#Brave fic

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Brave [2 of ?]

Pairing: Orc!Steve x Reader

Summary: As you begin to acclimate to life in the pack, your new leader seems to take a keen interest in your ability to survive. 

Warnings: 18+ Only, Genre typical violence, Warlord Nomad AU, Dark Fantasy AU, Enemies to lovers, Eventual smut, References to past abuse

A/N: i really hope you guys enjoy this next piece! mind the warnings ❤️

You run your tongue across your chapped lips before reaching for the skin of water hanging from a long strap across your shoulder. The liquid inside is over-warm from the sun hanging mercilessly overhead, but you are grateful for it still. 

Where are we even going?

The river had been days ago—three, perhaps four at your best estimation—and the pack had been pushing on ever since, riding out into the grass sea further than you had ever thought possible. When you had asked, your father had told you simply that there was nothing out there, his breath stinking of ale as he reminded you to keep your mind to your housework, else he would ensure you found out for yourself. And now, for all the fates cruel humor, you had found out anyway. 

You had been spared death at the river, but the same luck that had kept you breathing now also bound you to the blue-eyed-orc and his pack. You had tried twice already to sneak away in the darkness, only to find yourself practically nose to nose with your captor, his eyes bright even in the dark.

Dangerous out there in the dark, Sweetmeat, he’d said, turning you around with one huge hand on your shoulder, tapping the flat of his blade against your backside as your cheeks flamed with hot anger and embarrassment. If you’re looking to raise an army for vengeance, you should ride in daylight. Even now, your face heats with anger. You had no intention of riding to the capital to raise the alarm—even if you knew how to get there, you doubt anyone would care for the fate of a tiny village in the borderlands. 

You slip dangerously in the saddle, yelping as you grab for the reins, righting yourself. You had never ridden a horse before now, much preferring to watch the huge beasts from afar rather than subject yourself to them up close. The stallion beneath you seems to know it, tossing his head irritatedly as you pull back haphazardly. 

“I’m afraid the saddle is too big for you.” The voice startles you, and you almost slip down out of the saddle again as you whirl to look at its source. Mirthful blue eyes meet your own. “We shall have to find you a smaller one.” 

You glare at him, your mouth stubbornly shut. 

“Oh come now. Are you still angry about last night?” He makes no effort to hide his amusement. You keep your jaw locked, refusing to answer—which only serves to amuse him further. Finally, your ire loosens your tongue.

“You would have killed me three days ago,” you bite out through gritted teeth. “And left my corpse in the dirt.” 

“Aye,” he answers, cocking his head. “Yet I did not.” Somehow, this enrages you even more. 

“You hunted the others for sport—” You half choke on the words. “You ran them down like dogs.”

“What use is a lame horse, Sweetmeat?” He asks. “Or a dog that won’t hunt?” There is no derision in his words, only indifference. “I cannot ask my riders to carry that burden.”

“So you kill them.” 

“Aye.” You see reflected in his eyes the same cool apathy a wild dog might give a rabbit. “Would you ask a wolf to apologize for feeding its strongest cubs, Little One?” You bristle, but he continues before you can speak. “Perhaps because it is removed from you, you do not see it. But I have seen it. I have seen your great cities of men, and the bodies that line the ditches of their streets. There is death for them everywhere.” You want to deny the truth of his words, but they settle on your skin like oil. “Better a quick death by my steel than a slow one beneath the heel of the man you call King.”

He stops his horse, and you mirror him, watching the orc warily. 

“If you wish to return to it, you’ve my blessing to do so, Sweetmeat. May you go and die in whichever way seems best to you.” 

You are overcome with the urge to dig your heels into the stallion’s sides and take off, to cut through the swaying sea of grass like a clean blade—but you hesitate. 

Your life in the village had been one of little note and much misery; tending to your father as he sickened himself with either too much ale or for the want of it as the days ground on and on. You’d felt little sorrow at his passing, considering he’d blacked your eye only three days prior. There were, no doubt, several villagers that had escaped on horses of their own, racing back toward the mountain to warn others of the orc-pack roaming the borderlands. You suppose you could rejoin them—the same people who had watched as your father’s druken rages consumed him and done nothing to help you. 

Your skin prickles with distaste. 

“No?” He asks after a lengthy silence. “Then let us ride on.” 

You watch sullenly as he takes his place at the front of the group, the other riders falling into a loose line behind him. 

—

No one offers to help you as you struggle down from your horse when they break to make camp, and you drop unceremoniously to the ground. For the most part, the rest of the pack ignores you completely, regarding you with the same indifference one might pay a rock as they go about setting up their bedrolls and hobbling the horses. They dwarf you as you all line up to fill your water skins, and the one with chestnut hair—-the blue-eyed-one had called him Buck—narrows his eyes at you. 

“What’d you do to earn water today?” He sneers. “Get to the back. We’ll see if we have any left for you.” You dig your heels in gritting your teeth despite your fear. The protestation is there on your tongue, but before you can voice it, someone else speaks instead. 

“Give her the water, Bucky.” The blue-eyed-orc rests a hand on his shoulder. 

“Steve, she will do nothing but slow us down and rob us of our food, our water—”

“Calm, Bucky.” He holds up a hand. “The human will hunt tomorrow, and tomorrow she will earn it. Tonight, give her the water.” For a moment there is tension between them, a charged current you can’t see, but it soon breaks. Reluctantly, Bucky fills your water skin, shoving it into your hands with a grimace. 

“It was fine to give her Roth’s horse—he fell, he’s got no need for it now,” Bucky spits irritatedly. “But Tarrath’s a fortnight’s ride from here. She’s going to need to earn her water.” He frowns at you. “Like the rest of us.” Steve nods his understanding. 

“Aye. She will. Consider it half my portion.”

Angrily, you shuffle back over to your horse and begin unstrapping your bed-roll from its back. Nothing has been said outright, but you sleep away from the others, setting your roll up at the edge of camp. You know you aren’t welcome. You know you shouldn’t care at all for your usefulness, but you aren’t sure you’d fare any better wandering the grass sea alone. Your horse—Roth’s horse—stares down at you judgmentally while you wind the length of rope around his front legs, and you frown deeper. 

“Even the blasted horse,” you mutter, kicking aside a few loose rocks as you lay down the roll beside him. You don’t know how to hunt—it wasn’t as if your father had taught you, and you doubt he had the knowledge to do so in the first place. There is large bow strapped to the saddle, thus far untouched by you, and gently you undo the bindings. It is heavier than it looks, and you hold it aloft clumsily, the string biting hard into your fingers as you struggle to draw it back. 

“You won’t catch anything like that.” 

You don’t turn to look at him. 

“You didn’t have to give me your water. Steve.” He chuckles at the sound of his name on your lips. 

“I won’t be doing it again, Sweetmeat. So you’d better learn how to use that thing.” This time you do turn. He is closer than you anticipated, and you squeak with surprise as he plucks the bow from your hands with ease. “Hold it up, like this.” He draws the string back, the muscles rippling across his bare chest. “This is the sight, here, this notch.” He runs his thumb over the place where the arrow head will sit. “Come.” 

When you don’t move, he grips your hands firmly, winding them around the bow. 

“Like this, put your hand here.” His hand curls over yours, covering it completely. You’re practically trembling when he pulls away, your palms sweaty against the lacquered wood. “One last piece of advice, Sweetmeat.” 

“What?”

“Don’t miss.” 

to be continued

next

[sboochi]

Read chapter 1 on AO3

The Duel of the Heirs, a competition held to decide who is going to be the next ruler of the kingdom, is near. Jack, a lonely magic-user, manages to find the long-Lost Princess Rapunzel, which means that the duel everyone has been expecting since her disappearance won't take place, and his troubles will finally end. However, he soon stumbles upon Merida and Hiccup, those who are supposed to fight in the duel, and has to keep his secret from them but also from Rapunzel herself, as they travel all across the kingdom towards its capital. Lies, forming bonds, family drama, (mis)adventure and mysteries will make their journey truly magical.

The first chapter of the fic I can't stop blabbering about is up!

[spacephobos]

Will and Hannibal are in the same age bracket and im tired of the Hannibal fandom pretending 10 years is a massive age gap in ur 30s and 40s

[penny00dreadful]

Rating: G tags: post-breakup, angst, hurt, wedding, happy ending prompt: Love is what makes you brave (@sidekick-hero) For @steddielovemonth AO3

Should he be here?

No.

Was he going to continue to be here for as long as he could take it?

Hell yeah.

Sitting behind the wheel of his stupid expensive car that would have stuck out anywhere else. 

But not here.

Not amongst the BMW’s and Bentleys and limos and wedding cars.

It had been three years.

Three long and fucking lonely as shit years since he’d last seen Steve.

Three years of writing songs about him.

Three years of dodging interviewer questions about who the songs were about.

Three years of the fans creating some nebulous phantom person that all the songs must be about because they all fit together like puzzle pieces if looked at correctly.

Three years since Steve broke his heart.

Eddie wasn’t even really sure what had possessed him to be here right now.

He hadn’t been invited.

But some kind of insane impulse had grabbed him when he’d first gotten into the car fourteen hours ago and it hadn’t left him since.

He needed…

He didn’t know what he needed.

He didn’t know what he expected.

His passenger door opening and a figure sliding into the seat nearly scared the life out of him, so lost in thought and with eyes laser focused on the church doors, he hadn’t noticed anyone approaching.

He was forced to remember again that he was no longer some nobody living in bumfuck nowhere Indiana, he was a somebody, with a fucking penthouse apartment in New York City and an extremely recogniseable look.

Maybe he should have locked the doors.

And maybe he should have dressed down a little before he jumped in the car. Gotten rid of some of the jewellery, covered up the tattoos, tied his hair back, not worn the kind of clothes that always got him noticed in Hawkins in the wrong way. He was more noticeable now more than he ever had been. 

He was the most successful person to ever make it out of this shithole town and the town itself loved to pretend they always encouraged him. 

They advertised it proudly.

Like they hadn’t tried to drown his passions at every opportunity.

But it wasn’t some crazed obsessive fan now staring at him from his passenger seat, dressed in a pair of black slacks and an overly frilly lavender blouse, probably a compromise so she didn’t have to be stuffed into a dress.

Eddie tensed his hands around the wheel while Robin continued to stare at him like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, bewildered more than anything. He supposed that was fair.

There was no reason for him to be here after all.

He’d gotten no hint from Steve that this wasn’t what he wanted, none of the kids had said as much either but…

It just didn’t feel right.

It felt like Steve was falling back into a pattern.

Living the life that had been mapped out for him by society.

Go to school.

Get a good job.

Get married to a nice girl.

Eddie didn’t even know if the person that would be meeting Steve at the end of the aisle in about fifteen minutes was a nice girl.

He didn’t know anything about her at all.

Didn’t know anything about Steve either.

All he knew were the little tidbits the kids would occasionally drop by accident when they would forget they weren’t all one tightly knit group anymore.

Not since Steve shoved him out the door and told him that it wouldn’t work, it could never work.

Eddie suspected Steve had been looking at shadows on a cave wall for so long he had no idea there was a whole world just outside. That they didn’t have to live their lives the way everyone else did.

But there was nothing for it, he couldn’t force Steve to take him back. 

He’d told Eddie he didn’t want him anymore so…

Eddie went and got the life he’d dreamed of since he was a kid. He got the success and the accolades and he was being heard.

But it was empty. It had always been empty.

He had never been able to move on.

Not really.

And now… now he was here.

“Hey Buckley.” Eddie shot her a tight grin. “It’s been a while.”

And it had been. Because along with losing Steve, he’d also lost Robin.

It was understandable, really. 

Robin was Steve’s ride or die and though he’d heard she’d raised holy hell, trying to figure out why Steve had thrown his happiness away, as she herself had said, she was still, first and foremost, Steve’s soulmate.

She would be by his side come hell or high water and though she wasn’t happy with his decision, there was also nothing she could do about it.

Steve was a grown man and he’d made his choice.

“What are you doing here, Eds?” She asked again with so much concern, it was like she was worried Eddie was ripping out his own heart over again just by being here.

Maybe he was.

But he was here now.

He couldn’t leave until it was all over.

“Is he happy?” Eddie asked, rather than answer her question. They both knew why he was there anyway. “Is he happy with Miss… Whatever Her Name Is?”

Robin looked at him for a long time, eyes darting all over his face, chewing on her lip.

She took a big breath in. 

“He’s… content, I think. They both are. I think they’ve both… made themselves content with the situation.”

“Right.” Eddie nodded, tearing his gaze away and staring down at his hands.

He could feel Robin’s eyes boring into the side of his head.

“But not happy.” She said into the silence. “He’s not- I’ve never seen him as happy as he was when he was with you.”

Eddie tightened his jaw, tried to blink away the wetness in his eyes.

“Then why did he end it?”

“I think he was scared.” She almost whispered. “I think he didn’t know what to do with it all. There was no rule book to follow.”

“But that’s the best part, Rob.” Eddie sighed out. “There’s no rules for how we’re supposed to live our lives.”

He didn’t turn back to look at her, but he could see her nodding in agreement out of the corner of his eye.

“I think he’s started to realise that too, recently.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you here?” She asked again, no longer willing to put up with his avoidance.

“I don’t know.” He said, mostly honestly. “One last big romantic gesture?”

Robin sighed, a hand on the handle. “Okay, wait here.”

“Hadn’t planned on going anywhere.” He muttered but it was drowned out as she slammed the car door, speed walking her way back to the church where a crowd had begun to gather at the door.

He tried not to let anything like hope bloom in him, he tried to keep any kind of bubble build up and puff him out but it wasn’t that difficult.

Especially when Robin made her way back to the car only a few minutes later, looking far more stressed than she had before and notably, alone.

“So, slight bump in the big romantic gesture plans,” she said, opening the door again but not getting in. “They’re missing.”

“They? Who’s missing?”

“Rita apparently got a call at the hotel before she was supposed to come here and then just disappeared, leaving her engagement ring behind. And then Steve left sometime when we were talking-”

“Left to go where?”

“I don’t know, Edward.” Robin grit out, tensing her fingers around the roof lip but it was more worry than irritation.

“Okay.” Eddie said, shifting the car into gear. “Okay, get in, we’ll go-”

“No. I’m staying here, I need to keep his parents from calling in the National Guard to drag him back by the hair. You go. You know where he is, don’t you?”

Eddie stared at her, opening and closing his mouth until he could finally form his lips around the words “I think so.”

He knew so.

Or at least he hoped he did.

Robin gave him one sharp nod. “Okay.”

She slammed the door closed and turned back to the crowd.

Pulling out of the parking lot of the church, Eddie tried not to panic. 

There wasn’t much distance that Steve could have gone but the idea of him going missing still had his heart constricting, full of what if, what if, what if?

It wasn’t very far, but finding somewhere to pull over at the edge of the forest where his car wouldn’t be suspicious wasn’t the easiest thing to do.

Though it was probably easier now than it had been years ago, since he no longer had the van and his shiny, sleek and expensive car would be glanced over for any bored cop looking to bust someone for drugs.

Not so much of an easy target now, huh Callahan?

He had just pulled his car into a clearing that was somewhat hidden when he felt his phone buzzing in his pocket.

He switched the engine off and was halfway out of the car when he froze, finally seeing the number on screen.

It was Steve. It had to be Steve.

He’d recognise that number anywhere, he knew it off by heart but Eddie had changed numbers at least twice in the last three years.

He hadn’t bothered to add Steve back into his contacts, what would be the point?

It would have just been a temptation on drunken lonely nights.

How the fuck did Steve even have his number?

Eddie tapped the answer button before the call could ring out.

His mouth was dry and his heart was in his throat as he raised the phone to his ear.

“Stevie?” He practically breathed, gripping the door so tight he was surprised he didn't dent the metal.

There was a sound from the other end, like a sigh, like relief or a release of tension.

“Eddie.” Steve said and his voice, different as it was through the phone, was the most painful and comforting thing Eddie thought he’d ever heard. It was followed quickly by a sniffle and a quiet, “Hi.”

Eddie had so many things he wanted to ask.

Why are you calling now?

Where are you?

Why did you run?

How do you even have this number?

Instead he just slammed the car door closed and asked softly “What’s going on, sweetheart?”

A sound came down the line, one that sounded suspiciously like a sob, followed by another sniffle.

“Can’t- can’t I just call to see how you are?”

Eddie didn’t answer as he started to tromp his way through the forest, half worried anything he said would just end up with him begging Steve to call him again and again and again.

But Steve seemed to take his silence as stony.

“Yeah, I-” Steve sniffed. “I guess I deserved that.” 

Eddie could practically hear his lip wobbling through the phone and Steve broke down into sobs again.

“Where are you, Stevie?”

“The past.” He muttered out which was as good a confirmation as any that Eddie was heading in the right direction. “I’m- I… I’m sorry to call you right now and you’re out living your life-”

“Are you sober?”

Because it was high stakes at the moment but this was still a lot of emotion for noon.

“Unfortunately.” Steve sighed out and then quietly, so quietly Eddie could barely hear him. “I’m supposed to be getting married today.”

“So I heard.”

It sounded like the air had been punched out of Steve’s chest and the whine he let out after sounded like one of pure pain.

“I’m sorry.”

Eddie had to duck under a branch and as a result, nearly tripped over a root in the ground but managed to right himself.

“You’re sorry for supposed to be getting married?”

“I’m sorry you had to find out that way. From- from someone else.”

He came to a stop. 

“Oh.”

Not sorry I’m getting married.

Just sorry I’m not the one who told you I’m getting married.

Which, like, Steve didn’t need to apologise to him for getting married.

They weren’t together.

They weren’t a thing.

They didn’t even talk anymore.

Eddie had no right to that information.

Still.

Didn’t make it hurt any less.

“Eddie.” Steve whimpered out, kicking Eddie back into movement again. “I fucked up. I fucked up so bad.”

“You didn’t fuck up, Stevie, it’s fine.” He sighed, resigned to his fate now. “You can still go back-”

“No, no.” Steve took a large painful breath in. “You don’t understand. I fucked up. I left you. I made you go. How could I do that? Why did I do that? You were- you were the best thing that ever happened to me and I just-”

It sounded like Steve couldn’t speak anymore through hit tears, the raw anguish in his voice making it sound like he couldn’t breathe.

“I pushed you away. I pushed you away. I was so scared and I wanted- I wanted to take it back the second I did it. I wanted to but I couldn’t make myself do it and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry about that, baby. You have to believe me, I’m so sorry.”

The sound of Steve’s sobs were no longer just coming through the phone but were now starting to echo around him from just up ahead and Eddie kept walking.

“I was such a coward. There was no precedent. Nothing in my life was like what I had with you, I didn’t see it anywhere else and I didn’t know what to do. There was just this big vast emptiness in front of me where before there had always been a path, it had always been mapped out, telling me where to go next and I didn’t know what to do about it, I didn’t think it was possible to have-”

Steve cut himself off with another sob and Eddie could see him now, sitting on the dirty forest floor in his brand new designer tux, head bowed into his knees and his back against Skull Rock.

“I’ve made such a mistake, Eddie. I’ve never fucked up like I did with you and if I could take it all back I would. I’d be brave for you, I swear-”

Eddie dropped to his knees in front of him.

“Do you still want to be?”

Steve’s head snapped up so fast he cracked himself hard against the giant rock they used to come to all the time when they were full of young love.

Eddie winced in sympathy but didn’t reach out while Steve stared at him wide eyed, even through the pain.

He looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Eddie.” He breathed out, completely disbelieving. “What- wh- what are you-”

“I was at the church.” Eddie said, sitting himself down fully and bringing his own knees up to his chest. “I was… I don’t know what I was doing there. I don’t know what I expected to happen.”

“You…” Steve blinked at him. His face was wet and blotchy and red, his eyes were raw and still swimming and he was still the most beautiful person Eddie had ever laid eyes on. And he was looking at Eddie like he was the most unbelievable thing in the world. “You were there the whole time?”

“Yeah.”

Steve’s hands were twitching around his knees, gripping into the fabric of his dress pants and Eddie could tell he wanted to reach out but he wasn’t sure he could handle that yet.

He needed to know.

He needed to be sure.

He didn’t think he’d survive it if he let hope back in only to have it pulled away again.

“What happened?”

Steve’s face scrunched up, like he was trying to push the tears back and he brought his hands up to his face, digging the heels into his eyes.

“I couldn’t… I couldn’t go through with it. Rita, she… she- she’s not you. I couldn’t let her live a life with me waiting for me to love her like I still love you because it’ll never happen. I could never love anyone like I still love you. And she… she’s the same, she didn’t want this, she never wanted this but it was what we’d been told to want for so long and… she couldn’t do it either. So we both- we both ran and I want… I want to be brave for you, baby.”

Eddie crossed his arms over his knees and pressed his lips into his skin, silent and thinking.

He couldn’t take it if Steve did what he did to him again.

He just couldn’t.

And why did it take Steve getting to this stage for him to decide on what he wanted?

Would it have still happened the same way if Eddie hadn’t come?

Would Steve have cried his heart out here in their spot until he was done talking to Eddie over the phone and gone about the rest of his life?

Would he have let the fear get to him again?

But could Eddie live with himself if he turned this chance down because of his own fear?

It wasn’t even a question.

He’d regret it for the rest of his life.

So he had to choose to be brave too.

He unwrapped his arms from around his knees and spread his legs wider, scooching forward until he had Steve’s curled up body cradled in his.

Steve all but stopped breathing with a dramatic hiccup when he felt Eddie’s legs against his own and when Eddie brought his hands up to encircle Steve’s wrists and pull them away from his face, his eyes were wide and disbelieving.

Eddie pulled Steve’s hands into his chest.

“I need to know you’re sure. I need to know you mean it, okay?”

“I do.” Steve nodded and his words were sure if a little breathy. “I do, Eddie. I promise you. I’ll show you every day. I’ll be brave for you I swear.”

“Because I won’t survive you doing what you did to me again. It nearly killed me the first time, Steve. I can’t go through that again. So you need to be sure.”

Where Steve’s hands were pressed flat against Eddie’s chest, his fingers curled in now, balling up the shirt underneath and holding on tight.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. Eddie, I swear to you on… on… Dustin’s mom.”

Despite himself, Eddie felt his face crack into a smile.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Steve asked, though his own smile was slowly blooming, even as he started crying again.

“Yeah. Okay. Now kiss me like you mean it.”

AO3

Big thanks as always to @hbyrde36 for the magnificent beta work and to the @strangerthingswritersguild for their motivation.

[voidstilesplease]

swearing is basic. at this point in my life, only a few things faze me anymore. "I hope that 200k, 55 chapters ongoing fic on AO3 that you're religiously waiting to update weekly gets abandoned by the author." LE GASP. you sorry exCUSE of a CUNT—

[frownyalfred]

my advice for writing dialogue:

be brave

if you can’t say it in one breath out loud, you should probably add some punctuation

for casual dialogue: can you imagine two people saying this at a local coffee shop?

people talk over each other and cut each other off in real life all the time. your characters should too

modern, conversational dialogue isn’t one person lobbing one fully formed, multiple-sentence thought at another person, and then waiting to receive one back

dialogue is filled with placeholder sounds — ehs, ums, uhs — and these differ by region, language, and culture

people ask for clarification and sometimes things are just, by nature, unclear. sometimes you have to let the characters figure out the disconnect even if you, the author, know what it is already

find clips and videos online of the people/region and listen to them! how do they talk? is it fast, or drawling? how can you convey this to a reader who may have never heard them?

[steddie-as-they-come]

sequel to my roommate steddie au!! here's the first part! tags have changed, it's now more mature with some fade to black sex

Steve’s so warm. It’s not fair.

Eddie must have half his wardrobe on, tucked under all the blankets on his bed, and Steve is just sitting over there, in a T-shirt and thin sweatpants, like the jackass he is.

"You look cold." Steve says, shifting a bit.

Eddie glares at him. "No shit, Sherlock," he bites out, trying to reign in his temper. All things considered, Steve's a pretty great roommate, sharing his food and his children with Eddie. It's not his fault the college decides to let their students freeze to death.

Steve, to his credit, just laughs at him. "Okay, fine. I was gonna offer for you to come hang out over here, since you're over the vent and I'm not, but if you're gonna be like that-"

Eddie practically teleports out of bed. "No! No, please, Steve, did I ever mention how great your hair looks today and how kind you are to me-"

Steve laughs again, moving out of the way and patting the bed next to him. Eddie doesn't hesitate to scurry up and tuck himself into a little cocoon of his own blankets, trying not to bump Steve's arm as he focuses on his homework. He doesn't completely succeed, and his hand brushes against Steve's bare arm.

"What the fuck?" he says loudly. "Why are you the temperature of a campfire?"

Steve shrugs. "I've always run hot." he says. "It's great during winter movie nights because everyone piles on top of me, but then I get banished during summer movie nights, which is no fun."

Eddie's already sprawled over his shoulder, sighing happily, like some kind of lizard on a sunlit rock. If August Eddie could see him now, he'd try to smack the shit outta him for falling for a straight guy. One who was his roommate, no less.

But it's hard not to when Steve is kind, and accepting, and a little bit stupid, and hot as hell. It isn't like he just tolerates Eddie's physical affection either, he seems to welcome it. Steve even started initiating it, wrapping an arm around Eddie's shoulders, grabbing his arm to haul him out of particularly big crowds, and the hugs. Steve loves hugs.

There's a darkness to Steve too, the way he moves, the way he's always checking over his shoulder, flinching at flickering lights, always ready for a fight.

It makes Eddie wonder if Steve is like him.

Eddie wiggles a bit, adjusting his chin to prop on Steve's shoulder. "Whatcha workin' on?" he asks, just to be nosy.

Steve rolls his eyes, leaning away. "None of your business." he teases.

Eddie misses the warmth as soon as Steve's gone. "Nooooo," he whines. "Come back. I won't look!"

Steve stays leaned away, raising his eyebrows. "You're so weird." he says. It's not in a mean way, more that he's bewildered that one person can be this strange. Eddie takes this as a compliment.

He pretends to freeze to death, jerking and flinching. "It's...so cold." he mutters. "I see...the light... All because my roommate...let me freeze to death..."

Finally, Steve's blissful warmth comes back, and Steve sighs, tapping his pen against his paper. Eddie tries to peek again, and recognizes familiar words.

"Is that a character sheet?" he yells, and Steve frowns at him.

"You said you wouldn't look!"

Eddie waves him off, grabbing for the sheet. "Steve, this is D&D. It's automatically my business when it's D&D."

Steve finally hands it over. "Fine. Yes, it's a character sheet. Dustin's birthday is next Monday, and I was gonna ask you if I could join your game as a present to him."

Eddie nods, inspecting the sheet. Dustin's been begging for Steve to join basically since they started their little arrangement, where Eddie DM's for them in exchange for no more open hostility in the dorms. It may have worked a little too well, given Eddie's budding crush, but c'est la vie.

Eddie hands it back. "You are supposed to give the DM the character sheet a couple days in advance so they have time to work you into the plot."

Steve winces. "Really? Shit, I didn't know that."

"It's fine, I got some ideas, just from looking it over. You can borrow a spare set of dice and one of my miniatures too."

"Oh good, I had no idea if I needed any of that stuff."

"Do you want me to do a little crash course for you?" Eddie asks, preparing to brave the cold to grab his little homemade handbook.

Steve gives him a deadpan look. "Are you kidding me? Dustin is gonna love being better than me at this. I might as well go in with a regular six-sided die and pretend I thought that's the one I needed."

Eddie laughs. "Fair enough." The cold touches his neck and he burrows back into his blankets. "This fucking sucks, by the way. The cold."

"You're a big baby, man. It's fine."

"Ah, yes. Forgot I live with a walking, talking furnace." Eddie rolls his eyes, muttering, "This is worse than the time I was left outside in the cold."

"Wait, what?" Steve turns to him, eyes flinty like steel. "You were...what?"

"Oh. Um." Eddie's not sure how much to reveal, but he figures it had to come out eventually. "My dad left me out in the cold when I was thirteen. I think he thought it'd fix me. I just got really sick, though." He laughs humorlessly.

"You said...fix you?" Steve says, and Eddie's heart drops. He backs away from Steve before starting to talk, trying to find something to defend himself with if Steve gets mad.

"Yeah." Eddie says. "He saw me...kissing a boy."

Steve's eyes widen, and then he scoots closer. Eddie's breath hitches.

"Me too." Steve whispers.

Now it's Eddie's turn to be shocked. Steve continues. "Not...not left outside in the cold. They'd need to be home long enough for that. But...bisexual. I like girls and guys."

There's a tense, charged silence in the room. Eddie draws up all his courage. "I like you, Steve."

Steve stares at Eddie’s lips. “Can I-” he whispers breathlessly.

Eddie, seemingly just as entranced, nods, and Steve leans forward, pressing his lips against Eddie. Almost unconsciously, Eddie tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and Steve hums happily. 

Eddie’s tongue swipes at the sealed lines of Steve’s lips. Steve freezes, then slowly, tentatively, opens his mouth. 

Give him an inch and he’ll take a mile. Eddie practically pulls Steve down towards him, hands greedily exploring every inch of Steve he could reach. Steve gladly returns the favor, sneaking his hands between Eddie’s back and the mattress so he can feel the muscles lining Eddie’s spine flex and move as Eddie kisses him stupid. 

Eddie pulls back, breaking the kiss. Steve whines, actually whines, and dives back in, but Eddie stops him with a gentle hand on his chest. 

He kisses the corner of Steve’s mouth, and Steve chases it, leaning subtly towards Eddie, but Eddie just keeps moving, kissing a trail from his mouth to his chin, to the soft skin where Steve's jawline blends into his neck. Steve keeps moving, running his hands up and down Eddie’s back just for something to do. 

Eddie reaches the small curve where his shoulder meets his neck, and Steve feels a small scrape of teeth against his skin. He whimpers. 

“Oh?” Eddie says, the first thing he’s said since Steve leaned in. His voice is raspy, and Steve privately thinks it's the hottest fucking thing in the world. “There?” 

He kisses there again, but this time there's no teeth, and Steve stays quiet, breathing slowly, in and out, in and out. 

“Or…did you like it when I did this?” 

Eddie leans forward and nips at Steve’s collar, and Steve keens. “Eddieee…” he says, dragging the vowels out too long, leaving that name hanging in the air.

Eddie tilts his head back up and captures Steve’s lips in another kiss, tongue sliding into Steve’s mouth smoothly. He kisses for a few seconds, then readjusts and gently nips at Steve’s lower lip. 

“Please, please Eddie,” Steve begs breathlessly, not even sure what he's pleading for. Eddie seems to get it though, and slides his hands under his shirt to cup Steve’s waist.

Steve laces his hands through Eddie's hair and pulls, and Eddie lets out a moan, pushing Steve off of him and rolling so he's on top, enjoying the feeling of Steve under him on the mattress.

"I've never been so glad for the cold," he whispers against Steve's lips, and kisses him again.

[tastytoastz]

idk if you have a twitter but @/tobyvul made fanart for your merfolk au :D

I have twitter but i'm just a lurker there/ I don't use it much (i find twitter scary lmao) ! So thank you so much for telling me! :D

[defectiveferalfreak]

i rediscovered @nicktoonsunite and @choraa ‘s art like wowie did they inspire me to dip my toes into NUverse??

also i cant believe Dib and Zim basically waltzed into NU:GoD, like WHATS UP B*TCHS WE  GONNA HELP WHETHER U WANT IT OR NOT like can u believe that lol

[boxofbonesfic]

Booooones oh my god thank you for the next part of Brave! That made my morning waking up and seeing the next part posted, wonderful job on your writing skills! I can not wait for the next part and to watch the plot unfold more 👀 I wait so patiently impatient for updates so thank youuuu 🌟💜

I love that, it seems, that Steve was there the entire time ready to help reader if she needed it, like he wasn't about to let her get hurt or worse, but he waited for her to show her capabilities and then was there praising her all proud and picking her up and oh my god, you really have me 🥵😍 over Orc Steve and this reader and how perfect this story is wtf 🫡

🥹 thank you so much! i have so much fun designing this world and the creatures in it! i think Steve himself was fighting for his life, as was reader! he wants a strong, capable mate, someone who’s able to hold her own, and i think she has continually managed to impress him on that front. you’re right though, he doesn’t want anything to happen to her, and the attack in the pass is going to have profound consequences for what remains of the pack

[sboochi]

I know that these two not getting along is an old concept, but I swear I gave them a good reason

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR NINE

when you and eddie can't sleep, he has a bright idea. but only after he's lit a fire in your mind through a bathroom door. also, steve finally finds out what he said that night.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, allusions to male masturbation, minors dni

→ wc: 6.9k+

→ a/n: oops my bad. this chapter is dedicated to @jo-harrington i know it's not exactly what you'd joked about but... i did it. solo eddie for the win.

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

9:00 ─────ㅇ──────────── 24:00

DINGUS received a message from BIRDIE. 

BIRDIE: i found out what you said. 

-

HOUR NINE - 12:00 AM

When Eddie gets out of the bed, it wakes you up. 

In all fairness, you were sleeping lightly to begin with. It had only been about twenty minutes since his quiet confession, an apology that hovered in the air between you two, lingering and plastering itself to the ceiling. He was sorry for everything. And the optimist in you couldn’t help but count what exactly everything entailed rather than sheeps. You were certain it included the events of the night so far, but did it include Steve’s party? Did it include the cruelty exchanged the night this bet was made? Did it encompass the passing in time in which he’d tucked himself away from you after first meetings, letting a sheet of ice separate you? 

You’d fallen asleep halfway through the swirlings of ‘Did it…?’s, hardly realizing you’d left Eddie hanging after he’d whispered goodnight to you. You both knew you’d be waking up soon enough to send updates, or possibly receive a call from one of your friends. You both needed to utilize the time for rest – you were utilizing this time to rest. 

Until Eddie got up. Until you realized Eddie wasn’t sleeping, and now suddenly, you couldn’t even keep your eyes closed for more than ten seconds at a time. 

You listened to his footsteps as he left the room, as he crossed the hall and he shut the bathroom door behind him. When you did open your eyes, you focused intensely on the light pouring out beneath the small crack at the bottom of the door, waiting with bated breath for any sign of a shadow without luck. 

Five minutes. You’re awake enough to count the five minutes without any further noise or sign of him returning to the bed. 

You really shouldn’t be so nosey. He’s just using the bathroom in his own apartment. He’s probably just taking a piss, or more, and you hold no right to time him. But without him in the bed, there’s a cold you hadn’t expected. You hadn’t even been pressed up against him, the pillow wall still intact, and yet, his warmth had clearly reached you and kept you comfortable.

Maybe it wasn’t just his warmth. Maybe it was just his presence that made the room light up, swirling with something to wrap yourself up in rather than the chill of loneliness. 

The decision is made by your body first, brain second. By the time your thoughts have caught up to the choice that yes, you need to check on Eddie, your bare feet are already meeting his carpet. It takes mere seconds for you to cross the room, cross the hall. You raise your fist to knock and then– 

You stop. 

A sound completely stops you, freezes you mid-action. 

A whimper. 

Your stomach clenches. It wasn’t a whimper of pain. 

You’ve managed to cross countless lines with Eddie, both tonight and the entirety of knowing each other. You’d blatantly ignored boundaries he set in stone just as he did to you. The two of you had never functioned off of respect. 

It’s what you remind yourself when you take a step closer to the door, when you lean to press your ear against the wood. 

You nearly jump back when you catch onto the sounds coming from within the bathroom. 

Oh, yeah. He’s fucking jacking off. 

You’re familiar with that sound, hearing it both mocked in school and in pornos. The unmistakable sound of a fist gliding over flesh. Just as suspected, the whimper Eddie had let out on the other side of the door was by no means a sign of pain or distress – it was out of pleasure. 

You tell yourself that you’re only keeping your ear pressed to the door to fully load yourself with artillery to tease him with once the time comes. You tell yourself it’s a necessary evil, that you don’t enjoy it. You completely ignore the way your own thighs are beginning to press together when the sound speeds up. 

“Oh my- fuckin’ Jesus Chri- my God.”

Let it be known that you’ve never tried to picture what Eddie’s voice sounds like during sex. You’ve never fantasized about how many octaves his tone might drop, how breathy he might get from desperation, how his words might curl upwards with whines on the tailends. No, you’ve never thought about those things late at night. when you’re alone and have a hand between your thighs. You don’t have those thoughts about the guy you claim to hate. You don’t have the best goddamn orgasms of your life by picturing your hand replaced with his, the way the metal of his rings would nudge against your entrance. 

You don’t. You don’t. 

But something about the way he’s stuttering, sounding like a stereotypical porno in the way his voice is breaking, clearly close to finishing, has you pressing your thighs together tightly. It has your necks and cheeks flushing brilliant red as your chest heaves, recklessly trying to expand against the door you have pressed yourself against entirely now. 

“Fuck.” 

It’s muffled, led into by a heavy panting you can hear, even through the door, before being broken off by a long moan.  

Maybe you would give yourself the best goddamn orgasm you’d ever had again once this was over. And maybe that would be the soundtrack. 

You have to stumble back from the door, your entire body tight with frustration now as you back up away from the invasion of privacy you had taken part in. You don’t even have a chance to tell yourself it’s fine, because somewhere in your fumble to get away, your knuckles meet the door in an eerie resemblance of a knock, on accident. 

You can’t play it off. If you heard it, he heard it. 

“Uh, Eddie?” you nervously call out, cursing the way the words came out more like squeaks than tired syllables, “Everything okay in there?” 

You can hear his panic, between sudden shuffling, the slamming of the faucet turning on, the curses beneath his breath before he suddenly calls out, “Y-Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine! Just stubbed my toe!” 

“Okay…” you trail off, still breathing heavily, trying to return your heart rate to normal, “I, uh- okay. Just checking. Sorry.” 

You scurry, quite literally scurry, back into his bedroom. 

You shouldn’t have listened. You shouldn’t have eavesdropped, because now, this was all so, so much worse. Every fleeting detail of his living space passed by you, and all you could hear was a repeat of his harsh fuck he’d clearly let out on accident. When you’d found his playboys, it was all fun and games. He was a guy, and you knew what he did with those magazines, but you’d never been a door away from him doing that. 

You’re not a very imaginative person, but you’re still trying to picture how his hand wrapped around his dick might look, what his dick in general looks like, when he exits the bathroom and finds you sitting there. 

He looks even more embarrassed than you.

Your apology is on the tip of your tongue, an impulsive I’m sorry is stuck between your teeth. But saying those words is admitting to knowing he didn’t really stub his toe. It would be admitting to eavesdropping. 

You’d be taking this night to the grave to you. 

“How’s your toe?” you question instead, curling your hands into fists and forcing a weak smile. 

You’re a shit pretender. 

“Fine,” he breathes out, the edges of his bangs wet, probably with sweat, and his eyes wide in fear, “It’s, uh, fine. Sore.” 

It’s okay, though, because he’s a shit pretender, too. 

He makes no move to sit down, and you almost laugh at the palpable tension and awkwardness in the room. Both of your chests are still heaving, both of your cheeks are still burning, and both of you are flooded with distrust by your words. 

“I can’t sleep,” you break the silence with the worst possible conversation starter. If the roles were reversed, if Eddie said this to you, you’d just shrug in response.

Eddie isn’t you, though, thankfully, “You just were.” 

“And now I’m not.” 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t.” 

Some habits die hard. Even in the new waves of Eddie’s apology, even as you two entered uncharted territory of unspoken civility, there was still bickering to be had. 

“This argument is just waking me up more,” you sigh, leaning back on your palms behind you, “I’m definitely not getting any more rest.” 

Eddie’s eyes trail over you, head to toe, and your breathing stops completely, “Well, yeah, not wearing jeans. Did you bring anything comfortable to wear?” 

Did he just check me out? 

That starts a fire within your brain. The blush isn’t even a product of him making you flustered anymore, it’s the physical billboard to alert everyone of the flames that will surely consume you within the hour. A warning to Eddie, that if he doesn’t stop, you’ll be nothing more than a pile of ash caught between his carpet’s fibers. 

You’ve gotten lost in your thoughts until he’s snapping his fingers in front of your face, not too close but near enough to get your attention. 

Which hand did he use? 

You choke at the smokey thought, making him worry before you cough out a, “Sorry?” 

“Clothes. Did you bring any?” he questions as he looks down at you in concern, “Maybe some pajamas, or just something comfortable?” 

You don’t understand how it got to this point. How you’re the one so flustered, so embarrassed, when he was the one touching himself in the bathroom. Why are you the one with a fire blazing behind your skull, and why are you the one having to admit that no, you didn’t bring any clothes? 

Your silence is all he needs before he turns to walk to his dresser.

“Eddie, wait, no-” you start to protest but he’s already holding out a black pair of sweats, a similar style to the ones he’s wearing. 

“Here. I don’t know how well they’ll fit but…” he shrugs, almost shyly, before thrusting the clothing towards you with more intense purpose, “They’ve gotta be more comfortable than jeans.” 

“I-I-” I can’t. I can’t wear your clothes because I’m already thinking about your dick, and which hand you masturbate with, and how you’d sound hovering over me as you grind your hips into mine, and- “Thank you.” 

You take the damn pair of sweatpants, you swallow your pride, you continue to wade in his ocean. Maybe it’s all a game to him and he’s trying to break you (it’s working).

He continues to stand there awkwardly until you finally narrow your eyes, and take a single finger, waving it in circles to motion for him to turn around.

“What?” he asks, looking at your finger with wide eyes, still watching the circles it draws in the air. 

“Turn around, idiot,” you try to laugh lightheartedly, but it comes out strained.

You’re still thinking about him inappropriately. You’re still intoxicated by the idea of the sounds you can pull from him with the right moves, the right kisses. But you can’t, you know you can’t. 

You know he doesn’t think of you in that way. This feeling, unfortunately, is not mutual. 

He’s clumsy in the way he turns, even covering his eyes with his wide palm despite it being unnecessary. You notice the way he almost raises his left hand before he hesitates and chooses the right one instead. 

And now you’re convinced you have an answer to one of your burning questions. He uses his left hand, and instead of putting out some of the damaging flames within your mind, it fans them. You’ll definitely be nothing but a charred mess by the end of this night. 

You try not to take long, quickly yanking off your jeans and tossing them beside you before you work the sweats on quickly. Eddie has them a few sizes too big for himself, and it works out in your favor. 

You hate to admit it, but he was right – they’re comfier than your jeans by far. 

“Okay, you can look again,” you mumble as you bend down to grab your discarded jeans, working on turning them back outside right and folding them neatly. 

The turn to face you once more is even clumsier than his turn away from you, his hand dropping and slapping his thigh unceremoniously as he takes you in, “They… You… They, uh, fit. Good.” 

What was once cute tension and easily dismissed uneasiness is becoming too much. He’s still nervous, you’re still burning, and the room is too stifling when filled with both awkward emotions and swirling wisps of smoke that are thickening. 

So you do something about it. You choose to be the brave one and say something, “You’re being awkward.” 

He immediately scoffs, still stiff in his actions, “Excuse me?”

“You’re. Being. Awkward,” you enunciate each word with heavy emphasis, keeping up a faux mask of indifference as you turn for the bed, setting your jeans down on the floor by the nightstand before you climb back into the side you’d previously occupied. 

“I’m being awkward?” he’s following, taking the path from the end of the bed as he already has several times, leaving the wall of pillows intact, “You’re being awkward.” 

“That is such a childish response,” you tease him as you see him begin to warm up once again. The bathroom incident is forgotten, stomachs unclenched and jaws slacking as the two of you rearrange beneath the comforter. Both of you are careful not to disturb the pillows that weigh down the center of it. You convince yourself for a second his returning warmth comes from being closer to you, from being close enough to feel the heat of your flames. Or perhaps he has a forest fire of his own transcending his own neurons, and maybe the feeling is more mutual than you’d believed. 

If you never mention it out loud, he can never deny it, and you can continue to live in this newfound delusion and comforting fantasy.

You both still lie on your backs, mirroring each other with hands folded politely atop your stomachs and eyes glued to the popcorn pattern of his ceiling. It’s quiet. It’s nice. The only thing you can hear is his crashing waves and your crackling frames. You’re wading with your head above water still, not quite fully submerging yet, terrified that once you take the final plunge into him, the flames will be drowned out. Once he drags you under, he’ll settle the heat and the fever that has begun to haunt you, and you don’t know if what will be left in its place will be better or worse. You don’t know if you’re equipped to handle that unknown yet. 

“You remember how you asked about my motorcycle earlier?” 

His soft tone cuts through the white noise of it all. Every wave, every flame, every metaphor falls quiet for him. It’s suddenly just you, and just him. 

“Yeah?” you roll your head to the side, daring to look at him. He’s already staring at you. 

In the dark, you can make out a ghost of a smile as he says, “Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I like to take it out for drives.” 

“Oh?” You’re tempted to twist your body to fully face him, to prop yourself up on your elbow and give him your undivided attention. You don’t. 

“Yeah. I guess it’s why I prefer it over a normal car, or even a van like I had in high school,” his eyes are clouding over with thoughtfulness, with nostalgia. You can picture it fairly clearly; he seems like the type that would drive around an ominous van just to scare a town shitless. “It’s a pain in the ass because now I can’t lug around my own equipment for gigs, but there’s this parking garage that the bike can fit through the closed gates of-”

“Hold on, I’m sorry – gigs?” you take an extra second to process it, but you’re sure he just insinuated he’s in a band. 

He’s giddy, those eyes lighting up in the darkness. You can see the dimples, you can see constellations exposing themself amongst his pupils, “Oh, yeah. I’m… I’m in a band.” 

“How did I never know this?” 

You both know the answer. Because before tonight, there was a clear division between you and Eddie for your friends. Before tonight, you two had never really gotten to know each other, save for the first night. You don’t know if your supposed enemy is in a band. 

He doesn’t say that, though. And neither do you. Instead, he just whispers, “I don’t know.” 

You can’t let the obvious go unsaid. You’d defeated the awkwardness, and you could handle your own brain being on fire from his match strikes, but this? 

You couldn’t handle the heaviness of the past year in the room with you two. 

“I’m sorry, too, by the way,” you should look away, look to the ceiling as he had when he said those words to you, but you don’t. You finally do as you wanted; you turn onto your side, fully facing him, bringing your hands to be folding between the pillow and your cheek, “I’m sorry for… everything.” 

Everything. You wonder if it punches a hole in his chest, too. You wonder if you move like an ocean in his eyes, if your waves are beckoning him within those four syllables. 

Now that the constellations in his eyes have been exposed, they refuse to vanish from your sight. He mimics your position, his hand tucked beneath his pillow. 

When he doesn’t say anything, you have to fill the silence, just as you always do, “It doesn’t mean we have to be, like, friends or anything. I just… We were both jerks in the past. And you said sorry first, but- I’m not just saying it because you said it! I swear. You just deserve to hear that I’m sorry too. I regret it all, too.” 

He nods subtly, licking his lips, “I mean, I don’t regret it all.” 

Oh God, is he about to fuck it all up again?

“What do you mean?” your voice is impossibly small, a phantom of a whisper, clutched in fear and anticipation. 

Please don’t fuck it all up again. I don’t think I can handle losing you twice. 

“I mean… I… It was fun sometimes, wasn’t it?” he looks nervous now, blinking rapidly as if he’s fighting looking away from you, “You’re the only person who’s ever really given me a taste of my own medicine. Everyone else teases me, yeah, maybe banters from time to time, but you? I like the ‘no-bullshit’ policy you apply to me. Keeps me in line.” 

A sigh of relief. A weight off both your shoulders, a heaviness that vacates the room. 

“Fun?” your tone is confident, teasing even, once more, “What about me throwing a glass at your head was fun?” 

“I said sometimes, not all the time,” he laughs, as if the memory of one of the worst nights between the two of you was just a fond tale between friends. Maybe that’s what you two were becoming – friends. 

A brain on fire. Two lungs twisted in vines rejuvenating. He’s beginning to consume all of you, effortlessly, and you question if that’s what friendship is. 

His laughter dies down, and you sigh, breathing despite the greenery and the smoke, “I get what you mean. There was a month there that just sort of felt like it was our thing. Just banter, or whatever.” 

“Is it not our thing, still?” he raises an eyebrow, “I mean, clearly, we still argue. I think the day you don’t argue with me will be the day pigs fuckin’ fly, or whatever they say.” 

“Whatever you say,” you banter back with ease, putting on a face of complete agreement. “Do you need me to check the news for you? See if little Porky grew wings?” 

“Oh, shut up.” 

You’re both cackling as he reaches down to the wall of pillows, grabbing one at random, leaving a gap as he flings it softly in your direction. It hits your chest and you fall dramatically onto your back, wrapping your arms around the fluff of it while still giggling. 

The giggles linger as you pinch the corner of the pillow between your fingertips, rubbing as you glance down at the gap now in the wall. 

You can see his torso now. The sliver of skin that is his exposed hips, the waistband of his boxers. 

“You know, I’ve never met a guy with this many pillows,” you murmur, trying to steer your mind of his hips, his boxers, what’s beneath his boxers-

“I used to only have two. Then one time I brought a girl home, and she left because I only had two pillows.” 

You can’t help but let out a snort of your own this time, “What? A one night stand left you high and dry because you didn’t have enough pillows for her fancy?” 

“Yep. That’s exactly what happened,” he’s chuckling along with you at the ridiculousness of it all, “The next day I went to the store and bought all of these out of spite. Never saw the girl again, though. I like to think she’d be impressed.” 

“Oh,” you’re still laughing, with your entire chest as you subconsciously crush the pillow tighter to your body, “So impressed. You know you’re going to have to tell me all about it now, right? You can’t leave me hanging like that.” 

“I’ll tell you another time,” 

Another time. It almost goes over your head – the first time either of you have even entertained the thought of hanging out after the twenty four hours have ended. You don’t show him that you notice, and just continue on laughing. 

Somewhere amongst your delight, your head falls to the side and catches Eddie in the act. 

An act of total, utter softness. His features are melted butter as he stares down at you, seemingly entranced by your laughter and joy in his tale of a failed one night stand. It’s not the kind of look produced from forest fires, or turbulent oceans, or a garden of vines. It’s the kind of look that is a natural disaster all on its own. It’s devastating – something in the two of you immediately breaks, quietly, desperately. There’s no repairing the damage being done; there’s no want for reparations. 

The first bloom after a long winter finally sprouts on your vines. It’s bright and brilliant red – like scarlet blood, like hot and flickering flames. It’s watered by salt water, slow and warm and enticing. 

You start to believe that even if you plunge beneath his waves, the fire Eddie has lit within you will always remain. 

“We should go to sleep,” you whisper, eyes never leaving his. Trying to find the deep blue hidden within honey brown, to find seafoam green amidst wide, black pupils. 

“We should,” he agrees. 

“Goodnight, Eddie.” 

“Goodnight,” he pauses, and then he adds your name, as if he’s testing the taste on his tongue, as if he’s saying it for the first time.

It feels like he’s saying it for the first time. 

You look back up at the ceiling but still feel his eyes on you. A couple minutes pass, and neither of your eyes close. Just because you should go to sleep doesn’t mean you will. 

“You’re not even trying to sleep, are you?” 

You only hum in response, still clutching that pillow, still counting cracks in the ceiling. 

“Alright, fuck it.” 

Your eyes break to him as he suddenly is leaping off the bed, void of grace as he finally settles on his feet and races to his dresser. 

“Um, Eddie?” 

He doesn’t look up as he digs into a drawer, pulling out a long sleeved shirt, “Yes, sweetheart?” 

Sweetheart. A nickname that once filled you with venom now makes your insides twist in the agony of want. You want him to say it again. 

“What are you doing?” 

The long sleeved shirt flies your way, and he’s walking to grab a set of keys off the top of his dresser, “Getting you something warmer to wear.” 

“And… why…” you’re still lost, looking down at the shirt in confusion. It’s black and fairly thick, the neck hole stretched and a haunting white font sketching out the words Corroded Coffin, “Why do I need something warmer to wear? Your apartment isn’t that cold.” 

“Because it’s barely March, and it’s cold outside still,” he pauses and grins childishly, practically beaming at you as you continue to wearily eye the article of clothing. Once he realizes you’re still not getting it, he sighs dramatically and makes his way to your side of the bed, holding a hand out to you, “Neither of us can sleep. Let’s go for a drive.” 

His palm stares you in the face, an offer of something that should be considered a plain bad idea. There’s a million and one reasons to not go for a drive. And so you tell him exactly that, ready to list them off in rapid fire.

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“Perfect. Means no one else is on the street.” 

“We have to send a photo to the group soon.” 

“The place is five minutes away. We can take a photo when we get there.”

“Place? Oh my God, are you actually going to murder me? You’re taking me to a secondary location and that is in stranger danger 101-” 

Eddie stresses each syllable of your name as he says it, waving his hand that’s still stuck out for you to grab, “C’mon. There’s always a hundred reasons to not do something. Just… live a little. I promise it’s better than laying in my gross ass bed.” 

You narrow his eyes and challenge him, remembering his words about the way you two still argue. He was right – there may never come a day you don’t feel compelled to go toe to toe with him, whether it’s of ill-intent or not, “Why is your bed gross? Jesus Christ, Eddie-”

He moves suddenly. One moment, he’s just standing there, charming as ever with a daring palm that calls to you like his ocean. The next, he’s impossibly close, placing a hand on either side of you as he leans in dangerously close. 

“Change your shirt and meet me in the kitchen in the next five minutes, or I’ll come back in here and take your shirt off myself.” 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

If he had said those words to you nine hours ago, you would have castrated him. But the low tone of his voice, the brush of his breath over your cheeks, against your ears – you’re putty in his hands now as you nod dumbly. 

When he leans back, he even looks shocked in his actions and words. But then he catches that look on your face – the blank stare and wide eyes, the rapid rise and fall of your chest – and a shimmer of cockiness returns.

“Five minutes,” he reminds you, tilting his head as he takes slow steps back and exits the room. 

It takes you less than one. 

The moment the shirt is on you, you’re encased with a new Eddie smell. The scents of the bed, of the apartment, of him still cling to the fabric, but it now mixes with something of fresh linen, lemon and clean laundry. 

As promised, he’s in the kitchen, leather jacket on as he grabs his phone off a charger plugged in at the end of the breakfast bar lined with stools. 

“You charge your phone outside of your room?” you ask as you carefully pad in, immediately heading to grab your shoes and slip them on. He’s already got his boots on, laced tightly. They should look comical against the grey sweatpants, but he’s making the entire look work. 

“Saw some science magazine say it would help me sleep better,” he mutters as he flips the phone open, probably checking for missed calls or texts. 

“That really only applies to smartphones. When did you even plug it in?” 

You’re bursting with questions, nervous and eager to avoid what’s to come. 

Being on Eddie’s motorcycle. With Eddie. Probably pressed up against Eddie’s back. Probably wrapping your arms around Eddie’s waist. 

“When I came to wake you up on the couch,” he nods towards where you’re sitting, snapping the phone shut and shoving it into his pocket, “You ready?” 

You wonder for a moment how he’d respond to you snapping back something bratty. How far would you have to push him for him to threaten you like he did in the bedroom again? 

You’re not quite recovered enough from the first time, so you don’t press your luck, nodding in response to him. 

—

Apparently, by the time you two reach his motorcycle parked on the street, you have recovered enough to press your luck. 

He’d grabbed a helmet on the way out the door, and you’d just assumed it was for him. It made sense, considering the one time you’d seen him ride, he’d worn it. 

But then, he was suddenly thrusting it in your hand. And the argument ensued. 

“I’m not wearing this,” you try to shove it back into his hands, “You’re driving, you wear it.”

“Sweetheart, I’ve taken a dozen hits to the head in my lifetime. I can handle being banged up if something happens, but I’m not risking it with you. Put it the fuck on.” 

You almost spit for him to not call you sweetheart, but it soothes something in you. Something made of your flames, something drowning in his ocean. A conundrum, whatever it is, because he’s just irritating you now. 

“You could not survive a motorcycle crash without a helmet,” you snap. 

“And neither could you.” 

“Why don’t you have two helmets then?” you nearly toss the damn thing to the ground and declare that neither of you will wear a helmet. 

He finally breaks and takes the helmet back roughly, “Because I don’t normally have a passenger,” he’s rotating the bulky, black shell in his hand, the glass visor for the eyes shining under the street lamps, “Consider yourself lucky. Most aren’t tall enough for this ride.” 

You’re about to make an immature sex joke when he takes you off guard, smoothly bringing the helmet up over your head, not even giving you a chance to protest or fight him. 

“I hate you.” 

The words come out muffled to him, crystal clear to you in the helmet. But he still grins, and you can see it through the tinted glass. 

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to miss another appearance of those fucking dimples for the rest of your days. 

“Good. Glad to hear nothing’s changed,” he playfully jokes, rounding the motorcycle before he swings a leg over the seat and straddles it. You try not to watch and check your phone instead.

You’re getting kind of sick of imagining Eddie Munson naked. Something you’d never thought you’d have to think about. 

12:35 AM. Your phone clearly displays the time, just as a text comes in from Argyle. 

ARGYLE 😎: picture time, my dudes! say cheese (and send it our way) 📸

“Argyle just texted the chat, asking very politely for the photo,” you announce to Eddie, already holding your phone out so he could read the screen.

He’s kicked up the stand on the bike, balancing it with both feet on the ground, the entire thing leaning with him when he gets closer to read the text before simply saying, “Okay.” 

“Okay? We have to take a photo-” 

He snatches the phone from you, a terrible habit you needed to start scolding him for. “Well? Don’t just stand there, sweetheart. Get on the bike and smile pretty for the camera.” 

It’s impressive how quickly the man who still has a flip phone has learned to navigate your smartphone. He’s already got the camera open, flipped to be front-facing as he waits for you to climb on behind him. But you haven’t moved.

He turns and looks at you over his shoulder, “Something wrong?” 

“Nothing,” you squeak from beneath the helmet. 

Just the thought of being pressed up against you after I’ve suddenly started fantasizing about you without shame is madly overwhelming. And if I have to wrap my arms around your waist, I might burst into flames outwardly. 

“Okay,” he draws out, twisting further to watch you, “Need help, then?”

You don’t honor him with an answer, instead roughly grabbing his shoulders as you swing your own leg over the bike. You try to sit with distance between the two of you, but the curve of the seat won’t allow it, sliding you down until your hips are flush against Eddie. 

It’s at this moment it dawns on you that if you are fantasizing about him, if you are indulging in the memory of the bathroom incident, he’ll feel it. You can hide or brush off a blush, you can avert gazes, you can pine just about every way physically without him knowing – you can’t stop him from feeling the heat between your legs as it’s digging into his lower back. 

You swallow hard, and you pray that Eddie isn’t in a teasing mood. 

“Good?” he asks when you don’t remove your hands from his shoulders. 

Even through the fucking helmet you smell his cologne. If you had your phone, you’d be googling images of grandmas like a teenage boy, warding off your unsavory thoughts about the man in front of you. 

“Good.” 

You have to tilt to the side before you both come into view of the camera. Eddie realizes at the last moment that they can’t see it’s you, and he doesn’t even react as he casually reaches up to flip the window visor up, exposing your wide eyes and rosy cheeks. The photo is taken, your blush evident and his smirk not even close to being hidden. 

He doesn’t even consult you before he sends it and passes your phone back, taking to tying back his hair as you fumble to secure the device in your pocket. 

You still haven’t dared to wrap your arms around him as you know is proper protocol as a motorcycle passenger. Instead, one hand is still shoved in your pocket, and the other continues to rest on his shoulders.

“Alright,” he says, producing his eyes and putting them in the engine, not yet turning it, “Just put your feet up here,” he takes a hand to each of your calves and lifts, situating your feet on the small pedals designated for a passenger. Your skin burns through the layer of sweats – the flames aren’t just in your head. They’re everywhere now, licking and nipping and leaving your breathless. “And then hold onto me.”

You return your hand to his other shoulder, giving a squeeze on each for emphasis to say you’re ready. He makes no move to start the bike. 

“What?” you complain, “I’m holding onto you!” 

“If we hit a bump, you’ll go flying.” 

When you don’t comply, he’s rolling his shoulders, shrugging off your touch before both hands fly back behind his back and capture your hands on their fall to your lap. His fingers are tight, warm, secure around your wrists as he pulls your arms to wrap around him in the exact way you’ve been avoiding. 

It pulls you impossibly close to him. If it weren’t for the helmet, your cheek and nose would be painfully smashed into his shoulder. The heat of him radiates off his back, seeping through the sweatshirt he’d given you. 

“There. Now is that really so bad?” His tone is cocky and confident, getting under your skin in a new tactic neither of you had ever broached. 

Flirting. He’s flirting. He can feel the tremble in your palms, and he has the nerve to fucking flirt with you. 

“Awful,” you quip, having to focus an insane amount to not allow your voice to shake, “I might vomit, it’s so bad.” 

“Aw,” he tuts mockingly, hands finally letting go of your arms, clearly pleased when they stay in place as he turns his face to look you in your eyes, “Just aim for the street and not me, okay?” 

Fire and flames dance in his eyes, easily reflected from the flush of your cheeks and the falsification of your glare. He’s going to be the death of you. 

“I’ll try,” your voice does shake this time. You’re not as brave when he’s making eye contact. 

The two of you are playing a dangerous game now. The venom of hatred has leaked out of your words, and what’s replacing it has the capability of breaking both of you far easier. This is no longer a game of who can make the other bleed – it’s no longer a game of you versus him. It’s a game of the two of you versus fate. The world’s worst game of chicken to date. 

A natural disaster. A forest fire that eviscerates all common sense. A rowdy ocean that drowns every version of every possibility ever known. Nature taking back what was once hers, an abandoned haunt of a chest that is now back in full bloom against better judgment. 

You, him, and fate. You always knew he would be your inevitable downfall. You’d always just assumed it would be a lot more screaming, a lot more fighting, and a lot less fantasizing what his lips would feel like against yours. 

He reaches out, and you think for a second, his knuckle will brush your cheek and he’ll whisper that it’s okay for you to just give in, to let Fate have her way. 

He doesn’t. He flips down the visor over your eyes, he twists the keys in the ignition, and he calls out loudly over the roar of the engine, “Hold tight, baby!” 

Your arms tighten around his waist and you hope the flames that encase you char him all the same. 

—

DINGUS: what did i say? 

BIRDIE: it’s not bad.

BIRDIE: i promise.

BIRDIE: it’s just not great either. 

DINGUS: robin. tell me what i said before i come across the hall to your room and break every the smiths record you own. 

BIRDIE: jesus okay! hop off the violent train. 

BIRDIE: i’m going to call you and explain because… context. just trust me and answer, okay? 

DINGUS: jesus christ. okay.

—

The moment the girls have all left for the bathroom, each guy exchanges a look. Argyle nudges Jonthan, who then kicks Steve under the table, who takes his turn in facing his entire body in Eddie’s direction before tapping the boy on his shoulder.

He looks up immediately, only to be caught in the spotlight of his friends, “Uh… yeah? What’s up?”

“You like her,” Steve deadpans. 

“You like her, my dude,” Argyle sing-songs from across the table, “I’m about to start planning a bitching wedding, I swear.”

Eddie freezes up, face scrunching up before he shakes his head violently, “What? No, I just met her-”

“Subtlety isn’t your specialty, Munson,” Jonathan adds in his two cents, “Lost puppy dog eyes are, though. Which you’ve been making at her all night.”

“I have not-”

“You guys think they’re more of a summer wedding couple, or fall? No, no, actually, scratch that – they’re clearly a winter wedding couple, man,” Argyle is teasing, but the warmth of his personality is genuine as he wiggles his brows at Eddie.

A smile finally cracks on the boy’s face. 

Fine, maybe he did like her. Maybe he had been plotting subtle ways to get her number before the night ended. Maybe he had already been trying to silently catch Robin’s eyes to get her blessing without words. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Steve suddenly interrupts, “Tone down the teasing, alright, fellas?” 

Eddie curiously turns his head to him, hiding a smirk behind the lip of his glass, “Why? You’ve already got eyes on her, Harrington?” 

It was a joke. A stupid, stupid joke. A joke that never should have been made, because Steve was drunk and wasn’t in the business of using a filter once he was this many shots deep. 

Eddie knows deep down he didn’t mean harm by the words. He knows that they were the words of a drunk man. But don’t all drunk thoughts have truth to them? 

“What? Nah, man. Not anymore, at least. She was never interested. And I just don’t want us getting ahead of ourselves, because if she wouldn’t go for me, why would she go for you? I think we just-”

Eddie stops listening. Steve continues a drunken rant, and if Eddie had been listening closer, he’d hear about Steve’s grand plan to better feel out how she felt about him. He’d hear about how Steve would get Robin involved, maybe Nancy, how they could talk to her. 

He’d hear that Steve meant more than those awful words that immediately take up residency in Eddie’s mind. But the damage is done. And just like that, a fate between Eddie and this new girl has been decided. There will be no asking for her number. There will be no giddy late night phone calls or terrible nerves when planning a first date. There won’t be anything – Fate clicks with reluctance as Eddie Munson begrudgingly closes the gates to his heart once more. 

“If she wouldn’t go for me, why would she go for you?” 

Steve was right. Eddie shouldn’t have gotten ahead of himself. 

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @amira0303 @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @tlclick73 @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

taglist is now closed.

[ilumel]

— how odd it is to find a fragment of the sun in the depths of such a violent storm.

[starchasersversion]

everyone talking about rare relationship but what about RARE FRIENDSHIPS? here's my favourite ones i have seen

reg and marlene

james and all the slytherins tbh (mainly pandora and dorcas)

sirius and barty

reg and mary

evan and remus

peter and reg

marlene evan and barty

lily and barty

sirius and pandora

and probs others that i have forgotten

[norremire]

Another adorable pic from @dataglitch !! This time Pluvia is giving Vanitas a manicure 💅💚

Fic about that can be read here!

[fistfuloflightning]

You are without doubt the worst rogue cultivator I’ve ever heard of. Ah. But you have heard of me.

Some Mobei-jun/rogue cultivator!Shen Yuan brainrot—thanks to @neonghostcat I can no longer separate SY from the guandao 😭 (thank you from the bottom of my heart)