exercise and they mostly just gossip, anyway. They’re almost worse than the suburban moms.”

“No I mean…,” he stumbled over what to say, looking back and forth between the door and Eddie and their hands clasped together and oh, his eyes were still a little panicked.

“Oh yeah, totally, Wayne’s known about me since middle school, he’s not gonna say anything.” Eddie paused, thinking back to the twinkle in his eye, “Actually I’m more than certain he set that up in the first place.”

Why else would he have let Steve do the dishes alone while he made himself scarce? He’d probably seen Eddie’s van return, and waited a few minutes before checking on them like some fucked up puppeteer, pulling their strings behind the scenes. He was a sneak and a weasel and Eddie loved him more than anything.

He glanced up at Steve — hand still pointed to where Wayne was — and caught his eye once more. His cheeks were flushed, lips slightly parted, and it hit him all at once that he could have that, he could have Steve. The other man smiled at him, and Eddie could feel all the worry and anxiety crash to the ground like a wave, pulling away from him in the high tide of Steve’s happiness. And he did look happy, flushed and alive, and so relaxed in the trailer that Eddie had called home for so long.

He didn’t have to keep his distance anymore, didn’t have to pretend that Steve’s hand on his shoulder or brushing against his lower back was anything less than revolutionary, and he didn’t have to stop himself from wrapping his arms around the man and holding on tight. He squeezed the hand still grasped in his, and revelled in the firm squeeze he received back.

“Do you want to help me make dinner, or do you have other plans?” Steve asked, no longer whispering, but no less intimate in the small space they shared. He wiggled his eyebrows like a dork and Eddie felt like he could burst.

“I can think of a few things to do,” he smirked, pulling on Steve’s hand to urge him forward, but only if he wanted, only if he took the step to do it himself.

Steve chuckled, looking down to Eddie’s hand like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing and that would have made Eddie panic, before. Before he’d made a fool of himself, and before he’d run from the apartment, and before Steve came all the way to Hawkins just to get him back, and before Steve was his to tug and grip and hold onto. Now, he just felt the same. Like he’d wake up any second and be back on their couch, half-smoked joint in the ashtray and a campy John Waters movie dancing away on the TV screen.

He caught Steve’s eye again and the man relented, stepping forward to crowd Eddie back against the wall, leaning forward to claim his lips again, slower this time. It wasn’t hurried and frantic like it had been just moments ago, it was sweet and gentle and indulgent and Eddie added another favorite to his list. He was sure there would be more favorites to come — favorite ways to hold, and favorite ways to spend time, and favorite ways to annoy Robin and make her regret ever pushing them together. He smiled against Steve’s lips.

They could go on lunch dates to the deli that Steve found, and take the kids to the game shop, and melt together like the ice cream Steve grabbed whenever he wanted to make Eddie’s day. They could cook without Eddie worrying about being too much, or too obvious, or too awkward, and he’d never have to see another shitty pair of high heels where his shoes were supposed to be, taking up space next to Steve’s.

He couldn’t wait to start collecting favorites.

—

Bingo Prompts

#steddie #steddie bingo #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #wayne munson #steddie bingo 2025 #fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #helpimstuckwriting #steddiebingo2025

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stray-cat-with-internet-access · 6 months ago

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Peach Cake

Jackson!Joel Miller x Reader Tags: fluff, heavy age gap (implied), Jackson era, no proofread, english is not my first language (bare with me please) WC: 779

Joel is smitten by you but he´s socially akward so he´s decided to act like a raccoon

Two weeks.

It has been two weeks since one of Jackson's patrols rescued you from raiders outside the town. They were kind enough to bring your ragged form back with them, a safe place amidst the chaos that is life now.

If you are honest with yourself, it is hard for you to survive out there. With no special skills or enough strength, it feels almost wrong to have a roof over your head, a hot meal in your belly and dozens of pairs of hands ready to help when you need it.

Still shy and with bruises to heal, you have decided to spend most of your time in your new home, recovering at your own pace.

Getting up early to catch the fall breeze, you open your front door when a soft thud in the wood makes you frown.

A tote bag lay on the floor of your porch, some of its contents peeking out.

Looking around, you crouched to check it out and find a small pouch of ground coffee, flour, and what brings a smile to your face, two cans of peaches.

They look old and battered, but well sealed. This is a luxury these days, and you wonder who decided to give you such a treasure.

Smiling, you look around before taking the bag inside and closing the door behind you.

The third time it happens you are already on alert, scrambling out of bed at the faint sound of footsteps at your front door.

Still in your sleep shorts and a shirt when you opened the door in a rush, you caught him like a deer in headlights.

Crouching down, rifle on his shoulder and a small bag of homemade soap in his hand, he stares back at you before rising and clearing his throat.

Joel Miller, one of the men that personally took out half of the raiders to get you to safety.

“´Morning. Got you these” He extends the bag towards you, eyes darting everywhere but your face. Is too early, so he definitively detouring to your place before patrolling.

“Thank you. Why are you…?”

“Just stuff we found, though you’ll need it” He cuts you off, glancing at his brother who is waiting for him near the stables. He nods at you as a goodbye and starts to descend the steps to get going when you call out to him.

“Would you stop by later?”

You have him knocking at your door that afternoon. With his broad shoulders and sunkissed skin covered by a flannel he shifts his weight on what you presume is his good leg when you greet him with a smile. He looks a bit tired and faded dirt covers his boots and part of his jeans.

“Sorry for making you come. I´ll be quick to let you go rest, but I made you something”

He follows you inside. He looks a bit uncomfortable inside your home but the moment you place a cup of coffee on the kitchen table in front of him a smirk breaks on his face.

“You didn´t have to” he eagerly come closer to grab the cup and takes a sip, and you use that distraction to fetch your main surprise.

A small plate with a floral cloth is carefully placed on the table and on top of it is a simple brown cake with peach slices. You can still even see a bit of steam coming from it.

“It’s been a while since the last time I baked something, so I hope it’s good”

“This´ for me?” His features softened at the sight of the cake, making you blush for some reason.

“Well, for us, I kept a few pieces if you don’t mind” You laughed, drying your hands in your jeans. “As a thank you for bringing me stuff”

He chuckled as he grabs a piece, taking a bite and letting out a hum of approval.

“Damn, forgot what cake tasted like” He sits across from you, and you feel proud that he finally felt confident enough to take a seat with you.

The fact that you made this gruff rugged man melt with something so simple makes you feel warm inside. What if…?

“I know that patrol days are hard Mr. Miller, you can always drop by to grab a bite if you want, it´s only me after all and I think is fair you get to enjoy the stuff you find”

He smiles at your words, crow feet adorning the corner of his eyes, and shakes his head with amusement, before meeting your gaze.

“Maybe. But don´t call me that”

“Okay, maybe then, Joel”

dividers are from @saradika-graphics

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #tlou #tlou2 #joel miller fluff #the last of us #joel miller x you

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purple-raspberries · 2 months ago

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Context-turned-drabble for a wip I just thought of. Accidental baby acquisition, platonic Frank and Julie:

I’m going to say rainbow monsters are made cabbage patch-style. All it takes is love, good soil, seeds, a partner(s), time, and a rainbow monster.

Now imagine Frank sets aside a small part of his garden just for Julie and him to work on. A joint effort just for fun! They spend some time there every day, even if only long enough to water the plants. Through their efforts they managed to make a flourishing little haven for anyone who might come by and visit, be it neighbor or bug.

They’re doing some weeding one mid-morning, chattering about this and that as they do, when a movement distracts them both. A bud, the strange giant one top of the yellow rose bush, was moving. The bush itself wasn’t too old, just barely big enough to sustain the weight of that bowling ball of a bud above it. Neither of them knew what to make of it. Not that the other plants were any help! Julie had tried asking them, but according to her, they all just gave the same “you’ll see!” and “in due time~”, or they plain just burst out into happy giggles. Seeing no reason to worry, both gray and pink puppets decided to take special care of the plant just to see what would come of it.

Back to the bud in active bloom.

Frank: [soft gasp, looking in awe] Julie! Look! [concerned] Why is it moving so quickly?? Is it saying anything—?!

Julie: [loudly whispering] shush! Shushushush ! It’s not talking, but I hear something!

Both lean forward closer and closer— they’re hovering right over the bloom, it unfurls its last layer of petals and…

Tiny yellow limbs curl and tuck inwards into a little ball. Even tinier fists rest under a pale yellow chin belonging to a head crowned with green fuzz, just small enough to fit into the palms of their hands. There, in the open rose, lied an infant, fresh as could be. But how!?

A beat passes where in Julie looks at Frank. Frank looks at Julie. They look at the baby, which could only be a rainbow monster, still sleeping peacefully in his or her floral cradle.

Well. There will be time to panic later! Right now there is a baby in Frank’s backyard to deal with! A second of decision later and Frank was picking up the now waking infant, Julie speeding to his house to fetch a soft towel to wrap the baby in. She knew his house well enough to know where they were. Precious cargo in hand, Frank quickly, and more careful than he needed to be, followed Julie inside where she was waiting for him anxiously, towel in hand. A bit of clumsy fumbling happened as they both tried to figure out how exactly one was supposed to swaddle an infant without disturbing them, but they got it eventually after several minutes of trial and error.

Frank understandably let Julie borrow his phone for the urgent call up to where the rest of the Joyful siblings lived. How could this have happened? How is it that Julie, of all people, didn’t notice? And most importantly, what were they going to do with the child?!

Hopefully Julie’s siblings would know how to help.

#tldr #the plants in Frank and Julie’s joint garden decide they passed the vibe check and would make good parents #the plants for all they can talk don’t truly understand how relationships work #they just vibe Y’know?#if the soil and sun are good you just grow #these two work well together and they take care of the garden very well too!#julie didn’t know the part where romance is not needed for rainbow monsters to be made #whoops!#welcome home #welcome home arg #stuff i write #frank frankly #julie joyful #my art

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latenightdaydreams · 9 months ago

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Blacksmith!König x Farmers Wife Part 2 (fem)

Part 1

MDNI🔞

Master List ✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, cheating, p in v, oral

1.3k word count

You wake up before the sun begins to rise. The first thing you do is rush to the bathroom to wash your body well; you want to smell fresh for König. Last night he consumed your dreams. Dreams of his hard, muscular body pressing up against yours as he drips sweat down on to you. The thought sends chills down your spine.

As you linger in front of the wardrobe dripping wet you grab your mauve red dress, the fanciest one you have. You dress quickly, spritzing yourself with the perfume you were gifted the day of your wedding; it’s remained on your vanity untouched all this time. With one last look in the mirror, you rush out the door to the stables.

The ride seems to pass by quicker than before, your mind wandering to unholy places helped consume that time. You turn down the familiar dirt path, riding up to the barn to dismount your horse. He’s not in the barn, so you turn towards his home instead. You climb the two steps to his front door, knocking softly.

König sits in his kitchen, sipping on a cup of coffee when he barely hears your knock. His eyes dart towards the door and step forward. Only wearing jeans, he opens the door to look down and see you. Your eyes drop to his chest before meeting his gaze again and smiling. The golden hue from the sun causes your eyes to shimmer and skin to glow. He stands there for a while, looking down at your cleavage then slowly back up to your eyes.

“What can I do for you, Schatz?”

The way he speaks sends a shiver down your spine; his wandering eyes don’t go unnoticed by you, causing you to blush. For a moment, you forget the reason you came here. All you can focus on is his sculpted body and shining blue eyes.

“I- I forgot my ax.”

“Ja?” König leans against his door frame, looking you up and down still. “Let’s go fetch it then.”

You step aside as he walks forward, closing the front door behind him, following him like a little puppy to the barn. His back muscles flex, almost putting you in a trance. He looks exactly like the drawing in books of Greek gods.

König pulls open the door of the barn, looking down to where he remembers you placing it. He bends down and grabs it, turning to face you now. You hold your hands out to grab it, but he doesn’t give it to you. Instead, he just lingers, gazing down at you as he steps forward. The smell of your floral perfume hits his nose as he stands only a few inches from you.

“You came all the way here, dressed in such a lovely dress…” König reaches out with one hand to rest it on your waist, “smelling of flowers, just as the sun comes up…for an ax?”

A small blush crosses your cheeks as he calls you out. His massive hand on your waist feels so warm and welcoming, making you crave the feeling of his arms wrapped around you. Only a jumble of words spills out, not able to think quickly on your feet while so flustered.

“You came back for more, ja?” König leans in closer. “You came back for me?”

Before you even answer he leans in and kisses you, carefully dropping the ax to the floor. With both hands he grips your hips and squeezes as he pulls you against his chest. His mouth opens, slipping his tongue past your lips. Your tongues swirl around one another’s, causing your pussy to tingle from excitement.

König lets his hands slip to your ass, squeezing as he lifts you up into his arms; you wrap your legs around his torso as he walks forward with you. He takes your lack of protest as consent for him to do what he’s about to. Knowing Michael, he can imagine just how desperate and touch starved you are. Such a low man with such a goddess of a wife.

As König walks you into his home, you kiss and bite on his neck and chest; the salty taste of his sweaty skin becomes addicting. You breathe in the intoxicating musk you got a sample of yesterday; you’ve been craving it ever since. His hands hold you tightly as he crosses the threshold into the bedroom. He gently tosses you on to the bed, his lips crash against yours while his hands travel underneath the hem of your skirt.

In his hands he bunches up the fabric, slipping his fingers between your legs. You’re already soaked, causing König to let out a pleased hum. “God, I want you.” He whispers as he pulls away and lowering his head between your legs. The sweet smell of your arousal consumes him as he kisses your pussy.

He licks his lips, tasting you before leaning back in and completely burying his face in your cunt. His long, fat tongue finds your tight pussy, pressing himself in and wiggling his tongue as his hands part your thighs. You look down as you pull your fabric back more, watching as he eats you up like a starved man.

König swipes his tongue up, flicking over your clit before taking your small bud into his mouth and sucking. This causes your abdomen to tense, you cry out, begging him to not stop. He can’t stop, your pussy is like a delicacy and he’s just only begun.

“K- König…god…”

He shakes his head back and forth, his fingers digging into your supple thighs even more as your moans become loud pleas for your ever approaching release. Your thighs press against his head, bucking your hips up against his tongue as you cry out for König. If he tries to breathe, all he gets is a strong and overwhelming smell of you; it’s perfect.

König doesn’t stop as your legs slowly relax. He looks up to watch you untie the corset of your dress, exposing your beautiful breasts to him. With one hand he moves up to pinch your perky nipple, tugging on it slightly as his tongue laps between your folds.

“I want your cock.” You beg loudly. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Gladly.” He growls as he pulls back.

König stands, his eyes glued to your breasts as he undoes his belt buckle and pulls down his pants. His heavy cock springs free from the restraints of his pants, the tip leaking; desperate to feel your tiny cunt. Without even slipping out of your dress, he grabs your thighs and pulls you towards the edge of the bed. He looks down, watching as he lines the head of his cock with you.

“Mein Gott.” König moans as he watches your tight pussy swallow his massive cock. “Look at you, taking all of me.”

He pulls back and slowly pushes back in, his slow motion almost a tease for you. All you want is to be destroyed by him; bruises, bites, and all. “Please, fuck me harder.” You beg, your tone of voice almost pathetic.

By the time you stroll back towards the farm, the sun has begun to set. The whole journey back, you sniff your dress and enjoy the lingering scent of him on you. You can’t help but to smile and act giddy as you recall the events of today. Hours in bed with König as he took his time to learn every inch of your body; you’ve never experienced that type of love making before. Even when it was rough, he was still careful with you.

You stable the horse and walk towards your house. Michael sits on the porch drinking a beer as usual, with an unpleasant look on his ugly mug. His eyes travel over your dress. You never wear it, so why today?

“Where the fuck have you been?” Michael shouts as you get closer.

You say nothing, already annoyed that this is the man you’re forced to return home to after experiencing König. Instead, you drop the ax at his feet and walk past him into the house. Offering him no explanation. He looks down at the ax stunned. Did you…no. You wouldn’t, right?

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yukinohiko · 5 months ago

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Blue Flower | Kaiser

✧ A/N: I adore period pieces, in every sense of reading/watching/writing. This was an indulgence that I’ll probably continue piecing onto.

✧ Synopsis: The aristocratic members of London enjoy their soirées. You do, too, especially when you get the chance to perform some teasing poetry. But you happen to catch the eye of one esteemed German guest — one who isn’t so amused by your wit, and one, you start to suspect, is an imposter among the ton.

Read Part Two here.

You first draw attention to yourself at one of the ton’s poetry reading soirées. Hosted, of course, by one of the queen’s titled ladies in a grand hall.

The hearth burns with an intimate fire, warming the room in shades of amber and scents of floral incense. Around you are the upper crust of London’s aristocracy, enjoying wines and tarts.

“Tarts,” says one of the ladies, “for an event celebrating our most tart-tongued poet.”

A round of chuckles echo. The crème of the party, a German-born marquess, leans his cheek into his palm and drawls, “Does English society have many witty writers?”

“You would be surprised, my lord,” the lady preens. “Or you ought not to be — our ton is brimming with talent.”

“I’ll judge that for myself, thank you.” He snaps his fingers once, a leonine grace to his order. “Ness, fetch me a stronger drink, will you? I can’t feel this wine in the slightest.”

“Yes, Lord Kaiser.”

You stare at the marquess subtly over the rim of your own glass. From the drifting rumours around town, you’ve gathered that he’s an invited guest of the queen, a rising influence in Berlin’s upper echelon, and a notable rake, though that part wasn’t advertised so much as implicitly understood by the young ladies and their mothers.

To his credit or lack thereof, he’s certainly embodying his reputation. A cultured arrogance permeates his movements and tone. But it’s not quite the same as the viscounts and dukes and earls you’ve seen around the ton over the course of your life. No, there’s something off about him.

When his attendant — Ness, was that what he was called? — returns and hands the marquess a brandy, you can’t help but notice Kaiser’s hands. They’re neither the soft, supple hands of an aristocrat nor the refined hands of a worldly rogue, which was what his attitude made him seem like at times.

So what was he, exactly?

He surprises you. Intrigues you. But you don’t have an opportunity to approach him, as the hostess kicks off the soirée.

Members of the audience pitch in heartily, reading out their own poems or guessing the answers for riddles. Kaiser watches in a strange manner, occasionally volunteering his commentary to the banter but, at the same time, remaining separate from the group.

It really is intriguing, you think. He has the mannerisms of someone on the brink of society, clinging to it, not someone settled in the heart of it.

When it is your turn, you attempt a poem that’s perhaps a bit tongue-in-cheek. You unfold your paper, coyly catching his eye, reading out, “In gardens where the noble walk, / In odd numbers, it dares to talk. / Not soft as silk, but rough in hand, / A secret bloom from distant land. / What is it?”

The crowd falls into murmurs, repeating lines and calling answers. Your gaze passes over familiar faces as they struggle with the little riddle. At their frustrated entertainment, it’s all you can do to chew the inside of your cheek and prevent a smile.

Well, until you come upon a distinct face — one that is very much unamused. Kaiser meets your eye across the dim room with fierce clarity. He’s still surrounded by admirers, but from his place lounging on the chaise, his gaze is meant for you alone. The glass tilts in his grasp, very nearly spilling his brandy.

You let your eyes lower onto his hand, his calloused palms and roughened fingertips; the hands of the working class, not the aristocracy. His shrewd expression, pupils slitted in the candlelight, lacks the ignorant bliss of the elites.

“I don’t believe anyone knows the answer, dear,” laughs the hostess, tipping her flute to you graciously. “You’ll have to enlighten us —”

“The blue flower,” Kaiser cuts in.

The crowd turns to him, surprised yet pleased to have found an answer. No one seems to notice how the curl of his lip is less of a smile and more a sneer.

“An old symbol of Germany’s romantic movement,” he adds, a knowing lilt to his voice. “Scattered across German literature, really. A symbol of unattainable perfection. As for your poem — clever. A distant land, indeed, from England. And in Germany, roses are known to only be gifted in odd numbers, never even.”

The party’s eyes dart to you, startled and interested in their own right. You clear your throat, pocketing the poem. “Ah — yes, the Marquess has gotten it in one.”

“Please,” he says, as a cruel smile carves itself onto his charming mouth, “Lord Kaiser is fine.”

Your fingers twitch, but you maintain a placid expression. It pleases you immeasurably when you see his veneer crack a little more.

“Well,” the hostess titters, “I see we’ve certainly found our tart-tongued poet of the night! Well done, dear! And to have our esteemed guest be the only one to figure out your clever riddle — it is a wonderful soirée, if I say so myself. What say you, Lord Kaiser?”

He lifts a lemon square off Ness’s plate, long blond lashes casted downward as though in thought. When he looks up again, there’s a calculating glint in his gaze, as blue as the flower he decoded from your poem. “I think you were right, my lady. English society certainly has fine writers — and fine tarts, too.”

A circle of laughter and cheers ring out. Clearly, as he bites into the sweet, they assume he’s meant the pastry. You know better; your temper burns. His smile leers.

Oh, a tart am I? You can’t help but think to yourself, moving to retake your seat. However, as you pass his chaise, you feel him catch your wrist. You’re startled by the improperness of it, but more so by his voice as he murmurs, “Think you’re clever, do you?”

“I don’t know what you mean, my Lord.”

“No?” His finger hooks into your silk glove, tugging it delicately down your wrist. “Perhaps you ought to feel it directly, rough in hand, to understand me?”

The glove slides down to your palm. His thumb and index finger encircle your wrist, rubbing the back of your hand almost gently, were it not for the gleam in his stormy gaze. You feel his finger encroach lower, slipping into your glove opening, trailing down your palm, tracing your love line —

Despite the dim lights, you know that if anyone happened to see this — well, your place in good society would be tarnished. You pull your wrist back to yourself, skin prickling, cheeks flushed, as you fix your glove. “You forget yourself, sir.”

“No.” He leans back in his seat, continuing to watch you with lethal, lidded eyes. “I know exactly who I am — and I believe you’re starting to, as well.”

“I did not mean to offend you, my Lord. If you will forgive me, we can move past this —”

“I have no intention of moving past this,” he says, biting his tart again. “You see, I’m starting to suspect you know more than you’re letting on. And, as I’m staying in England for the next indefinite period as the guest of the queen, my position in the ton is paramount. You’ll be a charming ladybird to keep —”

“I am not a ladybird.”

“You do not wish to be kept by a marquess?”

“Not in such a crass manner,” you take a step back, “and certainly not by a rake and most definitely not by —”

“Me?” He licks his teeth, baring them in a wicked smile. “Or someone like me? No matter. We’ll have a proper conversation about this in due time.”

Though, that time doesn’t come with conversation so much as something much more nerve wracking. The next morning, after bathing, you enter your drawing room — only to find it filled to the brim with 333, blooming, blue roses.

#cheshire.writes #so many flower analogies and tart-flavoured wordplay #exactly my type #blue lock #blue lock x reader #kaiser x reader #michael kaiser #michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x you #michael kaiser x y/n #kaiser x you #kaiser x y/n #bllk kaiser #bllk #blue lock kaiser #kaiser michael #kaiser #regency #period piece

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theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction · 4 months ago

Text

Imagine Bucky surprising you with a gift…

You were sound asleep in your home when the Avengers Tower sent out a distress signal at 4am. The shrill cry of the alarm was more than enough to startle you from rest and, in seconds, you were up.

Rushing through the apartment to get dressed, you managed to flick out a quick message to the team to see how far out they were. Luckily, they were enroute and you managed to find yourself a ride.

As of yesterday, the building had been emptied. Things had been quiet, even with HYDRA which was both helpful and slightly alarming. So it was decided (by Tony) to enjoy other ‘non Avenger’ things.

As you hopped on one foot to slip on your shoes, your phone buzzed.

Bucky: I’m out front.

Standing straight, you grabbed your belt of small superhero weapons and pocketed your phone as you rushed down the hall.

Swinging the door open, you nearly slammed into a wall of bright red roses in your haste.

You startled to a stop with a small gasp. The hand holding the bouquet of florals, moved them aside slightly and revealed their familiar dark hair and blue eyes.

Bucky looked… sheepish. Handsome as ever, but nervous. Which was strange on so many accounts.

“These are for you.” He said, clearing his throat.

You stared at him for a second. Bucky was offering you flowers at four o’clock in the morning.

“Some traditions have changed since the 40s but I’m glad that flowers have been a constant - like you.” He moved the rose bunch closer and you wrapped your fingers around his and took the gift.

Your senses were filled with the aroma of fresh flowers and Bucky. And if Avengers Tower wasn’t literally on fire, you’d have pulled him inside in a heartbeat.

Looking at him with so much adoration, you smiled and stepped into his arms. You held the flowers in one hand and used the other to rest against his cheek as you drowned in his eyes.

“I hope you understand how much I love you, Bucky. Because I really do.”

Zzz… Bucky, do you copy… Sam’s voice crackled from the comms device on Bucky’s hip.

Another crackle, and Steve’s voice came through. Zzz… Are you with…zzz… yet?

Ignoring the message, Bucky leaned forward, grazing his lips against yours as he whispered. “Only if you understand how much I love you.”

Buzz, buzz.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket.

Refusing to let you go, Bucky slid a hand into the back pocket of your pants, retrieved the phone and pressed a button to answer and placed it on speaker. Sam’s voice came through clearly.

“Alright, lovebirds. You can make googly eyes all you want after we deal with the Tower.” He teased.

It sounded like the phone was passed between people and Tony’s voice came through.

“Am I the only one who cares about my R&D lab currently in strife?”

You rolled your eyes and Bucky let out a small laugh when you did.

“We’ll be there, Stark.” You told the eccentric billionaire.

“You both had better be or I’ll-”

Bucky cut the call abruptly and you couldn’t help but be thankful. Tony’s threats were always empty and made for the theatrics.

Bucky returned the phone to your pocket and rest his hand on your waist.

You relished in his warmth for a second longer before stepping back.

“We should get going.” You told him.

Turning towards the door, you opened it slightly and placed flowers on the small counter table inside. You locked up once more and you took Bucky’s hand. His fingers interlaced with yours as he led you out and to where his motorcycle had been parked.

As he fetched the helmets, you watched him curiously as question pondered on your mind.

“Bucky, where did you get fresh flowers at four in the morning?”

Chuckling, Bucky walked over and handed you the protective gear. “I can’t give away all my secrets.”

You were about to return the teasing comment when a thought dawned on you. Your expression switched as you looked away to where Avengers Tower peeked out from the skyline.

Bucky felt the energy shift. “What’s wrong?” He asked.

A sense of unease began to flutter in your stomach. Unease and fear…

“If there was no one at the Tower, who sent out the distress call?”

A/n: The story that got away from me. Happy Valentines Day x

~ More imagines here ~

#theladyofmanyfandoms #theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction #gif is not mine #bucky barnes imagine #imagine bucky barnes #bucky imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #tfatws x reader #tfatws imagine #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #mcu x reader #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #the avengers x reader #the avengers imagine

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corroded-hellfire · 1 year ago

Note

AYW request where Reader graduates from college so Ryan, Luke, and Eddie come to her graduation. And then Eddie gives her a little graduation gift of his own...

+ Eddie eating Reader out under her gown right after her graduation ceremony. Like, the moment she walks across the stage, he’s dragging her to the bathroom and diving in.

I am dedicating this to Dr. Bug! I'm so proud of you @munson-blurbs 💚

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), oral f receiving, age gap

Words: 5k

[As You Wish masterlist]

The polyester robe that hangs on your shoulders sways in the breeze as you fetch your cap out of the back seat. The cerulean regalia is a beautiful shade, but it was a pain in the ass to find something to wear beneath it that didn’t clash. The white floral summer dress peeking out now from your unzipped gown was a lucky find that caught your eye while out having lunch with Max one day.

Cap with a golden tassel securely in your hand, you shut the back door to your sister’s car and walk around the backside to stand next to her.

“I can’t wait to meet your boyfriend,” your sister teases, as if you’re twelve and not twenty-two.

You roll your eyes as you lift a hand to shade your face from the blazing sun above. It’s not even officially summer yet but Indiana is coming in hot with those high temperatures this year.

“Don’t be weird,” you say.

An exaggerated gasp leaves your older sister’s lips, and she presses a hand to her heart, fresh yellow nail polish glinting in the sunlight.

“Me? I’m never weird.”

“When I was fourteen you told Connor Donald–”

“But you were going to the bathroom!”

“You don’t tell that to a boy when he calls!” Somehow you feel like that teenage girl all over again.

“I just had this feeling about him,” she says with a shrug. Your sister crosses her arms over her chest. “And I was right.”

“Yeah, he was a creep,” you admit.

The smug smile on her pretty face is annoying enough to have you turning away from her. At the other end of the parking lot, you see a familiar group of men headed your way, and the littlest one breaks away from the herd and races your way, yelling your name. As he gets closer, you spy the hat perched atop his chocolate curls and the cuteness devastates you.

With a gleeful chuckle, you catch Luke as he flings himself into your arms. Using the momentum, you swoop the almost-seven-year-old up and hold him against your hip. Your back and arm muscles protest the effort, but you do your best to ignore them. Truthfully, Luke’s getting heavier and too big for this now, but you can’t bear to stop picking him up—he’s still that baby boy to you.

“Hey, you,” you greet him.

“You look so pretty!” he tells you as you begrudgingly set him down.

“Thank you!” you say. “You look pretty handsome yourself in that snazzy fedora.”

Luke giggles and adjusts the brim of the hat so he can see you better.

By now, the rest of the gang has made their way to you and Ryan is the next one to launch himself towards you for a hug. Wayne goes next and you can tell your boyfriend is purposefully waiting to be the last one. Indeed he was as he brings you into his arms and presses a soft, sweet kiss to your lips. His hands slip below the graduation robe and rest on the soft cotton of the dress that hugs your lower back.

“Hi,” he whispers against your lips.

“Hi,” you reply just as softly.

If it weren’t for your sister clearing her throat, you very well might have forgotten that you were at your graduation, let alone there were other people standing around you right now. Such is the power of Eddie and his touch.

“Oh,” you say, face heating up as you take a step back from your boyfriend. “Right. Um, everyone, this is my big sister, Gin. Gin, this is Eddie, Wayne, and the little monsters Luke and Ryan.”

Both boys make silly faces at you in retaliation for their introduction, which you have no problem doing right back to them.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Eddie says, extending his hand.

“Likewise,” Gin replies as she shakes it.

“Nice to meet you, sweetheart,” Wayne greets your sister. They shake hands as Eddie comes closer to you again, standing behind you and resting his hands on your hips.

“Heard that if it weren’t for you, these two wouldn’t even know each other,” Wayne says, nodding to you and Eddie.

Ryan’s nose scrunches up in confusion. “Huh?”

“It’s true,” Gin tells the boy with a smile. “My old roommate is friends with your mom. One day I overheard something about someone needing a babysitter and I knew my little sister was available.”

Luke walks over and wraps his arms around your sister’s hips, giving her a big squeeze.

“Thank you for hearing that!”

The adults chuckle and you lean back into Eddie as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“I don’t wanna go in,” you say with a sigh.

“Where are you going?” Ryan asks.

“I have to go inside with everyone else who’s graduating,” you explain as Eddie’s arms wind their way around your waist. He isn’t making this any easier. “That way you guys get to watch me when I walk across the stage.”

“Ed, would you let the poor girl go?” Wayne says with a sigh, making Gin let out a tittering laugh.

“Don’t wanna,” he says like a petulant child. He presses a kiss to your shoulder before whispering in your ear. “I like your dress.”

“Thank you,” you hum softly.

Silently, Eddie presses his body flush up against yours and you feel his half-hard cock pressing up against the top of your ass. A strangled gasp leaves your lips and Eddie has to bury his face in your neck to hide his smirk.

“I really like it,” he mumbles against your skin.

Sitting in the small arena, in dark green retractable seats that are usually reserved for someone watching a school basketball or hockey game, Ryan and Luke start to grow restless as they wait for the graduation ceremony to begin. Eddie knows they won’t exactly be captivated once it starts either, but he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it.

“Luke, can you please sit down? I don’t want to ask you again.”

“When is she coming out?” Luke asks, craning his neck to look around at the stage as he does as his father asked.

“When everybody else does,” Ryan says, also bored, but annoyed by his little brother as well.

“But when’s that?” the six-year-old whines.

“You know,” Gin says with a smile that looks suspiciously like one of Luke’s or Ryan’s when they’re up to something, “I have some pretty funny stories I could tell you about her.”

Eddie is also clearly intrigued by this, a spark of mischief gleaming in his own eyes.

“Ooh, like what?” Luke asks, already engrossed even though your sister hasn’t begun yet.

“Well, one time,” Gin starts, “she thought she could be like Mary Poppins and fly. She grabbed an umbrella and wanted to climb up to the roof. Our dad followed her into the garage and asked what she was looking for. When she said a ladder so she could go up to the roof, he put an end to her plan. She cried the whole day because she wasn’t allowed to try and fly like Mary Poppins could.”

Luke laughs, tilting sideways until he’s leaning against his big brother. Ryan’s chuckling as well, picturing you being mad because you can’t fly.

“Are you the big sister?” Ryan asks.

“I am,” Gin says.

“How many years?” Luke asks. “Ryan’s two years older than me. I’m the baby.”

“I’m six years older than her.”

“I’m six years old!” Luke shares excitedly.

“Do you have any more stories?” Ryan asks.

Eddie and Wayne share a smile between the two of them. Ryan is usually never so open with people he’s just met—he’s always been the shyest in the family. But there’s something about Gin being your sister that has Ryan feeling comfortable enough to be himself. The two of you aren’t identical, though it’s easy to tell that you are sisters. Gin is slightly shorter, and her face holds more roundness than yours does, but there’s a clear resemblance. Especially around the eyes, Eddie notices. They aren’t the exact same shade, but the shape of your eyes and arch of your eyebrows are very much alike.

“Hmm,” Gin hums as she thinks of another story to entertain the boys with. Eddie can’t help but notice she purses her lips when she’s thinking the same way that you do as well.

“Oh, okay. She used to make us watch her sing and dance all the time! Especially to New Kids on the Block.”

“Who?” Ryan asks.

Before the stab of feeling old has time to sink in for Eddie, Gin, or Wayne, the lights dim and a blanket of quiet falls over the crowd.

The faculty takes their places on stage and Pomp and Circumstance begins to play over the loudspeaker. Soon, a rolling wave enters the floor of the arena as all graduates file in towards the rows of chairs laid out for them.

Both Ryan and Luke stand, the younger Munson on his tippy toes as he tries to look as far and wide as he can to spot you in the crowd.

“Where is she?” Luke groans. “Everyone is so blue!”

“Ugh! I can’t find her!” Ryan follows up.

It takes Eddie a few moments to find you as well. Everyone is matching so he can’t go by what you’re wearing beneath your gown, and it’s even hard to see your beautiful hair with the cap restricting his view. But it doesn’t take your boyfriend very long to spot you, as he’d be able to find you anywhere—even if he was blindfolded.

“Look, look,” Eddie says, gesturing for his sons to step closer to him. “She’s right there. Next to Aunt Jess.”

Ryan and Luke do their best to follow the direction that their father is pointing in, but it’s hard–even when the graduates all stop walking once they reach their seats. But as Ryan wrinkles up his brow and really tries to examine his dad’s line of vision, his eyes catch on you.

“I see her!” A grin lights up Ryan’s face and it fills Eddie with a warmth that the outside sun could never hope to aspire to.

After a few more minutes, and once the speeches begin, Luke spies you as well and becomes just as excited as his big brother. Their joy quickly wears off as speaker after speaker comes up to the podium to give some of the most boring speeches Eddie has ever heard in his entire life. He can’t blame his boys for practically falling asleep slumped against one another.

Finally, the names of the graduates begin to get called and the boys muster up their energy reserves to wait for you. There’s a good chunk of graduates who have their moment before a name is called that the boys recognize.

“Jess Arnold.”

The boys excitedly cheer but become even giddier when they see you’re next up.

Nothing could have prepared you for the emotion of walking across the stage to receive your diploma. Hearing your name called over the loudspeaker was cool, being up on the jumbo screen for a moment was pretty surreal, but the sounds coming from one particular section of the audience have you choking up as you accept the rolled up piece of parchment from the Dean.

The claps of two small pairs of hands and cheers from those same boys send goosebumps shooting up and down your arms. Luke hadn’t even shouted that loud in excitement when he saw the real-life Hot Wheels cars. Wayne’s whistle joins the noise, that piercing sound making you chuckle as you try to swallow your emotions. Gin’s voice is unmistakable in her cheering—you heard that yelling every day growing up, you’d know it anywhere. But the sound in the cacophony that makes a few tears spill over your lash line is Eddie’s proud and happy “Woo!” that he repeats as you make your way across the platform. You just wish he was waiting for you as soon as you stepped off the stage so you could run into his arms. But as you step down and are about to head back to your seat, you look up and see where your family is up in the stands.

When they realize you’re looking at them, the boys wave excitedly, both hands flapping over their heads. Wayne and Gin both give you waves as well. Your eyes are glued to Eddie though, as he presses his hand to his mouth and then extends it towards you, blowing a kiss your way. A girlish giggle bubbles out of you at the gesture and you blow one right back to him.

It feels like ants scurrying out of an ant hill as you exit the arena and try to find familiar faces amongst the thousands of family members and friends who are here to support their loved ones today.

Jess comes up beside you and loops her arm through yours. You flash her a quick smile and the two of you fight your way through the crowd, searching for your people.

Your name catches your attention and your head whips to the left to see Luke’s small hands cupped around his mouth. It’s a swim upstream as you tug Jess in that direction, but you finally make it to find Eddie waiting with a bouquet of carnations in his hand.

More tears threaten to spill over as he hands them to you with a smile so full of admiration and pride on his face.

“Congratulations, sweetheart.”

The wrapper around the flowers crinkles in your hand and you make sure it’s held tight in your fist as you throw your arms around your boyfriend’s neck and hug him as close as you can manage. Eddie doesn’t hesitate for a moment, his arms encircling your waist and holding your body up against his.

“Thank you,” you say loud enough for him to hear over the crowd. “I love you so much.”

“They’re from us, too!” you hear Luke say.

With a soft chuckle, you pull away from Eddie who is raising an eyebrow at his boys.

“Are they, now? I must’ve missed the part where you chipped in,” he says.

“You must’ve,” Luke agrees with a shrug.

You laugh and hand the flowers to Eddie so you can pull both boys in for a big hug. Each of them gets squeezed in an arm but they cling to you just as tightly.

“You were on stage!” Ryan says when you let go.

“And I heard you cheering for me!” you tell him.

“Can I wear your hat?” Luke asks.

“Oh, I need a picture of that,” you say while nodding your head.

That leads to dozens of pictures being taken. You with everyone at once, you with everyone individually, you and Jess goofing off before she went off to find her family. Luke takes a handful while wearing your cap but Eddie plops it back on your head so he can take a few more with you.

Both boys make gagging noises as Gin snaps a picture of Eddie giving you a kiss. Their groans only grow as you wrap your arms around Eddie’s neck and sink further into the kiss, another snapshot being taken.

“Please tell me that one isn’t going to get hung up anywhere,” Luke gripes.

For the next picture, Eddie wraps his arm tightly around your waist and dips you, causing you to let out a mixture of a squeal and laughter as your hands cling to him for stability. You’re aware of the flash of the camera going off but it’s nothing compared to the brightness of Eddie’s grin as he looks down at you. It makes your heart pound faster than the adrenaline from the feeling of almost falling could ever do.

Once multiple roles of film have been used, the camera gets tucked away and it’s time to get going. Eddie offers to drive you back, just the two of you, since Gin drove you here and she’s headed straight back home. Wayne can take the boys back to give you and Eddie some time alone.

“Thank you for coming,” you say to your sister as you pull her in for a hug.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” she tells you. “I’m so proud of you.” “Thank you.”

It makes you smile to see how the Munsons all hug her goodbye as well–even shy little Ryan. With one last wave, your sister heads towards the parking lot and Wayne ruffles the hair of the two boys.

“Ready, knuckleheads?” he asks.

“Can I wear your cap home?” Luke asks.

“Sure.” You hand the blue piece of regalia to him and instead of switching it out with his fedora like he did for the pictures, he just stacks it on top of his own hat.

“That’s a great look,” Eddie tells him, to which Luke winks in response.

“Will you take these for me, Ry?” you ask, offering the eight-year-old your bouquet of pastel-colored flowers.

“Of course!” The wrapper crinkles as the boy situates the long stems against his shorter frame.

You press a kiss to both boys’ cheeks before they head towards the parking lot with Wayne. Eddie laces his fingers with yours and you go to follow in the same direction the others just went, when Eddie tugs you back and smacks a kiss to the back of your hand.

“How about a little campus tour before we go?” he asks.

“Oh?” you ask, raising your eyebrows. “Anywhere in particular you want to see?”

Eddie shrugs. “Your favorite spots. Somewhere there’s no one else, maybe.”

“Right,” you say, a smirk tugging the corners of your lips. “Let’s see what we come across.”

Hand in hand, the two of you take a leisurely stroll through the quad of campus. Where there are usually people studying or picnicking during the semester, now there are graduates and families taking pictures and celebrating. The warm day outside leads you to the cool shelter of the student center at the far end of the yard, where you spent a lot of your college days having lunch. It’s mostly empty now, no one having any real need to be in here other than to escape the brutal sun.

An empty hallway catches Eddie’s eye, and he leads you by the hand to follow him in that direction. His boots squeak against the white linoleum tiles and your heels clack as you step behind in his wake. There isn’t much down this way except for a few offices that are now empty, a room full of vending machines, and some bathrooms.

Your boyfriend takes advantage of the latter, the empty hallway leading him to believe there will be no one in the men’s room. His gamble is correct as he pulls you in behind him. He moves quick as lightning to turn the lock on the bathroom door, assuring that no one will interrupt the two of you.

Eddie’s lips are on yours a heartbeat later, both his and your hands going to the zipper of your graduation gown. Neither of you can get it down blindly, but Eddie’s too impatient to make another go at it. Instead, he grips your hips and helps you sit on the peach granite counter behind you. The gown gets rucked up your body, the dress he’s so fond of joining it until they’re both up around your waist.

“Eddie,” you whimper.

“Shhh, shhh, baby,” Eddie croons as he sinks down to his knees. Soft, plush lips trail hot kisses from the inside of your left knee all the way up to the apex of your thighs. Large, strong hands massage up and down your legs as his lips never leave your skin, touching and teasing everywhere except where you need him the most.

Eddie lets his eyes slip closed not only to let himself enjoy the feeling of having his hands and lips worship your soft skin, but also because if he gets one more look at the wet patch on your purple lace panties, he’s going to rip them off of you and the fun will end far too soon.

“Eddie, please,” you beg.

“I’ve got you, princess,” he says softly.

Torturously slow, Eddie’s mouth comes closer to your center, the heat of his breath making you curl your toes before he even comes in contact with you. Brown doe eyes open to look at you, darkened by lust as he finally presses his mouth against your core, kissing against the wet patch of your panties that’s driving him so wild. Pleasure flutters in your pussy, your hole clenching around nothing as Eddie opens his mouth and grips the material of your panties with his teeth. As quick as he grabbed them, he lets them go, letting the wet lace smack back against your clit.

“God, I need you,” Eddie growls.

Calloused fingers work themselves up the outside of your thighs and grip the purple material at your hips. You arch your back, head resting against the bathroom mirror, to assist your boyfriend in ridding you of your underwear, which he shoves into the back pocket of his pants.

Now with nothing between him and your soaked pussy, Eddie eyes it greedily and the way he stares at your bare sex turns you on even more. You choke on a breath as he dives in, tongue instantly running from your hole up to your clit. He decides to keep his attention there, flicking the sensitive nub with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth.

“Fuck,” you moan. Eddie’s responding moan reverberates up your core, adding another layer of pleasure to his mouth on you.

He hitches your left leg over his shoulder to open you up even more for him, going in to devour you like his life depends on it. His hot, long tongue glides through your folds as he licks at you, not stopping even for a moment to catch his breath–not giving you a moment of reprieve as his mouth works against your pussy like it was made for this.

You never want this–him–to stop but Eddie’s too God damn good with his mouth for you to last long.

“E-Eddie, please.” You’re not sure what you’re pleading for as you reach down and grip the curls on the top of the older man’s head in your hand. It takes all of your control not to rut your hips against his sinful mouth.

Even though you’re not sure what you’re asking for, Eddie somehow knows what you need—he always does. He slips a finger inside of you, quickly followed by a second, as he keeps his mouth working on your clit. His eyes are trained on yours, not breaking contact for a second as his tongue laps at your clit and his fingers pump in and out of your greedy pussy.

If the feeling alone wasn’t about to bring you over the edge, the sight before you was.

“Oh, I’m gonna, I-I’m gonna–”

You don’t have time to finish your thought as your orgasm rushes over you, pleasure sparking throughout your body and leaving a tingle in your veins that only Eddie can give you. Thick fingers continue to work you through it, his tongue not giving up its assault on your clit until he’s wrung every ounce of ecstasy he can from you.

Once your muscles relax and you’re panting above him, Eddie slips his fingers from inside of you and stands up. He wastes no time slipping them into his mouth, moaning as he savors the taste of you. You’d come again just from that if you had the energy.

“Eddie,” you whisper between labored breaths.

“I love how much you say my name,” your boyfriend says as he leans over your body and presses his lips against yours.

The sound of Eddie’s zipper being pulled down shoots a thrill of excitement through you as the two of you exchange easy, lazy kisses. His hard cock nudging at your hole has you breaking your mouth away from his, a whimper tumbling from your lips.

“Yes,” you whine, the only word in your otherwise blank mind.

His initial push into you has you gripping at his shoulders, throwing your head back, which Eddie takes full advantage of and attaches his lips to your throat. The deeper he sinks into you, the harder your nails dig into the back of the button up shirt Eddie wore just for the occasion today.

“Shit,” Eddie huffs with a small laugh. “I’m not gonna last long, baby. Fuck, been hard since I saw you this afternoon. Couldn’t stop thinking about how bad I wanna fuck you since then. How bad I needed to taste you. Feel that tight, perfect pussy of yours squeezing me so fuckin’ good.”

You lift your head up to look at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Even though m’not your college girl anymore?” you ask through your shallow breathing.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eddie growls, gripping your hips tighter and adjusting the angle that he pushes into you. “You’re my college graduate. My smart girl. My smart girl who gets so dumb on my cock, doesn’t she?”

“Uh huh.” You nod, your head heavy as the familiar pressure builds up in your lower tummy.

“That’s my girl.”

“So close,” you whine.

“Me too, baby. Come on. Be my good girl and come with me.”

One of Eddie’s hands leaves your hips and his thumb presses against your clit, making tight circles just the way he knows drives you crazy.

“Fuck,” you groan.

“Let go, princess.”

“Shit, I-I’m coming!”

Eddie spilling into you, coating your walls with his warm seed elevates this orgasm as you hold onto your boyfriend for dear life. Lightning sparks everywhere his body touches yours and pure bliss washes over you like a wave on the surf.

It takes a few minutes for the two of you to catch your breath. Eddie’s body hovers over yours and, if you’re honest, you’d be fine if he never moved. Eventually, he has to though, which also means pulling out of you. Though you whine at the loss, Eddie is right there to help clean you up and press sweet kisses to your mouth.

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips.

“Mmm, I would hope so,” you tease, throwing your arms around his neck.

Eddie has one arm draped around your shoulders as you walk down the hallway to his apartment door. He keeps pressing kisses to your temple and running the material of your graduation gown between his fingers.

“What’re the odds the boys will be asleep?” Eddie asks when you’re one door away.

“Slim to none,” you answer with a bark of laughter. “It’s still light out.”

“Details, details.” Eddie grabs the doorknob and tosses the front door open, allowing you to step inside first.

But you don’t even get one foot over the threshold before your eyes take in the sight before you. A large banner reading “Congratulations!” hangs in the archway that leads to the bedrooms and the apartment is crowded with people. Your jaw drops and it takes your brain a few moments to recalibrate. Once it does, you spin around to face Eddie and swat at his arm.

“I told you I didn’t want a party!”

Eddie shakes his head, a shit-eating grin on his face, as he leads you into the apartment and closes the door behind him. All six Harringtons are here, Max, Lucas, and their daughter Tiffany, and Wayne with both boys, who look more mischievous than ever.

“Oh no, this isn’t a graduation party,” Eddie says.

Nancy steps forward, a sly smile on her face, when you narrow your eyes at Eddie.

“Nope,” she echoes. “It’s an employee performance review.”

You stare at her for a moment, not comprehending her words.

“What?”

She can’t help but let out a small chuckle so Steve steps up to her side to help her out.

“You’re our employee, right? Watch the kids? So, we reviewed your performance and determined it was excellent.”

“Which of course calls for a party,” Nancy explains, gesturing to the living room full of people around her.

“And the fact that it happens to be on the day I graduated college?” you ask, tilting your head to look at Eddie.

“Complete coincidence,” he says with an innocent shrug.

“Look, look, look!” Luke bounds over and grabs your hand, leading you over to the counter that separates the kitchen and the living room.

A large sheet cake with vanilla icing and blue piping rests there, bearing the words “Congrats Grad!” in gold lettering.

It brings a smile to your face, but you smile even wider as you look down at Luke and then over at Ryan.

“Did you two know about this?” you ask.

“Maaaaybe,” Ryan drawls.

“I can’t believe you kept a secret from me!”

You pull Luke in against your chest and start to tickle his sides. He squirms, trying to get away from you as he howls in laughter.

“Ahh! Ryan! Help me!”

Ryan rushes over and tries to tug his little brother out of your grasp, but you’re quicker. You pull the older Munson brother into your clutches as well and he becomes another victim of your tickling. They both shriek and try to run, but you cease your tickling to wrap your arm around each boy and press a kiss to the top of their heads.

“You little sneaks,” you say.

“Can we have cake now?” is Luke’s only reply. He doesn’t wait for a response before posing another question. “Do you make a wish on graduation cakes?”

“What would you wish for, babe?” Eddie says as he walks over to you. He looks like he’s trying not to laugh, and you furrow your brow. “Would it be to fly like Mary Poppins?”

Your eyes widen as all the heat in your body rushes to your face.

“I’m going to kill my sister.”

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