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[spicysix]

DUMB & POETIC

Johnny Storm X Female!reader || WC: 6.1K

SUMMARY: Johnny Storm flirted like it was a reflex, so when he starts showing up at work with that grin and some line about taking you out, you didn’t flinch. You want to believe him, want to think there’s something real under all that fire and flair, but it’s hard when every time you look, some starry-eyed fan is hanging on his arm.

WARNINGS: Fantastic Four: First Steps minor Spoilers! Typical Marvel themes, angst, fluff, steamy kiss (no pun intended), cursing, Sue being Johnny’s defender yet still humbles him, self-deprecating thoughts, Ben and Johnny banter, lots of pet names, lovesick!Johnny

A/N: As soon as I saw the first trailer for this movie, and saw Joe Quinn as Johnny I knew he would do the role justice! I’m just sad now we have to wait until next year for the next set of Marvel movies! 😩 Divider by @saradika-graphics <3

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Weekends at Maisie’s Delicatessen were a whirlwind of clinking dishes, muffled jazz from the radio behind the counter, and the sweet, yeasty warmth of the oven creeping into every corner of the narrow shop. Nestled on a street corner in Manhattan, its red neon sign buzzed softly beneath the fire escape, a beacon for locals and regulars alike. Inside, mismatched chairs and linoleum floors bore the scuffs of a hundred hurried mornings.

Your hair had been shoved into a bun since dawn, already loosened by the heat radiating off the pastry case. You moved nonstop, dodging customers and slinging paper bags filled with brownies, marble loaves, and chocolate croissants to neighborhood regulars. The cookies, especially the chocolate chip, were gone before noon, and you'd slipped a few warm ones to the kids who lived across the street, ignoring their mother's frazzled protests. Kids needed sweetness in a city like this.

You leaned against the counter for the first time in hours, arms dusted with flour and sugar, the faint hum of a delivery truck idling outside. You took a quick sip of water, your lips still tasting faintly of cinnamon. Then came the bell, ding-a-ling, that delicate sound above the door. You glanced up and froze in amused recognition. Ben Grimm stood in the doorway, trying (and failing) to disguise his massive, craggy frame beneath a trench coat that strained at the seams.

His fedora sat low, shadowing his unmistakable orange brow, but you’d recognize that stance anywhere. A few folks glanced up, but New Yorkers were practiced in the art of pretending not to notice things that didn’t concern them. “There’s my favorite customer!” You grinned, the weariness melting from your voice as you waved him in. Ben chuckled low in his throat, the sound gravelly and warm. “The usual, a dozen black and white cookies, fresh outta the oven.”

You beamed, already holding out the brown paper bag before he could part his lips. Ben’s rocky features relaxed into a rare, boyish grin. The warmth in his eyes was unmistakable, even beneath the shadow of his hat. “You spoil us way too much, Y/N.” He murmured, reaching into the inner pocket of his coat with those thick, stone-like fingers. Before he could fish out his wallet, you gently laid your hand against his arm. “Nah,” You whispered, your eyes crinkling. “It’s the least I can do. You keep our city from crumbling, literally.”

He hesitated, then chuckled softly, the corners of his mouth pulling into something half-sheepish, half-grateful. The coat shifted slightly as he straightened up, careful not to knock over the tiny table near the window. Outside, the city kept humming, taxis honking, a dog barking somewhere down the block, steam curling from a grate on the corner like clockwork. Ever since that mission to space, the one that turned the four of them into something the world had never seen, they'd been more than just heroes.

Earth-828 called them protectors. Some folks whispered “miracles,” others muttered “monsters,” but to you, they were still people. People who liked black and white cookies warm and still a little gooey in the middle. Ben tucked the bag under one arm with reverence, like he was holding something precious instead of simply just cookies. “Reed says carbs’ll slow me down,” He grunted, already lifting one to his mouth. “But he doesn’t know what he’s missin’.”

You laughed, the sound light above the soft vinyl music playing from the back. The overhead light flickered briefly, a flaw in the old wiring you never bothered fixing, casting a golden glow across the glass counter and catching the powdered sugar still clinging to your forearms. “Anything else I can get for you?” You asked, tilting your head as Ben scanned the pastry display. “Will you let me pay for it this time?” You shrugged with a playful glint in your eye watching as he shook his head in disapproval.

“Just the cookies today. I’ll take the offer next time, though.” Ben grunted, approval or defeat, it was hard to tell, and adjusted his coat. “Fair enough,” You smiled, raising your hands in mock surrender. “Tell everyone their favorite baker said hello.” You added, wiping your hands on your apron. As if summoned, the front door jingled again, and in blew a gust of hot air and unmistakable cologne. “Ben! What a coincidence!” Johnny Storm strolled in like he owned the block, hair windswept, a grin already loaded and ready to fire.

He clapped a hand on Ben’s shoulder, more for show than anything, before swiveling toward you like a sunflower toward the sun. “Why hello, gorgeous.” He purred, leaning casually against the counter, elbows propped like it was a bar and not a bakery. His blue eyes flicked over you, every detail catalogued in a glance that burned hotter than anything the ovens could crank out. You didn’t flinch. You’d seen this act before. “Johnny.” You replied, arms crossed more for protection than posture.

It didn’t stop your heart from racing, not with him standing there, all charm and endearing smile. He’d been flirting ever since the first time Ben sent him to pick up cookies, weeks ago now, throwing one-liners your way. It had become routine, really. Every day around noon, Johnny would stroll through the doors of Maisie’s Delicatessen, sometimes in uniform, sometimes in civilian charm, like clockwork.

He’d order the same cherry danish or lemon tart he never finished, pick at a croissant he claimed was “too flaky,” or simply ask for something sweet and then spend twenty minutes leaning on the counter and making small talk. You’d never seen him eat more than a bite. The truth? He didn’t like pastries. You knew. You noticed the way he’d discreetly leave half of them on the plate, or slide one into a napkin and “forget” it on the windowsill. But he came back anyway.

Every. Single. Day.

Only unlike all the women in New York City, you’d brushed him off. You always did. The whole city knew Johnny Storm’s reputation. He was the Human Torch, flashy, unpredictable, and impossible not to look at. Blonde hair like sunlight, eyes blue enough to drown in. You weren’t naive. You just weren’t stupid enough to fall for him and get your heart broken. At first, you assumed it was just Johnny being Johnny, chasing a pretty face with his signature swagger and a smirk that could melt through steel.

His flirtation had seemed harmless. But lately… something about him felt different. He asked questions that had nothing to do with your looks. Asked about your favorite books, your childhood dog, whether you liked jazz or doo-wop better. He once brought you a bouquet of tiger lillies because “you looked like someone who deserved a Wednesday pick-me up.” He listened. Really listened. And yet, you still didn’t let yourself believe it. Because he was Johnny Storm.

Famous. Reckless. Traveled to space. And you? You baked cookies on 3rd and Grand and slipped extras to neighborhood kids. So when he leaned in across the counter today, eyes locked on yours like you were the only person in Manhattan, it made your stomach twist. Because you couldn’t tell if it was all just part of the game, or if maybe, just maybe, he meant it. Still, you reminded yourself to breathe, burying the stupid crush on the blonde-haired, blue-eyed heartbreaker as far down as it would go.

You’d dug that hole weeks ago, right around the time he started showing up for pastries he didn’t eat, and you’d kept digging ever since. “Surprised you’re not at the Baxter Building,” You teased, grabbing a nearby rag to wipe a nonexistent smudge on the counter. “Don’t you have a world to save?” He grinned, eyes glinting. “Figured I’d start with yours.” You almost choked on your own breath. Ben rolled his eyes so hard you could almost hear them click.

“Flamebrain, pick up your danish and let the woman work.” But Johnny didn’t move. He leaned in further, elbow resting against the counter like he had all the time in the world. “Aw, come on, Y/N.” He drawled with a smirk so effortless it should’ve been criminal. That wink, practiced, perfect, probably had women lining up around the block. You huffed a laugh despite yourself, because dammit, he was impossible not to smile at. Shaking your head, you turned your back to him, pretending to be very, very busy with the new tray of croissants still warm from the oven.

You didn’t need to see his face to know he was still watching you, you could feel it. You grabbed the pineapple danish, the one he always claimed was his favorite, though you were 99% sure he hated pineapple, and placed it gently on the counter between you. “Have a nice day, Johnny.” It was meant to be the end of it. A line drawn in powdered sugar. But the way he lit up when you said his name made your chest tighten in a way that was wildly inconvenient.

His whole face softened, the cocky veneer still there, but something genuine flickering behind it. The corners of his mouth curved, his blue eyes twinkling like he'd just won something. He pulled out his wallet, soft leather, edges worn, and slid a crisp $10 bill across the counter without breaking eye contact. “See you next time, beautiful.” That should’ve been it. Any normal person would’ve taken their pastry and left. But Johnny Storm wasn’t normal. Before you could even blink, he leaned in again, this time reaching for you.

Reflex made you freeze, lips parting on instinct as his hand came up to your face. His thumb brushed lightly against your cheek, slow and deliberate. Your breath hitched. Your skin went electric beneath his touch. “Gotcha.” He whispered with a smug grin, dusting flour off your cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world. And then, like some cinematic fever dream, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, slow, gentle, and let his fingers linger just a second too long.

You couldn’t even look at him. Not directly. Not with that smile. Not with the way his cologne curled through the air, something warm, woodsy, and undeniably him. Not with his broad shoulders in your peripheral, framed by the soft golden light of the storefront window. Your heart was pounding like the city outside, and you hated how easily he could turn you to absolute mush. With one last cheeky wink, he straightened up and strolled past Ben toward the exit like he hadn’t just short-circuited your brain.

You stood frozen, still gripping the edge of the counter as the bell above the door chimed again. Ben lingered for just a second longer, eyeing you with something between amusement and pity. “He’s trouble, kid.” You managed a breathless laugh, cheeks still burning. “Tell me something I don’t know.” He gave you one last tip of his hat before he was out the door. Through the foggy window, you watched Ben shove Johnny as they walked down the street, his expression deadpan as Johnny laughed, head tilted back, beaming.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the stupid smile tugging at your lips. The rest of the evening passed like a worn-out record, quiet, predictable, and just a little too slow. No more superhero drop-ins, no flirtatious banter, just the comforting rhythm of clinking coffee cups, parents herding sugar-hyped kids, and the usual faces grabbing day-old rye for half price. You moved on autopilot, smiling when necessary, nodding when expected, but your thoughts weren’t behind the counter anymore.

They were still caught somewhere between Johnny Storm’s hand brushing your cheek and the lingering scent of him that had somehow stuck to the sleeves of your apron. At four o’clock sharp, you finally peeled off the fabric, folding it with practiced hands. You greeted your coworker with a tired wave, slung your bag over one shoulder, and grabbed the small box of pastries you’d stashed for yourself, your ritual comfort after long shifts. With a practiced motion, you nudged open the back door and stepped into the fading amber of early evening.

It was cooler now, a soft breeze threading through your sleeves, but it didn’t soothe the heat still smoldering beneath your skin. You leaned against the brick wall beside the shop, juggling the box and your bag awkwardly as you searched for your keys. Of course, they’d sunken to the bottom. Because today was that kind of day. “Geez, Y/N! Don’t you know it’s not safe out here?” You jumped slightly, box nearly tipping. But then the voice registered, cocky and warm like always, laced with amusement.

You glanced up, and there he was. Johnny Storm, leaning casually against the wall beside you, hands in the pockets of his jeans, wearing a fitted maroon tee that left nothing to the imagination. His eyes sparkled under the streetlamp like he knew exactly the effect he was having on you. You didn’t even bother hiding your eye-roll this time. “Don’t you know it’s rude to sneak up on a woman when it’s nearly dark?” He laughed, that rich, golden sound that always felt like it was meant just for you.

“Walking a beautiful girl to her car after a long shift? That’s not rude, sweetheart. That’s practically chivalry.” You hated the way your heart fluttered. “I might even ask her out to dinner, if she doesn’t already have plans.” He added, stepping a little closer. “You never quit, do you?” Your voice was breathier than you intended, your composure already fraying. The city seemed to fall away, no cars, no lights, no sound, just the heavy press of his presence and the impossible closeness of him.

He took one more step, caging you. His arms bracketed the space like a promise. His eyes were softer now, but blazing all the same. “When it comes to you? I don’t.” You looked up at him, and you felt it, that dangerous pull. Like you were standing on the edge of something steep, and he was gravity. For one brief, selfish second, you wanted to fall. His gaze searched yours, blue eyes impossibly sincere, and you felt your whole body lock up. You didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or lean in.

It was too much, all at once, the heat, the closeness, the way his words curled inside your chest and ignited everything you’d been trying to bury. “Johnny—” You started, just as quick reality struck. “Johnny! Johnny! Can we get a picture?” A chorus of high-pitched voices broke through the quiet. You both turned. Across the street, three girls, all wide smiles, glossy hair, and miniskirts, were waving excitedly. “Please! We love you!” His shoulders stiffened. For once, he was speechless, gaze flickering between you and them.

And that’s when it hit you.

Of course girls like that followed him. Of course they screamed his name and got his smile and maybe more. Girls who were everything you weren’t, glamorous, shiny, effortless. You felt plain in comparison, dusty from work, apron-wrinkled, flour on your jeans, your lipstick smudged from hours behind the counter and sneaking coffee during your breaks. You felt your throat tighten, breath catching behind clenched teeth.

He looked at you, torn, visibly. You saw the guilt, the hesitation. But you couldn’t handle it. Not the look. Not the choice. You beat him to it. “Go,” You whispered, voice thick. “Take pictures. Sign autographs. Don't let me stop you.” His head whipped back to you. “Y/N—” But you were already slipping. Already falling back into the walls you had spent so long building. Don’t get attached. Don’t believe him. Don’t be a fool. “I’ll see you around, Johnny.” Your smile was brittle.

A cracked-glass version of the one you used to give him. You turned before he could speak, before he could reach for you, because you knew, if he said the right thing, if he looked at you that way again, you’d stay. And you couldn’t. You clutched the pastry box like it was armor and speed-walked to your car, fumbling with the keys as your eyes blurred. You slammed the door shut behind you, hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough to make your knuckles pale.

You let out one shaky breath, but it didn’t help, your chest still felt like it was caving in. The first tear slipped down your cheek, and you swiped at it with the back of your hand. You blinked hard, biting down on the inside of your cheek to keep from sobbing, swallowing the thick lump that refused to go away. Through the windshield, you could still see him, standing there, not moving. Not chasing after you. Of course not. He was Johnny Storm. And you? You were just the girl who made the cookies.

It had been two days. Two painfully long, quiet days. Ben had still come in like clockwork, trench coat tight around his frame, tipping his hat with a low grunt and walking out with his usual dozen black and white cookies. Business carried on, regulars filtered in and out, the register chimed, the espresso hissed, and the world, somehow, didn’t stop turning just because Johnny Storm hadn’t walked through your door. But you noticed.

You hated how your heart leapt every time the bell over the door jingled, hated how your eyes darted up from the pastry case expecting him, golden hair tousled like he’d just stepped off a beach, sunglasses halfway down his nose, wearing that crooked grin that always seemed a little too proud to be real. But it was never him. An old man wanting lemon bars. A tired mother with her toddler. A delivery guy. Anyone but Johnny.

By the second afternoon, you were scolding yourself. You’re fine. You don’t care. It didn’t mean anything. It never meant anything. But even that was starting to ring hollow. So when the bell chimed again near closing and your head shot up on instinct, eyes connecting with familiar blue ones. Only it wasn’t Johnny. “Sue?” You breathed out, heart stumbling in your chest at the familiar face, equal parts relief and renewed confusion bubbling up behind your smile. “Hi.”

Her face lit up, warm and elegant as always, framed by a neat headband and soft waves, dressed in a powder blue coat that fell just past her knees. You rounded the counter before she could say a word, pulling her into a gentle hug. “Congratulations, you and Reed, you’re both going to be such amazing parents.” Susan laughed softly, pulling back, her hand instinctively resting over the small swell at her abdomen.

“Thank you, darling.” She whispered, her smile tender, eyes softening at your touch as you caressed the curve just barely beginning to show. Susan glanced around the shop, the quiet obvious now that the last customers had filtered out. She must have seen something flicker across your face, something you didn’t mean to let show, because her gaze settled on you a little too knowingly. "Johnny and Ben didn't tell me you were stopping by."

You hoped it sounded casual, but your voice betrayed you, just a little. She tilted her head, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “No, Ben's been busy helping Reed with all the baby stuff,” She replied gently. “And, I don’t think Johnny's mentioned anything the last day or two, actually. He’s... been a little off.” Off? Your chest tightened. You didn’t ask why. You didn’t have the right to. You weren’t his girlfriend. You weren’t even sure you were a friend.

You were just the girl who made the pastries he didn’t eat, the one he flirted with until fans screamed his name and you reminded yourself to be practical. Still, it gnawed at you. The absence. The silence. The ache that felt like a bruise just beneath the surface of your ribs. You forced a smile. “I’ve got some brioche cooling in the back. Want to take some home?” Susan smiled and nodded, but her eyes lingered on you for a beat longer than necessary.

And you wondered, how much did she know? Because if anyone could see through the armor, it was the Invisible Woman. You wrapped the warm loaf in parchment, the buttery scent of brioche rising with the steam as you folded the edges with careful precision, anything to keep your hands busy while your mind threatened to spiral. Susan lingered just past the counter, fingertips brushing along the glass display case, watching you with an unreadable expression.

Her silence wasn’t uncomfortable, just... weighty. Like she was debating whether or not to cross a line. The silence stretched a few beats longer before she finally broke it. “You know,” She began, almost too casually. “Johnny’s a lot of things. Loud. Reckless. Infuriating.” A wry smile tugged at her lips. “A complete pain in the ass, honestly.” You snorted quietly, folding the twine over the loaf and tying it into a neat bow. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Her gaze sharpened at that, the playful warmth in her voice dipping into something more sincere. “But he’s also been completely, hopelessly hung up on you.” You froze, not dramatically, but just enough that your fingers faltered mid-knot. Susan leaned in slightly, voice softening. “I mean it. Ever since he met you, it’s been nonstop. You’d think Reed and I were hosting a teenage girl in love. Every dinner, it’s always ‘Y/N made me try this pastry’ or ‘You should’ve seen the way her eyes lit up when I told her a dumb joke.’”

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry as your heart pounded loud enough to rival the ticking bakery clock. “I thought it was just another Johnny phase,” Susan continued, her eyes kind now, but serious. “He’s... well. He’s had his share of admirers. Most of them louder. But none of them stuck. None of them made him show up every morning like he forgot how to sleep or act like a lovesick teenager.” Your lips parted, but no words made it out.

Susan gave you a long look, stepping closer until her voice dropped again, almost conspiratorial. “You know what really got me? He started asking me about baking.” You blinked. “He what?” She nodded, confirming that you in fact had heard her correctly. “Wanted to know how long croissants proof. What makes a good butter ratio. If semi-sweet chocolate was the same as milk chocolate, I nearly dropped a plate.”

She gave a quiet laugh, brushing her coat sleeve with her thumb. “He burns toast, Y/N. He once tried to boil eggs in the microwave.” That startled a weak laugh out of you, but the ache behind it remained. “I’m not trying to play matchmaker,” Susan added, gentler now. “And I know he’s a mess, God, he really is, but... this isn’t a game to him. Not this time.” You stared down at the loaf in your hands, chest tightening under the weight of everything she wasn’t saying outright.

You could still feel the ghost of Johnny’s hand on your cheek from two days ago. The way his voice had softened when it was just the two of you. How his grin faltered when he thought you weren’t looking. The worst part? You wanted to believe her. You really did. Yet, that quiet voice in the back of your head, the one that always whispered your insecurities when the lights dimmed and the bakery closed, wasn’t so easily silenced, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

Why would someone like him want someone like you, when he could have models, actresses, girls with legs for days and zero baggage?

You pushed the thought down, deep, wrapping the last piece of tape around the box like it could hold you together too. Susan’s hand landed lightly on your arm, anchoring you for a moment. “Whatever you decide, just don’t let the noise drown out what’s real.” You met her eyes. And in them, you saw none of the pity you were bracing for, just quiet encouragement. Understanding. You gave a faint nod and offered the brioche across the counter.

She took it gently, her smile warm as she tucked it into her bag. “Take care of yourself, Y/N.” And then she was gone, the bell jingling softly behind her as she disappeared into the golden spill of the afternoon light. You exhaled slowly, and for the first time in two days, you didn’t flinch at the thought of Johnny Storm. You just ached. The door had barely swung closed behind Susan when you stood there, motionless, loaf of brioche crumbs still scattered across the counter like the remains of a decision just made.

Your heart pounded so loudly you swore the walls could hear it. The hum of the bakery lights, the tick of the clock over the register, the faint laughter of kids down the block, it all faded beneath the sudden, sharp thrum of possibility. What if she was right? What if he wasn’t just another cocky grin in a fireproof suit? What if, under all the swagger and fanfare, Johnny Storm had been waiting, hoping, for you to see him the way he saw you?

Your hands moved before your fear could stop them. You ripped off your apron, tossing it onto the hook so fast it spun, grabbed your purse and keys, and locked the till with barely a glance. You rushed around the counter, fumbled with the light switches, not bothering to sweep the back or double-check the signage. The “Closed” sign swung crooked in the door’s window as you burst out into the late afternoon sun, scanning the sidewalk like a woman on a mission.

There she was. Susan, a block away, was sliding her sunglasses on as she reached the driver's side of a navy blue Fantasticar. You called out her name, your voice cracked with urgency and nerves. She turned, brows lifted in surprise, then slowly tilted her sunglasses down as you approached, breathless and wide-eyed. “I need a ride,” You exhaled, planting your feet like you might change your mind if you moved again. “To the Baxter Building.”

A slow, knowing smirk curled on her lips, like she’d known this would happen all along. Like she had simply laid out the breadcrumbs and waited for you to follow them. Without a word, she unlocked the car with a flick of her wrist and gestured to the passenger side. You slid in, heart hammering, palms damp, and stared out the window as the city blurred by. Your mind ran faster than the wheels on the pavement. What would you say when you saw him? What if he laughed? What if you were wrong?

But then you remembered the way he looked at you. Not like you were an option. Like you were it. The crack in his cocky demeanor when he thought nobody was looking. Susan glanced at you from the corner of her eye, her voice casual as she merged into traffic. “Took you long enough.” You glanced down, flushed and nervous, but a small smile crept across your lips. “Yeah, I guess it really did.” And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel afraid of what came next.

The drive to the Baxter Building felt endless, not because of traffic, but because of what waited at the end of it. Every red light was another second for doubt to crawl back in. Every street corner flashed with reminders: his face on magazines in bodega windows, girls with teased hair giggling over autographed photos, memories of your own reflection feeling small in comparison. Still, you didn’t ask Susan to turn around.

The building rose ahead like a monument, sleek steel and glass stretching toward a stormy Manhattan sky. As you stepped through the lobby, nerves clamped around your lungs, but Susan’s hand on your arm kept you grounded. “Just breathe,” Her eyes told you without a word. The elevator ride was silent, the kind that buzzes with everything unspoken. When the doors opened, both Reed and Ben turned like they’d sensed a bomb ticking.

Ben looked you up and down like you’d grown an extra head, half a cookie still in his massive hand. Reed’s brows lifted, already calculating variables. But before either of them could utter a syllable, Susan threw them a look sharp enough to slice concrete, one perfectly arched brow raised, hand on her hip. You chuckled inwardly, thinking she had definitely mastered the 'mom look'. Ben grunted, glanced between the two of you, then quietly retreated toward the kitchen, muttering something about minding his own damn business.

Reed blinked a few times and gave a tiny, approving nod before following suit. You turned to Susan, your pulse thudding like it might give up entirely. She only smiled, placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Third door on the left. Go.” You didn't need to be told twice. Your heels clicked softly against the polished floor as you approached the door, H.E.R.B.I.E chirped a happy greeting in your direction. You waved, resting a hand on the smooth top of the robot’s head with an affectionate pat.

As you eyes locked on the door just past him, you could have sworn your heart lurched. You didn’t bother knocking. Your hand turned the knob, and the door flung open with all the force of your barely-contained storm. There he was. Johnny Storm, sprawled across his navy couch in a gray NASA tee and sweatpants, wearing a full space suit helmet. His posture screamed boredom, limbs flung over the cushions, one leg lazily propped up on the coffee table, until he saw you.

His eyes widened, nearly cartoonish behind the visor, and he jolted upright with such force the helmet slipped sideways on his head. “Y/N!” The name flew from him like he’d been holding it in for days. His voice cracked with disbelief as he scrambled to yank the helmet off, his hair sticking up wildly from the static. “Uh, hi! I mean—hey, you’re here. You’re… in my room.” You stood just inside the doorway, hands curled into your coat pockets to keep from fidgeting.

He blinked at you, breath shallow, eyes flicking from your coat to your flushed cheeks to the tense set of your jaw. “You okay? Did something happen? Are you—?” You didn’t even let him finish. Five steps, that’s all it took. You crossed the room with a force you didn’t know you had, your palms gripping the soft cotton of his white t-shirt, knuckles white with all the tension and longing that had been brewing for weeks, and tugged him down to your level.

Then you crashed your lips into his like it was the only way to keep from falling apart. Johnny’s breath stuttered, caught completely off guard, but only for a second. One of them slid up your spine, fingers splayed wide, pulling you impossibly closer until there was no space left between your bodies. He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss like he’d been starving for it.

Your tongue brushed his, tentative at first, but then his low, guttural moan vibrated through your chest and your grip tightened in his shirt, knuckles aching. You kissed him deeper, mouths moving in perfect sync, hot and messy, with the urgency of two people who had waited too long and couldn’t wait a second more. Johnny broke the kiss just long enough to gasp your name against your jaw, voice rough and reverent.

He ducked his head, lips dragging down your neck in soft, open-mouthed kisses that made your breath catch. When his teeth grazed just beneath your ear, a sharp whimper escaped you, unfiltered and raw. “God, do you have any idea what you do to me?” His voice was hoarse, like the words had clawed their way out of him. You didn’t answer, you couldn’t. Not with your pulse pounding in your ears.

Not with the way he was looking at you like you were something sacred. Instead, you kissed him again, harder this time. The scent of him, smoke and whatever cologne he wore that made your knees weak, clouded your senses as his tongue swept across your bottom lip. Your teeth knocked, breath mingled, and his hand slipped down to the back of your thigh. Without breaking contact, Johnny bent slightly, hooking his arms under your legs and lifting you as if you weighed nothing.

You gasped into his mouth as your back met the cool plaster of his bedroom wall, the contrast making you shiver, but Johnny’s body was all heat, all fire pressed flush against you. Your legs wrapped instinctively around his hips, and the sound he made in response, part growl, part groan, was nearly enough to undo you right then and there. He kissed you like a man possessed, like he’d held back every second since the first time you handed him a croissant and smiled in his direction.

His fingers flexed at your hips, anchoring you, grounding you, while his mouth explored yours with a tenderness that burned hotter than anything reckless. You broke apart only when your lungs screamed for air, panting, foreheads pressed together. His hands trembled slightly where they gripped you, and your own were buried in his hair, fingers tangled and unwilling to let go. Your gaze met his, blue eyes wide, wild, soft, and for once, all the noise in your head quieted.

You could feel it in the space between heartbeats, in the way his thumb brushed over the back of your knee, in the breath he stole and gave back with each kiss. This wasn’t just a crush. It wasn’t a game. “Now, can I take you to dinner?” He murmured, lips brushing yours. You let out a breathy laugh, stealing one more chaste kiss that left both of you grinning like fools. “I think we might've missed a couple steps.” You teased, hands absentmindedly playing with the soft hairs at the nape of his neck.

The same ones you’d always dreamed of running your fingers through but never dared to. His eyes softened, that usual cocky glint melting into something heartbreakingly earnest. “I don’t care in what order it happened,” He whispered, blue eyes tracing every line of your face like he was trying to burn it into memory. “As long as it’s you.” Your chest tightened, the words wrapping around something fragile and long-buried in you. He leaned in, nudging his nose gently against yours, and the breath that left him was barely a whisper.

“I should’ve stayed with you that night. I should’ve kissed you the second I saw you leaning against that wall. I should’ve never let you walk away. God, I’ve been such an idiot.” You drew in a shaky breath, heart swelling in your chest. Lifting your hands from his neck, you cupped his face in your palms, thumbs brushing across the faint hint of stubble along his jaw. “Hey,” You coaxed, voice soft but firm, grounding him before his thoughts could wonder. “I’m not going anywhere anymore.”

He closed his eyes like he didn’t trust himself to believe it until you said it again, so you kissed the tip of his nose. Then the corner of his mouth. Then fully on his lips, almost as if sealing the promise between you. A knock sounded faintly, followed by Reed’s voice muffled through the door. “Johnny! Is your friend staying for dinner?” You paused, eyes meeting his. There it was again, that flicker of vulnerability, like the part of him that still feared you’d run if given the chance.

But you didn’t even need to speak. Your smile answered for you. Johnny turned toward the door, cocky grin returning with full force. “Yes she is!” He called out, eyes never leaving yours. “Tell Herbert to set another plate at the table because—” He leaned closer, pressing a final lingering kiss to your flushed cheek. “My gorgeous girlfriend is staying over for dinner.” You couldn’t help it. You beamed. That word, girlfriend, made your skin tingle.

It felt impossibly good. Honest. Earned. You tugged him back down for one more kiss, slow and sure and full of everything you’d both kept buried for far too long. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t second-guessing it. You were exactly where you wanted to be. Where he wanted you to be. Wrapped in the arms of a man who once flirted like it was a reflex, and now held you like you were the only thing in the world that ever made him feel real.

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[spicysix]

not to be annoying or anything but,🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️

[spicysix]

Why do you use It/Its pronouns...

i got tagged in elementary school and never recovered

[spicysix]

“I’ll just rest my eyes” is the biggest lie you’re going straight to snorkmimimi land

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Ice suggesting a white woman remove the Mexican flag sticker from her car. Can they all kill themselves already

[spicysix]

please please please let me get what i want september

[spicysix]

The Runaways 

Pairing: Eddie Munson & reader

Summary: The five times you and Eddie made plans to run away and the one time you finally did.

Contains: angst, fluff by the end (and a little throughout), childhood best friends, platonic relationship, 5 + 1 trope, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced domestic violence, suicidal ideation (Eddie), both reader and Eddie have bad home lives, bullying, violence, description of minor injuries, blood, divorce (readers parents), death of a parent (Eddie’s mom), classism, upside down, death, canon divergent (Eddie lives), disabled Eddie, mention of reader being taller than Eddie as children, Eddie has PTSD

Word count: 7.7k

A/N: to anyone who dreamed of running away, of having someone come save them as a kid, of a better life. May we all find the life we wished for and deserve. If I missed any warnings you think should be added please let me know. ♥️

Age 6 - the first time

The grass itched under your thighs in the shaded grove. It was your only reprieve from the berating Indiana sun. The summers were always hot but this one was sweltering. The kind of heat that you felt in your lungs and lingered even after the sun went to rest.

Beside you was a dandelion, its white pompom head stood tall among the grass. You picked it gingerly and brought it to your lips, squeezing your eyes tight as you blew its seeds away sending your wish out into the world.

It was a wish that seemed rather impossible at the time. But it was something your heart ached for. Something no person should ever have to live without. You wiped at an escaped tear just as a small voice spoke up.

"Why are you crying?"

You looked up to see a young boy around your age, a mop of curls crowning his head with big kind eyes staring down at you. You had seen him before at school. You weren't in the same class but you had recess together. He was usually playing in the mud and dirt or trying to show people some creepy crawly he found, often making the other kids scream and run away.

You sniffled as you rubbed at your eyes again, still a little sore from crying. You didn’t really like the feeling sitting in your chest. You weren’t sure what it was, sadness didn’t feel like a big enough word. But it sat in there with an uncomfortable heaviness, like it was trying push your heart out. You didn't want to tell him any of this so you merely shrugged.

"Wanna see a frog?" He asked. You nodded somewhat hesitantly as he held his hands out to you, showing a small brown frog cupped into his palms. "My mama read me a story that said if you kiss it it'll turn into a prince."

You looked at him unconvinced and a little confused, "Why do you want a prince?"

"Princes save people," he answered matter of factly. As if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Why else would anyone want a prince?

"From what?"

"Dragons, but this one's gonna stop my daddy," he smiled, lifting up the frog proudly. He was missing one of his front teeth and he had little dimples pressed into his cheeks. He seemed to truly believe that this frog would be his savior.

Pulling the frog back to his face, he leaned down with puckered lips and pressed them against its back. As soon as he did the frog leapt from his hands. You both screeched in shock as the frog jumped through the air, down into the grass, and out of sight.

With a frustrated sigh the boy sat down beside you. His face rested on his hands with his elbows on his crisscrossed legs, a pout prominent on his face.

"Stupid frog," he mumbled.

"It's okay," you tried to comfort him. You wanted it to work too, because then maybe you could use the Frog Prince on your own father. You knew the idea of frogs turning into princes was rather silly, but it didn't stop you from hoping. What else was there for a kid?

"What're you gonna do now?" You asked.

"I dunno," he shrugged.

"Do you wanna find another frog?"

"No, frogs are stupid." He paused for a moment before saying, "No they're not. That was mean. I like frogs, I don't where how to find the prince ones."

"Wanna run away with me?" You offered him sincerely.

It was the whole reason you had run to the grove. You were running away. You knew you had to go farther but running away was much harder than you had thought so you stopped to rest and cry.

"Where are you going?" The boy looked up at you, sitting a few inches shorter than you. You really hadn't thought that far. Only that you had to go and you had to go now.

It was your turn to shrug, "I dunno."

His brows scrunched up again, mimicking a serious face like he'd seen his uncle Wayne do when he was trying to make a decision. "We should know where we're going."

"There's a place called…Loss Angels? I don't know where it is but it can't be too hard to find."

"I don't think that's right," he shook his head. "When would we go?"

"Now," you went to stand but he stopped you with a hand on your arm.

"I can't go now, my uncles birthday is tomorrow." He said rather sternly.

"So the day after that?"

He rolled his eyes, an action your mother taught you was quite rude. "We've got school."

You huffed, perturbed by his nay-saying. He didn't seem like he really wanted to run away at all and you couldn't have that. You'd rather run away with someone who was sure. "Well I'm gonna run away! I don't need you to come with me!" You stood with a shout and run through the trees.

The boy quickly followed, calling after you to stop and wait. You didn't listen. You didn't want to stop or wait. You just wanted to go, and never stop. You swerved through the trees trying to create as much distance as possible. But in your determination to get away you didn't see the protruding tree root. Falling with an oof onto your hands and knees, feeling the burn of the scrapes.

You moved to sit, wincing at the pain as tears sprung from your eyes once more. The boy caught up and knelt down beside you.

"You're bleeding" He said, eyes wide as he looked at your bloody and scraped knee.

Your lip merely trembled as you wiped the tears from your face, unconsciously smearing dirt on it with your now dirty palms.

"Can you walk?"

You nodded and he offered his hand to help you stand. Despite his short stature compared to you he tried to support you as best he could, leading you through the trees until you heard the babbling of a brook. Sitting you down in front of it he cupped water into his hands and poured it over your scraped knee, washing away the dirt and blood.

"Hurts," you mumbled. He looked up at you noticing the dirt smeared on your face and used his wet hand to wipe it away.

"My uncle says you always have to wash a booboo or it gets worse," he explained.

Once he was satisfied with the cleaning he used some leaves to dry the surrounding area before pulling a band-aid out of his pocket.

"My mama makes me keep band-aids in my pocket," he said as he placed it over your knee.

"Why?"

"I get hurt a lot."

With the band-aid secured he finished off with a kiss on it, looking up at you with sad eyes. "I'm sorry I made you mad."

"It's okay. What's your name?" You asked as he adjusted to sit next to you.

"Eddie, what's yours?"

You told him and he smiled. "Do you wanna be my friend?"

You nodded, returning his grin. Your dandelion wish had come true after all in the form of a weird but kind curly haired boy.

“We’re gonna run away someday,” Eddie whispered. “And it’s going to be…wonderful.”

He had just learned that word. Wonderful. He liked the way it sounded, He liked the way it felt. Soft but powerful. Like the word itself was full of dreams and hope. He thought a word like that was rather important. A word like that should be used far more often.

The achy heaviness you had felt before slowly begun to dissipate with the boy's presence.

“Promise?” You held out your pinky to him.

A pinky promise was a very serious thing. Something Eddie Munson even at the ripe age of six years old did not take lightly. Pinky promises to a best friend were sacred (He had decided then you were best friends). Even so, he hardly hesitated when he wrapped his pinky around yours with a jovial grin.

“Yeah, I promise.”

He didn't know it then but Eddie would come to wish he had run away that day. If he had he wouldn't have had to watch his mom get sick, and he wouldn't have had to say goodbye in a hospital room.

⎯⎯⎯

Age 10 - the second time

It had been a bad day. Your mother was upset, something to do with her divorce from your father and the judge residing over it. When she was mad you knew it was best to keep your distance. To make yourself as small and quiet as possible. So you were playing outside, drawing on your driveway with some chalk.

Your latest work was of a creature you and Eddie had written together for a school assignment. Gangling, hairy, limbs. A giant maw full of teeth. Large round eyes surrounded by a dozen smaller ones. Eddie told you the idea had come to him when he found a spider in his bedroom. He was always inventing monsters. When you asked him why he said it was because they were real, only they looked just like regular people. His monsters were at least honest about what they were.

You stood back to admire your work when you heard your name, turning to see a frantic Eddie on his bike with tears streaming down his face. Dumping the bike on your front lawn, he practically launched himself at you as he hugged you, mumbling incoherently into your neck. To not bother your mom inside, you grabbed his hand and took him to the swing set in your backyard.

He wouldn't speak at first. Just sat there on the swing looking down at his feet and kicking the dirt. This was not normal. Eddie was always a chatterbox. Always had something to say. It scared you to see him so quiet.

"Best friends tell each other everything," you reminded him, speaking in a firm yet still gentle voice.

So he told you. He told you that his dad was out of prison now. He told you he didn't want him living with his uncle anymore. He told you that he was being made to live with his dad now because of something called custody. More tears fell from his face as he explained. He wiped them away harshly, becoming more bashful the more he cried.

He wasn't supposed to cry. Men don't cry, his dad had told him. If they do they meet the back of a hand

Uncle Wayne never cared if he cried. If he did, Wayne would hold him. He'd tell him everything was going to be okay just like his mom used to.

He didn't want to live with his dad. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

"It's bullshit," he mumbled. He liked to use that word a lot. You never dared, knowing if your mother heard you she'd wash your mouth out with soap. Although you agreed. It very much was bullshit.

"What are you gonna do?" You asked sincerely.

He turned to look at you then, a serious look on his face. "I have to run away. Will you come with me?"

You didn't hesitate in your answer.

You always thought the desire to run away was normal. Every kid had thoughts about running away from their home, their family, right? Every kid day dreamed about their “real” parents coming to save them…

Right?

That afternoon on the swings you and Eddie came up with a plan. He would go back and pretend like everything was fine but at night you'd both pack your bags, get on your bikes, and never look back.

But life has a way of derailing plans. In fact, it often laughs in the face of them. Especially those made by two desperate kids.

⎯⎯⎯

With his backpack on Eddie quietly opened up the bedroom window in his dads new place where you were waiting on the other side. The chilly autumnal air filled his room with a gust. You spoke in hushed voices to aid in your stealth. He tossed his backpack out first letting it fall with a small thud before he threw his leg over the window pane, heart thrumming in his chest in excitement and nerves. Freedom was just at his finger tips but before he could fully grasp it he was being pulled out the window with a yelp.

He yelled at you to run, so you did. Straight to Wayne's, the only place you could think of. Your blood felt hot against your skin despite the cold night, heart banging against your chest as your fist hit the door. You frantically called out to him, pleading for him to answer. When he did, confused with his mind still hazy from sleep, you explained to him what was happening. Speaking a million miles a minute while he tried to keep up. Wayne told you to go inside in a voice sterner than you'd ever heard from him and you did. He grabbed his jacket and went down the road to his brothers trailer.

When he came back he had Eddie with him, his left eye with a start of a bruise. You asked him what happened and he merely said that the two men talked. You didn't believe him, but you didn't push it. He told you eventually, one dark night under the stars after he wished to never ever be like his dad.

Eddie wasn't sure what Wayne said to his father. He was told to go into his room and stay there. Whatever it was must have been enough to change his dads mind because he moved right back in with Wayne that night.

Only a few days later Al Munson went back to prison. He broke something called probation as Eddie recalled to you. While Wayne was granted custody, which Eddie learned that it meant he would never have to leave his uncle again.

⎯⎯⎯

Age 14 - the third time

You fell to the cold pavement, your ears ringing with their laughter. Each horrible word hurled in your direction sliced at your already weary heart. The laughter cut off quickly as you heard a loud thud, turning your head to see one of your tormentors on the ground with Eddie on top of him. His fists colliding with the young boys face again and again. Chaos erupted as everyone that surrounded you now clustered the two brawling boys, either trying to pull Eddie off of him or cheering.

You stood, pushing through the crowd to get to him. Your hand gripped onto his shoulder as you said his name once. His fist froze in midair as he looked at you, chest rising and falling in rapid succession as the hardened look in his eyes dissipated at the sight of you.

An arm pulled you away then, their fingers digging into your arm as their voice boomed for all students to get to class. The boy Eddie had pinned down managed to worm his way out from under him with the distraction and ran off with his friends.

The teacher who had grabbed you now reached for Eddie who tried to squirm away, yelling about how it wasn't his fault. But all pleas fell on deaf ears as you two were escorted inside the building and pushed into the chairs outside the principal's office. The teacher went in, leaving you and Eddie alone in the hallway. It never seemed to matter what your peers said or did to you. As long as the two poor kids were throwing punches, it had to be your fault.

As you looked down at your shoes, trying to quell your rising anger, you noticed a drop of blood drip on the floor. Your hand went to your nose to realize it was bleeding.

"Here," Eddie said holding out a tissue from the box on the mini table between the two of you. You smiled slightly, taking it from his hand. The new ring he had gotten, a skull, was too big for his slender fingers, the band wrapped with tape to make it fit.

"Thanks, nice ring," you gestured to it.

"Thanks," he grinned looking down at it.

He had started dressing differently these last two years. Even growing his hair out. You figured it had something to do with that music he was listening to. All rumbling basses and screaming voices. You'd watch him as he sang along to it, howling in anger. Sometimes you joined and it felt good. Like a pressurized can being released.

Holding the tissue to your bloody nose, you both dissolved into silence as students piled into their classrooms. The kids who had been the cause of your injury walked past snickering. Eddie went to lunge at them but you put your hand on his arm, shaking your head and he leaned back into his chair. He reached over the small table beside you and grabbed your free hand. A needed comfort for the both of you as you awaited your fate.

"Can't wait to get out of this town," he grumbled. "They're all a bunch of dicks."

You nodded in agreement. "We'll go somewhere with a big music scene so you can do your music," you said, looking at him with hopeful eyes.

"What about you?" He asked, poking at your arm.

"I'm going to be a writer," you shrugged rather nonchalantly. "I can do that anywhere."

"Like Tolkien?"

You laughed lightheartedly, "I was thinking more like Ursula K. Le Guin, but yeah."

"Someday," he smiled sadly.

It seemed the older you got the more appealing the idea of running away got. You suspected it was supposed to be the opposite but with it came the chance of a fresh start. No bullies, no more parents who made you feel like you were never good enough, no more teachers who refused to believe you. Just you, your best friend, and the open road.

"What if I didn't want to wait for someday?"

Eddie turned his head to you, a spark of excitement in his eyes you hadn't seen from him in awhile.

"We can be smarter about it this time. We'll take the bus to Chicago, I have some money saved up from dog sitting Miss Jefferson's dog," you explained, speaking in a hushed voice in case of any prying ears. "Only pack one bag. The important stuff. Once we're in Chicago I bet I could still get a job dog sitting and walking. You could be a busboy. I heard they have homeless shelters there, we can stay in one of those. Once we have enough money saved up we can go to LA."

"You've thought about this a lot," Eddie's eyes widened slightly.

"I'm tired of waiting," you merely shrugged. "You in?"

With a smile Eddie stuck his pinky out to you and you grabbed it with yours, shaking on it.

After your parents and Wayne came to talk to the principal you were both sent home with a warning of possible suspension or expulsion. The typical threat. It didn't matter much to you or Eddie in that moment. You had a plan and soon you'd say goodbye to Hawkins for good.

⎯⎯⎯

It didn't sit right with Eddie to leave his uncle without saying goodbye. As much as he hated Hawkins he loved his uncle more. So he wrote him a letter explaining why he was leaving, why it wasn't his fault, and how he couldn't tell him where he was going (he promised not to), but he'd write to him once he got there.

He left the letter on the coffee table for Wayne to find after work and left, giving the trailer one last look with a whispered goodbye before closing the door behind him.

He pulled his jacket tightly around him to fight against the frigid winter wind. His boots crunched against the snowy pavement. The ticket you had given him earlier sat in his pocket. It felt heavier than it should have, ever present against the fabric of his jeans. He found himself fiddling with it as he walked to the bus station. His thoughts raced with each step he took.

Was this really a good idea?

Would Wayne be upset with him? Would it break his heart?

Before he knew it he was at the station. He looked around for you but you seemed to be running behind. With there still being time before your bus arrived he took a seat at a bench and waited for you.

⎯⎯⎯

As you packed, your mom and her boyfriend were arguing. More like shouting, as if the louder they were the more right they would be. It was the same thing that always happened with your father, though those screaming matches often ended in violence. You hoped that wouldn't be the case with this new boyfriend of hers. You didn't trust him, of course. You'd never trust another man with your mom again.

The fighting happened so often he might as well have been your father. You found yourself feeling somewhat uncomfortable in silence, so accustomed to the noise of it all. So when the screaming stopped you froze, your blood ran cold. Then there was a crash and the sound of your mothers screams. Your feet moved faster than your brain could think as you ran toward the noise.

⎯⎯⎯

Eddie's eyes frantically searched the station. There was no sign of you and the bus would be leaving soon. He knew something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones. You would never stand him up like this, not after the most sacred of promises, a pinky promise. He paced in front of the bench he had been resting on, chewing his nails until they were nothing but nubs.

Were you hurt? In trouble? Should he go to your house? Should he stay and wait?

Pulling him from his thoughts was a hand on his shoulder, he whipped around with a grin hoping to see your face. Instead, the graying and wrinkling face of his uncle met him.

"Going somewhere?" He asked.

He didn't look as angry as Eddie thought he would. He just looked…sad.

Eddie couldn't bring himself to say anything. He just stood and stared at the older man. Wayne gestured for him to sit with him on the bench and he did, knee bouncing up and down as he waited for a scolding.

But it never came.

"It's hard being your age huh? Feel too old to be a kid and too young to be an adult. You feel like you ain't ever gonna fit in. I know I'm just some old guy to you now but I was your age once. Kids were mean, adults seemed meaner," Wayne began, turning to face his nephew. "I don't have all the answers for you Ed. I don't know how to make it easier. But I know it gets better. You're already ahead of where I was, you've got friends," Wayne smiled slightly. "Friends who care enough to do anything for you. Even buy you a bus ticket out of here. I think what I'm trying to say here is, you're gonna be okay. Doesn't feel like it right now but you will be."

Then Eddie hugged him, arms squeezing tight around him as he tried to fight back tears. They hugged for awhile. Long enough for the bus to leave. Long enough that Wayne's shoulder turned damp. He didn't mind thought. He had his boy.

The next day at school Eddie asked you why you never showed. When you told him he just hugged you and told you his door was always open. He kept that promise. On the worse nights you'd sneak down to Forest Hills and into his bedroom, slipped into his bed and slept. Wayne always knew, he never said so though. You'd always sneak back out in the early morning and climb back into your own bed before anyone could notice you were gone.

⎯⎯⎯

Age 16 - the fourth time

Your mom seemed to have a special talent for making you feel inferior. You didn't think she did it on purpose. At least you hoped she didn't, but you felt it. Almost like needles poking at your skin. That unimpressed look on her face when you try to talk about your interests, your accomplishments. The way she knew just what to say to make you feel bad about yourself. It was like a native tongue to her. It only got worse after her most recent boyfriend left, like his cruelty had rubbed off on her.

Eddie was the opposite. He made you feel like anything was possible. He lifted you up when you were down, he was a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen and he listened intently. Like what you had to say mattered.

Like you mattered.

Your mother made you feel like screaming until your lungs burned. That was your secret. One you'd only tell Eddie during one of your woodland walks.

"Sometimes I just want to scream. I can feel it building up in me. But I worry that if I started I wouldn't be able to stop, I'd just keep screaming until I no longer had a voice at all."

Your usual walk with Eddie was usually filled with confessions much like this one. Secret thoughts you never shared with anyone else. You figured the woods was probably full of secrets. A few more shared between it and two friends seemed only right.

Eddie nodded along like he understand. If anyone did you knew it would be him. "Your voice would come back though," he shrugged. He kicked at a rock in front of him, watching it tumble in front of you until it met a tree root that stopped it in it's path.

You had felt like that for a long time, like a scream trapped in a body begging to be released. Sometimes you screamed into your pillow but it was never enough. Muffling it almost made it worse. The scream wanted to be heard, to be felt like a ringing in your ears. You weren't sure if it was a feeling that you should give into though. You suspected it wasn't normal. Not having the urge to scream but to feel like a scream. Like your bones were made to rattle and shake and make noise. Like your very essence was being bottled away. Out of touch and out of reach.

"But is it worth? Feels like if I do I'm letting them get to me," you looked at him with uncertainty clouding you eyes.

Eddie paused in his stride, "Who's they?"

"You know, them," you stopped in front of him gesturing to the forest ahead of you. "Everyone who…who knows how to get under someones skin. Everyone whose ever hurt me."

You turned around to face him as his brows furrowed, his mouth set in a frown. "What do they have to do with it? It's not about them. Maybe its just about you not holding all that shit in all the time. Just try it."

"Try…what?" you asked.

"Screaming."

"I'm not gonna—"

"Scream."

"Eddie that's ridiculous—"

"FUCKING SCREAM!" He yelled, making you jump slightly. You hit him in the shoulder muttering a jerk under your breath. "Sorry," he laughed, rubbing at his shoulder.

You paused to consider. Voices got lost and voices came back, it happened. But bottled screams only ached more. A bottled scream might burn you from the inside out.

You looked around you as if you were making sure no one else was around, turned your back to him and screamed.

You screamed until your lungs ached. Until your throat burned. Until your head pounded.

When you finally stopped you were panting, trying to catch your breath. You turned to him again, his brown eyes wide as he stared back at you.

"Wow, alright banshee. Better?"

You smiled almost maniacally. "Actually…yeah."

⎯⎯⎯

"Watch it freak," the word was said with such disdain as his shoulder bumped against some jock. He didn't even know the guys name. He'd seen his face around plenty of times. Hawkins was only so big, but his name was lost to him.

The general populace of Hawkins high all seemed to agree, strangers to him or not, that Eddie was a freak. He assumed the fact that he laughed the last time one of the basketball players punched him and left his mouth bleeding didn't really help.

Wayne had always told him to not let it get to him. He knew who he was, you knew who he was, his friends at Hellfire knew who he was, his band knew who he was, Wayne knew who he was. That was all that mattered.

But sometimes on those especially bad days he let a thought creep into his mind. Maybe if he wasn't around anymore…maybe it would be better. The thought wasn't telling him to run away like he had tried so many times before. It urged him to take a more permanent solution. One, he assumed, would make it easier on the people he loved.

Without him, you and the Hellfire guys would probably get less shit. Wayne wouldn't have the burden of having to take care of him. He could take less shifts, have some actual free time for himself. Not to mention he'd no longer be the uncle to the town freak.

Sometimes that singular thought was so loud, so domineering, Eddie considered it.

That was his secret. One he never told even in the sanctity of your walks through the woods. It was a secret that seemed even too much for the wilderness.

The truth, however, has a way of revealing itself. It revealed itself to you in the form of a series of letters. Tucked away under his metal lunch box. You hadn't meant to find it. You were looking for Eddie's new stash of weed he got from a guy he recently met called Reefer Rick. He told you you could try some but only if you got it yourself. That was all forgotten once you found the letters. You usually weren't one to snoop on Eddie. You never needed to, he told you everything. At least he used to.

There was one addressed to you, so you read it. You read it again and again and again. Until the words felt burned into your brain. Until your chest ached from your sobs. Until you couldn't see the words through your tears anymore.

You found Eddie sitting on the trailer porch. "Did you find it?" he asked, turning to you with a smile. It dropped once he saw the letter in your hand. You had never been one to snoop through his stuff, so he never even thought to hide it. Though a part of him wondered if he wanted you to find it.

You hugged him, practically tackling him as you cried. "Please don't," you begged. "I need you. Wayne and the boys need you. You can't…you can't."

He stood frozen for a moment before the shock wore off and he finally spoke. "I'm sorry," he whispered as he rubbed at your back. His own tears pricked at his eyes. "I-I won't."

You pulled away then, wiping away your tears as you stuck out your pinky to him. "Promise." You weren't asking. It wasn't a request. It was a demand. A plead.

He met your pinky in an embrace of his own. "Promise."

"Once we graduate," you began. "We'll get as far as we fucking can from this town but you gotta stay with me, okay? I'll get you out of here. I promise." You shook on it with your pinkies. The most sacred of promises.

That thought that probed at his mind didn't go away so easily. He still tried his best to not listen to it. It was a lie, he'd remind himself. Whenever the thought came through, he told you. You had gotten quite good at silencing the thought, providing a necessary distraction. And sometimes when it was really bad you and Eddie would go out into the woods and scream. He'd scream until he couldn't hear it anymore. It might not have helped either of your reputations but you found it hard to care.

Neither of you were planning to stick around anyway.

⎯⎯⎯

Age 20 - the fifth time

The night of your graduation in 1984 was spent under the stars at skull rock. Eddie saved his best weed for the occasion, his last gift to you before you left the hallowed halls of Hawkins High. That night he told you to leave Hawkins without him. He wouldn't be walking across that stage with you, sentenced to another year at Hawkins High. You knew he didn't mean it. You knew he was just looking out for you, in his own way. So you merely rolled your eyes and said that you could never leave him.

So you didn't, even when he got held back again…and again.

You made the best out of your life there. You went to the local community college, got a job at Hawk Theater—where you let Eddie and the hellfire boys sneak in for free movies—and bought a trailer in Forest Hills down the road from Eddie's.

You took little freedoms here and there. Going to concerts on the weekends with Eddie. Mini road trips to Indianapolis where you both daydreamed of one day living in a big city. Decorating your trailer the way you would wanted, not caring what your mother had to say because it was yours.

The longer you stayed in Hawkins, however, the more you worried you'd never leave. That you'd be trapped there. Sometimes Hawkins felt like a black hole. Forcing people into its dark, gravitational pull to be swallowed whole with all their hopes and dreams. Small town living didn't suit someone whose entire childhood was spent wishing for somewhere else.

Eddie worried too. He worried that his inability to graduate would prevent you from ever leaving Hawkins and you'd grow to resent him because of it. He wasn't one to usually care what others thought of him but he cared what you thought. He wanted to make you proud. To do that all he had to do was graduate this year, and all he had to do for that to happen was to pass chemistry with Mrs. O'Donnell.

While his grades managed to improve, the disdain for him from his peers seemed to grow with each passing year. He never outgrew the title of town freak. Not that he really wanted to. He'd come to embrace it. Every jab at his otherness was met with a taunting sign of devil horns and sticking out his tongue.

If they wanted a freak, he'd give them a freak.

It was hard to care that much for his reputation when he was simply able to up-charge them whenever they wanted something from his precious metal lunch box.

Chance Matthews wrote freak on his locker? Suddenly he was paying triple the usual cost for Eddie to supply one of his parties.

It wasn't like they had much choice. There weren't a lot of other dealers in Hawkins. Reefer Rick didn't deal with teens, that was Eddie's area. Rick worked mostly with the bored housewives of Hawkins, along with supplying Eddie.

Eddie was all the popular kids had. Every cent of every deal he made with them went straight into his Get Out Of Hawkins Fund. He cared about them as much as they cared about him.

Until there was Chrissy Cunningham.

He was surprised to get the note in his locker that afternoon. Chrissy was one of those church-going goody two shoes cheerleaders. Then he saw how scared she looked in the woods. Only it wasn't him she was scared of. Something was wrong and Eddie, with his heart too big for his own good, wanted to help her. The only way he knew how was to numb whatever pain she was feeling. So he offered her his Special K and invited her to come back to his trailer with him.

Then Chrissy died. The sounds of her bones snapping would haunt his dreams for years to come.

After that Eddie seemed to keep running. He ran from Chrissy. From Jason and his friends. It all made him feel like a coward. Especially when none other than Princess Nancy Wheeler jumped into dark waters to a hell dimension to save her ex-boyfriend.

If she could be brave, then he didn't see why he couldn't either.

So, when the plan to defeat Vecna was in action he stood on that trailer roof and played like he never had before. It was like the music poured through him, like it ran through his veins and kept his heart pumping.

Then he was running again. It was then that Eddie realized he didn't want to run away anymore. He wanted something to run to.

Eddie Munson broke his promise to you. He cut the rope and ran.

Not in the direction of freedom like he always longed for. But to the bats. To his destruction, to the end.

To the chance to save his new friends. To save you.

And you screamed. You screamed more than you ever had. Louder than any of those times in the woods. This scream didn't come from a place of release like the others. This was a scream of loss. One you felt so deep in your bones you knew that a piece of you would have died with him.

You and Dustin tried your best to keep him awake, keep him talking. But Eddie was so tired. He just wanted to sleep. He told you both he loved you as he closed his eyes.

Then there was Steve Harrington. Reformed King, carrying the unconscious town freak to safety. It was something you never would have believed if you hadn't seen it with your own eyes.

You weren't really sure what happened after that, other than Eddie was admitted to the hospital and that he was going to be okay. Steve told you not to worry about it. That they had friends in high places and any and all charges against Eddie were dropped. You didn't understand it and you didn't care. All you cared about was that he was safe now.

He was in the hospital for a month. An anonymous donor paid for all his hospital bills. Wayne told you not to ask, so you didn't.

You stayed in Hawkins as Eddie recovered. While he didn't get to walk across the stage that year, his diploma was hand delivered by Principle Higgins himself. Who was rather disgruntled by the fact that his appearance was met with you and Eddie flipping him the bird as he snatched the diploma from the man's hands.

⎯⎯⎯

For awhile, Eddie was bound to a wheelchair. He hated it until Max suggested they race their wheelchairs together through Forest Hills. The sound of his cacophonous laughter rang through your ears that afternoon. It was a sound that you hadn't heard in sometime.

Learning to walk again was hardly the hardest thing Eddie had to do. He took to it quicker than the physical therapist thought he would. You figured it was because Eddie was just stubborn, always had been. It was the learning to laugh again that he struggled with.

He was still the Eddie you grew up with. Brash, nerdy, kind, wonderful Eddie. But there was an air of sadness that seemed to cloud him most days. Nights were the worst. Most of the time he didn't sleep, when he did he was plagued with nightmares. They were all essentially the same dream excluding some minor details. He saw Chrissy and her twisted body. Or Patrick's. Or the bats. Or Jason and his friends with their bats and crowbars. Sometimes it was even you or Wayne's mangled corpse he'd see. No matter what the nightmare was he'd wake up in a cold sweat and make his way to your trailer where he'd sleep with you the rest of the night, sharing a bed like you once did when you were fourteen.

The physical wounds healed, but the mental ones kept a hold of him. The thoughts he had when he was sixteen, the ones that wanted him to take his life, came back full force. He didn't hide it this time, not after he promised you he never would again. This time you told Wayne. So Wayne talked to an old buddy of his from Nam whose brother knew a shrink.

⎯⎯⎯

Eddie didn't want to go. You had to drag him to her office.

In that first meeting he had already decided he hated her. She asked him about things that had nothing to do with the nightmares. She asked him about his mom and his dad, about his childhood. She claimed it was to "get to know him" but Eddie just wanted her to make the nightmares stop. Hypnotize them away or give him some medication or whatever it was that shrinks like her did.

Instead she just talked. Tried to get him to talk. Usually people would just get frustrated enough with him that they would snap and leave him alone. She never did. She didn't raise her voice. She didn't try to refer him to someone else. She refused to give up on him.

It drove him crazy.

By the sixth meeting he decided she was actually alright. For a shrink of course.

It took another year before Eddie was finally starting to feel normal again. After his doctors and therapist gave him the go ahead (with a promise to his therapist that he'd continue therapy) he celebrated his twenty second birthday with a gift for you.

Two one-way plane tickets to Los Angeles.

⎯⎯⎯

Age 22 - the final time

Eddie used to hate the heat. He hated how it made his clothes feel like they were sticking to his skin. He hated how easily he burned under the sun. He hated how the sun always seemed so blinding in the summer.

In California it felt different. It didn't feel as oppressive as it did in Indiana, even on the hottest of days. It felt like he thought summer was supposed to feel. Warm and welcoming, like greeting an old friend.

That day there was a gentle breeze by the water. It whipped his wild curls around as he walked through the sandy shore, his toes in the sand—cool and wet from the ocean water. His shoes hung from his middle and pointer finger as he walked. He squinted against the sun, looking ahead of him and bringing his hand over his eyes until he could finally see what he was looking for. Or rather who.

"Hey banshee!"

You turned from where you sat with your feet in the water. A smile brighter than the western sun taking over your face. You waved him to come closer and he did so going into a brisk walk.

"There's a sea turtle," you whispered as if you were afraid of scaring it away. Eddie looked out in the direction you pointed seeing a scaly green head poke out from the water.

"Whoa," he breathed, moving slowly to take a seat next you without spooking it. "Came out here to watch the turtles?"

You shook your head. "Writers block."

"Again?"

"The woe of artistry," you sighed dramatically making him chuckle.

"Turtle helping at all?"

"No, but its still nice. He's so…chill."

Eddie nodded in understanding as you laid your head against his shoulder. You both sat there in silence for awhile, just watching the waves and the turtle. Silence was something you used to hate. In fact you feared it. But now silence was just…silence. Not good, not bad. Just was. Eventually, the turtle dove under the water and out of your sight.

"Damn there goes your chance," he shook his head.

Your head picked up as you looked at him in confusion. "What?"

"Well if you kissed him maybe he could have been your Prince Charming."

You splashed him with the water, soaking his shirt as he laughed. "That's frogs dummy!"

He smiled knowingly, "Right. How could I ever forget."

He splashed you back, you gasping as you feigned offense. Back and forth you went scooping up the salty sea water and soaking each other in it as you laughed like little kids.

When you both eventually ran out of breath, you sat there for awhile longer until the skies turned from cerulean blue to a burnt orange, the sun slowly descending over the horizon. Eddie broke the silence with a yawn and you laughed once again.

"C'mon sleepy," you said finally standing up. "I'll race you. Loser has to make dinner."

"That's not fair, you know I can't run like I used to," Eddie groaned as he stood.

"Then a walking race."

"Okay, on-your-mark-get-set-go!" He shouted in one breath before power walking away like he used to see the old ladies in Hawkins do.

"Cheat!" you called after him, trying to follow in his stride.

You both looked rather silly, trying to one up the other in your walking speeds. When Eddie got too tired to keep going you slowed down, letting him use you for balance with an arm over your shoulder. Even when he insisted he would have won with his beautifully long gangling legs. Even when he insisted that you would be making dinner. It didn't matter to you. As long as it was him you were walking with.

You'd never tell him this, you'd never hear the end of it, but you'd do just about anything for him. Even run away across the country.

For some people running away is the hardest thing they'll ever have to do. There is a bravery to it that many fail to see. A bravery in accepting that you deserve better than the hand you were dealt. But it's when you find something to run to that the running becomes the easy part.

He was what you had been running to, and him to you.

A/N: this started as a blurb and then I just couldn’t stop writing lol. Special thanks to my amazing beta reader @abitchyouhate love you so much!!! And thank you to @writinginthetwilight who helped me with the age 6 scene when I was unsure about it. ♥️🥰

Thank you so much for reading I hope you enjoyed!

Reblog to support writers. Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and cherished ♥️

Gia’s Gems: @bettyfrommars @ali-r3n @devilinthepalemoonlite @aunicornmademedoit @allthingsjoeq

@etherealxwitch @steves-babysitter @starksbabie @lavendermunson

@jamdoughnutmagician @keeksandgigz @abitchyouhate @kennedy-brooke

Munson’s Maniacs: @aingealbites @mrsjellymunson @eddiesguitarskills

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The Pitt Season Two Teaser Trailer

via Fiona Dourif on Instagram

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they really take money from your bank account when you buy something this is so fucked up :/

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BLACK WIDOW 2021 | dir. Cate Shortland

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"Kill them with kindness" Nah, fuck that, CRICKET BAT 🏏 🏏🏏🏏*SMACK* 🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏*SMACK*🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏*SMACK*🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏*SMACK*🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏*SMACK*🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏*SMACK*🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏🏏

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"Sorry i reported you" scam making it's rounds here.

I'm not even banned.

Vague details.

Doesn't just start with the reason for contact.

You submit help to www.tumblr.com/support or help.tumblr.com. NOT the links provided in the photos.

the proof of email photo is crunchy as hell. Looks old too.

Why do i have to contact them to confirm my innocence. lmao.

What is the scam? You rush to prove your innocence to the email and they will respond back to you needing to verify your login info and then steal your account. easy. Discord and Steam have a version of this too.

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seeing a group of cool alt queer people chilling together in public feels like this

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This is bugging me because everyone keeps asking us this and making me feel underprepared. For context, I fly out a week from today for Scotland. For the last two weeks, people have been asking me if I've got everything packed yet.

I typically don't start packing until 2-3 days before, and when I tell them this, they look at me like I'm nuts.

Am I really that unusual?