#Eddie might be right that it's a sign of true love to protect someone with your life | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kedreeva · 2 years

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Apologies if it's a dumb question, english is not my mother tongue so it might be that but could you explain what you mean with Eddie's inability to let others get actually close? I feel Eddie is so easy with getting close to people and opening up, so wouldn't the description fit better for Jonathan? 🙈

Nope! And it's okay, I think it's great to ask questions. I'm going to start from the end, with Jonathan, because that'll hopefully make it easier to understand Eddie.

First, to clarify the language- when I say close, I don't mean physically and I don't mean "has a problem making friends." I mean close as in letting anyone know who he really is, rather than whatever mask he's wearing for them.

Jonathan is different because Jonathan stays away from people, because Jonathan cannot for the life of him keep people from getting in if he likes them at all. The other difference being that Jonathan doesn't LIKE people, but once he does, he has pretty much no ability to keep his mouth shut around them, if they show any sign of listening and sometimes even when they don't. I mean, look at him!

Jonathan is constantly talking to Will about their feelings, trying to get Will to acknowledge it's okay to feel stuff and feel a LOT of stuff, even if that stuff doesn't match what society says he should feel in seasons 1 and 2. He's literally the ONLY ONE who even notices Will's distress in season 4 and pegs it for what it actually is and the hot second he gets a chance he's there going "you have to know I love you so much no matter what and I will always be there for you" etc.

Nancy shows him one (1) second of empathy and he's pouring his lil heart out to her about how he takes pictures because he would rather observe people than talk to them because they don't say what they're really thinking (he wants to know what they're really thinking, who they really are, he wants to be real with people when they get close enough to talk to) and then they're out in the woods with guns and he's telling her about his 10yo trauma of killing a rabbit and crying for a week and lamenting the state of his parents' love collapse. S4 Nancy tells Fred Jonathan is "caring and compassionate" and "he's so protective over the people that he loves."

Murray talks shit at them and Jonathan literally cannot stand someone close to him having the wrong idea about him (even if it's right) so he gets up to go talk to Nancy about it. His hesitation to do so earlier has nothing to do with not wanting to be closer to Nancy, and everything to do with respecting how she feels about Steve- because it's not until Murray points out "we like steve, but we don't LOVE Steve" and Jonathan hears/sees her reaction that he thinks oh shit?? is that true??

He's known Argyle for ~8 months or so (july-march?) and Argyle treats him like Jonathan being quiet during workshop is him moping, tries to get him to talk as if talking is the norm for them. It's clear Jonathan has talked to Argyle about his future plans with Nancy (the ones he is having a hard time with), and he admits a little while later that he's self-sabotaging.

Even with the people he doesn't like? He lets them get too close in the bad way. He lets Steve get under his skin to the point of violence. When he goes to yell at his dad in season 1, you can see how much he's struggling not to let this absolute asshole get close. He can't stand his dad, but how much he cares about it is scrawled all over his face, with how mad he is- and it's not all anger, it's hurt, too. This is a guy Jonathan thinks SHOULD be close, but given what Jonathan tells Will about their dad in flashbacks, it's pretty clear Jonathan let their dad close and got burned, and he's trying to protect Will from the same. There's a moment at the end of Season 1 that just absolutely breaks my heart, when they're all at the school getting the pool ready and Jonathan is freaking out while he and Hopper are getting salt and Hopper grabs at him and looks him in the eyes and tells him he's GOING to take care of all this and GOD you can just SEE how desperate Jonathan's been for a halfway decent father figure, you see him go through all 5 stages of grief in an instant as he accepts Hopper's assurance.

Jonathan's problem isn't letting people get close, it's that people getting close is a problem lol When people show an interest in getting close to him and he actually likes them, he just opens like a fuckin' book. No wonder, being raised by Joyce and helping raise Will. Like. Jonathan is about the sharing and caring! Yes he was (is) a weird kid but he's also desperate for people to be close to. He doesn't have a hard time letting people get close, he has a hard time finding anyone that he thinks is worth knowing at all on any level.

Eddie, on the other hand, loves people. Loves attention. Loves being loud, loves being looked at. But people actually getting to know him for who he really is? Nah. Nope. He's got a dozen masks on hand at any given moment. Brash loudmouth climbing on a table yelling at the jocks with his finger horns on his head. Cocky triple senior spitting in the system's eye. Dramatic DM. Impatient but chill drug dealer in the woods. Jester at the picnic table, hopping around for a smile. "I run away" he says of himself, "so Mordor it is," two concepts diametrically opposed. "You won't believe me," he tells them in the boathouse, not sure he can tell them the truth. "These cynical eyes" he says with the taste of "true love" still on his tongue as he tries to play matchmaker. They're all him in different ways, but just pieces. Tidbits. Enough to ensure he isn't alone. Not enough to be known. Not enough to let anyone close enough to get to him, not enough to let himself be hurt.

Because, as I talked about before, look at what happens to him (to both of them really) when the chips are down.

When Will is missing? Jonathan knows he has at least some people, and seeks out more. Jonathan connects to his mom. Connects to Nancy. Even starts connecting to Hopper when they get to the same place. Shit starts going to hell and they need out from under the FBI or whatever at Jon's house in Cali? He calls Argyle, who literally then helps them hide a body. Like when shit hits the fan, Jonathan's gonna get shit done, and he's gonna grab up the people he's got, pull them closer to get through it, and he's so close with them they will literally help him hide bodies and hide from the FBI without knowing what the hell is even happening.

When Chrissy dies? Eddie isolates himself and even when people come to help him he struggles to let them close enough to let them help on any level. He supposedly has lots of friends despite being a "freak" but... he doesn't go to his bandmates. He doesn't go to anyone in hellfire. Hell, he doesn't even go to his uncle, who presumably cares about him more than anyone else. His bandmates don't even skip practice or anything to try to find him. His uncle, despite telling Nancy that killing isn't in Eddie's nature, despite that it's clear he cares about Eddie, is just like. Chilling at home talking to cops. To be clear, I love Wayne and I think he loves Eddie so much, but his reaction tells me Eddie hasn't let him close.

Which means the ONLY one to go looking for Eddie (for good reasons) is Dustin (yes Max comes to Dustin to ask if they even should, but it's Dustin who goes YES??? and then drags everyone else in), who would (and DID) literally form a bond with a bloodthirsty monster given 3 seconds of time together, and even Dustin doesn't know enough about him to guess where he is, even though he apparently knows a ton of names of people who are supposed to be Eddie's friends and none of THEM know where Eddie is either... in fact the closest anyone can tell him is maybe he's at his supplier's house. Are they even friends? Unclear.

I'm editing to add: Jason and company ALSO make a list of where he might be hiding, public places (where he obviously won't be but they gotta check just in case? because they don't know him) and his friends. Which means he's loudly friends enough with a bunch of people that even people who only know him by reputation know it, but... also they still have to make a long list. and go through it by hand. and drive around. because the guesses of his enemies are as good as the guesses of his closest friends. The only reason Dustin gets there first is that Eddie's friends will talk to him easily on the phone whereas if they're friends with Eddie they probably aren't the sort to talk to Jason willingly. That's it. That's luck.

All of that, Eddie's own reaction and the reactions of the people around him, the fact that his friends can barely find him faster than his enemies, says so much about Eddie's level of actual connection to others; even the ones that desperately do want to care about him don't know him well enough to find him. The only reason Dustin does is because he's a determined little shit just a little more stubborn than anyone else.

Eddie's easy to befriend, but he's not easy to get close to. Jonathan is hard to befriend, but he's easy to get close to. Y'know?

#stranger things #stranger things meta #jonathan byers #eddie munson #my writing #asks #anon asks

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on-maars · 3 years

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Kaleidoscope

Another buddie fic cause I can’t get enough of these two dumb idiots.

Read it on AO3.

Eddie’s first thought is that he’s been buried alive. He moves his hands to the side but his knuckles hit the wood and that’s when he realizes he must be trapped in some kind of box. He tries to scream but the air around him is so thick and the sound of his voice is swallowed by the darkness surrounding him at all sides.

His heart beats hard against his chest, so hard Eddie feels like it will break through his rib-cage. His eyes shuttle back and forth, scanning his surroundings and trying to adjust to the dark. He kicks the wood again and again but the material doesn’t give way and his breathing becomes labored as sweat starts falling down his forehead.

He strikes the wood above his head and doesn’t stop until he can feel the material cracks under his fingers. Only then he uses his elbow and continues hitting until the whole thing breaks and he’s buried in sand.

Eddie closes his eyes and the next thing he knows he’s back in Afghanistan. He watches his friends die and he wants to reach forward, wants to get them out of harm’s way but that’s when the bullet hits him and pain radiates through his shoulder and he falls.

“ Firefighter is down! I repeat, firefighter is down!” He hears a voice shouting. Because he’s not in Afghanistan anymore. He’s in LA. In broad daylight.

And his lungs are filled with water.

Is he drowning?

“ Eddie! Eddie!”

It’s Buck’s voice, screaming his name over and over again, so loud it makes Eddie cry.

He tries to reach out to him but his hand slips and he loses him. The last thing Eddie sees is the bloodied face of his best-friend disappearing into the water.

Eddie wakes up with a start, gasping for air. His entire body is drenched in sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead and his heart pounding against his chest like a hammer. He runs his shaking hands through his hair and closes his eyes fiercely, trying to get rid of all these images invading his mind.

“You okay?” Bobby asks and Eddie jumps with surprise. His captain is leaning against the wall and watches him with a concerned expression plastered all over his face, his eyes shuttling back and forth as if performing an internal scan of Eddie’s mind.

“I’m fine.” He says, shakily. “Just another nightmare. But I’ll be alright, cap.”

It’s a lie. An easy lie. Eddie knows it. The kind of lies he has to tell to try and maintain a somehow strong image among the 118, the kind of lies he has to tell over and over again in the hope that, with time, he might believe it himself. Because truth be told, Eddie’s not so sure he can hold on much longer. Truth be told, he can slowly feel his shell crack, each nightmare spreading the fissures wider apart.

“Buck’s upstairs.” Bobby only answers. “If you need him.”

“I’m fine.” Eddie repeats without thinking. It became a reflex, something he says as easily as a tired ‘good morning’ in the early hours of the day.

“Who are you trying to convince, Eddie? Me or yourself?” Bobby asks, his eyebrows raised. “You know we only want to help. We only want to be there for you.”

“I’m f-”

“Yeah, we know.” Bobby says with a sigh. “You’re fine. If you’re not gonna be honest with me then at least be honest with him.” He adds and Eddie looks away, his fingers twitching uncontrollably.

“I… I can’t.” He says, biting his lower lip.

“He was with you that day, you know.” Bobby tells him. Eddie can notice a slight trace of blame in his voice. “What you both went through, it’s- no one’s expecting you to have it all together, Eddie. Especially not him.” He adds. “What are you so scared is going to happen if you start talking to him about it?”

“I’ll be- I'll be okay.” Eddie repeats, stubbornly. Because it’s the only thing he can bring himself to say. He darts his eyes towards his Captain for a few seconds and the expression of disappointment painted all over his face is enough to fill Eddie with guilt.

Bobby sighs and nods to himself, as if knowing there’s nothing he can say to encourage Eddie to finally open up. He places his right hand on the door handle, takes a small step forward but Eddie doesn’t let him the time to leave the room completely.

“He deserves better than to put up with all my shit, Bobby.” He says through gritted teeth, bending his fingers into a fist.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how he sees it, Eddie.” Bobby answers, taking a seat on the bunk next to him. His captain is watching him with so much attention it fills Eddie with unease, makes him want to run far, far away from this place.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks with a chuckle. “Well, too bad. I’m not letting him the chance to ruin his life for someone as messed up as me.” He adds, wiping his tears with the back of his hands.

“Because you don’t think he has issues of his own?” Bobby asks and Eddies shrugs his shoulders.

“Nothing to put up with.” Eddie clarifies, running his right hand through his sweaty hair once again.

“You only say that because you love him.” Bobby remarks and Eddie whirls his head around. “You don’t see his issues as something you have to put up with because you love him for who he is, no matter how much baggage he may be carrying with him.” He says. “Did you ever stop for one second to think that maybe he feels the same way about you?”

Eddie lowers his head down and doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what to answer to that, doesn’t know how to make sense of everything Bobby just said. He knows that, in all likelihood, his Captain might be right. Maybe that’s how Buck feels. Maybe he’s in for the long haul.

After all, every sign seems to point to that conclusion, whether it is the fact that Buck took care of Christopher without even being asked while he was fighting for his life in that hospital, or the three weeks he spent in their house helping him with his recovery, or even his break-up with Taylor strangely coinciding with his own separation with Ana, give or take a few days. The signs are here and they’re clear but something in Eddie still doubts. Something in him still hesitates.

That’s the moment Buck chooses to barge in the bunk room with a cheerful stride, smiling wildly.

That’s enough for Eddie’s lips to turn up at the edges. He can’t help it. Buck’s presence is like a ray of sunlight finally poking through the clouds after days of rain, it feels Eddie with so much love he’s afraid his heart might explode.

And Eddie’s aware of how that sounds, Hen and Chimney reminded him of how miserably cheesy he looks whenever his best-friend is around enough time to make sure of it, but Eddie doesn’t find it in him to care anymore. He’s irrevocably in love with his best-friend and maybe fighting it and trying to pretend otherwise only makes it worse.

Buck’s smile only lasts a second though. His eyes quickly fall on his best-friend and his entire face darkens.

“Eds? What’s going on? Are you okay?” He asks and rushes towards him.

“He’s okay.” Eddie can hear Bobby says. “But I think he could use some Buck time.” He adds, while getting to his feet. He squeezes Eddie’s shoulders and crosses the room, closing the door behind him. And Eddie’s grateful for the privacy but really there’s nothing more he wants but to follow Bobby out of this room and leave Buck alone.

“Another one of your nightmares?” Buck asks carefully, not sure whether to finally cross the line that seemed to have been erected between them ever since he left his flat. Eddie only nods but stays silent, the words still stuck in his throat. “The shooting again?”

Eddie nods again, not trusting himself to speak, not trusting himself to tell the truth, make him understand the true extent of his nightmares.

Not just the shooting.

Not just the shooting, Buck. The well, too. Afghanistan. The tsunami. Losing Christopher. Losing you.

Always losing you.

A silence slowly settles in the room, one person too scared to cross that invisible barrier, the other too afraid to speak. That, until Buck’s fingers tentatively reach out and brush past Eddie’s hand.

And Eddie? Eddie wants nothing more than to lean in on the touch but he does the only thing he seems to know how to do instead: He runs away. He gets up from the bed as if he’s been electrocuted by Buck's touch but his best-friend's voice stops him dead in his tracks.

“I wish you knew how to talk to me.” He says. His voice is filled with concern, and sorrow.

“I- I know how to talk to you.” Eddie says, his voice weak, overwhelmed with so many different emotions he doesn’t even know how to make sense of any of them.

“Then how come you never do, Eds?” Buck asks, his voice soft.

Eddie’s hands start shaking again. In fact, his whole body trembles but still, he says nothing.

“I don’t know what changed, Eddie.” His best-friend adds, but this time his tone is desperate, almost pleading. “I don’t know what to say to you anymore.”

“Maybe you don’t need to say anything.” Eddie finds himself saying, glancing at his best-friend who slowly looks up, his big blue eyes filled with worry staring back at him.

“Maybe.” His best-friend agrees. “But you run away even when I don’t.” He adds, smiling sadly at him.

Eddie’s throat is so tight he can barely breathe.

“I still have them too, you know.” Buck goes on and Eddie stays here, unable to move, let alone speak. “The nightmares.” He adds. “I still have them. And I don’t know what’s going on inside your head lately Diaz. I don’t know if it’s another one of your weird phases when you push everyone away because you feel like you’re strong enough to deal with everything on your own, or- or if it’s just a fucked up way for you to try and protect me from yourself but you don’t need to pretend with me, Eds.”

Eddie darts his eyes towards him and his best-friend is already looking at him dead in the eye, not blinking.

“Because I was there too, you know.” Buck adds. “I wasn’t the one who got shot but I was there, too.” He adds and something in his face just breaks. “So whatever you’re feeling, Eds, I- I get it. Trust me.”

Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes fiercely, sighing deeply as he lets himself fall on his bunk next to Buck. For a moment, neither of them say anything. Eddie only intertwines their fingers together and lets his thumb draws small patterns on Buck's palm.

“I never wanted you to leave.” He still admits after a few seconds, ignoring the way his best-friend whirls his head around, his eyebrows frowned in confusion. “I wanted you to stay.” He adds. “The first night I spent on my own, the only thing I wanted to do was to call you and beg you to come back.”

“Why didn’t you?” Buck asks. And it’s a simple question. A simple question that should come with an easy answer but once again, the words get stuck in Eddie’s throat and he can’t speak. “Why didn’t you call me?” Buck repeats and Eddie chuckles, lowering his eyes to the ground.

It’s only a few seconds later that the words finally come.

“Because you would’ve come.” Eddie breathes out. “And I couldn’t let you do that.”

“Why?” His best-friend asks, his hand squeezing Eddie’s thigh. “You think I can’t deal with your nightmares?” He teases and Eddie lets out a shaky laugh, nudging him playfully.

“I know you can.” He says and Buck’s smile is so soft Eddie has to look away. “I just don’t want you to.” He adds.

“So what, you think I don’t have issues on my own?” Buck answers, forcing him to look up by lifting his chin with his forefinger.

“Of course you do.” Eddie whispers, his eyes are still down. “So why would you want to add mine to your pile?”

Buck sighs and cradles his chin with his hands, his thumbs brushing along his cheeks until Eddie’s eyes stare back at him. Only then, he says:

“Because I’m in love with you.”

Eddie lets out a shaky breath and doesn’t look away even when Buck’s hand moves from his cheeks to the back of his neck to press a kiss to his forehead.

“And I… I guess there’s no way for me to talk you of it?” Eddie says and smiles when Buck only scoffs and taps him on the back of his head.

“Don’t ask stupid questions, Diaz.” He says. “This is non negotiable.” Buck’s eyes glance down at his lips and all it takes is a small nod from Eddie for Buck to capture his mouth in a gentle kiss.

“I might be in love with you too, Buckley.” Eddie says against his lips and manages to miss Buck’s nudge by moving his body a bit further to the left.

“Oh you might?’ Buck teases him and Eddie cradles his neck with his hand, bringing him closer to kiss him one more time.

“I am.” Eddie clarifies, his voice clear and steady. “I’m so in love with you I think it makes me look stupid, Evan.”

And when Buck wraps his arms around his back and buries his face in the crook of his neck, Eddie only smiles and rests his chin on his shoulder, thinking that as long as Evan Buckley is by his side, then he might be alright.

#buddie #buck x eddie #buddie fic #my writing #9-1-1 #911

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waitimcomingtoo · 4 years

Text

Anthem

Part 1: So Quiet Here but you don’t have to have read it to understand this

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: How to get win your girl back, a step by step guide by Peter Parker

Masterlist

How to get your girlfriend back, a step by step guide presented by Peter Parker.

Step one: make sure she actually wants you back. If she doesn’t, there is no reason to even try. Don’t get cocky and think that she’ll always take you back, because she won’t. Especially not if you seriously hurt her, like Peter had hurt you.

If you hadn’t called out to Peter and asked him if he really wanted you back, he wouldn’t respected your decision to move on and would’ve left you alone, no matter how much it killed him.

But that wasn’t the case.

You called out to him. You called his name. You walked away and could’ve kept waking right back to your little boyfriend, but you didn’t.

You came back.

Specifically, you came back for Peter. That was all Peter needed to set his plan into action. He was going to win you back, no matter what it took.

Step two: let it be known that you want her back and will stop at nothing until you make things right.

“I did not come here to try to win you back.” Peter announced as soon as you opened your apartment door to him.

“Oh, no?” You laughed a little at his forwardness.

“No. That’s coming later, trust me.” Peter assured you. “I need to get you to at least like me again before we inevitably fall back in love and get married.”

“Inevitably?” You humored him. “That’s a big word coming from the boy who broke us up.”

“It is inevitable. Just as inevitable as stupid boys making stupid mistakes in relationships. And I may be stupid, but I’m smart enough to know what I’ve lost.” Peter said with a sincerity that made you smile a little.

“Nice to see you owning up to it.” You said in all honesty.

“I have to. I know I messed up. I know I treated you like you were a burden I had to carry.” Peter took responsibility. “You’re not a burden, Y/n. You’re a privilege. And I also know that you and I are supposed to be together.”

“It sounds a lot like you’re trying to win me back.” You said said, skeptic of his original claim.

“I came here to apologize.” Peter stated. “I screwed up royally the moment I made you believe you were living with someone who didn’t worship the ground you walked on. I have always loved you, and it’s my fault that I let you forget that. Maybe I thought I didn’t love you anymore, but that was never true. I couldn’t even swing home the night we broke up, I didn’t have the motivation to so much as lift my wrist.”

“Why?” You looked him up and down to make sure he was actually okay. Tired, definitely, and a little skinnier, but otherwise okay.

“Because you were my motivation. You were the reason I went out to protect the city at night. Even when I was just 16 and you weren’t my girlfriend, I wanted to protect the city because it was your city.” Peter told you. “I wanted you to have a safe place to live and grow up. Somewhere along the way, I got wrapped up in it. I focused too much on trying to save everyone when I should’ve been trying to save my relationship with you. I got caught up. The rush I got from being a superhero made me forget who I was doing it all for. I’m sorry I let myself put something above you, because there’s nothing above you. You’re as good as I’m ever gonna get. I know the last few months of our relationship were really hurtful for you I’m sure the breakup was even worse but-“

“I was fine.” You cut him off.

“What?” Peter asked.

“Really, I was okay.” You said honestly. “The breakup didn’t hurt me. It’s the actual relationship that was the killer. Being with you felt like I was freezing to death, and the breakup was like getting into bed and sleeping after the worst day of your life.”

“You’re gonna have to dumb that down for me.” Peter laughed lightly at your words.

“When you freeze to death, your body temperature gradually drops until you go unconscious. It’s not messy or painful, just highly unpleasant I’m guessing. And then you fall asleep, and it’s over. That’s what our relationship was like.” You told Peter and his face fell just a little. “I was freezing to death and slowly shutting down and when you broke up with me, I could sleep. I wasn’t hurting anymore. I was just, I don’t know, sleeping.”

“Are you still asleep?” He asked softly after a beat of silence.

“No.” You smiled to yourself. “I woke up, realized you were the dumbest man alive for letting me go, and I worked on myself. I worked on self love and getting to a place where I wouldn’t stay with a man whom I knew didn’t love me. If Eddie showed signs of falling out of love, I’d leave him before he had a chance to say goodbye. I’m different now. I’m better. I know what I’m worth and what I deserve. And I can tell you, I deserved a lot better than what you were giving me.”

“I know that too.” Peter assured you, a little intimidated by your confidence, and a little in love with it. “And I’m proud of you. This new version of yourself is really impressive. I really admire the confidence you’ve found.”

“I had to find it. If you were gonna be cold, then I was gonna be the sun.” You said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. That was the moment Peter realized he was playing a game far out of his league. You were not the girl he left behind. You were miles ahead of him now, and he was stuck in the same spot.

“I don’t deserve to get you back, do I?” Peters moment of self realization verbalized itself. Something about him knowing what you should’ve known all along made you smile a little, made you want him to stay.

“Probably not.” You quipped. “I might be too cool for you now.”

“You’ve always been too cool for me.” Peter laughed slightly, wondering it it was worth it to move forward with his plan.

“I know. I was trying to be nice.” You joked, although he didn’t seem to find it funny anymore. He looked genuinely worried for a moment and he wondered if he took you seriously.

“Should I bother moving on to step three?” He asked you suddenly.

“Step three?” You inquired.

“Of my plan to win you back.” Peter said and you chuckled at his sincerity. “I already completed step two, which was letting you know that I want to make things right.”

“No ones ever made a plan to get me back before.” You bit back a smile to keep your composure.

“Then you must’ve been dating some stupid guys.” Peter remarked, wondering briefly who you dated before him.

“I have.” You agreed. “Flash Thompson in the third grade.”

“The one that got away?” Peter humored and you laughed at him before settling into comfortable silence.

“Whats step three anyway?” You asked in a soft voice as you rested your head against the doorframe.

“Step three: make things right.” Peter stated and you raised an eyebrow. You had to admire the determination he was showing.

“How are you planning on doing that?” You asked him and he smiled proudly.

Since Peter was the reason you were freezing, he was determined to burn the city down just to make you feel the warmth.

Metaphorically, of course. He was hurting but he wasn’t a pyromaniac just yet.

“I’m gonna be there.” He promised. “If you’re sad, I’ll be there with some ice cream and a couple bad jokes. If you’re happy, I’ll be there with a smile and probably some more ice cream. If you’re bored, I’ll take you to the candy shop and let you lick the lolly pop-“

“-Peter.” You cut him off with warning look.

“My bad.” He insisted. “I’ll be there with a terrible movie and an even worse idea for a night out. Maybe we’ll end up in prison, who knows? You definitely won’t be bored there.” Peter said and you rolled your eyes. “And if you want to talk to someone about how lame your boyfriend is and how much you want to dump him-“

“Here we go.” You sighed and looked at the ceiling.

“I’ll be there with open ears and an unbiased opinion.” Peter continued in a gentle tone that made you look at him again. “I’m not trying to steal you from anybody. I’m just trying to be your friend. We have to at least get our friendship back if we want to be together.”

“If we want to be together? I have a boyfriend, love. This is all you.” You smirked and folded your arms.

“You didn’t have to open the door to me. You could’ve closed it a long time ago and gone to talk to your little boyfriend. And yet, here we are.” Peter said smugly and you scoffed.

“I could close the door right now if I wanted.” You taunted playfully and put your hand on the door as if you were about to shut it.

“Is that what you want?” Peter was tempted you.

“What are your plans for step three?” You answered his question with a question.

“Let me take you out. Not like a date, just a platonic outing with a friend. I have someplace I want to take you.” Peter rocked on his feet nervously, just like the first time he asked you out.

“Where?” You squinted at him.

“You’ll see when we get there.” He shrugged smugly.

“When is this platonic outing supposed to happen?” You asked him.

“What are you doing today?” Peter matched your question with his own and a smirk lit up on your face.

In no time, you were swinging away from your apartment building in Peters arms. If Peter was thinking the same thing as you, how this was the first time you’d been in his arms in over a year, he didn’t say it. He just held you close and cherished the moment.

He had instructed you to keep your eyes closed on the journey, insisting it had to be a surprise. When you felt your feet touch the ground, you were allowed to open your eyes. It didn’t take long for you to recognize where you were.

“The Empire State Building.” You said quietly as you took in the view. You felt small as you stood on top of the world. Peter watched your face with a fond smile on his lips, not even bothering to look at the views. He didn’t care about that, not now.

“You did a project on it when you were in second grade and fell in love with it.” Peter began. “You always wanted to come here, to see the pretty lights. You wanted to know what the view was, wanted to feel big. You thought you could touch the clouds from up here.”

“I was eight.” You defended the ridiculous thought.

“You were ambitious.” Peter corrected. “You told me that story on our first date in tenth grade.”

“I was just trying to impress you with my knowledge of the Empire State Building.” You said sheepishly as you ran your fingertips over the railing.

“It worked. I was impressed.” Peter said as he watched you.

“It’s a very interesting building.” You looked back at him, blushing a little when you caught him staring.

“I didn’t care about the building. I cared about the way your eyes lit up when you talked about it, brighter than any light you could see from here. I cared about the smile that couldn’t help from peeking through your lips when you told me you hoped your birthday would become such a momentous occasion one day that they lit up the building with your favorite color to celebrate you, and the smile that it brought me. That’s what interested me.” Peter recalled. You turned back to face the city so he wouldn’t see the redness in your face. Whatever his plan was, it was working.

“What are the colors for?” You asked when you realized the building was lit up as your favorite color.

“You.” Peter said timidly, hoping you’d like it. “I know it’s not your birthday, but…”

“You got them to light up the Empire State Building for me?” You stopped looking at the view all together to face Peter.

“Not me, exactly, but the people of New York are willing to bend a few rules for Spider-Man.” Peter told you. You walked back to him and dug your toe into the ground.

“What are we doing here, Peter? Is this you not trying to win me back?” You asked quietly, searching his face for answers.

“This is me trying to be better than I was.” He put his hands on your shoulders and looked into your eyes. “I always told myself I’d take you here. I even told you.”

“You never did.” You said, drawing away from him and walking back towards the railing.

“You’re right. I didn’t do a lot of things right when I was with you.” Peter owner up to his mistakes. “Now, do you want to stand here and talk about what a terrible boyfriend I was, or do you want to look at the view?”

You smiled to yourself before looking at him form over your shoulder.

“I kinda want to look at the view.”

Step Four: wherever you weren’t before, be there now

“what are u doing tn?” Your contact name lit up on Peters screen and he practically leaped out of bed. His thumbs danced over the screen as he thought of a response. Should he be funny or casual? Honest or sarcastic? He had too many options and he didn’t know what your intentions were.

“Patrol. Might go crazy and help a few old ladies across the street” He read the text a few times before sending it. He threw his phone on his bed and bit his knuckle until he heard his phone buzz. He dove into the bed and picked it up.

“didn’t realize I was texting Mother Theresa, srry” You had said and Peter blew air out of his nose.

“What are you up to? Writing more jokes for your stand up? Hopefully they’re better than the one you just told me” He typed without thinking and hit send. You didn’t respond for three minutes and Peter feared he had offended you with his joke. He was about to put his phone away when your text came in.

“you’re so funny I just peed on the floor” You sent and Peter smiled brightly. He walked around his room as he texted you, not stopping when he hit the wall and just walked up until he was on the ceiling.

“Get your little boyfriend to clean it up” He texted back.

“nah. he bailed on me to hang with some friends” You responded after a few minutes.

“What were you guys gonna do? Talk about his performance issues?” Peter typed out, reconsidered it, and sent it anyway.

“hilarious. we were gonna watch Moana and make out :(“ You sent back and Peter swallowed thickly. It was his own fault for bringing up your boyfriend, but it didn’t stop it from stinging when you mentioned him. He rolled his eyes and ignored the pit in his tummy.

“I mean if you need someone to take his place, I have both lips and a love of Disney Pixar films” Peter wrote and waited for a reply.

“why don’t you go find a lost dog and let me watch Moana in peace” You sent back, and Peter had a feeling that was the end of the conversation. He got off the ceiling at sat on his bed, contemplating his next move. You were the one to end the conversation, but you also started it. You had to be pretty lonely to text Peter, and your original question of seeing if he was busy or not suggested you were hoping he wasn’t. If Peters calculations were correct, you wanted him over but didn’t want to ask in case he turned you down for patrol, something he used to do often. Peter grabbed his wallet and his keys and headed out without another thought.

“How’s it going?” Peter leaned against your doorframe when you opened it to him. You were in your pajamas and looked surprised, and a little happy, to see him. Peter could heat the dulcet sounds on Moana in the background, but that’s not what he cared about. You had been crying, no doubt about it. Your swollen lips and red eyes gave Peter the first set of clues, but he also knew you. He knew you watched kids films when you www really upset because they reminded you of happier times. He knew something was up the moment you said you were gonna watch Moana.

“Isn’t there an old lady who needs your help crossing the street somewhere?” You said, a little bitterly, and walked back into your apartment. Peter followed and locked the door behind him. You sat at a barstool next to your kitchen counter and wiped yours eyes when you thought Peter wasn’t looking.

But Peter was always looking.

“Funny. And no, I took the night off.” He said gently and took the seat next to yours.

“You did? Why?” You asked him skeptically. Peter wished him making time for you wasn’t something you had to be skeptic of.

“Because I wanted to spend time with you.” Peter said honestly and you laughed to yourself.

“Since when? You had no problem ditching me for spider duty before. And that was when you still got to come home to kisses and cuddles at the end of the night.” You rubbed your eyes, no longer caring if he knew you were upset or not. What Peter couldn’t figure out was why you were upset. Eddie cancelling on you would not bring you to tears, not after the confidence you gained from your breakup with Peter. You were too good to be crying over Eddie cancelling, and both you and Peter knew that.

“Now all I come home to at night is my right hand.” Peter tried to cheer you up, and it worked. You laughed at him and shoved his arm.

“Peter.” You whined at his gross humor.

“Which I use to high five my left hand, and tell myself that it’s all right to be on your own sometimes.” He finished the joke and you rolled your eyes at him. As long as he got your smiling again, he was okay.

“It is. It’s nice actually, when it’s voluntary.” You said and took a sip from your water bottle. Peter watched you carefully as you set the water bottle down and played with the empty bottle.

“Eddie didn’t bail on me.” You said after a minute.

“No?” Peter treaded carefully, allowing you to take control of the conversation.

“I kicked him out.” You stated and looked at Peter for a reaction. He put a comforting hand on your knee and you stared at it for a moment before putting your hand over his.

“Was it the performance issues?” Peter asked after a beat of silence and you let go of his hand to cover your mouth as you laughed. Peter laughed at his own joke, patting himself on the back for making you smile.

“No, it wasn’t that.” You said when your laughter died down. “He was performing just fine with his ex girlfriend.”

“I’m sorry.” Peter said sincerely. “Men suck.”

“You’re a man.” You reminded him.

“Yes. And we suck.” Peter stuck to his original statement and you laughed again, all traces of sadness dissolved from your body.

“I’ll drink to that.” You bonked your empty water bottle against his forehead and set it on the table. He grabbed the water bottle and threw it at you, making you giggled as you dodged it. It fell to the ground and Peter quickly webbed it up and threw it at you again. You caught it this time and tossed it into the recycling bin.

“Where is it?” You asked after you threw it in.

“Where’s what?” Peter tilted his head.

“The ‘I told you so.’ The teasing about Eddie. The big picture where I’m finally supposed to see that we were meant to be together all along.” You asked, that being what you expected the moment you told Peter about your breakup. Peter just shrugged and looked at your fondly.

“Why would I do that?” He asked quietly. “You’re hurting. Even if he was a jerk, he meant something to you. I’m not gonna make you feel worse by teasing him. What kind of friend would I be?”

Peters words caught you by surprise. His newfound maturity wasn’t something you knew he was capable of. He was proving his commitment to being your friend and you appreciated it.

“You’re really not gonna make a move on me tonight?” You asked him.

“Not even if you asked me too.” Peter promised and you raised an eyebrow. “I mean, if you begged I could probably figure something out.” He added and you let out a laugh.

“You’re not even gonna take one little jab at Eddie?” You texted him to see just how mature he had become.

“If Eddie was dumb enough to lose the prettiest, baddest-“ ,Peter stopped listing your physical qualities when he saw you roll your eyes, “-coolest, smartest, and most badass woman in New York, then he has bigger problems then me making fun of his floppy hair or crooked teeth.” Peter shrugged. You bit your lip and stared at Peter for a minute. It wasn’t common for boys to compliment your qualities other than your physical appearance.

“His teeth were kinda crooked.” You agreed.

“It looked like they were in a race to see who could get to the left side of his mouth the fastest.” Peter said as if he had been holding it in for an eternity.

“Peter!” You playfully smacked his arm.

“Tell me I’m wrong.” He folded his arms and raised his eyebrows.

“You might be a little right.” You pinched your fingers together. “I need a friend tonight.” You said suddenly, and Peter gave you a soft smile.

“I’m right here.” He promised.

And he was.

Your friendship grew over the next three months back into what it used to be. Peter was proud of the groundwork he had made. You enjoyed his company again and considered him a good friend, best friend even. Peter often wondered if you’d forgotten about his plan, because he certainly hadn’t.

But neither had you.

Step five: you got it from here.

“Did you call your mom?” Peter asked he fixed his hair in the mirror.

“Why? Did something happen?” You asked as you laced up your boots. Peter snuck a few glances at you before returning to his hair.

“Yeah, her birth, 50 years ago.” He reminded you and tossed you your phone.

“She’s definitely older than 50 but if I tell her you say that, she might marry you.” You said with a grateful smile as you dialed her number. Peter shrugged causally as you held the phone to your ear. “Mama? Happy birthday? What is it, your 50th?”

“Thank you.” You mouthed to him and he smiled at you. Your face changed from a smile to a grimace and you muted your phone to talk to Peter. “Is it okay I don’t go tonight? My mom wants me over for family dinner.”

“Can I come?” Peter asked instead of answering your question.

“You want to come to dinner with my family and all my little cousins?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Duh. Is that even a question?” He teased you and you shook your head.

“No, go out with your friends. I’ll be fine.” You insisted.

“I’m texting them that they can go without us as we speak.” Peter said with his head buried in his phone. He sent the text and put his phone down, signaling that he was all in.

“You don’t want to go out?” You asked skeptically. You eyed him up and down for any signs of regret but there weren’t any. He genuinely wanted to go with you.

And you genuinely wanted him to come.

“Not it if means I’m gonna be missing you all night and wondering how your little cousins are. This is more about them than it is about you.” Peter joked and you laughed at him. You walked over to him and stared at him for a moment, giving him a final chance to back out. When he didn’t, you had made up your mind about him.

“Hang on.” You told him and unmuted yourself. “Hey mom?” You fixed the collar on Peters shirt as she responded. “Can my boyfriend Peter come too?”

Tag List 🏷

@dnsa-parker @maybemona @foreverxholland @writing-for-hours-on-end @lavender-writer @captainmandeestudent17 @whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings @ultrunning @imyourliquor-youremypoison @theolwebshooter @andreasworlsboring101 @guksmyfav @waiting-to-be-myself @letsloveimagines @peterparkoure @a-villain-vying-for-attention @justcallmehitgirl @averyfosterthoughts @jackiehollanderr @tiny-friggin-human @celestial-skylines @loveat2am @mara-twins @iamaunicorn4704 @delicately-important-trash @spideygirl2003 @the-crazy-fanfictionist @maryjanee23 @spacebitch2 @vgiselle @geeksareunique @emmamarshmellow @jillanaholland @unbelievableholland @rebekkah4766 @flixndchill @sovereignparker @wendaiii @thisisthebiplace @spideydobrik @every-marveler-ever @undiadeestos @caelestii-e @eridanuswave @itscaminow @thegr8kush

those who asked for a part 2

@marvel4geeks @petesprincess @tragic4ngel @piper-koko-barnes-rogers @britishspidey

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker angst #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #peter parker imagine #tom holland fluff #iron man #tom holland fanfiction

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mecomptane · 3 years

Text

Blew up my old laptop so I’m trying to recover things from it. (Okay, a slight exaggeration. Maybe.) Apparently I decided to write Star Wars fic at some point? It’s here for posterity, definitely no beta, can’t guarantee the quality. So, the usual. (Pretty sure this was also a 3am sort of thing.)

Yoda has been Grand Master of the Jedi Order for going on five centuries, alive for nearly nine, and still, sometimes, feels like he's barely one.

It's few and far between, admittedly--history doesn't exactly repeat, no, but the motivations of sapient beings don't particularly change, and once you understand why people make the choices they do, then you can generally guess what any person or group might do in response. It's not flawless and has failed him before, but between lived experience, his strength in the Force, and the Republic having little changed, overall, he's usually right. Or at least, unsurprised.

The Councilors call him unflappable, the Masters and Knights steadfast, and the Padawans and Initiates whisper that he is Ancient and Omniscient.

Yoda, mostly, calls himself tired.

This is a song and dance he knows well, has all but memorized the steps to. Padawans become Knights become Masters and find an Initiate to teach and mentor and raise, the closest they will ever be to children of blood being children of their hearts. Years--in some cases, a decade or more--will weave the two into a knot of compassion and knowledge and reliance (but never attachment), and with the Trials the Master shears their Padawan's braid and the Padawan shears the rope that had once bound them so tightly, and the two walk away, together but inherently separate, to live their lives as sole individuals connected only by the gossamer web and weave of the Force, as all living things do.

Countless have come and gone, all with slightly different steps or rhythms. Not all have been successful. Jedi walk in the light and dream of the sun, but shadowy corners and secrets in darkness are tempting, too intriguing to pass up the chance to investigate. Rare are those who give in; rarer still are those who find their way back. But it does happen, as much as they might wish it otherwise.

Yoda has seen all of them in nearly a millennia, can trace the pattern and knows the steps of that dance, too. Not that of true Sith, no, but the path to becoming a Darksider is identical to that of a Jedi with only a few steps reversed, repeated, skipped over. Once the first misstep occurs, it takes barely any thought to see where and how the dance might change. Will they weave back and forth, between light and darkness? Will they flit into the shadows briefly and find it not to their taste, thereafter choosing only the path strung with the lanterns of faith? Will they stumble into the shadows once, twice, again and again, until the light itself hurts their eyes and they cannot see save anywhere but darkness?

One step, two, a few more--that's all it takes, now, for Yoda to know. He's been wrong, true, but those times were more that he'd given into hope. Hope that they'd find their way into the light, that their dance would one day realign with that of the rest of the Jedi.

So as Yoda sits among the Council, the dimming light of Coruscant's pale setting sun struggling in through the windows, he is thrown. Surprised. Confused.

"I will take him as my Padawan," Qui-Gon Jinn says, hands resting reassuringly on the shoulders of a supernova given form. So bright, so powerful, spilling everywhere with little control, care, or concern. Yoda can barely look.

Behind the duo stands a white dwarf of the Force, the light and warmth turned inward and controlled, peaceful but puissant and exactly like a Jedi should be, but.

But.

"Obi-Wan? He is ready for his Trials."

"Decide that, the Council shall."

In a room of so much light, where the brightest and most powerful Jedi in the galaxy sit in state, there is an undercurrent of shadows. A slight dimming in the corners, a hint of something obscuring the warmth and nurturing rays.

Qui-Gon Jinn. Obi-Wan Kenobi. Anakin Skywalker.

Yoda looks between them and the Council, and wonders.

When he was younger, Yoda delighted in his Padawan learners. That he lived so much longer than any other species or race was a detriment to others, but it allowed him to have generations of Padawans and their Padawans, Grandpadawans and Greatgrandpadawans. Each of his students had siblings, younger or older; each had nieces and nephews; all had someone to fall back on, to speak with, to rely on. To be family with.

Attachment was not the Jedi way, but compassion and selfless love was. All of his students--and their students, so on and so forth--understood that, embraced that.

Eventually he became the Grand Master and became so busy with duties he could not devote the time to another Padawan, to his Lineage as he once did. They understood, relied more on each other, and while some came to him with questions or concerns it was a rarity. And then--somewhere along the lines--it stopped happening altogether. A Lineage was called after the oldest surviving member, but when there were gaps of three, four, ten generations... did one really still count as part of that Lineage? But that was fine, as it should be; the Force is Life and Life is forever changing, growing, renewing. Yoda had learnt at the side of a Master long gone but fondly remembered, now part of the Force; his students, too, memories and trinkets, memorabilia tucked carefully away in a chest in his room, never opened but a reminder nonetheless.

The desire to teach Dooku had been unexpected, unanticipated, almost unappreciated. It had been years since he last had a Padawan learner of his own... but why not? He'd long since turned over immediate day-to-day responsibilities to an aide, now the Master of the Order, and aside from popping in to teach classes or spend time in the creche, he had ample time for a personal student again.

Of course, the way that had turned out... but Dooku's own Padawan, Qui-Gon, had been bright and sensitive to the ways and wills of the Force, and always willing to help another Padawan, always willing to lend an ear or support. Maybe Dooku hadn't turned out as Yoda had hoped, but surely Qui-Gon would be better.

And he was, with Feemor. Maybe not the most in-touch Master, preferring books or research or his plants and animals and following the eddies of the Force invisible to most others, but he cared. He wanted Feemor to succeed, to thrive, as did Yoda. And Feemor did, passing his Trials with little difficulty and much grace; a Jedi Knight to be, surely, proud of.

Xanatos, however....

He'd deserved to be repudiated, true. Yoda had even cautioned Qui-Gon about his second Padawan, having seen the steps and the missteps and the constant swaying between light and dark. A Shadow, he'd suggested. Cautioned. Xanatos could not walk in the light, not like Feemor, but enough light he had in him to walk in both, to be a Shadow of their Order. Qui-Gon hadn't listened, still too proud, too arrogant, after Feemor.

In the end, Xanatos became a Darksider. Qui-Gon, as custom and duty and common sense demanded, repudiated him. But not just him, no, for if he'd gone so wrong with Xanatos, surely Feemor, too, was secretly not what he appeared to be? And so Feemor had suffered for his younger brother's choices, for Qui-Gon's pride and lack of attention to detail, for his desperation to not stain or blemish the Lineage of the Grand Master.

Two students, one Jedi Knight, one Darksider. Two repudiations, one earned, one not.

Qui-Gon had sworn off all further students, had nearly been convinced to take another, had rejected them in the end. The Force had brought them back together, and Qui-Gon could not ignore such a sign, but--

Obi-Wan is quiet in the Force. As a child he'd been as a river, calmly flowing one minute and the tempestuousness of white water the next, but always moving, always steady. As a babe... Yoda remembers the young human, presumed Stewjoni, being brought into the Hall of Healing for the first time, so young and already so part of the Force it had nearly wrapped around him. Not a vergence, not power, but a pin in an ever-changing tapestry, a marble dropped into the center of a taught sheet, a boulder in the middle of the river he'd become part of.

Chaos in the midst of calm, or the calm waters of the eye of a storm?

Obi-Wan learnt the steps of those around him, learnt to dance between light and darkness with Quinlan Vos and somewhere along the lines chose to remain in the light. But these were not his steps, Yoda could see. They were the steps of the Masters, the Knights, the Padawans, even other Initiates; they were what should be, what Kenobi himself clearly wanted to do, to be, but were copied from others, a reflection of truth and not what actually was.

The only times Yoda could remember Obi-Wan stepping out on his own, trying to make his own dance--Melida/Daan. Mandalore. Qui-Gon had either left him alone or with minimal guidance, and without the framework of the Order to guide him, Obi-Wan had fallen back on what he believed to be right, to be the will of the Force. Protect the Young. Protect the Duchess. Stop a war. (Even if it meant fighting.)

Obi-Wan wouldn't be happy strictly as a Peacekeeper, no. He had the knack for it, a skill with words and negotiations that most Masters could only wish for, but the boy's heart--his desire--was to defend and protect that which was Good.

And now, here. Naboo.

Qui-Gon's body lays in repose in the next room, waiting for the sunset and the pyre. Obi-Wan kneels before him, a Knight in a Padawan's garb, and while he never fails to make eye contact, there's a careful guard to it.

Peacekeepers do not kill, after all. Jedi are Peacekeepers; ergo, for all that he's tried to emulate them, Obi-Wan Kenobi is not a Peacekeeper. Not a Jedi.

He's a protector, and Yoda can see him realizing this even as he kneels and Yoda paces, otherwise in perfect silence.

Protectors need things to protect, things to cherish, attachments. How do you value something enough to protect it while maintaining a necessary distance? Even the Sentinels, guards as they are, keep their distance from their charges, no matter how many Younglings jump around and climb them and offer them sweets and pies.

"...even if I must leave the Order, I will train the boy."

And there is both the problem and the solution. Qui-Gon did a disservice to his student, leaving him to find his way alone. Even now, in death, Qui-Gon cannot complete the ritual to break their bond, to cut their ties so Obi-Wan may move forward alone. Yet it's clear that between the Council chamber and the reactor, the bond between them had already begun to unravel. Now what ritual there might be--it wouldn't have mattered, anyway. A sham, a farce, to be done with, if it would even happen at all.

Not that they didn't care about each other--no, he'd seen enough of them together to know that they did, but it was the care between two Knights or two Masters, not teacher-and-student, not father-and-son. Removed, careful, expecting and understanding that each could exist without the other ever in their lives again, but grateful for this brief opportunity to spend time beside each other.

So maybe Qui-Gon was right, in the end: maybe Obi-Wan had been ready for his Trials, having been acting the part of Knight already. No Trials now, Darth Maul's death is more than enough to count, and no ritual Knighting. Just the burning of a body... and the decision of a Knight to train a boy he barely knows.

A boy for the first time away from family and friends and familiarity, a boy... much like Obi-Wan once was, if only Yoda had paid more attention. A boy that, like Obi-Wan, will need to find his own path through life, his own steps through light and dark that might--will--be different from any Yoda has seen before.

A boy that, for right now, needs less guidance and more care. More compassion. More... protection.

It goes against the teachings of the Jedi, to encourage attachments. But Yoda looks at Obi-Wan, feels out for the boy on the other side of the door keeping vigil over his once would-be Master's body, and knows the will of the Force, too.

"Train the boy, you shall," he decrees, and blames the rest of the Council. "A Knight, you are."

Obi-Wan bows his head, like he'd expected nothing less, like he's grateful they're in accord and he won't have to fight for it.

And like he'd never expected a Knighting, a ritual, a ceremony.

Yoda watches him quietly enter the next room, kneel down beside Anakin Skywalker and join the silent vigil. Sees Anakin lean into him, just slightly. Sees Obi-Wan pause, then wrap one arm loosely around small shoulders.

No, he decides, turning his back on what's left of his Lineage. They'll make new dances, a new path, and he won't recognize a single step of it.

And he feels the slightest hint of relief.

#sw #star wars #meco writes #fic:Untitled (The Disaster Lineage Needs a Hug and Yoda Knows it)#yoda #lots of introspection #and what actually falls in a timeline is #set towards the end of tpm #it's been a while since i've posted here #what is even my tag structure again?

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thisissirius · 4 years

Text

beauty in the small things eddie/buck, vermont au

for day two of @eddiediazweek | therapy. for @hearteyesforbuck who has been waiting oh so patiently for this.

I don’t want therapy.

I don’t want to self-medicate.

I don’t want to be a failure to my son.

How, then, is a guy supposed to deal with everything he suffered during war without damaging himself and his family?

Yeah, writing wasn’t my first thought either, but here we are.

“Mom thinks you should stop doing that,” Sophia says.

Eddie snorts, swirling the drink around in his glass, and gives Sophia a look over the top of it. “I’m not going to drown my sorrows in drink.” He makes a face. “I’m not about to self medicate.”

Sophia knows him better than anybody else in the family. Adriana is his little sister and he adores her, but they don’t have a lot in common. He and Sophia are closer in age, and they were never really their father’s priority in the way Adriana is. “Eddie.”

“I’m not,” Eddie says. He puts the drink on the small table and tips his head back, staring up at the sky. Christopher is playing in the garden with Sophia’s two kids—twins—and giggling. Eddie lets the sounds wash over him and he swallows down the urge to lie. It’s not easy to talk about everything, but Sophia is the one person he can trust with his emotions. “I don’t want to do that kind of thing. I don’t want to—it’s hard, I’m not gonna pretend, but I know guys who have self-medicated and I’m not. For Chris’ sake.”

“And your own.” Sophia’s words are quiet, and she surveys the backyard. “You have to talk to someone.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I don’t see why. There’s nothing wrong with just not dealing with it.”

“So what do you do,” Sophia says, leaning forward in her chair and hitting his knee, “when you’re having a nightmare you can’t wake up from and Chris finds you? What if you have a flashback and Chris is right there? What if—”

“You made your point,” Eddie snaps, rubbing his hands over his face. He doesn’t want to think about it, but he can’t deny those thoughts have run through his own head. Chris needs him to be everything he can be; bad enough that he’s gotta deal with Eddie holding down three jobs while trying to keep their heads above water.

Chris giggles again, looks back over his shoulder. “Dad! I’m hungry.”

“So are we,” Alexa says. Andre echoes his sister a second later.

Eddie snorts. “Alright, Chris. Give me a sec, okay?” Giving Sophia another sharp look, he ducks back into the house, blowing out his breath slowly. It’s hard to hear, but civilian life isn’t easy to adjust to. Eddie’s finding it difficult every day, and it doesn’t help that his parents are breathing down his neck, telling him what he should and shouldn’t be doing for Chris. It’s hard not to wonder if they’re right and he should leave Chris with them. Maybe going back overseas—

No. Eddie’s made a promise to Chris and he’ll never break it.

When he finally makes it back outside with sandwiches, he runs them by Sophia.

“Bromundo,” she says, kicking his leg. “I’m not Mom.”

Eddie winces—both at the kick and the nickname—and sticks his tongue out at her. Childish, but it’s so easy to be so around Sophia. “Kids! Food!”

With the kids settled, Eddie relaxes back in his chair. He can feel Sophia watching him and he doesn’t know what to say in return. He rolls his eyes. “What?”

“You should write about it,” Sophia says.

Eddie snorts. “What are you talking about?”

Sophia slips her sunglasses up onto her head. Her eyes are bright, worried, and Eddie tries not to let it bother him. He worries about her, so it’s only natural. “Eddie, I don’t want this to get bad, understand? No,” she says, watching his eyes dart back to Chris, and she touches his knee, squeezes. “You, Eddie. I know you’d never let anything happen to Chris if you could help it, but I want you to be okay for you.”

“You didn’t want me to go in the first place.”

“Of course I didn’t. No sister wants her brother to go to war. Even less when they’re the one thing protecting you from a disaster of a home life.”

Eddie snorts. Their childhood wasn’t that bad, especially not with Abuela checking up on them, but he knows what she means. “And you’ve never forgiven me.”

“Nope,” Sophia says, settling back in her chair with a grin.”So I guess you should listen to me.”

Eddie doesn’t make any promises, but later that night, when he comes awake suddenly, tears drying on his face and the phantom memory of sand, death, and the smell of blood, he can’t help but reach for his laptop. His hands are shaking as he opens a document, fingers hovering awkwardly over the keys.

Everything feels so much and he blows out a breath, thinks of Chris in the next room who deserves so much more, and starts to write.

It can crush you, the fear.

Buries you under tons of pressure, memories, and horror. Sometimes I’m scared I won’t wake up; that I’ll be left in Afghanistan amongst the blood, screams, and echoes of the bombs. I worry that my son will find me trapped in a memory and I’ll scare him. I’m afraid that I’m not the right person to be raising him, that somehow, my worries and fears will drag us both down.

I’m trying to be the reason he turns out as a good person.

Facing your fears is the hardest lesson, but a worthwhile one to protect those you care about.

Eddie hates Thanksgiving.

It’s the worst kind of pressure, having all the family around to remind him of things he’d rather forget. His abuela’s here, though, currently lavishing attention and kisses on Christopher, and his parents have all but avoided him for most of the day. That will change once dinner happens, of course, but he can hold out until then.

Adriana comes up behind him, throwing her arms around his neck. “Eddie!”

“Hey, Adi,” Eddie says, whirling and hugging Adriana. “How’s college?”

“Exhausting,” Adriana says, with a grin. “But I’m almost done and then I can get out of here,” she says, waving a hand.

Eddie’s never been fair, really, to Adriana. He and Sophia are close, assuming that Adriana loves being the apple of her father’s eye, but it’s easy to see why she hates it. “Nice. Where will you go?”

“New York probably,” Adriana says. She leans against the fence, staring off across the garden to where their parents are laughing with the kids. Eddie feels a rush of anger when they stick close to Chris, but he shoves it down when Adriana nudges him. “Are you sticking around?”

“I don’t really have a choice,” Eddie says.

“Actually, you might.”

Eddie jumps, and Adriana peers around him as Sophia dances towards them. There’s a nervous expression on her face, but she’s also brimming with happiness. Eddie raises his eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

“Okay, don’t be mad.”

“I don’t think anybody’s ever heard that and not been mad,” Eddie says carefully. “What did you do?”

“So,” Sophia says, holding out a sheet of paper. When Eddie tries to take it, she snatches it back, holding it out of reach.

“Sophia—”

Adriana is smaller, slips behind Eddie and takes the paper. “Oh, fuck.”

“Adriana,” Eddie snaps, gesturing at the kids.

“Eddie,” Adriana says, showing him the paper.

“Listen,” Sophia says. “I found your book when—”

Eddie stares at the piece of paper, hands shaking. “This was private!”

“I know,” Sophia says, stepping closer. She looks nervous again, swallowing and holding her arms. “I didn’t mean to find it. I wasn’t even sure you’d listen to me. But I was transferring pictures on your laptop to send to Pepa and I read and it knew it would be amazing, Eddie.”

“I can’t publish it.” Eddie’s staring at the words, though, of someone who wants to do just that. “I didn’t even write a book, not really. It’s just words. How did this even happen?”

Sophia reaches out, touches Eddie’s wrist. “You might not think it was, but Eddie, I couldn’t put it down. I love you, you’re my brother, and I didn’t know half of what was in there. I know it’s an invasion of privacy, but I want this for you; for people to see how brave and intelligent you are.”

Eddie doesn’t feel like either of those things, but he also doesn’t want to be stuck in his head anymore. Hasn’t he done that enough? Doesn’t Chris deserve better? “I don’t know.”

“I think you should do it,” Adriana says, shrugging when both Eddie and Sophie stare at her. “I’m not stupid, Eddie. I know what Mom and Dad wanna do and I know why you don’t want to live here anymore. Isn’t this the way out of that?”

The signing bonus is making Eddie feel a little sick. “I don’t know.”

“It’s your choice.” Sophia leans in, hugs him gently, and Eddie lets it. A beat later, Adriana joins in. When they pull apart, there’s an interesting look on Sophia’s face. “But if you don’t, Christopher will grow up here.”

Eddie knows what she’s trying to do. He’s not angry, not really. It does hurt that she’s done it all behind his back, but when he thinks about it, the chance to move away, to give Chris whatever life he wants, that means more than any hurt he feels. “Alright.”

Adriana and Sophia cheer, drawing the attention of everyone else, but he doesn’t care what they say; there’s a life opening up before him and Christopher free from everything else.

Hope is a strange thing.

I’ve had hope at many points during my life.

When I thought of my family. When we got my son’s medical diagnosis. When I was shipped out. When I wanted to come home.

It can give you the courage you need to go forward. There’s a sense of euphoria that comes from your hope being rewarded. There’s also a sense of despair that comes with hope not being enough.

My son’s mother left. Confirmation of my son’s disorder. Ending up in Afghanistan. Getting shot once, twice, three times.

Hope is a fickle thing.

That doesn’t mean that you ever stop feeling it.

Sophia is true to her word;

The book gets published under a pseudonym. Eddie pays off his medical bills. His parents ask where he got the money from, but Adriana and Sophia keep his secret. Chris is happy; Eddie can work less and still be around, he can watch him grow.

Eddie doesn’t care to watch what happens with the book; it’s embarrassing enough that it’s out there. People are apparently reading it, which he finds out from Sophia and Adriana both. They have a phone chat, constant messages that he wades through every day, and notes the occasional update on his book sales. Apparently, it’s a bestseller, whatever that means, but Eddie can forget it easy enough.

Chris takes up a lot of his time.

Much like Valentine’s Day, which he spends with Christopher’s school class. It’s interrupted by a phone call, and Eddie picks it up, sending an embarrassed look towards the teacher.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mr. Diaz?”

Eddie frowns, listening to the voice on the other end of the phone, and leans against a wall so that he doesn’t fall over. The words are going in but it’s taking him a while to understand them. The caller is a woman with a kind voice, who seems to understand what he’s feeling.

“Is that satisfactory?”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course,” she says, sounding amused. “I’ll give you some time to think it over, Mr. Diaz. Give us a call back within three days, or we’ll assume you’re not interested.”

Before she rings off, she gives him the signing bonus, and Eddie thinks he’s about to throw up, has to lean over and breath slowly through his nose. When he recovers enough to go back into the classroom, he knows he’s distracted and that Chris knows.

“Is everything okay, Dad?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, voice shaky, but there’s happiness welling in his chest so he crouches down, touches Chris’ face. “I think things are about to get even better for us.”

Chris looks excited, even if he doesn’t know what Eddie’s talking about.

Later, when Chris is in bed, Eddie calls Sophia.

“I was just about to step into the bath. You have the worst timing, Bromundo.”

“Please stop calling me that,” Eddie says. Then, “I think I just got a movie deal.”

There’s silence from the end of the phone.

“Sophia?”

“Wait, wait, I’m calling Adriana.”

Eddie frowns down at his phone, but Adriana joins the call and he snorts, puts the phone back to his ear.

“I’m studying,” Adriana snaps. “Do you guys know how hard it is—”

“Eddie got a movie deal,” Sophia says in a rush. Eddie can hear the happiness in her voice, the excitement, and he lets the same bubble up in his chest. He’s been trying to keep it at bay, to ignore it, but now he lets it loose, grinning up at the ceiling in an attempt to control himself.

Adriana lets out a cheer—which is probably gonna piss off their parents—and Sophia laughs. “Eddie, that’s awesome!”

“I don’t think I really believe it,” Eddie says. “I don’t even know what it means.”

“You didn’t get the paperwork for the option?” Adriana asks.

“What?”

Adriana sighs, laughing but also sounding annoyed. “Eddie, they have to option a book before they can greenlight it. If you’re getting the green light, it means that they love your book. Like, a lot.”

Eddie doesn’t understand it; he doesn’t know what happens when a book gets picked up. “It doesn’t even feel like a book that gets a movie.”

“It’s about a war veteran,” Sophia says quietly. “Whatever people think about that, it’s a story that needs to be heard, Eddie.”

“So,” Adriana says, cutting across the silence Sophia’s words leave behind. “How much are you getting.”

When Eddie tells them the cheque they’ll cut him, his sisters scream again, and Eddie feels a tremendous weight lift away from his shoulders.

State of change means to change from one state to another without a chemical composition change.

My chemical composition doesn’t change, but my mind does. My body does. My emotions do. I may look like a breathing, living human, but inside I feel like I’m flying apart in a million different directions. There’s a monster on my shoulder. A voice inside my head. A shadow following me down the street.

No matter where I turn, there’s something reminding me of what a failure I am; of a son, of a father, of a brother. I have made mistakes that I can’t escape from, but that doesn’t mean I stop trying to be better. I can break out of a cycle I have forced on myself. I can fight the monster on my shoulder. I can silence the voice in my head. I can see the light beyond the shadow.

It’s a hard fight, and I have a million reminders of the ways I am still failing, but I am strong enough to continue on.

Change can always be a good thing.

Vermont.

Freedom and Unity.

Mountains are green. Or something.

Eddie hates it.

There’s a tree in his fucking house. Chris is crying, scared, and Eddie wraps an arm around his shoulders, and tries not to cuss. Holding Chris tight, he carries him out of the room, shushing him gently, and taking him through to the living room.

“You okay?”

There’s a yell from the front door, and Eddie looks up to see his neighbour Bobby and his wife Athena. “There’s a tree in Christopher’s room.”

Athena immediately comes forward, crouching down in front of Chris, and touching his cheek. “I’ve got Chris, Eddie.”

Eddie nods, reluctant to leave Chris, but lets Bobby lead him towards Christopher’s room. Bobby lets out a low whistle when he sees the damage, and Eddie presses a hand to his face. “He could have been killed.”

“Eddie,” Bobby says immediately, resting a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “You can’t think like that, okay? Chris is fine, he’s alive. There’s damage, sure, but—”

“It’s not just that,” Eddie snaps, stepping away from Bobby. “It’s everything. Busted pipes, the outlet that almost set the whole damn kitchen on fire, the fact that I have nobody here. My son loves his school, loves the state, but every time I walk out of the house, I feel like I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life. I don’t know anybody, I miss my sisters, and I just want to not feel like a failure.”

Bobby lets him get it out, just stands in the middle of the room, amongst the debris, and Eddie tries not to imagine it’s him, in the wreckage of his life. “You feel better now?”

Eddie snorts.”Not really.”

With a kind smile, Bobby gestures to the mess. “I’ve got a tarp in the basement. I’ll grab it and we can cover this up.”

Eddie nods, folding his arms across his chest. “Thanks.”

“I’m gonna give you some advice, alright?”

Not sure he’s going to want to hear it, Eddie nods. “Sure.”

Bobby smiles. “You have friends, Eddie. I think the fact that Athena and I are here is proof of that, no?” Eddie’s got to nod at that. “There are plenty of people in this town, however small, that would like to get to know you. You’ve kept to yourself for a long, long time.”

Eddie admits that is true. “I find it hard to—I can’t make friends easily.”

“It’s not easy,” Bobby says. “But you have people in your corner, Eddie. You just have to want it.”

With another nod, Bobby gives him the out, and leaves the room. Together, they cover Christopher’s room with a tarp, making sure it’s weighted down with bricks and sturdy debris that won’t get dislodged during the storm. Athena gets them a safe place to stay for the night; her friend Hen lives across the street. Eddie recognizes her immediately and almost says no on reflex; she lets her dog pee in his yard every fucking morning and he’s tired of it. Except that she’s got a kind smile, apologizes immediately—”I thought you were an asshole,” she says, sotto voice—and offers up their son’s room for Eddie and Christopher to sleep.

“We shouldn’t—” Eddie starts.

“Trust me, you don’t wanna be outside in this,” she says, waving a hand. “Besides, I can call my contractor in the morning and get you some help.”

Eddie agrees because Bobby is right; he could do with some friends.

Loneliness is a difficult feeling.

I used to think I had everything. Family, friends, a job I loved. That’s before war; my friends couldn’t put up with me flaking because of my PTSD. My family couldn’t handle the memories I couldn’t share. My job was responsible for everything falling apart.

Suddenly, I was lonelier than I had ever been.

Covering those feelings isn’t easy. People are watching; when they think you have problems, they always do. Even if those problems are certified, medical, and something nobody would want given the chance.

Friends are something I can’t afford.

Or is that just something I tell myself?

Evan Buckley is—

Evan Buckley looks—

Well, fuck.

“Hey.” The guy standing on Eddie’s doorstep has muscles on top of muscles. He’s dressed in shorts, a tank, and a flannel shirt. He’s wearing boots that are scuffed and dirty, and his toolbag is slung over one shoulder. He grins, smile lighting up his face and fuck, it’s been a long time since Eddie’s felt the gut punch of attraction. “I’m Evan Buckley.”

“Diaz,” Eddie says, internally wincing. “Uh, Edmundo—Eddie, Eddie Diaz.”

Evan’s smile widens. “So—Which one of those should I call you?”

“His name’s Eddie,” Chris says, coming up behind Eddie. “And I’m Christopher.”

If Eddie thought Evan’s smile had been brilliant before, it’s so much more as soon as he lays eyes on Chris. “Hello, Chris,” Evan says, bending down. “Those are some cool crutches, buddy. You like Nemo too?”

Chris’ crutches had been one of Eddie’s superfluous purchases; specially made with Nemo decals and themes. Chris adores them, and Eddie’s proud of himself for that one choice. Chris grins. “Dad got them for me!”

“Did he?” Evan says, looking back up at Eddie. “He sounds cool.”

“He is,” Chris affirms, and Eddie’s chest flutters. “Do you like being called Evan?”

Evan winces. “Actually, how about you just call me Buck?”

“Okay, Buck,” Chris says easily. “Are you here to fix my room?”

Eddie clears his throat. “Sorry.”

Evan—Buck frowns. “Don’t be. Nothing’s wrong.” To Chris, he winks. “You bet I am. Wanna show me?”

Buck seems content to walk at Christopher’s pace, following them through to Christopher’s bedroom. He stares at the ceiling, eyebrows raised, then back to Chris. “He was in here?”

Eddie nods, not wanting to think about it. He looks away for a moment.

“Can you fix it, Mr. Buck?”

“I’ll try,” Buck says, then leans down and pretends to give him a conspiratorial look. “Can your dad not do it?”

Chris giggles. “Dad’s okay with some things, but abuela says to never let Dad have a hammer.”

“Hey,” Eddie says.

Though he tries to keep his tone light because he knows Chris is just joking, it hurts that his mother is talking about him like that. There’s something knowing in Buck’s look, but he covers it quickly. “I better take a look outside first. Then I’ll do all the hammer work, buddy.”

As they work, Eddie tries to keep Chris out of the way, but it’s a lost cause; Chris is following him around, asking questions at a mile a minute, and while Eddie’s expecting it to bother him, Buck doesn’t seem to be annoyed. He answers every question, seems enthusiastic with his replies, not that Eddie can tell what those questions are.

Buck is—well, Eddie can’t stop watching.

Whether it’s the way he flexes his muscles, the smile on his face, or the stretch of skin between shorts and shirt that gets exposed when he stretches. Eddie’s doing his best to not have an emotional breakdown. When Christopher is busy with lunch, insisting on eating it outside so he can see Buck work, Eddie hovers nearby, leaning against the entrance to the doorway so that he can see both Buck and Chris.

“Thanks for doing this.”

Buck gives him a quick glance, flashes a smile. “No problem.”

Eddie searches for a subject, latches on to the first one he can think of. “What’s that tattoo of?”

Buck’s got a lot of tattoos and he grins, gesturing at himself. “Which one?”

“The one over your heart,” Eddie says. “I can’t read it.”

“Want me to come closer?” Buck’s expression is guarded, but there’s a look in his eyes Eddie hasn’t seen in a long time.

“Um,” Eddie starts. “I don’t think—”

“It’s a quote,” Buck says, turning back to the roof. He shifts along on his knees, working on the next beam. “From my favourite book.”

There’s a pause. “Well?”

“You’ll find out one day,” Buck says.

Eddie tries not to hear it like a promise.

I missed you all the time.

Those are the words I focus on more than I like to. They’re words my son said to me when I first came home from Afghanistan. Knowing that I would have to do so again, that I needed the medical coverage from the Army was heartbreaking. I didn’t want my son to miss me. I didn’t want to be the kind of father who would leave.

Leave I did. Because I thought I was doing the right thing.

Sometimes, the logical choice isn’t always the right choice.

I am here now. For my son and with a ton of baggage I wish I could shed. My son doesn’t seem damaged by what I have done and every day, I’m grateful. I know I am not the only person who has raised my son, but sometimes it’s hard not to be proud of everything he is; that kindness I have yet to find in somebody else.

“Want me to check out the rest of the house?”

Eddie’s a little offended that Buck looks at his house and thinks it needs more help, but given the way he yelled at Bobby and started this whole thing off, he supposed it’s right. He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I thought this would be a good buy.”

“It still can be,” Buck says kindly. “A lot of houses in town were like this. Though if it’s the money—”

“Not a problem,” Eddie says easily, then thinks about how that might sound. “I mean, it’s not—”

Buck smiles gently. “You bought this house, Eddie. However much help it needs, it’s nice. Big. I assume you have some money. Or is that too forward? Chim’s always saying I talk too fast and don’t think first.”

Eddie laughs, feels his nervousness slip away in the face of Buck’s own. “It’s okay, Buck. I’m still figuring out this friend thing.”

They lapse into silence. Chris is at school so he’s not there to break the silence, and Eddie doesn’t know how to fill them himself. He’s still figuring out how to be a person comfortable in his own skin. Maybe he should re-read his own book. Apparently it helps people and besides, the movie’s supposed to hit theatres soon.

It takes the better part of the late morning for Buck to go around the whole house, marking down on paper what needs fixing. It’s a long list and Eddie’s stomach drops with each new thing. “That much?”

At least Buck’s expression is apologetic. He softens it with a smile. “I can fix them all though!”

“Great.” Eddie can at least count on Buck being around a little bit longer, even if it’s only a few days.

“Although,” Buck starts. His face falls along with Eddie’s happiness. “I’ve got classes and other jobs lined up that I can’t just—it’ll take me a few weeks to get it done.”

Buck keeps talking but Eddie’s not really paying attention. He’s thinking about weeks and having Buck around—okay, so he’s mostly thinking about the fact that Buck’s gonna be mostly shirtless in his house for even longer.

“I could always see if Chim can find someone else,” he starts.

“No,” Eddie snaps quickly. At Buck’s surprised look, then hurt expression, he takes a step forward. “I mean, Chris is pretty shy. I don’t want—someone else would be a pain. You could—you could stick around.”

Buck’s smile is brilliant.

Love.

Love isn’t something I see for myself.

Attraction. I’ve had that. Comfort. That’s been there. My son’s mother was a beautiful person, a good soul, but she just couldn’t be a mother. I respect her choices, loved her for them, but I am not sure if I loved her. I don’t think I’ve ever loved someone in such a visceral way that isn’t my son.

Someone who will care for me, will look at my fears, my experiences, and not see someone who needs to be fixed.

But see somebody, broken, put back together, but worthy of a love that consumes us both.

A few choice words could be the life raft you need to come home.

To be seen. To be found. Isn’t that what we’re all searching for?

Buck presses Eddie down onto the couch.

Eddie traces his fingers over the curve of Buck’s ribs, follows the cursive with his hand. “This quote. I know it. Where’s it from?”

“My favourite book,” Buck says, leaning down to kiss Eddie’s jaw, moves slowly across to his lips. The kiss is lazy, wonderful, and Eddie’s hands drift down to Buck’s waist, holds him in place. It’s comfortable in a way he’s never expected he could be, and Eddie closes his eyes, hums gently. “It’s called Tango Uniform.”

Eddie freezes. “What?”

Buck rocks back a little, straddling Eddie’s hips. He looks pleased, pink blushing over his cheeks. His fingers rest against Eddie’s chest. “Have you heard of it? It’s by this virtually unknown author and he’s so good, Eddie. His writing is perfect.” Buck ducks his head. “Not that you want me to talk about that.”

Eddie opens his mouth, closes it. He’s not sure he knows what words to find, but then Buck’s ducking back in, kissing whatever he would say right out of his head.

Everyone deals with trauma differently.

I hear that so often, so many different ways.

I’ve always felt as if my trauma didn’t matter. My son has a whole future ahead of him that’s going to be difficult. People I knew, friends, died in Afghanistan; their families had a future of nothingness. People out there have suffered the unimaginable, and I have dreams sometimes, can’t stop myself having episodes of memories.

Trauma never felt like the right word, but maybe that’s because I don’t believe myself worthy of having trauma.

Believing that I am is the first step to becoming the person I want to be.

“Are you kidding?”

“Shut up,” Eddie groans, resting his forehead on his arms. “I couldn’t even tell him.”

Sophia cackles. “I can’t believe this is happening. I love it.”

Eddie narrows his eyes at her, but it doesn’t help. “He took his shirt off.”

This time, Sophia’s laugh is almost hysterical. “Oh my gosh, I can’t wait to tell Adriana about this.”

“Nope,” Eddie says, holding up a hand. “You can’t tell anyone else!”

Sophia shrugs easily, leaning on the table in front of her. Her kitchen looks immaculate, and Eddie knows he caught her mid-clean, but he’s not sorry, he needed someone to talk to. “I love you so much. Though, honestly, I have half a mind to come up there and knock some sense into you.”

Eddie snorts. “No, don’t do that. I’m absolutely certain I would never survive you and Buck meeting.”

“I like the sound of him.” Sophia sounds gentle, and her smile is warm. “You look happy.”

“This whole book thing,” Eddie starts. He struggles for the words, finds them. “It’s made me happy. I have you to thank for that.”

Sophia looks embarrassed, but she smiles brightly. “You did the work, Eddie. You wrote everything, you put those feelings onto the laptop. I just spurred you into action.”

It’s true, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t grateful. “Thanks, Sophia.”

“You’re welcome, Bromundo.”

“What did I say about that!”

Someone once told me; your punishment is that you lived. Now make it worth a damn.

Everyday, I try.

The next time Buck comes over, this time to finally fix the sparking outlet in the kitchen, Chris is sitting at the table. He’s doing his homework but spending most of the time trying to talk to Buck.

“Work,” Eddie warns. “Otherwise I’ll send Buck home.”

Not that he could; Buck’s only got so many spare nights and Eddie knows it. It gets Chris moving, though, focusing back on his homework. Buck snorts, working against the counter, and Eddie looks at him, admires the curve of his shoulders, the length of his body. It’s hard not to stare, to remember the way he’d felt pressed against Eddie’s hips, the way he’d fucked into him, curling hands around Eddie’s neck and whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

“Eddie?”

Eddie looks up. “Sorry, what?”

Buck laughs gently. “I was saying, I think I’m done.”

“You alright here for a second, Chris? There’s something I wanna show Buck.”

“Okay, Dad. As long as we get pizza for dinner.”

Eddie pauses, narrowing his eyes. He knows it’s bribery, but he doesn’t care. “Alright, fine. Pizza.”

Chris goes back to his homework, pleased, and Buck raises his eyebrows. Whatever, Buck doesn’t know anything. As they walk through to the bedrooms, Eddie thinks about how things have changed; Buck’s clothes are in his closet; there’s a toothbrush in the bathroom that doesn’t belong to Chris or Eddie; there are textbooks and movies and items Buck’s brought over that are still there. Buck’s in every area of Eddie’s life, and Eddie doesn’t want anything to change. He’s worried it will, though.

“I have to tell you something,” he says, turning to face Buck head-on. “It’s not bad, or I don’t think it is, but it’s a lie.”

Buck raises his eyebrows, face expressionless.

“It’s—that book?”

“Tango Uniform?” Buck frowns, then something clears. “Have you read it?”

Eddie opens his mouth, closes it. “I wrote it.”

Buck laughs.

Eddie feels his stomach drop. “Someone once told me; your punishment is that you lived. Now make it worth a damn.”

“Everyday I try,” Buck finishes. “Eddie.”

Eddie looks down at the floor, unsurprised when Buck rushes out of the room, and he swallows down the urge to cry. He can’t, he won’t allow himself. All he can think about is having to tell Christopher why Buck’s gone and he can’t bear it—

“Listen,” Buck says, and Eddie’s head snaps up. “This,” he says, shoving a dogeared book at Eddie, “is my favourite part.”

The book is his, Eddie realizes. His hands are shaking as he takes it. The shape of the book; Buck’s obviously read it a lot. There are pages turned over, things bookmarked with pieces of paper and highlighter, and he feels something burst in his chest. “Buck.”

Buck’s hand is on his chin, and Eddie lifts his head at Buck’s prompting. There’s an expression on Buck’s face he can’t understand. “This book? It’s the reason I’m here, Eddie.”

“In my house?”

Lips quirked up, Buck shakes his head. “Vermont. Here, wherever I wanted to be. It gave me the courage to be the person I thought I couldn’t be. I’ve read it so many times. I fell in love with every word before I even really knew who you were.”

“You love—”

“You,” Buck finishes.

Eddie doesn’t know what to say.

“It’s okay if you can’t—”

“I love you too,” Eddie says. “Buck, I love you.”

When Buck kisses him, Eddie knows that every moment that’s come before is nothing to this; the future he, Chris and Buck have stretching out before them.

For Buck; I am seen. I am found.

#eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #buddie fic #911 fic #fic by me #otp: i forgive you #protecteddiediaz2020 #djsafhdjskfa #i dont know what to do with this #fic: vermont verse #IT'S HERE #oops

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oopshidaisyy · 4 years

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July Fic Recs

a little late but here we go!

praying for sparks in the dark (in the heart) by susiecarter "Him," the Bat repeats, in a low and deceptively soft growl. "I don't know who he was," the man says immediately, taking this cue and running with it. "I don't, honest. Honest, I swear to god. Nobody did. He just showed up, that's all. Asking about you, asking everybody what they knew, if they'd ever seen you, what you'd done. Metropolis," the man adds belatedly. "He had that look, you know? Clean. Said his name was—Carr, or Kemp, or something. Something like that." (Or: in a universe where Bruce becomes aware that someone's looking into the Batman, he goes to the effort to track down Clark Kent. It doesn't play out quite the way either of them expected.) Clark/Bruce, 20k, E

having let go forever the fallacy of ever being alone by gyzym This time there are shitty dogeared paperbacks Arthur wouldn't be caught dead reading piled on the coffee table, and half-finished crosswords tucked into the bookshelves, and the far wall is hung with that tapestry they'd bought in a shit part of London on a whim. This time they've spent all day fixing their sink and there's a mug of yesterday's tea sitting on top of the television and it's not just Arthur's living room at all. Arthur/Eames, 16k, E

A Sure Thing by lightgetsin "Okay," Peter says, and there's a rasp in his voice. "Repeat after me: theft is not foreplay." Neal/Peter, 3k, E

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run to the river (dive in) by susiecarter MoS AU: With one successful fishing season already under his belt, Clark's finally getting comfortable on the Debbie Sue. He just wishes this guy Dixon hadn't signed on with them, because the way he watches Clark is really starting to give Clark the creeps. (Or: Bruce goes undercover looking for enhanced individuals before BvS instead of after—and finds one.) Clark/Bruce, 5k, M

Took Me By Surprise and Then by thehoyden After the second surgery in New York, Charles doesn’t anticipate anyone keeping vigil by his bedside — and certainly not Tony Stark. Charles/Erik, 5k, T

as to which may be the true by susiecarter It isn't difficult to go on in the wake of Superman's death. His resurrection, though, poses a problem—especially when it turns out there's no such thing as the right moment to explain that Martha Kent's obnoxious billionaire friend? Is also the man who tried really hard to shove a kryptonite spear through Clark's face. Clark/Bruce, 53k, M

Blue Devils by VillaKulla /blo͞o ˈdevəl/ noun, inf: a feeling of despondency, depression, or low spirits origins: Old American West Billy/Goody, 4k, M

Spree by thingswithwings "So, okay, Britta," Annie says, "this thing you gave me is seriously just a scrap of ripped looseleaf that says 'IOU one shopping spree at A Woman's Touch.' I do not even know what that is." Britta does an excited little leap in the air and claps her hands. "It's me deciding to help you discover your true womanhood." Britta/Annie, 4k, E

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and every map is blank by gyzym It's -- topography, Carlos thinks, of a person, of two people, it's so complicated, it's so much easier to just go it by yourself. He doesn't want to hurt Cecil but he doesn't want to keep any part of himself from Cecil, either, and it scares him that that's true, and it scares him to know it's what Cecil wants. Carlos/Cecil, 7k, T

trothplight by arriviste “What a metaphor,” Grantaire said bitterly. “I may dress your windows, but no more. We’ll greet each other in the streets, but you won’t admit me to your chambers or your hearts. I know all the words, all the empty speeches one needs to mouth for membership – I can rattle them off as well as you. Want me to prate Hébert or praise the Supreme Deity? Quote Rousseau or Marat? I can mum them; I don’t, because I don’t mean them, and because I’m an honest sceptic, I’m untrustworthy.” Enjolras/Grantaire, 4k, E

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i love you now like i loved you then (this is the road and these are the hands) by theappleppielifestyle Somewhere in their phone calls after Derry 2.0, Richie and Eddie had decided to finally take that road trip. Richie would fly in from LA, then they’d drive back there from New York. It’ll be just like it could’ve been, Richie had said once. (Or, Eddie and Richie resume.) Richie/Eddie, 6k, M

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this is your sword, this is your shield by susiecarter Post-BvS, Diana and Lois start to develop a habit of protecting each other. But sometimes habits become ruts, and every now and then it's a good idea to break out of them. (Or: a whole bunch of times Diana and Lois looked out for each other, plus the time Lois ended up feeling like it might be worth it to be just a little less careful.) Diana/Lois, 9k, T

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get religion quick (cause you’re looking divine) by brinnanza So it was fine. Even if Crowley couldn’t love him, he clearly liked him well enough, and that was almost the same thing. It no doubt would have continued to be fine, or at least fine-adjacent, were it not for a narrowly averted apocalypse and several bottles of a really quite nice Riesling Aziraphale had found in the back room of his newly restored bookshop. Aziraphale/Crowley, 4k, G

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s-oulpunk · 4 years

Text

Where Dreams Dwell, The Heart Calls Home (1/3)

Summary:

Stan never expected to see the Losers again, so when he runs into Eddie at his university's required omega course he is shocked and hurt. Everything he has worked so hard to bury comes flooding back. Most of all his jealousy. Unfortunately he is forced to hide his feelings from his new pack as Henry Bowers, his alpha, wouldn't be pleased to find out that Stan is longing for the past. In fact Stan's newly found feelings could bring about a lot more than just punishment if Henry were ever to discover them. Stan's only hope is escape, but can he turn to the pack that betrayed him so long ago? Can he face Bill?

Co-Written with @bound-to-be-british (or TheWeaverofWorlds on AO3)

TW: Physical abuse, emotional/psychological abuse, non-con

Read on AO3

Part One:

Stan arrived to class early. Although he wasn’t excited to be taking an Omega 101 class it was a reason to get away from his pack, and at this point anything was better than hanging around that fucking house. Besides arriving early had some other perks. For example he was able to choose from any seat he liked. He ended up picking a seat near the front of the lecture hall since it would look good to be sitting there attentively. Henry, he refused to call him his alpha, would like that.

Suddenly a familiar scent reached Stan, and all at once the memories he had worked so hard to bury began to resurface. He tried to school his response. Hopefully the other omega couldn’t smell his panic.

“Stan?” He could hear the disbelief and hope in the speaker’s tone.

Stan looked up to find Eddie Kaspbrack standing above him. Immediately his eyes searched the juncture of Eddie’s neck and shoulder looking for where Bill would have left his bonding mark. He was surprised to find Eddie’s skin unmarked. So they hadn’t bonded yet. He wasn’t even wearing a collar to show that he was promised to an alpha. Stan tried not to read too much into that. Instead he focused on what he must look like to Eddie: wearing long sleeves even though the heat of summer had yet to dissipate, a leather collar fastened tightly around his neck, dark circles under his eyes. What must Eddie think of him? What did the others think of him? He tried to push away the thoughts of his old pack and focused on the young man in front of him.

“Hi, Eddie.”

Eddie shifted his weight uncomfortably clearly trying to get a read on the situation without blatantly scenting Stan. It would be rude to just assume that because they had been close he would be allowed to do something so intimate. And besides there was something hostile in Stan. His posture was defensive. Closed off. Eddie wondered if living with Bowers had changed him, if he had become one of them. So Eddie stood just out of reach staring at the stranger who used to be one of his closest friends.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” Eddie asked, gesturing to the seat beside Stan.

Stan shrugged before turning to look out the window.

Eddie tried not to sigh. He hadn’t been expecting to run into Stan. He wasn’t sure if he should start up a conversation or just let the awkward silence hang between them. With Stan turned away from him he was able to study the young man freely. Beyond the defensive posture there had been a haunted look in Stan’s eye. Eddie wondered if he was sleeping well. If Henry was treating him properly? The collar had been a shock. Eddie hadn’t expected to see Stan give in so easily. What was Bill going to think? Christ. Eddie was going to have to tell Bill about this. His thought began to run a mile a minute. He wondered how his pack’s leader was going to take Stan’s subservience to Henry. Oh God, Bill. What would he do in this situation? Eddie knew the answer. Bill would talk to Stan, demand answers. Only Bill wasn’t here. It was just Eddie. His breathing started to increase, soon he was going to need his inhaler. He realized that he needed to find out more, if only to bring peace of mind to his pack. He forced himself to calm down before starting with the obvious.

“So, Stan, how are things?” Eddie asked.

Stan was slow to respond. At first Eddie wasn’t sure if the other boy had heard him. Before he could ask the question again Stan turned in his seat to face Eddie.

“Why do you want to know?”

Eddie floundered a bit. He thought it was obvious, “because we’re friends.”

Stan let out a dry laugh. “Friends?”

“Yeah don’t you remember –”

“Yeah I remember. I remember a lot of things.” How you adored Bill. How he looked at you when he thought I wasn’t looking. How you all let Henry claim me. Stan began to smell the hurt souring his scent. He did his best to regain control over his emotions. After spending so much time with Henry he had gotten good at hiding how he was truly feeling. He began to disconnect from the conversation, slowly pulling the plugs until he had fully withdrawn into himself – like a small balloon floating in the wind – no longer a part of his body. He watched himself from the safety of his bubble and was sure that Eddie hadn’t picked up on a thing.

“Well then how are you?” Eddie asked.

“Fine.”

“That’s good. I’m glad you’re doing well.”

By now other students had begun to filter into the room. The inoffensive scent of the cleaning supplies began to be muddied by the other omegas. Stan noticed distantly that most of them were wearing collars. All of them forced into taking the class just so they could get a decent education before they were turned into mindless breeding machines. A class to teach them all about pleasing their alphas, how to handle their alphas’ ruts, how to carry litters to term, how to raise their pups. Stan began to feel his heart pound at the thought of carrying Henry’s pups inside him. The panic and fear that arose in him felt distant like it was happening to someone else. He focused on the balloon floating in his head. Here he was safe. Here it wasn’t happening to him, not really. It was some other version of him, his body, not the him that counted. Not the real him, the one that desired an alpha that cared for him. An alpha that would protect him, and show his pleasure through praise. Stan wanted to please that alpha so badly. He wanted that alpha to bond him and mate him. He needed to belong to an alpha that was strong enough to protect his pack and defend what was his. He wanted to carry that alpha’s litters, to be able to raise their pups together and to know that he was safe. While Henry might have control over the false-Stan, it was this ideal alpha that possessed the part of Stan that was really him. He had to believe in that otherwise he would have to accept the fact that Henry really was his alpha and that what was happening to him was real. To accept that would mean accepting death, and that was the one thing Stan wouldn’t allow.

Eddie watched as Stan zoned out in front of him. He was desperate to get the other boy’s attention. He had to find out more, but after the strange interaction which had just occurred he wasn’t sure what to say. He was aware of the other students filing in, the easy chatter filled the air. Determined to try again Eddie reached out. He placed his hand on Stan’s wrist causing the other boy to jump.

“Are you okay? You kinda spaced out on me,” Eddie said.

Stan pulled his hand away like he had been burned. He couldn’t let Henry or the others smell Eddie on him. “I’m fine.”

“Alright. You know the others miss you.”

Stan tensed in his seat.

“I bet if Richie were here he would make some dumb joke that would get you to roll your eyes, but you’d secretly love it. Or if it were Mike and Ben they would make you feel instantly comfortable, like no time had passed. You’d be conversing with them no problem. Or Beverly would know how to make easy conversation that wasn’t as awkward as I’m being right now. And Bill –”

“Don’t.” Stan gripped the desk tightly. The balloon in his head began trying to float closer to the surface of his consciousness. His stupid omega hindbrain wanted to know what Eddie was going to say about Bill. It wanted to bask in the warmth and kindness of the alpha. Instead he reminded himself that Bill had abandoned him. He had chosen Eddie. The balloon full of hope retreated, deflating slightly at his vicious remarks. He was getting sloppy.

“Stan whatever is going on –”

“Nothing is going on.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“Honestly it doesn’t matter what you think.”

Eddie snapped his mouth shut.

Stan closed his eyes and let out a breath. “I’m sorry, Eddie. I’m just here to learn to be good. That’s all I want. No trouble. Okay?”

Eddie bit his lip. He wasn’t sure why the fire had gone out of Stan, but he didn’t like this side of Stan that was begging to be good. Begging to be left alone. It worried him. He would have preferred if Stan continued to fight back, at least then he would know that there was a part of Stan that could still fight back.

Before he could say more their professor stepped into the room.

Doctor Norbert Keene was a beta who had received his doctorate in omega studies. He believed that he knew what made the submissive species tick better than they did themselves. It was his responsibility to teach them to be obedient, good, little omegas in order that they might please their alphas. He looked out into a sea of collared throats and was pleased. Only one boy, sitting in the front row, was without a collar. He scanned down his attendance list and found that he knew the boy instantly.

Before the semester had begun one Kaspbrak, Edward had emailed him about signing up for the class. While it was required for all omegas to be full-time students to be registered for an omega-centric course, Mr. Kaspbrak had emailed to ask if it was really necessary to have an alpha sign off on his course load, arguing that it was archaic and backwards. Doctor Keene had replied to say that Mr. Kaspbak’s argument was proof enough that he needed to take this course, and that yes an alpha must sign off on it. If he didn’t like, Doctor Keene had written, then he could try to apply to another university; although, the admission deadlines had long since passed. Within a week Mr. Kaspbrak had signed up for the course, registered to a William Denbrough. Doctor Keene would need to keep an eye on him to ensure that he did not go poisoning the rest of his class with his ideas of equality.

His gaze drifted to the boy besides Mr. Kaspbrak. This boy’s eyes were downcast, head bowed slightly. A perfect specimen of his breed, perhaps if Mr. Kaspbrak was wise he would follow this student’s example.

“Good afternoon, class. I am Doctor Keene and this is Omega Studies 101. In this course we will be studying how your body chemistry is complementary to that of your alpha. This will lead us to discuss scenting, mating, and pair-bonding. We will also cover heats and ruts, as well as conception of litters, and pup rearing. While this is just an overview, I expect you to all take this course seriously. With the decline of omegas it is important that you breed with compatible alphas in order to save the species. This means you must have as many healthy litters as possible. Your duty to society is the bearing of pups. It is this important task that you are destined for, anything else is selfish.”

Eddie raised his hand.

“Mr. Kaspbrak?”

“I don’t think it’s selfish to want to be more than a receptacle for cum.”

Stan turned to stare. What the hell was Eddie thinking?

“That is enough, Mr. Kaspbrak.”

“Omega’s should have more rights than that. They should be able to take the classes they want without needing an alpha’s permission.”

The room stirred uneasily.

“Shut up,” Stan whispered.

“You should listen to your friend.”

“We’re not friends.” Stan said.

Now it was Eddie’s turn to stare.

“What’s your name?” Doctor Keene asked.

Stan flushed. “Stanley Uris.”

Doctor Keene looked down at his roster before turning his thin smile on Stan. “Very good, Mr. Uris.”

The praise sounded hollow at best. Stan ducked his head eager for attention to be drawn away from him. Doctor Keene marked a star by Mr. Uris’ name, he was going to make an example of this omega. It would be good for the others to learn from him. Mr. Bowers had clearly trained him well.

“Now ignoring the crude interruption we shall begin this lecture by talking about the alpha/omega dynamic. An alpha’s biology tells them that they must protect their pack at all costs, and above that all they must protect their omega. It is your scent which first draws your alpha to you, and it is your scent that tells them how you are feeling. Scent is a powerful thing. That is why it is rude to scent someone you don’t know well. It’s invasive. That’s something you’ve been taught since you were pups. But there is more to scenting than just finding out how someone is feeling.”

Stan began taking careful notes as Doctor Keene spoke. In his peripheral he could see Eddie leaning back in his chair, head raised defiantly. Clearly he was proud of not being collared, of having spoken up in front of the whole class. He didn’t even have the decency to have a notebook open in front of him. Stan wondered what Bill even saw in him.

“Scenting can tell you if your mate will make a good bond mate. The stronger and better your alpha’s scent is to you, the more likely you are bond mates. Bond mates are powerful things. Once an alpha has bitten your bonding gland it cannot be undone, you are tied to one another. These days bond mates aren’t as encouraged as they used to be. It is more important for packs to have litters, and if it needs to be via multiple alphas than so be it. Alphas may not like it, due to their possessive nature, but it is your duty to convince your alpha that it is necessary for the survival of the species.”

Eddie raised his hand.

Doctor Keene ignored him.

Eddie coughed.

“Yes?”

“Isn’t that dangerous for the omega?”

“Isn’t what dangerous for the omega?”

“Having so many partners in such a short time span?” Eddie wasn’t advocating for monogamy, he didn’t care if omegas chose to have multiple partners. What he was worried about was the pairings that were non-consensual. He knew that there were certain risks to the omega’s mental and physical health if they were forced to carry litters with multiple alphas with little time in between. The bond that formed between the alphas and omega would be torn away with each subsequent breeding leaving the omega emotionally unmoored and distant. On top of that there had been studies that said that occasionally alphas had rejected their omegas after they had been bred by another alpha. They no longer recognized their mate, and therefore rejected them from their pack. The only cases where this had not occurred was with bond mates; however, the recovery time for the omega was still a long one. And that didn’t even begin to cover the physical health risks of carrying multiple litters to term one after another.

“It’s about the survival of the species.” Doctor Keene said turning away dismissively.

“And what about the survival of those already living? Do we not matter?” Eddie asked.

Doctor Keene looked at Eddie. “Very well, Mr. Kaspbrak. Let’s try a little experiment. Tell me about your pack.”

“What?”

“How many omegas are there?”

Eddie looked to Stan before looking forward. “Just me.”

“I see. And what about betas?”

“We have three.”

“Alphas?”

“Two.”

Doctor Keene’s eyes lit up. “Two alphas, and only a single omega to bear the litter. Are you telling me that you wouldn’t submit to both your alphas should they require it?”

Eddie blushed for the first time, he looked away.

“Well?”

“I wouldn’t do it.”

“What was that?” Doctor Keene asked.

Eddie could feel everyone’s eyes on him, but the only pair that mattered belonged to the boy beside him. He looked directly at Stan as he spoke. “I wouldn’t mate with someone I don’t love.”

Eddie hoped that Stan understood, but all that was in front of him was an omega in pain. Eddie wondered what he had said that had hurt the other omega so badly.

Doctor Keene turned away. “What about you, Mr. Uris? Tell us about your pack.”

Stan snapped to attention. Eddie caught the barest traces of fear rolling off Stan before the other boy could hide it.

“There are two alphas and two betas, sir.”

“And if your alphas required it, would you carry both their litters?”

“Yes.” Stan said not meeting Eddie’s gaze.

“As you should,” Doctor Keene said with all the kindness he possessed. He turned his attention back to the class. “This is what a good omega must do. Mr. Kaspbrak has been misinformed. There are no dangers to mating with multiple alphas.”

Eddie stared at Stan as Doctor Keene continued on with his lecture. The Stan he remembered had believed in bond mates ever since he was young. What had caused this reversal? Eddie wasn’t sure that he was equipped to find out. For some reason, Stan wasn’t willing to open up to him. He wondered vaguely what he could have done to cause the other boy’s apparent distrust. Eddie was sure the others could do a better job at getting Stan to open up. They had always been better at those sorts of things. He resolved to catch Stan before class was over and ask him over to the pack’s den.

Eddie tuned out the rest of Doctor Keene’s lecture. He had no interest in learning more about how scents could indicate oncoming heats or ruts. Instead he focused on Stan’s bent head, the neat notes in blue pen, and the inevitable invitation.

The bell rang signaling the end of class. No one moved or began packing up their things, Doctor Keene smiled. Perhaps they had been trained better than he expected.

“Please read the handout by Doctor Gray on the risks of untreated heats for next class. You are dismissed.”

The students began to pack up. Stan packed his things up swiftly, careful not to look at Eddie. Once he was done he hurried out of the classroom before Eddie had the chance to say anything. Eddie grabbed his backpack and hurried after Stan. He followed Stan through the halls until they were on the front steps of the building.

“Hey! Stan wait up!” Eddie said, running to catch up with him. He did his best to ignore the burning ache in his lungs.

Stan turned, absolute horror written across his face. “Stop following me.”

It became too much. Eddie gasped for air. He took a hit from his inhaler before speaking. “Look I just wanted to see if you wanted to come over? The others would love to see you.”

“I can’t.”

“Bill won’t even be there if that’s what you’re worried about. He’s got work until five,” Eddie said misinterpreting Stan’s tone.

“It’s not that. I have to get back and start making dinner for my pack.”

Eddie glanced at his watch. It was only 2 pm. “You have to make dinner for your entire pack?”

Stan nodded. “Belch is picking me up. You shouldn’t be talking to me when he gets here.”

“Okay, maybe some other time?”

Eddie watched Stan go down the steps. He knew that some omegas liked to prepare food for their alphas as a way to show they cared, but he hadn’t heard of an omega preparing food for their entire pack. Eddie thought that if his pack expected him to cook for all of them every day they would be shit out of luck. Lord knew Richie could eat enough alone to eat them out of house and home. Eddie’s inner omega perked up at the thought of preparing Richie’s meals. He pushed the enthusiasm away with disgust. Eddie watched as a restored 1958 Plymouth Fury pulled up to the curb. Stan got in the front seat without once looking back.

“Who the fuck were you talking to?” Belch asked once Stan was in the car.

“No one.”

Belch looked over at Stan and grunted, apparently they were done talking. Stan looked out the window and let the balloon float away.

Their apartment was cold. No matter how much Stan tried to warm it up, no matter how many times he redecorated, no matter what he did. It was always cold and gray and totally, horrifically empty. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Stan can’t help but wonder what the Losers’ apartment looked like. He was sure it was warm and homey and, immediately, he felt homesick for a place he’d never been.

He forced those emotions to the back of his head. If he started to long for the Losers - if he started to long for Bill - he would crumble. All the years he had spent building up a wall inside his head would have been for nothing. He had spent enough time locking himself in the bathroom to cry when he was first forced into this god awful pack, he can’t go through that phase again. It’s not like Bill had cried for him.

Belch didn’t say a word to him as they entered the apartment, instead going to slouch down on the couch and flip through the TV without ever settling on a channel. The noise had driven Stan crazy when he first arrived, but by now it had become a welcome background noise. Something to focus on without having to actually leave himself at the mercy of his own thoughts.

Vic came home next. He didn’t spare Stan a glance, but made sure to loudly remind him, “I don’t like when you put olives in the pasta,” as he passed. Which is a shame, because Henry would whine for days if Stan forgot the olives.

“Alright,” Stan replied, if only because Vic would tattle to one of the alphas if he didn’t.

He set about making a separate batch for Vic, this one free of olives. Bitterly, Stan couldn’t help but think to himself how easy it would be to just pick out the goddamned olives. But Vic had reminded him over, and over, and over again that the taste supposedly lingers even with the olives removed.

“It’s really just easier if you make a separate batch,” he had said.

Stan couldn’t help but disagree, though he kept this opinion very much to himself.

Patrick came home a few minutes later. Stan didn’t hear him, so much as pick up a whiff of something rotten and decaying before a pair of hands were gripping his hips, pulling him swiftly against Patrick’s chest.

“What’re you making?” Patrick asked, smirking.

“Pasta salad,” Stan said. He pried at Patrick’s fingers, but it only caused Patrick to tighten his grip. Huffing, Stan reminded him, “You have to let me go. I can’t let the food burn.”

“But I had such a hard day,” Patrick said, lips twisting into a pout. His breath was hot against Stan’s neck, just above the collar, and a few years ago Stan would have cringed away from the rancid smell. But he knew better now.

“I’m sorry,” Stan said. The words seemed to drain the rest of the fight out of him, the husk of the man he once was going limp in Patrick’s grip.

Patrick hummed. “Good Omega.”

For a single, mortifying moment, Stan found himself basking in the praise. But the feeling was quickly squashed under the reality of his situation, replaced by an icy cold feeling. It invaded his veins, freezing his blood and numbing his extremities. All he had ever wanted was to be good. But he had wanted to be good for an alpha who loved him. An alpha who would protect him. An alpha who saw him as more than just a living fuck toy.

Patrick was not that alpha.

One hand traveled up and off Stan’s hip, fingertips slipping under the hem of Stan’s shirt instead. The touch made Stan shudder, and for a moment fear came rolling off him in waves. He quickly schooled his emotions back into check, but it was enough for Patrick to know. Which always made it worse. Stan was positive Patrick fed off Stan’s fear, that anything and everything he did to him was just to see Stan’s eyes widen and heartbeat quicken.

The door slammed open a moment later. Henry’s familiar scent came wafting through the apartment, and immediately Stan lifted his head to give Henry his best help me eyes.

Unfortunately, Henry was not his saving grace. His shoulder came to rest against the kitchen doorway, his eyes watching Patrick toy with Stan with something akin to amusement.

“You go to the omega class today?” he asked. No, not asked, confirmed. Henry had always had the fear that Stan would run off or abandon the pack. Stan supposed Henry had good reason for his fears, Stan had spent a good amount of time daydreaming about disappearing in the dead of night and showing up on the Losers’ doorstep. In his imagination, they would welcome him with open arms and swear to protect him from Henry. But he had never acted on these daydreams, and soon they became too painful to even think about.

Stan nodded. “Yes.” Henry’s eyebrows shot up, disappearing into his hairline. It’s obvious what Henry wanted, and though it made Stan sick, he forced himself to swallow his pride and continue, “Yes, Alpha.”

Henry smirked, clearly pleased by Stan’s obedience. “How was it?”

“Fine,” Stan said. “Just introduction stuff.”

“Right, well, I’m expecting it to fix you up.” The way Henry said it, plain as day, as if there was something wrong with Stan, made shivers run down Stan’s spine. There was something innately cruel about Henry’s voice. Something that made Stan want to run and hide.

It was that cruelness that had made Stan cower from him in high school. But a few months alone in an apartment with Henry had taught Stan not to cower. It had fixed him right up.

“It will,” Stan promised. “I’ll be good.”

He glanced nervously towards the pasta. Henry sighed, gesturing for Patrick to release him.

Stan bolted out of Patrick’s arms, nearly tripping over his own two feet in his haste to return to the pasta. Luckily, the pasta had not burned yet. But as Stan was rushing to pour the potfull into the strainer, he passed directly by Henry. He had barely made it a step before Henry grabbed his wrist, holding him firmly in place.

“What’s that smell?”

Stan eyed him nervously. “What smell?”

Henry sniffed the air. Brought Stan’s wrist closer to his nose. Sniffed again. “It’s sort of fruity.”

“Must be someone in my class,” Stan shrugged, doing his best to keep his face blank.

For a single, horrifying moment, Stan was sure he had been found out. Henry knew about Eddie, Henry knew he had gone against his wishes and spoken to them. Henry knew-

Henry dropped his wrist. “Must be.” He glanced at the pot still gripped between Stan’s hands. “Hurry up, I’m starving.”

The Losers’ apartment was filled with a warm glow. Upon moving in, they had all taken the time to decorate accordingly. Pictures of the six of them adorned the walls, various decor scattered throughout the rooms. Richie had even managed to find a leg lamp similar to the one in A Christmas Story, which he proudly displayed in front of the window in their living room. Their apartment, even if it was perhaps a tad too small for all six of them, had quickly become their happy place.

Currently, Mike and Ben were laying across each other on the couch; Bev, on the floor next to the couch, leaned happily against it as she played a rather aggressive game of footsie with Richie, who was sitting on the floor against the cushy armchair in the corner. Curled up on said chair was Eddie, watching his pack with a fond smile on his face. They had all had their first days today and, much to Eddie’s dismay, none of the others had quite an unfortunate encounter as he had had with Doctor Keene.

Ben’s architecture class had left him with the biggest grin Eddie had ever seen aside from every single time he looked at Beverly. Mike’s history course had caused him to immediately set out to find the campus library, checking out enough books to last him a month. Bev’s fashion and design professor had told her she was the most talented student she had seen in nearly a decade. Richie’s theatre professor had applauded him for his natural outspokenness and go-getter attitude. And Bill...Bill hadn’t been seen since that morning.

On one hand, Bill’s absence was a blessing. If Bill wasn’t around, Eddie wouldn’t have to worry about his reaction to Stan being in Omega 101. On the other hand, it would be nice to have a welcoming pair of arms to dive into, ones that he knew he could let his guard down around. And while he would love for Richie to be the one he turned to, the very thought of being vulnerable around the alpha was terrifying.

He had always felt something more for Richie. Something that made his heart beat a little faster

and palms a little sweaty. And if he allowed himself to crawl into his arms, how long would it be before he came running to him for every little problem. And from there, how long until Richie started to see him, much like Doctor Keene did, as a cum bucket useful for nothing but the next litter of pups.

No, it was too risky. No matter how many times Richie made him laugh until his sides hurt. No matter how many times he made him smile so wide he was sure his face would crack in half. No matter how many times he seemed to prove, over and over again, that he saw Eddie as his equal. Eddie couldn’t risk losing all that.

Bill was his friend. Bill wouldn’t expect anything from him. Bill wouldn’t judge him for being weak.

But, back to more important problems. Stan. Stan had been in Omega 101. Stan was here. Stan was here and he was miserable.

Of course Eddie wanted to help him. He wanted to help him more than anything. But there were factors that had to be considered, factors that needed to be thought out before he dumped it on his friends.

Even if Bill wasn’t around, even if Eddie didn’t have to worry about his reaction. He still had to worry about Richie’s reaction. Richie who had lost his best friend. Richie who had only recently come to terms with it. Richie, who was currently animatedly describing his first day of classes.

“And we had to buy a whole book about this Meisner guy, he apparently, like, invented theatre or something-”

“No way he invented theatre,” Mike said, wiggling his toes in Ben’s face. The other boy screwed up his face in disgust, trying to bat away Mike’s feet. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Okay, he didn’t invent it,” Richie said. “But he did invent this whole technique. It basically reinvented everything about acting-”

“You’re not even gonna be an actor, Chee,” Eddie said, not bothering to hide his laughter.

Richie turned to face him, a wide and easy grin spread across his face. “Hey, you don’t know that. I could be the next Ryan Gosling.”

Eddie only laughed harder. “No way!”

“Yes way! Just you watch, I’m gonna bring home my first monologue and it’ll be so sexy you’ll slick your pants right here in the living room.”

“Okay, first of all, that’s disgusting,” Eddie said, the wrinkle of his nose making Richie dissolve into giggles. “Second of all, that’s not how acting works.”

“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t know, would you?” Richie grinned. “You’re not taking theatre.”

“Yeah, instead I’m taking fucking Omega 101 with Doctor Keene.” Eddie spat out the professor’s name like it was poison, his face screwed up as if it had left a bad taste in his mouth.

All sense of humor immediately dissolved from Richie’s face. It had always been a mystery to Eddie how he did that, going from cracking jokes at Eddie’s expense to looking like he would burn down the world for him. “Class didn’t go so well, huh?”

Eddie shook his head. “The professor’s an asshole. One of those people who thinks omegas are nothing but breeding machines.”

“That’s such bullshit,” Bev piped up. “You’re not just some fucking machine.”

“Yeah, well, apparently that isn’t what a majority of the population thinks,” Eddie said, doing his best not to sound bitter. Apparently he didn’t do a very good job, because a moment later Richie laid his head on Eddie’s thighs, his hand wrapping around Eddie’s calf and his thumb rubbing soothing circles along the skin.

“You only have to be there for one semester,” he said. The soft tone of his voice sent a jolt through Eddie, spiking through his heart and pooling in his stomach. It took everything in him to keep from purring. “After that you can happily tell this Doctor Keene to go fuck himself, and you’ll be a free man.”

Eddie chuckled quietly, admittedly soothed by Richie’s...everything. “I wish it was that easy.”

“Sorry, Eddie,” Mike said, a rather sad smile gracing his lips. “You know, just because they say all that, it doesn’t mean it’s true.

“Yeah, I know,” Eddie mumbled. “But it’s awful to hear. And most of the omegas in that class are going to believe it! Including-”

The words were swept from his mouth by the sound of a door swinging open. The entire pack seemed to perk up at the sound, Bill’s scent wafting in from the doorway. A moment later he grinned down at them, looking exhausted but otherwise happy to be in their presence.

“Long day?” Ben asked.

Bill nodded. “My English professor’s a dick. And I had the worst customer come in to work.”

“My professor’s a dick too!” Eddie cried out, the words stumbling out of his mouth before he could think of a way to break the news to Bill.

Bill just groaned, collapsing on the chair next to Eddie. “Tell me about your dick professor.”

Richie snorted loudly. “Dick professor-”

“Shut up!”

Richie yelped as Eddie drove his foot playfully between Richie’s ribs. “Hey, Bill said it, not me.”

“That is not what he meant. Is it, Bill?”

But Bill was no longer focused on anything Richie or Eddie had said. Instead his eyes were staring down at Eddie’s wrist, eyebrows pinched and nose wrinkled, like he was trying to recall some far away memory from the deep, dark depths of his brain.

The scent was faint, nearly impossible to catch a whiff of in the crowded room. But it was familiar; like fresh basil in a backyard garden, ripe for the picking. Honeysuckle flowers that used to thread through the school playground, sweet and fragrant. Fesh rain, first thing in the morning.

There was something underneath it too. Something acetic. It was fear, which set off all of Bill’s alpha instincts. He needed to find this unknown omega, to soothe them. His alpha hindbrain whined, itching to take them away, to tear them from whatever - or whoever - was hurting them. And because Bill had always been a romantic at heart, an image of wrapping this strange omega in his pack’s fluffiest blanket, covering them in his own scent, suddenly invaded his brain. He would set them down on the couch, give them a cup of hot tea, wrap his arms around them, and play with their hair until they fell asleep. He could picture nosing the omega’s scent gland, causing a release of happy omega endorphins that would calm them both down. The mere thought of pleasing the omega was more than enough to cause a rumble of pleasure deep in Bill’s chest. The more he thought about it the clearer the picture became. The mystery omega in his fantasies wasn’t so strange after all. He had looked exactly like,

“Ss-Stuh-Stan?” he said suddenly. His eyes darted up to lock with Eddie’s, looking as shocked as Eddie felt at the return of his stutter. “You ss-saw Stan?”

Immediately the warm feeling that had been surrounding them seemed to be sucked out of the room, replaced with a thick, suffocating air that crushed Eddie’s lungs and squeezed his air pipe. He opened his mouth to answer, let out a loud gasp instead, and went scrambling for his inhaler.

No one spoke a word as he took a puff. Two. Three.

Finally, he forced himself to look Bill dead in the eye. He nodded.

“What?” The force of Richie’s voice made Eddie flinch, jumping back until his back was flat against the chair. “You saw Stan? And you didn’t tell us?”

“I was going to tell you,” Eddie said. “I just didn’t know how.”

“Is he oh-okay?” Bill asked.

“Oh, please,” Richie sneered. It was so different from the Richie Eddie’s used to, it damn nearly sent Eddie scrambling for his aspirator again. “As if you care.”

Bill’s eyes turned steely, turning to face Richie with two tiny fires in their place. “What does that mean?”

“We all know why Henry claimed him.” The venom in Richie’s voice was like a punch to the gut. Eddie could nearly see it, falling from his lips with every word. “Why he chose him over Eddie, and why he was able to get away with it.”

Bill didn’t answer. His eyes were locked with Richie’s, an icy glare seeming to freeze over his expression. Eddie was suddenly reminded of when their pack first formed, their seventh member freshly lost and the two alphas constantly at each other’s throats. He couldn’t let this come between his friends again.

“We can help him,” Eddie said hopefully. “Things can be different this time. We can make them better.”

Still, there was no answer from either of the alphas. After perhaps the longest few seconds of Eddie’s life, Bill finally slipped off the chair and stood in front of the pack, hands awkwardly clenched by his side and glare locked on the far wall.

“I’m going to start on dinner,” Bill mumbled.

Richie’s shoulders slumped as Bill exited the room, and he only returned his gaze to Eddie once Bill was completely gone from his vision. “What happened?”

“Is he okay?” Mike repeated the question from earlier, concern written all over his face.

Slowly, Eddie shook his head.

#stenbrough #reddie #stanley uris #bill denbrough #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #beverly marsh #mike hanlon #ben hanscom #the losers club #stenbrough fanfiction #stenbrough fanfic #reddie fanfiction #reddie fanfic #the losers club fanfiction #the losers club fanfic #IT fanfiction #IT fanfic

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iamleavingthisfandom · 4 years

Text

Here's the last part! Finally. I might post this to ao3 when I'm a bit less busy, but I wanted y'all to have this first part one | part two | part three | part four Warnings: very light angst

The next day he wakes up before noon and without a hangover. He looks out of the window and sees a sunny day, chirping birds and all.

He is to leave Derry tonight, which feels… too soon. Maybe that’s for the best, because, supposedly, moving on is one of the best ways to heal. But first there’s something else he has to do. He gets into his car and drives until he reaches the kissing bridge. The pocket knife in his jeans burns the entire time, the heaviness against his hip a reminder of what he’s about to do, for everyone to see, but most importantly for himself to know and remember. He gets out of the car once he’s parked, and the slam of the car door echoes loudly through the tunnel of the bridge, coming back twice as loud. It doesn’t make him wince, though, like he almost expects it to, out of habit of secrecy and silence surrounding anything related to love in his life. Instead, it almost makes him smile. It hurts, too, but maybe the pain right between his ears isn’t just reverberations of that dull sound. He doesn’t pay it much mind as he takes his knife out and opens it, approaching the wooden fence next to the tunnel. The memories of the first time he came here are clear as day, and so is the mix of fear, excitement, anxiety, and something quite unnameable he felt back then. He doesn’t feel it this time around when he crouches in front of the carving he needs to finish. He doesn’t hesitate, either, before reaching his hand towards the carving and etching the plus sign. He takes a couple of seconds and then moves onto the important part, the wonderful letter he can never forget, can’t let himself forget. There are two distinct thoughts that are intertwined in his head while he carves the letter into old wood. Eddie. And I love him. What he doesn’t expect is to hear a voice as he traces the finished letter with his fingertips. A small voice, timid even, saying his name. “Richie?” He turns his head to see Eddie. No trace of blood on him. No claw-shaped hole in his chest. A wound on his cheek, yes, one that’s only starting to heal, but otherwise nothing to suggest he was ever in the sewers. “Eds? I thought you were gone?” “Yeah, so did I,” he’s frowning, looking down at his chest and patting it down. He sounds as confused as Richie feels. “What the fuck happened?” “I was letting go of you, as you told me to—” “As I told you to? When the hell did I tell you to do that?” Now Richie’s lost track of everything entirely. “After you were… you know…” “All I remember is a claw through my chest down in the sewers,” Eddie’s talking a mile a minute and walking towards him now, and Richie realises, holy shit, this Eddie doesn’t remember appearing to him, so he stands up and tries to hide the carving behind his back. “Now I’m suddenly here, and I don’t remember how the fuck I got here, is this another one of Pennywise’s tricks? What is going on?” “No, man, we— we got Pennywise.” That stops Eddie and he looks Richie in the eyes, making him shift almost uncomfortably. “We— we killed him, thanks to you. You kind of saved us all there.” “Then what the fuck is happening?” he asks again, his eyes narrow, and Richie is as confused as he can be. “I don’t know any more than you do! How do I know you’re not just a trick of my imagination?” he reaches out for Eddie, unthinkingly, and grabs his shoulder — his definitely real, firm shoulder. Warm. Much warmer than Eddie he saw two days ago. Solid to the touch, not as ethereal. Not as… slimy is how he would put it best. He holds onto it, grounding himself and looking at Eddie in awe, even as the man raises an eyebrow at him. “Rich?” “I’m sorry, you’re—” it’s so difficult, yet so easy to believe, with how fervently he’s been repeating it to himself. “You’re alive.” “Well, it sure seems so, the question is how?” there’s an anxious edge to Eddie’s voice before he looks behind Richie and recognition passes through his eyes. His tone softens a little as he asks, “Why are we at the kissing bridge?” “I, uh—” Richie doesn’t know how to say the truth, realizes now that he needs more time to admit it like this, to alive Eddie’s face, but that turns out to be unnecessary, because Eddie’s already pushing past him to see the fence. He stops and takes it in as Richie feels the anxiety from 27 years ago return. “Is that—” Eddie doesn’t finish, just points at the R+E carved into the wood, and Richie’s voice is suddenly missing. “Yeah,” he answers lamely, rubbing the back of his neck. Eddie turns to face him, a somewhat crazed and otherwise unreadable expression on his face. Richie looks at him, at what his imagination was definitely not capable of, at the forehead wrinkles and the tense thin line of his lips, at the not-expressly-happy face Eddie’s making that definitely didn’t come from Richie’s own fantasies, and suddenly, words come to him easier than anything else ever has, “I love you, Eds.” Eddie lets out a breath that, Richie swears, takes longer than the past three days. And then he smiles, this small and tender smile that steals Richie’s own breath away, but he doesn’t mind. “Don’t call me Eds,” he says in a heartbreakingly gentle voice as he moves towards Richie, and oh, is that what true happiness feels like? Richie doesn’t know and stops caring when Eddie reaches out his hand to cup his cheek, looking up at him. “If this is heaven, then I don’t mind dying violently,” Eddie says, letting out a small laugh, and Richie’s happy chuckle to match can’t be contained. “You’re stuck with me, so I doubt it.” Eddie’s smile is bright and free, and Richie can’t help the feeling bubbling up in his heart. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I love you, too, dumbass,” Eddie says quietly, and before Richie has a chance to respond, he is tugged into a kiss that’s more of a mash of lips than anything else, but it still makes him cry. He puts his arms around Eddie and holds him so close it might be bordering on painful, but he's pretty sure neither of them care. Eddie pulls away soon and wipes at Richie’s wet cheeks with such tenderness it only makes him cry more. “I’m sorry,” Richie manages to sob out, and Eddie shushes him and hugs him close, stroking his hair when Richie puts his forehead on the shoulder in front of him. It’s covered by Eddie’s jacket, not the hoodie he was wearing in the sewers. “I’ll live,” he jokes, and Richie can’t help a hiccuping laugh. “You fucking better.” Eddie turns his head and kisses Richie’s cheek in a surprising gesture, but it still makes him smile and gradually stop sniffling. “So what now?” Richie isn’t really prepared for the question, but he smiles and pulls back a little, just enough to get a visual on Eddie. “Depends. Do you want to get out of this shithole of a town? I got a place in Beverly Hills,” he hesitates a bit. “There’s a guest room if you want to take things slow.” The incredulous smile Eddie gets answers it even before he speaks. “I think twenty seven years is slow enough.” Richie exhales in relief as he continues, “I’d love to get the fuck out of here.” Richie presses his lips to Eddie’s forehead before intertwining their fingers and tugging him towards the car with a grin and listening to his laugh. Once they’re in the car, Eddie speaks again. “Wait, so am I, like… legally dead now or something?” “Kinda,” Richie bites his tongue and turns the key in the ignition. “Huh,” Eddie leans back in the car seat, looking right ahead. “Never thought I’d be in this situation before.” “What, you didn’t foresee that risk in your analysis?” Richie attempts, getting a raised eyebrow and a small snort for his troubles. “Really, that’s the best you’ve got?” Richie shrugs. “Where’s your romantic nature, Eds? Just think, you can do one of those witness protection things where you get a new name, a cool backstory, one where you don’t work at the most boring job in the world—” “Hey!” “—and where instead of marrying a woman ten times your size, you marry a famous comedian with a ten-inch dick.” Now Eddie’s laughing. It’s the most beautiful sound Richie could ever dream of, and he drives away from the kissing bridge with a smile. “You keep bragging about your dick so much that I’m pretty sure it’s not even half the size you say it is,” he teases, and Richie bites his tongue, smiling. “I never lie about what I’m packing,” he glances to his side and sees Eddie’s eyes darkening slightly and his cheeks assume a light blush. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he smiles at Richie cheekily. “Oh, Eds, you don’t know what you’re signing up for,” they both laugh and Eddie’s hand finds Richie’s closest one, closing in a comforting grip. “Someone recently told me I’m braver than I think. Bring it on.” Richie brings Eddie’s hand up and presses lips to his knuckles softly. He keeps his grip controlled and gentle when they cross the town line, checking whether he's disappeared, but Eddie remains in the seat next to him even as they leave Derry to embark upon something entirely new together. He listens to Eddie talk about how he wanted to leave that job anyway and how he’s always been interested in cars, and Richie finds himself promising him that they will figure everything out together and that he supports Eddie no matter what he wants to do, and it seems like Eddie believes him, smiling and squeezing his hand gratefully. He goes on wondering aloud whether there are any good tennis courts or jogging tracks Richie knows of in LA, because he’s always wanted to try tennis, but never quite got to, and Richie can’t contain his smile. Yeah. It will be okay, he thinks, listening to Eddie switch topics and start fussing about small things like whether Richie has a humidifier back home or if they should buy one— or if they should get a new one anyway, because Eddie knows which ones are the best, and for the first time in a long time, perhaps in his entire life, he feels happy and content. Like he’s gotten something he’s always been looking for, and now it’s time for his real life to begin. And he knows that now. It will all be okay. — — Author’s note: surprise! Bet you didn’t expect that, now, did ya. I’m soft and I wanted a supernatural ending, bc this is my fic, so what I say goes. Also I like the idea of subverting the curse of speaking things into existence into a blessing, sue me. Okay, no, pls don’t. Anyway, thanks for reading, wonderful souls!

#reddie #reddie fanfic #reddie fanfiction #writing tag

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hanscom · 6 years

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💙+ Timer

Twenty two days. Six hours. Forty three minutes. Nine seconds.

Twenty two days. Six hours. Forty three minutes. Eight seconds.

Twenty two days. Six hours. Forty three minutes. Seven seconds.

“Mr. Kaspbrak!”

Eddie jumps. He jerks straight up in his seat, then slumps down again when he realizes everyone is staring at him. Mrs. Hawkins is leading the charge, peering down her beakish nose at him, her eyes small and shrewd. “Do you plan to pay attention to my lesson?” she demands. “Or do I have to take away your watch?”

Eddie automatically covers his watch with his hand, shielding the face from view. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hawkins,” he mutters dutifully. He keeps his watch protectively hidden until she looks away, and even then he puts his hands in his lap, under the table, out of sight.

He can’t resist giving the clock mounted on the wall above her head one last, fervent glance.

Twenty two days. Six hours. Forty one minutes. Thirty six seconds.

–

Watches are government-issued. Everyone is assigned one at birth, but you’re not eligible to obtain it until you’re at least thirteen. It’s one of those weird, arbitrary American laws, like how you can join the military at eighteen but can’t have a beer until you’re twenty one. No one really knows why it’s that way. Maybe the government doesn’t want you to spend your formative years pining for something that might not happen for years. That would make sense. Eddie got his watch on his fifteenth birthday and he’s only been waiting a year, but sometimes it already feels like it’s been a thousand.

He was the second one of his friends to get one, and the fourth overall. Bill got his first, the leader as always, on his thirteenth birthday. Twelve years, his watch had said, so far off it hadn’t even said anything about months or days or seconds. It had been disappointing in some strange way, because twelve years felt like an entire lifetime, but it was also thrilling to know that it was real, that someone was out there waiting and wanting.

He hadn’t missed the way Bill had looked the slightest bit jealous, though, when he had unboxed his own watch and his timer had only said one year, seven months, sixteen days.

And then Bev had gotten hers, and the timer had already been zeroed out. She and Ben had shared a shy, private glance, and the rest of them had quickly figured it out. Bev had kissed Ben. Ben was Bev’s soulmate. It had all been confirmed when Ben had gotten his own blank watch two weeks later.

That’s how it works. The timer isn’t counting down the minutes until you meet your soulmate. That would be too easy. No, the timer ticks down and down and down, and when it finally, finally clicks to zero, you’re kissing the person you’re meant to be with. True love’s kiss, right? Eddie personally thinks the government has watched too many Disney movies, but he still stares at the face of his watch more often than not, counting down the seconds.

He has no idea who his soulmate might be. Probably someone from Derry, given that he only has a few weeks left to wait. It could be anyone. Not Bill, of course, and certainly not Ben, but maybe one of the other Losers. Maybe Stan, or Mike. Maybe Richie.

Eddie doesn’t allow himself to hope. But…

It’s not altogether that likely that it’s one of his friends. There are plenty of people who don’t have soulmates yet. Many of them don’t even have their watch. It’s expensive to get one. A lot of people can’t afford it, like Stan and Mike.

And some people just aren’t interested. Like Richie. “I don’t need a stupid watch to tell me I enjoyed a kiss,” he says whenever he’s asked. “My dick can tell just fine.” He’ll grab his crotch and say, “It’s never steered me wrong before.” And then the conversation will end, because everyone knows Richie is relentless about dick jokes and it’s best if they stop it before it really starts.

Eddie wonders, sometimes, if Richie really has kissed anyone before, the way he claims he has. Does he press his mouth against theirs, hoping their watch would zero out and start to beep? Or does he really not care?

Eddie can’t imagine not caring. He cares a whole fucking lot.

–

Those last twenty two days don’t pass quickly, but they do eventually pass.

One hour. Twenty six minutes. Thirteen seconds.

He’s standing in front of his bathroom mirror, fucking with his hair. There’s a party tonight. Eddie isn’t normally much of a party-goer, but this is it. This is the night. His soulmate is going to be at that party, and Eddie is going to be kissed by him. The thought makes goosebumps rise all up and down his arms. He’s so excited he’s shaking.

Richie’s supposed to pick him up. Well, actually, Bill was supposed to be their designated driver, but his car is a piece of shit and no one trusts the chhht-chhht-chhht sound it makes, so Ben is stuffing Bev and Bill and Mike and Stan in his tiny two-door sedan. Richie, who just crested six-foot with no signs of stopping, and Eddie, who can’t stand to breathe in the shared air of that many people, elected to drive themselves. Well, Eddie elected to make Richie drive. He doesn’t have his own car. Richie’s truck is a piece of junk, but he’s slowly fixing her up with the money he didn’t spend on a watch. Eddie’s been helping him. He’s kind of proud of the progress they’ve made. Her brakes don’t even squeak that bad anymore, and she’s only rusted in a few small places.

Still, Eddie can hear her from a block away, rumbling down his street. He rushes down the stairs, calls goodbye to his mother, and books it to the end of the driveway before she can catch him. He didn’t exactly get her permission to go out, but she probably won’t be too mad as long as he gets home before curfew.

He flings himself into the passenger side and Richie slams on the accelerator before he’s even fully inside, like he’s afraid they’re being chased. As if Eddie’s mother could peel herself out of her armchair that fast. Still, it’s sort of exhilarating. The driver’s side window is down and the wind whips the hair that Eddie spent so long perfecting, but it’s worth it because Richie has his music turned up way too high and he smiles over at Eddie and the minutes on Eddie’s watch are ticking down and Eddie feels alive.

The party is at Sheridan Keener’s house in the good part of town, and the streets are already lined with cars. Richie eases his truck in behind an ugly brownish-orange Toyota that Eddie sort of recognizes from the student lot. He cuts the engine, and though faint music pulses from the Keener house, it’s suddenly very quiet without Richie’s music blasting.

“Well,” Richie says, and he fishes a cigarette out of his pocket. It’s a little crumpled but it lights up just fine. “Tonight’s the night.” He looks at Eddie’s watch out of the corner of his eye.

Hope it’s not you if you’re gonna taste like ash, Eddie wants to say, but he doesn’t. It’s a bad joke. Instead, he hums an agreement and gets out of the car. They walk together to the door, and then Richie tosses his cigarette into the shrubbery and Eddie lets him into the house and they’re swept into the foyer, greeted by throbbing music and the sharp smell of alcohol and the dim buzz of a hundred different conversations.

They get separated at some point, but Eddie tries not to notice. He waves at Ben from across the room, who points at his wrist and then gives Eddie a thumbs-up. He’s not the only one who’s been counting down. His friends are all excited for him. He wonders if they feel nauseous at all, the way he does.

After awhile, he goes into the kitchen to make a drink. A few people are standing around, including a cute boy standing alone in the corner, sipping from a solo cup. Eddie’s heart stops, then starts pounding. That’s him.

But, no. It’s too early. He still has thirty-four minutes.

Then again, it’s not like Eddie was going to just walk up and plant one on him. Maybe he’s supposed to start a conversation. Maybe it’ll go well, and they’ll end up in some private room upstairs, leaning closer and closer, their lips about to brush…

A girl comes into the kitchen. The boy looks up, sees her, and smiles. He’s even more handsome when he smiles, but Eddie has to look away when he drags the girl in for a kiss.

Not him, then.

It’s awful at first, and then it’s downright agonizing. He keeps looking around the room, trying to determine which of these people might be the person his soul was made for. Nobody stands out in particular. The only people Eddie really notices are his friends. Stan is on the couch, holding Bev’s drink so she can arm-wrestle Mike over the coffee table. He lets her win, and they all laugh about it. Eddie is smiling to himself when Richie suddenly appears at his elbow.

“Having fun?” he asks, leaning close to be heard over the music.

“Sure,” Eddie says, noncommittal. He hasn’t talked to a single person. Seventeen minutes. He’s starting to get nervous.

Richie elbows him gently. “Stop thinking so hard,” he says. “Just let it happen.”

Like Eddie has any other choice. The clock is ticking down, whether he wants it to or not.

Richie rolls his eyes, apparently not satisfied by whatever expression is on Eddie’s face. “Come on,” he says, and slings an arm around Eddie’s shoulders. “Let’s find something to take your mind off it.”

“Good luck,” Eddie mutters, but he goes where Richie leads him, same way he always does.

They end up in the basement, which is an entirely different atmosphere than the living room. It’s quiet down here, and hazy. This is where all the stoners go to toke, Eddie realizes, and he almost turns right back around but, well. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea. It would certainly calm his nerves.

But Richie doesn’t pull out a joint like Eddie expects. Instead, he guides Eddie into the middle of the room, where a loose circle of people have gathered. Eddie recognizes some of them, but most of them are strangers. Richie sits down like he owns the place, though, his sprawling legs taking up too much room. Eddie sits across from him, leaving enough space in middle of the lazy circle for the small glass bottle sitting there.

Just as Eddie settles in, a pretty blonde girl reaches out and spins it. It whirls around several times, making a horrible racket against the concrete floor, but then finally starts to settle. It eventually stops, the neck pointed at a black-haired boy, his eyes so heavy they almost look closed. He perks up a little when the girl climbs into his lap, pressing a kiss to his mouth.

Eddie realizes all at once what’s going on.

He glares at Richie. Richie smirks back. Of course he does. He’s an asshole.

Eddie should leave. He should get up and walk out. His first kiss shouldn’t be like this, because of some stupid game with a bunch of strangers that stink like pot. But…

Well, his soulmate is probably in this circle. That’s why he’s here, right? He’s going to spin the bottle, and it’s going to land on someone, and they’re going to kiss, and his watch is going to start beeping.

He glances at it. Nine minutes. His heart pounds.

The black-haired boy spins the bottle, and it lands on a redhead Eddie recognizes from his history class. She wipes her mouth after the boy kisses her, then spins for herself. The bottle points at a brunette girl and both of them giggle before they kiss each other on the cheek. Then the brunette spins and it lands on a boy wearing a backwards baseball cap.

It goes like this for some time. Eddie pretends to watch the game, but for the most part, he stares at his watch. Six minutes. Five minutes. Four minutes.

The pretty blonde who started the game kisses one of the other girls. The boys cheer for them, and the blonde draws away looking satisfied by the attention. She spins, and then the bottle lands on Richie.

Eddie stops staring at his watch.

She smiles at Richie, and he grins back at her. She scoots close to him and leans in, her hair falling almost like a curtain around their faces, but Eddie can just make out the way Richie dodges at the last second and kisses her cheek instead. Something unravels in his chest. He doesn’t know why it matters, but somehow, it does.

Richie spins and lands on Evan, a guy from Eddie’s homeroom. Richie grins, hooks his arm around Evan’s neck, and drags him in so he can plant a sloppy kiss on Evan’s forehead. Evan shoves him away, but he’s laughing about it.

Then he takes the bottle in his hand and spins it.

It lands on Eddie.

Eddie’s heart stops. He doesn’t have to look at his watch to know there’s only a couple minutes left. Is this it? Is Evan his soulmate? He tries to picture it, but for some reason, he can’t. It’s probably because he’s said maybe six words to Evan all year. Will that change, once they’ve kissed? It will have to, right? You have to be able to talk to your soulmate. What’s the point, otherwise?

But then Evan leans forward, quickly kisses Eddie’s cheek, and falls back into his place in the circle.

Eddie’s watch doesn’t beep. He glances at it.

One minute.

This is it. Holy shit, this is it.

He reaches out with a shaking hand. Should he spin it hard, or soft? Should he try to time it right, or should he just close his eyes and hope for the best?

Should he just get up and run out before everything has a chance to change?

He spins. His eyes, without his own permission, jam closed. His stomach swoops, and his chest is tight. His mouth dries out. He can’t decide if he’s going to throw up or if he’s going to pass out. Either seems entirely likely.

The bottle slowly comes to a stop.

Eddie opens his eyes.

For a disconcerting second, he’s confused. The bottle is pointed at himself. Except… no. No it’s not. That’s the bottom of it. The top is aimed in the opposite direction, directly in front of him, at… at…

“It’s you,” Eddie realizes.

Richie, sitting across from him, looks just as surprised. His eyes are wide, made all the more huge by his glasses. But then, slowly, he smiles. “Come on, Eds,” he says, and he gets up onto his knees, shuffling forward across the circle so he’s in Eddie’s personal space. Richie looms over him, smelling like cologne and cigarettes and some of the best memories of Eddie’s life. “You don’t wanna keep fate waitin’, do you?”

And then he puts his hand on Eddie’s chin, tilts his face up, and leans down to kiss him. It’s a shallow kiss, dry and chaste, and it only lasts for a handful of seconds.

Just long enough for Eddie’s watch to zero out and start to beep.

#reddie #reddie fic #soulmate au #sometimes i write things #prompts #thanks for reading!

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hiyo-silver · 5 years

Text

Behind Blindfolds

Nobody expected the world to end the way it does until it starts. It was always thought to happen all in one go but instead it drags on for years of feigning really living when all they’re doing is surviving. In this situation maybe, surviving is really losing.

Summary: The babies are born on the same day. Patrick should never have been trusted.

Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 + ao3

Taglist: @fuckboykaspbrak @thesquidliesthuman @rachi0964 @beepbeep-losers@bigbilliamdenbro@jalenrose11@sleepygaybrough@itandstrangerthingsfanfic@boopboopbichie @peachywyatt@aizeninlefox@sockwantstodie @ahoybyeler@yooonbum @coffeekaspbrak@sedanleystanley

The next morning brings what nobody would have expected. New life and the loss of someone else’s, a true example of the circle that life is. Kay feels the early signs of contractions and labor right around when the sun would be coming up and it tells her that she will be in for a long and painful day. She’s been to all the mommy and labor seminars and has done everything she can to prepare, but she still doesn’t feel ready. She doesn’t think any first time moms ever truly feel ready for what’s ahead of them. She doesn’t tell anyone until it becomes unbearable, she simply elects to sit on the couch and sip at a cold glass of water between the contractions she tries to bite back. Eventually she just knows that she’s close enough, and when she gets to that point she decides to tell someone. She doesn’t want to alarm anyone so she just quietly waddles her way to the room where Bill is staying. He’s a leader figure for the group, he feels like a good person to ask for help. She’s more comfortable with Bev, but Bev is still asleep so Bill is the next best thing.

“William,” she says to him in a hushed voice to catch his attention without making a commotion among anyone else. He looks over at her with his big, blueish gray eyes. “I’m having this baby, like right now I think,” she says with a quiet and hurried sense of urgency. She lets out another hiss of pain as another contraction plagues her. Though she’s been trying to avoid this exact situation, a look of panic crosses Bill’s face before he starts shouting what are probably directions to the others but Kay is too deep into focusing on the pain in her lower regions to pay attention to him telling them to get Bev and water and towels. They get her set up on some towels on the bed in the master bedroom to try and prepare her. Eddie sees the baby’s head and nearly throws up then and there so Bill tells he and Richie to leave the room (knowing Richie probably isn’t mature enough to handle a situation like this).

Bev crouches at Kay’s side, letting her hold her hand as tightly as she needs to. Bev has never been in the room while someone gives birth before, it’s an interesting and unique experience. Kay almost likes the pain, able to feel her pulse nearly everywhere in her body, it’s empowering. It’s almost funny how people used to tell her to “grow a pair” when balls can be so fragile but a vagina can expand enough to let out another human being and still heal and return to normal. It reminds her just how powerful and resilient she is, she really needed something like this.

“Oh m-my God I s-see the head,” Bill stammers out, ready to help any way he is able to. He’s never done something like this but the videos in eighth grade health class are bound to be enough, right? Before Kay can push again to further how far out the baby is, Beverly tries to bite back a scream of her own. They’d had similar due dates, but they think that fate decided that their kids needed to be born on the same day. It’s a stressful miracle.

She can’t hide it that easily, soon assuming a similar position to what Kay’s been in. They hold each other’s hands so tightly that they feel they might break, their groans and screams sounding like some sort of off key duet. The labor and delivery process is a complete blur for all of them from there. Bill cuts the umbilical cords and presses the babies to their moms’ chests. The screams of Beverly and Kay are replaced by those of the infants, it’s a surprisingly serene feeling despite how loud it is. Beverly has a little boy. He seems to have Tom’s nose, but most of Beverly’s other features. Kay has a little girl, a seemingly more healthy baby than Beverly’s little one, probably because of how much more Kay had paid attention to her pregnancy from the beginning, she’d also been under less stress than Bev has been.

Patrick is downstairs, alone. He pulls out his sketchbook again. It’s so much easier to leaf through and admire when the lights are on. He’s drawn that thing, It. He finds it beautiful. The perfect subject of his art and of most of his thoughts. Though he doesn’t think drawings really do It any justice. He longs to see it again, and he realizes that there’s nobody to stop him. He jumps up and rips the cardboard from over the windows, letting the sunlight penetrate the glass and into the home. He just wants to share it, with all of them, it’s the most wonderful thing the human eye can ever witness.

He sees the birds in the small cage in the room, he doesn’t want them to escape, these annoying creatures in his opinion. They don’t deserve to see it. He covers the cage with a thick blanket, laughing at the panicked chirps that erupt from them.

Stan watches part of this though the window in the door to the garage. He pounds with his palms against the door in his sudden fury, “Hey! What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Cover the windows before we all fucking die!” he yells, straining his vocal cords to sound more intimidating with his commands, while also keeping his eyes shielded to try and protect himself. He knew he had a bad feeling about this guy, and he’s almost filled with a sort of spiteful relief to know that it wasn’t just his own selfishness.

Patrick only turns his head to face him with a maniacal smile that he’ll never forget. His eyes are blank, he’s completely expressionless besides the creepily wide grin. His eyes trail over to the button on the counter that closes the garage. The lightbulb in his mind brightens. He grabs the small remote and prompts the garage to open to let the light stream in. He watches as Stan dies and he can only shrug to himself. Guess he doesn’t understand true beauty, Patrick thinks. The next mission is to go upstairs and show the others, it’s his duty as someone who’s seen the light.

He almost runs up the stairs, giddy with the excitement of the fresh sighting. Richie and Eddie are simply sitting on the floor in the hallway with their backs against the wall and their hands intertwined. They hardly hear Patrick, he’s rather light on his feet for such a tall and lanky man. They hardly notice or acknowledge him until he starts to rip down the cardboard, he ignores their screams and cries for him to stop, they wish the hall didn't have a window at all. They try to cover their eyes but it doesn’t do them much use. They’re still holding hands when their bodies hit the floor. Patrick hears the babies’ cries from the master bedroom and that’s the motivation he needs to go in there, opening the door and stepping inside.

In the bedroom, Kay and Beverly lay side by side on the bed with Bill sitting with his legs hanging over the edge of the bed. The three of them talk softly. Patrick watches the soothed scene in his manic awe. They’re happy, but he thinks he can make them even happier by showing them what he knows. He smiles at them as sweetly as he can, noticing how he’s worrying them with his look. “Babies,” he says in a soft tone, drawing nearer to them. They don’t tell him not too, though Kay gets very visibly uncomfortable when he strokes the hairs on her daughter’s head.

“I have to bless them,” Patrick says, not stopping and then shifting his hand to Beverly’s son’s head. They think he’ll be done there. Maybe this guy is a religious figure of some sort and thinks this is somehow meaningful. But instead he pulls away as suddenly as he’d come into the room. He walks his way to the window, starting to pick at the tape on the edges. When the girls notice it they throw the blankets over them and their children for protection.

Bill springs up from his spot, it seems like he’s abandoning them but really he’s on a mission to find the gun, the same one they’d scolded and punished Stan for aiming at Patrick only a day before. Patrick really does pull all the tape off successfully, the cardboard falling and the light pushing into the room like how it had filled the hallway only minutes before this. Though nobody but him knows it until Bill sees Richie and Eddie there. He wants to break down crying but he knows he can’t leave Beverly and Kay alone and defenseless with their children.

Patrick is very obviously upset about them all avoiding to look at what he loves more than anything. “Hey! Look! It’s beautiful,” he says in an airy and excited voice, gesturing wildly. He wants to show them more desperately than he’s ever wanted to do anything in the world. It doesn’t phase him to see the aftermath when it sometimes makes people die. It’s like when he was a kid, he’s numb to it at this point. He goes over to the bed, yanking at Kay’ side of the blanket because she’s closer to him and the window than Beverly is.

Beverly already goes to grab Kay’s baby from her. She doesn’t know why she does, it’s completely instinctual. Like her brain decides that if she can’t protect Kay as easily she needs to protect her child. She eventually gets the infant pried away from her friend as Patrick exposes her to the light. She’s crying, sobbing really. She’s grown so much to love Kay and feel comfort in her presence. And she can hear her now best friend hit the floor after seeing what she shouldn’t have. She didn’t deserve that fate by any means. Kay proved herself to be a kind soul and one of the most interesting people Beverly has ever talked to. She’ll never forget the time she’s known her.

Bill comes racing back in as Patrick starts tugging at the blanket to get Bev and the screaming infants. He’s blindfolded so he can’t see the windows and he’s holding a handgun from the basement an arm’s length away from his body, he’s not used to the idea of shooting with intent to kill, especially not a human being. He’s not a hunter but he has tuned his ears better to about everything, so he uses Patrick’s movements to find where in the room he is. He shoots once and he misses, and misses two more times before he hears the thud. Bev is too busy crying to know, so when he comes behind her under the blanket so he can remove his blindfold and make sure that she’s okay. She squirms and tells him to leave her alone, bringing back bad memories.

He stops as soon as she seems to be upset, “It’s m-me, Bill, are you hurt?” he asks, and she turns to him, trying to wipe her tears away and loosen the grip she has on the kids now that she assumes they’re safe if Bill is being so much calmer.

“No, not really,” she says with a hiccup over her words, having gone through a traumatic day. Before they can even cover the windows again, they both end up asleep completely under the safety of the blanket, unable to stay awake due the shock and exhaustion, their minds and bodies need a break.

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birduris · 7 years

Text

I learned that love tastes good

Words: 4,7k

Pairings: Stanley/Richie/Eddie, Bev/Ben/Bill

Summary: The way they are destined to be together and the way he is not destined to be with them. Richie and Eddie have identical soulmate marks and Stanley doesn't have one at all.

here on ao3

Before everything, before marks of flower fields and far away mountains, before two boys with sunflowers on their shoulder blades, before a campfire just above a delicate wrist and then waves just above another wrist and before a honeycomb on the top of a forearm, Stanley thinks he’s in love with a stutter and the bluest eyes a five year old has ever seen.

His parents never tell him, never sit him down at the kitchen table where they have all the other serious talks. They never say: you were not made to be loved but he learns, eventually. His teachers say that it doesn’t make him less of a person but Stanley’s skin is all negative space and his body is all rough angles and people notice the absence of his mark before they even learn his name.

So he grows not trusting his own body, hates the shape of his ribs, hates his skinny fingers and bitten down lips, hates his curly hair. Learns to watch birds with the same patience and quietness he sits with at the dinner table, never looks at the bathroom mirror, keeps his window open.

He falls out of whatever childish affection he felt towards Billy eventually. Listens to him talk about Beverly and later about Ben, too, like they hung up the stars in the sky. It makes sense, of course, but it makes him long for that sort of love. Complete adoration and desperation except you’re not really desperate if they feel the same way. And they feel the same way, obviously, how could they not. The three of them were destined to be. Fire, water and earth. They will never need anyone but each other. And Stanley learns that, too. Learns to know when he is not needed. Learns to live with a longing in his bones that will never go away.

Stanley learns true desperation the night after he turns sixteen. They’re in his backyard and it’s nearing one am now and they’re all getting tired, cold night wind never kind to them. The stars look beautiful, though. The stars look beautiful and Richie is laughing, splayed out on the grass. Ben and Bill are already inside and Mike’s almost asleep, head on Beverly’s shoulder. And Richie is laughing and Eddie walks out of the house with blankets in his arms and sits down between him and Richie, throws a blanket on him, wraps one around his and Stanley’s shoulders.

"Happy birthday, Stan," Eddie whispers, finds his hand under the blanket, leans into him. He smells like strawberries and hand soap and he's warm more than anything else and he's always been like this but tonight it feels different. Bigger. He holds Stanley's hand and Stanley thinks he'll die before he ever lets go.

"Yeah, happy birthday, dude," Richie adds moments later like he’s making a joke but his words are soft and quiet in a way that never fit him and his eyes are closed, like he doesn't care about the sky. He could go inside if he doesn't, Stanley thinks, in a weirdly protective way like Richie’s dismissiveness towards the stars is somehow wrong. He doesn't. Moves to rest his head on Eddie's lap, eyes still closed and Eddie drops his hand to play with Richie's hair, keeps the other one in Stanley’s and Stanley thinks he never wants to be anywhere that they are not with him. And then he thinks oh and Richie has stopped laughing but Stanley might as well start.

He's with them in the dark of his own backyard, just a few hours after he turned sixteen and he's thinking about how he will never feel alive if they are not right by his side. So he might as well start laughing. There’s nothing but the wind and them and then Eddie leans down and presses his lips to Richie's forehead. Squeezes Stanley's hand. Or crying. He doesn't know anymore.

This is how it goes. There is a princess locked in a tower and no one ever comes to save her because the princes find each other on their way there and they decide she's not worth it.

Or. There is a princess locked in a tower and before Stanley can come save her another prince already has so they don't need him anymore.

Or. There is a princess and Stanley's the evil stepmother. Or the evil witch. Or both. The prince saves the princess. Or the princess saves herself and Stanley is left in the tower alone.

Or. There are no princesses and no princes. There are no fairy tales and metaphors to hide behind. It's him and his best friends that he loves and then his best friends that he's in love with and there are soulmates and marks and there's the feeling of being lonely when you're not alone.

There's learning to drive and passing cigarettes around and skipping class to go swimming and then skipping class to sit by the water because it's way too cold to swim and there are his hands and their hands and the way they all fit with each other, even Mike who's not destined for them but still destined for someone.

And there's a world in which people like Henry Bowers have soulmates and he doesn't. He stays up thinking about it sometimes. Wonders what's so wrong about him. Wonders if there's a world in which there are no marks and no soulmates and he doesn't constantly feel like they will leave him.

They're by the barrens. Richie, Eddie and him. Bill's supposed to pick up Ben and Mike and get there too and Beverly's out of town this weekend, visiting the extended family her aunt left behind in Portland after they moved back here.

Richie's skipping rocks. Failing at skipping rocks. Eddie keeps laughing at him and Richie keeps saying: if you're so fucking good at it, do it, Kaspbrak and Eddie keeps agreeing but doesn't move from where he and Stanley are sitting on a fallen down tree. Stanley wonders why he's always left with them two. Like the universe knows and wants to make fun of him. Remind him he will never have what he wants. Shove it in his face.

"Fuck!" Richie yells, annoyed and throws the rocks he had in his hands at the water and Eddie laughs harder and then moves to give Richie space though there's already enough space so he's kind of just moving closer to Stanley. "I hate these stupid fucking rocks. They're rigged."

"Rocks can't be rigged, Richie," Stanley says. He's still looking at the water. Pretending he's looking at the water. Eyes unfocused.

"Not what your dad said last night," Richie answers. Stanley blinks. There's a comeback somewhere but he's too out of it to think of it.

"Funny," he says instead. Links his fingers together. Wonders why Bill, Ben and Mike haven't gotten here yet.

There's a beat of silence and then Eddie:

"Stan, you ok?"

"Yeah."

"You sure, buddy?" Richie asks. Stanley wants to tell him not to call him that but he feels like he'd be parroting Eddie. He lifts his feet up on the long, rests his chin on his knees. It's not as comfortable as he hoped it would be but shifting again would make him seem nervous. He asks:

"What do you think my mark would be if I had one?" the water is almost louder than him. They don't answer for a moment and he closes his eyes, lifts his hands to the back of his neck. "Forget it," he says. "It doesn't matter."

"What would you like it to be?" Eddie.

Sunflowers.

"I don't know. Birds? I like birds."

"Birds make sense," Eddie agrees, softly. There's shuffling and Richie's sitting on the other side of him. Warm against him. Quiet.

"Yeah, Stan, birds make sense. They're nature and we all have nature marks. That's why we all fit so well," he sounds uncomfortable, no jokes or swear words on his tongue. Stanley gets that. Breathes out.

"I don't," he says and almost hopes they didn't hear him.

That's what this is, he thinks. They are jigsaw pieces and he is a defect in the box so you never complete it. Maybe. Maybe he never makes it to the box and all the puzzle pieces fall together without him there.

"Stanley," they both say. Same tone. Same pity in their voice.

"Forget it," he repeats. Louder. Clearer. Wants them to think he's serious. Doesn't know if he is.

The others show up before they can press any further. He pretends that they would have.

Curled up on Ben’s bed he dreams of flower fields and tree branches and bird cages. Dreams of fingers in his hair and soft voices, dreams of marks and his own shoulders. When he wakes up, Richie’s laying next to him and Eddie’s on the floor, legs crossed under him and Beverly is saying something about music and smoking and revision theory, he thinks, but he’s not sure.

Richie shifts, throws his arm over Stanley’s waist, mumbles, voice tired and heavy:

“Sleep,” like an order and Stanley listens.

Eddie’s head is on his stomach and they’re laying on Stanley’s bed, books in their hands. The hand radio Stanley sneaked from the kitchen is playing some song he’s never heard before. Eddie’s humming along to it, though. Eddie was supposed to go home after they finished studying but they’ve been listening to music for around an hour now. Outside, the sun is setting and they haven’t turned on the light yet. He’ll need to move to do it soon but he’s afraid that Eddie will take it as a sign to go home.

“You’ve been quiet today,” Eddie says bringing him back to reality and Stanley blinks at his ceiling.

“Sorry,” he mutters and feels Eddie lift his head, move up the bed to look at Stanley. He looks worried but also pretty in the low light coming through the window. His features soft, his hair messy. As messy as Eddie lets it get, anyway.

“What’s up?” he asks and Stanley bites the inside of his cheek. He’s in love with him. Has been for years. In love with his laugh and the way he rambles when he’s nervous and in love with his hands that never seem to be warm and in love with the stupid sunflowers on his shoulder blade reminding Stanley that Eddie would never be happy with him, that the only person he will ever need is Richie.

“Nothing,” Stanley answers. Closes his eyes. “I have a headache, that’s all,” he lies. He keeps lying to them. Can’t think of anything else to do.

“Want me to go?” Eddie asks. Soft. Stanley rests the book he was reading, still open, on his chest. Breathes out. Wishes, really hard, that he was selfless enough to say yes. Instead he opens his eyes again and whispers:

“I’d rather you stay,” and tries not to let his breath catch when Eddie lays down next to him, rests his head on Stanley’s shoulder.

“Want me to read to you?” Eddie asks. Stanley swallows, hyper aware of his body and the way his chest is rising and falling with his breathing and the way his skin goes warm where Eddie is touching him, even with their clothes between them.

“Yeah,” Stanley breathes and falls asleep somewhere around the second paragraph.

When he wakes up, Eddie has turned on the light and he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows pressed to his knees, face in his hands.

“Eddie?” Stanley croaks before clearing his throat. “You okay?” Eddie turns to him immediately, small smile on his lips.

“Yeah, of course, just tired. Need to get home before my mom sends out a search party.”

“Oh,” Stanley says, lifts himself up. “Sorry I kept you here for so long.”

“No, I didn’t wanna go home anyway,” Eddie answers and turns away from Stanley. “Have to now, though,” he stands up before Stanley can say anything else. There’s nothing he could really say anyway since all he wants is to ask Eddie to stay and he knows that’s not fair, so. “Goodnight,” Eddie says and walks out of Stanley’s room.

“Goodnight,” Stanley calls after him. Feels like he’s missing something.

There are sunflowers growing on Mike’s farm. There are sunflowers and there’s Richie and Eddie, holding hands and leaning into one another to whisper. And Mike keeps looking at him and he probably understands better than all the others do but still not quite and he doesn’t know, none of them do but he looks at Stanley like it’s obvious, like he has never been subtle about the lack of air in his lungs.

Stanley tries his hardest not to watch them. Says it’s nothing when Mike asks him why he keeps spacing out. Imagines himself with them. Imagines himself in sunflower fields and his hands in theirs and sunlight in their hair and all three of them smiling. He loves them and he swallows it down. Hates sunflowers. Tries to hate sunflowers. Thinks of their shoulder blades and the way they are destined to be together and the way they look surrounded by yellow and feels fond. Hates himself more than anything.

“Show me the vegetables?” he asks Mike, only half fakes interest and is led away from the flowers. Except, of course, he can still see them from anywhere Mike takes him. Like he was always supposed to find them in his vision. Peripheral yet solid, unmoving. He closes his eyes and they’re still there, it seems.

They’re at the back of the school just before classes start, Beverly, Richie and him, smoke escaping their lips as they speak. Richie’s hands are covered in bandaids and he keeps forgetting to flick off the ash and Stanley keeps reminding him, like it matters, and Beverly keeps smiling at them.

“We should just skip bio, no one likes it anyway,” she says to Richie, throws her head back to get imaginary hair out of her eyes. She grew it out to her jaw before she cut it again just a few weeks ago. There’s barely enough to run your fingers through now. Soft red against her pale white skin. She’s pretty and sometimes Stanley thinks about her in that way. About her freckles and blue eyes and the way she smiles when she sees Ben or Bill and then Stanley stops himself. Bites the inside of his cheek. Keeps doing that. Can’t help thinking about Richie, though. His lips and collarbones and his voice and-

And it’s wrong to think of him like this. He has a soulmate. They all do. Most of them found their soulmates and he’s just here, filling space next to them, smoking Beverly’s cigarettes, wishing he was made for them, made for someone- anyone, but he’s not and he needs to come to terms with it before they leave him.

When he starts listening again, they’re talking about something else and he doesn’t know if they decided to skip biology after all. Probably not. They’re all talk these days. Graduation is nearing and there’s no way they’re risking their chance to leave this horrible town. Stanley doesn’t know where he’ll go yet but he knows he will. Derry has nothing to offer after they graduate. It had nothing before that, too.

So they’re making escape plans. Drawing out metaphorical maps on college applications and rent prices and bus tickets. Drawing out paths that have stopped leading their way to each other somewhere around Portland. That’s a lie. They have stopped leading their way to him because he was never meant to be with them. He bites the inside of his cheek. Closes his eyes. Breathes out the last of the cigarette smoke in his lungs and throws the butt at the trashcan.

“Aw, Stan, you fucking suck,” Richie says when he misses and bends to pick it up, throws it out together with his own cigarette. Beverly starts walking back towards the front of the school and Stanley wipes his pants in case they got dirty from him leaning on the wall.

“You suck,” he answers, follows Beverly and Richie catches up in a moment, grins, winks and says, looking way prouder of himself than he should be:

“You bet,” Stanley rolls his eyes, pushes at Richie’s side and Richie grabs his hand to not fall. Stanley waits for him to let go but Richie just squeezes it and keeps walking.

Bill’s waiting for them at the entrance, sitting on the stairs, jacket sleeves pushed back to his elbows and his mark, green as ever, making fun of Stanley in the sunlight.

“Aw, you waiting for us, Billy boy?” Richie asks as Beverly gives him her hand to help him stand up.

“Waiting f-for B-Ben,” Billy answers, rests his hand on Beverly’s waist and Stanley watches Richie roll his eyes.

“Come on, Stanley, let's give these losers time to be affectionate and gross as if they hadn’t seen each other yesterday,” and he pulls Stanley past them towards the doors of the school.

“As if you and Eddie are any better,” Beverly calls after them and Stanley smiles to himself. She’s right but he fears if he said it Richie would be fake offended enough to let go of his hand so he doesn’t.

Eddie’s standing by their lockers, pulling at his shirt collar. He looks nervous and Stanley’s about to ask what’s wrong when Richie says:

“Sup, Eds, missed you,” and leans in to kiss him just to be pushed away.

“Not right after you smoked, asshole,” Eddie says but he doesn’t sound as annoyed as he’d like to.

“But, Eddie, I’ll die,” Richie whines, but he’s moving, letting go of Stanley’s hand to open his locker. Stanley blinks. Looks down at his hand and tries not to feel disappointed. Before he really can, though, Eddie’s rolling his eyes, grabbing Stanley’s hand and saying:

“Come on, Stanley, let's go to class.”

They show up at his window at two am on a school night and they say:

“Sneak out with us.” Well, Richie says it. Eddie’s playing with the zipper of his jacket.

“If my father finds out he’ll murder me,” Stanley tells them but he’s already grabbing a sweater from the floor and jumping into his shoes and opening his window wider to climb out.

They end up driving around, the road illuminated by the streetlights and all the houses they pass dark and silent.

“Really thought you’d put up more of a fight,” Eddie says from the passenger’s seat. They haven’t turned on the radio yet. Stanley quietly hopes they don’t, runs a hand through his hair.

“Me too,” he says and Eddie turns to look at him. For a moment it seems he’s going to say something and then he smiles and Stanley smiles back and Richie speeds up.

They keep doing it. Both of them. They keep grabbing his hand and touching his shoulder while they’re having lunch and running their hands through his hair on Bill’s couch. They keep inviting him places. Keep going to school in Richie’s car with Stanley in the back seat. Keep talking about seeing movies. Keep falling asleep with him and next to him. And Stanley-

Stanley keeps getting lost in it. Keeps thinking about them and about him. Keeps thinking about their lips and his lips and about the way they look when they’re happy and about all the ways he could fit his body in between theirs as they slept. And he keeps wanting to say: stop before I can no longer let go of you two but never does. He thinks it’s probably too late anyway. He was never good at giving up things he wants and he wants this more than anything else.

It’s raining now and he’s sitting on the windowsill in Richie’s room, cigarette in hand. Mike’s on the floor, arms under his head and Ben’s leaning into him, saying something about flowers. Stanley looks at the way Mike watches him and wonders if maybe Mike understands wanting what you can’t have better than he thought. It’s not the same, still, but he wonders and then he turns back to the outside. Most of his cigarette is going to the wind rather than his lungs but he mostly smokes out of habit anyway so it doesn’t matter. Downstairs, Beverly and Bill are trying to pick a movie out of the collection in the living room and Eddie was already in the shower when they all got here, about ten minutes ago. It feels domestic in a way that it shouldn’t. Or exactly in the way it should. He never knows.

Richie walks up to him. Sits on the other side of the window, takes the cigarette out of his fingers and Stanley doesn’t protest like he usually would. The rain has always made him calmer.

“Oy, what you thinking about, chap?” Richie asks. He’s doing one of his voices and Stanley rolls his eyes though he’s not sure Richie can even see his eyes at this angle.

“Soulmates,” he answers, easy, wonders when Bill and Beverly will call them downstairs. Out of the corner of his eye, watches Richie smoke.

“You know it’s all bullshit, right?” he asks, smoke leaving his mouth. Stanley smiles, follows a car driving down the street with his eyes.

“Sure,” he says and bites down the urge to add: you and Eddie look happy.

There’s a pause before Bill is opening the door to Richie’s bedroom, saying:

“We picked a movie if you guys wanna start.” Stanley starts to move to get off the windowsill but Richie turns, cigarette still lifted to his lips.

“You guys go set up and shit, we’ll wait for Eddie,” and Bill nods like it’s a completely normal thing that Stanley waits for Eddie too, like he has always been part of this.

He watches them leave and then he turns back to the street. Mike closes the door behind him. Richie takes another drag of his cigarette. Stanley waits.

“I mean it,” Richie says eventually like nothing happened. “Eddie and I found each other, sure, but everyone makes it out to be this fucking amazing thing where you don’t have to try and you do. We still fight and I still don’t fucking know how to comfort him but I’m learning and every time I do something good it’s the best feeling in the world and you shouldn’t be deprived of that just because you don’t have some bullshit mark because it’s not about that, okay? It’s about loving someone and about trying and if someone loves you it doesn’t matter if you share a mark or not.”

Stanley wants to laugh at how ridiculous all that sounds and he turns to Richie to say as much but then he stops because Richie is looking at him like there’s more he wants to say. And he’s looking at him and Stanley thinks oh like the time he was sixteen and was hit with the realization that he’s in love and he thinks oh again and again and again and all the laughter dies in his chest.

He swallows and then, very quietly, says:

“I have to go,” but Richie grabs at his wrist before he can even move.

“Don’t,” he says, rushed and then: “Please,” and he sounds as desperate as Stanley has felt for years and every part in Stanley’s body is telling him to run. Go home. Hide. Ignore this until it goes away but Richie is still looking at him and his fingers are still wrapped around Stanley’s wrist, gentle. Not really holding him in place, just holding him.

Stanley breathes in. Breathes out.

“Okay,” he says. “But we should probably wait for Eddie.”

Richie snorts and his lips curl in a half smile.

“Yeah,” he says, shakes his head a little. Throws what’s left of the cigarette out the window.

They sit in silence, Richie’s warm fingers on Stanley’s wrist, until Eddie shows up. He opens the door with his hair damp from the steam and one of Richie’s T-shirts clinging to his skin and pants that are probably his, though Stanley’s not sure and Richie blurts:

“I told him,” before Eddie can even say hello to Stanley. Eddie startles for a second and then he rolls his eyes and walks over to Richie’s bed to rest the clothes he was presumably wearing before he showered on the corner of it.

“I fucking knew you’d tell him, trashmouth,” he says, folding the clothes. Stanley wants to ask him to stop, god, this is important but he knows Eddie.

“You didn’t tell me anything,” he says instead. Richie throws him a look.

“I implied it.”

“I guess. Your implication was shit, though,” yet he can hardly hide his smile.

“Hey, you got it and that’s all that matters,” Richie answers. Eddie looks up from his clothes, finally. Rest a hand on his hip. Stanley almost laughs.

“If you two are gonna argue like this,” Eddie says but he breaks into a grin before he can finish, walks towards them. Like all the three of them can do now is smile.

“How long have you been planning this?” Stanley asks and he pushes himself off of the windowsill but stays with his back against it, wind on the back of his neck. Watches the way Eddie leans into Richie and then the way he reaches out his hand for Stanley and Stan goes without thinking about it, presses his hip to Richie’s thigh, his hand in Eddie’s.

“You make it sound like we were conspiring against you,” Richie accuses and Stanley wants to say: You were but Eddie speaks before he can.

“We’ve liked you for a while. Didn’t know if you liked us back so we didn’t- you know. Richie wasn’t supposed to tell you tonight, we were supposed to be alone and somewhere nice but-” he breaks off to look at Richie, nothing but love in his eyes. “but he’s Richie. I don’t know what I was expecting.”

“I’m gay and impulsive, Eddie, you can’t blame” Richie says, throws one of his arms over Eddie’s shoulders. Stanley laughs and then realizes how ridiculous this whole thing is, how they look, next to an open window and Eddie is still wet from the shower and he’ll get sick if they stay here long and he probably knows it but he’s risking it for this and Stanley laughs more, closes his eyes and leans into them.

“I love you,” he says.

“We love you too, Stanley,” Richie says, sincere as ever.

“You’ll get sick if we don’t close the window,” Stanley tells Eddie after a moment, opens his eyes and Eddie is looking at him again, grinning, eyes filled with the same fondness as when he’s looking at Richie and it almost takes Stanley’s breath away but then Eddie is standing on the tips of his toes and putting his hands on Stanley’s face and kissing him and that really takes his breath away.

Richie wolf whistles and they both hit him at the exact same time.

“Aw, you assholes, I could have fallen out the window,” he says but he only sounds fond and Eddie and Stanley pull away and roll their eyes at the exact same time and it makes Stanley laugh again, bubbly happiness rising from his chest.

“We’re closing it,” Eddie says when they’re done grinning at each other and when he moves to do so, Richie jumps off the windowsill, pulls Stanley in for a kiss of his own. He doesn’t need to put effort into reaching him and he keeps his hands on Stanley’s shoulders instead of his face and Stanley thinks he can get used to this. To them. To the ways they’re different and the ways they’re not.

He can’t stop smiling. Even when they’re finally downstairs and watching the movie and he’s sitting between them and Richie keeps making shitty comments and Eddie keeps telling him to shut it. Stanley keeps smiling.

It feels like for the first time since he found out about soulmates, he’s not left yearning. He thinks maybe he was made to be loved after all and then he falls asleep in the middle of them and dreams of sunflowers.

#stozier #reddie #streddie #steddie #idk what the ships name are lmao #words #uh trying my luck on tumblr i guess

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writingwithadinosaur · 7 years

Text

“Dangerous Game” - Requested Oneshot

“Dangerous Game” - Request

The song “Dangerous Game” -

Here

My Masterlist - Here

Edward Nygma x Reader

Word Count: 2222

Key: Y/N = Your Name, L/N = Your Last Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: A bit of violence towards reader, Murder, Cursing, sort of panic attack type thing,

Summary: After an attacker tries to get the reader in an alley, she is introduced to the dangerous game that her boyfriend is a part of.

Your thoughts are in italics, Normal Edward’s thoughts are in [ Brackets ] ,Dark Edward’s thoughts are in { Fancy Brackets }

Author’s Note: I hadn’t listened to the Jekyll and Hyde musical yet, but now I’m in love with it! Thank you so much for this request. I realized that I did it differently from how some song inspired fics go because I haven’t quite figured out how to do them like the others. Also, I got this inspiration at like 1Am, so it may be a bit wonky. But I tried my best!

All of the lyrics I pulled from the song are in bold!

Hope you enjoy! Please let me know how you like it!

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces (All Works, Specific Fandoms, or Specific Multi-Parts), please let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

- DreaSaurusREX

Tags: @high-functioning-fangirl473 @luciebell-writes

You considered yourself a pretty lucky lady. You had a wonderful man to call our own, you had a sustainable job at the local bank, and you lived in Gotham but haven’t had any bad experiences like break ins, attacks, or even as much as a cat calling. Sure you’ve seen it being done to others, it is Gotham after all, but you had never been the victim. That is, until tonight.

You were on your way to go meet your boyfriend for dinner. He had called earlier to try to insist on picking you up from work, but you thought it was ridiculous for him to go out of his way when you two could just meet at the restaurant. You gathered your things and locked your office for the night.

You were about halfway from the restaurant when you felt a painfully strong grip on your shoulder pulling you against the wall of the alley, causing you to hit the back of your head pretty hard. Not enough to do substantial damage, but it definitely was gonna hurt for a while.

It was dark but there was enough light from the lamp post that you could make out a face. It was no one you knew. They were grimey looking and bitter about something. You realized what situation you were in.

He leaned closer until he was inches from your face.

“You Nygma’s bitch?” His breath smelled like cheap beer and cigarettes. You knew better than to answer any questions or do anything he asks. When he doesn’t get a response, he slaps you across the face, pulls you back up, and pushes you hard against the wall, his hand around your throat.

“That’s no way for a lady to behave. Now tell me where the fuck that bastard is!” You tried your hardest not to burst into tears. Instead staying quiet again while tears welled in your eyes and your lip quivered. The man laughed before raising his hand up and getting ready to strike you again. But then a voice stopped him. A familiar voice.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

You looked down the alley to see Edward there, but there was something different about him. He seemed menacing, protective, and yet still creepily calm. That’s when you saw what was in his outstretched arm- A gun. You were in shock by this whole situation. Ed? With a gun? Was he actually going to use that?!

The man pulled you in front of him as a human shield with a knife to your throat. You tried to fight back but to no avail. You ended up looking at Edward, trying to get some sort of sign from him. He was a little bit scared, but he was mostly confident and like he was really ready to shoot.

“You wouldn’t risk the life of your girl, would ya?” You looked at Ed with such fear in your eyes.

Please don’t shoot me by mistake. How good is your aim? Where are you aiming? Are you going to kill him? What the fuck?! Please be careful. Please please-- Your thoughts got cut off my a low chuckle from Edward.

[We can not hurt, (Y/N). You got that?]

{Yeah. I hear ya’. But this asshole is gonna regret fucking with us tonight. Why don’t we play with him for a minute?}

He took a few steps forward before speaking.

“The man who invented it, doesn't want it for himself. A man who bought it, doesn't need it for himself. A man who needs it, like you, sir, doesn't know it when he needs it. What is it?” Edward challenged. You knew the answer. A coffin. But you waited for a response from the man holding you hostage.

Eddie, what are you planning right now? You can’t possibly be thinking of killin-- Your thoughts were cut off again, but this time by the blade of the knife pressing a bit harder on your throat. Not enough to do any damage, just as an intimidation technique. The creep spoke up, obviously annoyed with Edward’s riddle.

“Listen you freak, I don’t fuckin--” That’s as far as his sentence got before a loud bang came from the end of the alley and the creep fell to the floor, a pool of blood flowing around him. You started to freak out, but then felt the familiar embrace of Edward’s arms as he led you back to your apartment.

During the entire walk there, you were so overwhelmed with everything that had just happened. It wasn’t until you both were in your apartment that you realized something. Edward just killed someone. Killed. Murdered. Left him for dead in the alley. What the fuck?! Who is this person?! It was at that time that Ed came back from the kitchen with cups of tea for you two. He put a hand on your shoulder and you instinctively hit his hand away and backed up.

“(Y/N)?! What the--” Before he could get any further, you started talking.

“No! What the fuck just happened in the alley? When the fuck did you become a murderer?! You shot him with no hesitation and even fucking challenged him with a riddle before putting a bullet in his brain! Who the fuck does that?!” You were breathing uncontrollably and panicking. Edward saw this and worried you might pass you.

“(Y/N). You need to breathe. I will explain everything when you get back to breathing normally.” He started to come closer to you, but you fought back.

“NO! You are going to tell me right now. You are going to tell me everything leading up to this shit that I don’t know about. I don’t give a fuck about anything else right now. So start talking.” He knew there was no talking you out of this.

So you stood there while Edward explained to you how he had killed others that had done him wrong like the officer that was abusing Kristen Kringle, or other scum like the guy tonight. He explained everything.

“I promise that that is everything, princess. There are no more secrets.” You stood in stunned silence for a moment before starting to pace a bit, Edward knew where this was going. Whenever you needed to think things out loud, you paced exactly like this. And it wasn’t surprising that you needed to think after this new information.

The frightened princess doesn’t know what to do

You paced and started to think. You decided to not think out loud this time It was just the two of you, pacing and sitting in silence. You would look at him every so often and always be met with his eyes. He was watching you with worry written all over his face. No one speaks. Not one word. But what words are in our eyes. Silence speaks. Loud and clear. All the words we (don't) want to hear!

My sweet Edward, a murderer? He doesn’t seem like one, but he is. And part of me isn’t upset about it. He isn’t murdering people for fun. He does it for protection. But this is such a thin line that he is walking on. He works for the fuckin mayor of Gotham. He can’t expect to get away with this.

Well, Oswald Cobblepot is the mayor. And he has a rough background. I’m sure his office isn’t full of goody two shoes and perfect people. I’m sure it’s corrupt. This is Gotham.

Edward is good. He has always been good to you. He is doing this for the greater good. Could you really accept his new role in this game? Edward’s odds are better with you by his side, and maybe this could be beneficial for you too… It’s a dangerous game.

Edward was watching you. You hadn’t said a word. He was actually scared of what the outcome would be. He wanted you. He couldn’t see a life without you. But he knew that what he did, what he does, is not something that is easily accepted. Him and his other side began to have a conversation in his head.

[Will the ghosts go away? Will she will them to stay?]

{No. She knows too much. She’ll report you to the GCPD. You’ll go back to Arkham. Do you want that?}

[No. But I can’t stop her. I love her.]

{But she won’t love you. She is probably thinking of how to escape right now. You really think she is going to stay with you after learning that you are a murderer?}

[I can only hope. She knows how corrupt this city is. She knows I work with Oswald, King of Corruption. She knows I am not a heartless person. I can only wait to hear her response. Then we’ll take it from there.]

{A darker dream, That has no ending, That's so unreal, You believe that it's true?}

[I have to think that she will stay. I have to…]

{Fine. Then ask her what her decision is. If she doesn’t stay with us and stay quiet, you let me take her down. But who knows, maybe she has her own malicious side…}

Edward ended that conversation and tried to start a real one with you.

“(Y/N)? Please tell me what you’re thinking. I can’t read minds.” You stop pacing and shake your head, confused by your mind.

“All I know is I'm lost and I'm counting the cost. My emotions are in a spin! I don't know who to blame, you or the city or the people in this city.” You pause and see Edward look down. He thinks he’s about to lose you because of this. You think of how much you love him.

“I love you, Edward.” He studied your face, looking for any sign of you joking with him, but found nothing but seriousness. He stood up and started to walk towards you but stopped a couple feet away, knowing you weren’t done talking. You reach and grab one of his hands.

“At the touch of your hand, at the sound of your voice at the moment your eyes meet mine, I am losing my mind, I am losing control, fighting feelings I can't define! And even though I can’t define how I feel about all of this, I’m with you. I love you, Edward Nygma. I--”

Before your could continue, he grabbed your face and kissed you. It was a rougher type of kiss, one of relief and fear. He truly feared he would lose you tonight. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he snaked his arms around your waist, pulling you to be flush with his body. You kisses became more heavy and passionate. He pulled away for a minute to speak.

“I love you so much, (Y/N). I never want to lose you and I promise I will do everything I can and more to keep you happy and safe and--” Now it was your turn to cut him off.

“Shush. Now. I mean it. Shut up and kiss me.” He smiled a big, true smile and gladly obeyed your command. His lips crashed against yours and you were soon fighting for dominance. You started to laugh a bit as you two were kissing, Edward pulled away and gave you a questioning look. You had this new look growing in your eyes that he had never seen before.

“What’s so funny, princess?” He honestly didn’t want to stop kissing you, so he just began leaving a trail of kisses and nibbles down your neck. You gasped at the pleasurable pain from his bites, but still admitted what was on your mind.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to finally snap and take down another person…” You were smiling a mischievous smile.

Edward froze. He slowly brought his face to be level with yours, searching for any signs of fooling around, but found none.

{Wow. She is actually perfect for you, freak.}

[I know.]

“You’re not just saying that, right?” Edward was honestly cautious about being messed with. But you put a hand on his cheek and looked him dead in the eye.

“I mean it. I’ve had some people in my life that I’ve imagined throwing off a building or stabbing or--” You were cut off by Edward’s lips again. His kisses were desperate and almost thankful. You just smiled into the kisses.

Edward pulled you closer to him, you got so lost in the moment that you didn’t notice you were moving until you were pinned against the wall. Edward’s kisses traveling down from your lips to your cheek to your neck. He began to leave his mark there, earning a moan from you. You then began to chuckle a bit. Edward moved so he was facing you again.

Before he could say anything, you laced your fingers through the hair on the back of his head and pulled him to your lips. You began making him walk while never breaking the kiss, leading him to your bedroom for some fun and games.

“It's a sin with no name -

No remorse and no shame -

Fire, fury and flame -

Cos the devil's to blame

And the angels proclaim

It’s a dangerous game!”

#edward nygma x reader #edward nygma imagine #ed x reader #edward x reader #the riddler x reader #the riddler imagine #gotham fanfiction #gotham imagine #gotham fic #songfic

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