#and eddie is SICK of hearing him run his mouth to the point he almost thinks of letting him go

[loserharrington]

Mermaid King Steve who has a hefty bounty on his head due to his crimes of killing sailors who get too close to his kingdom

gets captured by pirate Captain Eddie who’s in desperate need of that money

They’re at each others throats instantly because Steve wouldn’t allow himself to be captured without a fight and Eddie refuses to be humiliated in front of his crew.

But somehow along the way they see things in each other no one else has seen, and by the time they get back to land, maybe Eddie is second guessing turning him in…

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Part two to this story

After Jason's cruel display and your identity of Eddie's admirer being public knowledge, you're sure he will be disgusted. He hates you and your friends doesn't he?

Turns out you're in for a big surprise.

Minors shoo! Angst, fluff, sweet Eddie and reader taking no shit.

If you have any requests then send me an ask. My request rules are in my pinned post ❤️

🎀💌

Hellfire Slut. The words had practically burned into your brain as you tossed and turned in bed. Jason's cruelty was nothing new but you didn't think he'd ever go this far.

It was bad enough that Eddie's best friend had caught you in the act of delivering the notes and the thought he could spill all to Eddie, you didn't expect your secret to come out in such a public way.

The notes that you had poured your heart to Eddie had been clear to see by everyone and you felt sick to your stomach. You didn't care that people knew you were smitten with Eddie, it was the fact that he was probably disgusted that you had feelings for him.

You dreaded going to school but you knew you had to face Eddie and Jason at some point. It didn't stop nightmares plaguing your mind all night about what would happen come first period.

...

Homeroom was the first thing today before any other classes, you try not to draw attention to yourself as you slide into a seat at the back of class. However it feels like all eyes are on you today, Chrissy takes the seat beside you and holds your hand giving it a tight squeeze, it makes you feel a tiny bit better.

Mrs Jones isn't in class yet so chatter buzzes around you incessantly, your skin tingles as you feel Eddie's gaze on you a few times, try not to look up into those pretty brown eyes.

One of Jason's friends called Tyler smirks at you, he's sitting beside Jason and says loudly for all to hear. "So little miss perfect likes a freak in the sheets huh? Who would have thought?" there's a little ripple of laughter that's quelled by Chrissy's vicious glare. She's normally a sweetie so swing her pissed shut everyone up.

Ignore him. Just ignore him you chant in your head but he still continues. "You know I was going to ask you out but fuck that. You're a dumb little bitch"

There's a collective silence as you hear Eddie's metal lunchbox drop to the floor. To your surprise he's glaring daggers at Tyler, you also notice that his knuckles are bruised. What the hell happened?

"Oooh you're in luck sweetcheeks, maybe Munson likes you back and the two of you can be freaks together"

You're fraying control over being calm snaps. Screw this. You weren't going to sit and let him run his mouth or let anyone like him or Jason make you cry again.

"You can admit to everyone you're jealous Tyler it's okay. We all heard about the little problem you have, Stacy told us all about how disappointing you are" you fake a sympathetic smile at him and his eyes nearly bug out of his sockets.

Jason looks ready to say something but you don't give the satisfaction of listening to the bullshit he says. "I couldn't be less interested in what you have to say Carver, you're a pathetic, nasty little worm"

While sassing Jason you miss the look of awe on Eddie's face. Gareth snorts at Eddie's stunned look.

"Dude, I really do think I'm in love" Eddie murmurs sounding almost reverent. Gareth sighs. Maybe now Eddie knew it was you that sent the notes the two of you could get together and he could get a minute of peace.

Meanwhile you lean back in your seat relieved as Mrs Jones comes in. There's still a question that's nagging at you though.

"Chrissy, why are Eddie's knuckles bruised?"and that's when Chrissy launches into the tale of how Eddie punched Jason after you left yesterday.

Hearing this makes a small bubble of hope build up inside of you. Maybe just maybe Eddie feeling the same for you might not be as hopeless as you first thought.

...

After a few fruitless attempts Eddie manages to track you down as you're coming out of cheer practice with Chrissy. She gives you an impish, knowing smile as she leaves you and Eddie to talk.

Telling Jason and Tyler what you thought about them made you feel a little bit better for a while, boosted your shattered confidence but now Eddie was around and you could feel that confidence crack.

What was he about to say? Was he going to tell you he was disgusted?

"You don't have to be nervous princess" you feel your nerves dissipate at his soothing tone.

"I know you thought the notes were a joke but they aren't Eddie, I've really fallen for you. I was crushing on you for such a long time. That's why I wrote the notes in the first place, I was worried if I told you in person that you would be disappointed" the words all come out in a rush and you feel relieved getting it all out.

He shakes his head. "I mean I would have been surprised but the way you spoke in the notes...how could you ever think I'd ever be disappointed sweetheart?" His words fill you with hope, a warm and fuzzy feeling in your chest.

"You know because I'm from the dark side" you murmur and he frowns. His hand reaches out to hold yours and you wince at the bruising on his knuckles.

"You didn't need to do that Eddie, I don't want you hurt" he shrugs as if it's no big deal.

"It was worth it. You're worth it"

Eddie gently takes your hand and kisses it, "I fell in love with you through what you said sweetheart, I want to know all about you. I don't give a fuck about who you're friends with or if you're part of the dark side. I just want to be with you".

A slow smile works it's way on your face and you lean forward and kiss him, continue kissing him until you're both a little dazed and smiling goofily at each other.

"Uh maybe we could go out for Milkshakes after school, if you want princess?" you nod feeling the bubble of excitement in your belly.

After all that worrying you were going on your first date with Eddie and you couldn't wait.

Maybe happy endings were possible after all ❤️

[loveinhawkins]

Part 1 Part 2

Behind him, Eddie hears the others beginning to stir. The illusion, the foolish hope that he could just keep driving alone with Steve, that he could have all the time in the world to fix this shatters in a matter of seconds: Nancy’s light tread approaches and, as he reaches an intersection, it’s like he can already hear a clock beginning to tick.

“Why… why are we going this way?”

And, God, Eddie is so damn grateful for Nancy Wheeler: she’s tactful, keeps her voice down, as if she already suspects something. Hell, she must do; if Eddie can recall directions to Steve’s house, she’ll definitely sense where they’re heading.

Another stop light. Straight ahead after this, then…

Eddie glances to the side, just in time to see Nancy’s eyes widen as she looks at Steve.

She whispers his name.

Steve gives the subtlest shake of his head.

Eddie has to look away—it’s an intimate exchange, yes, but it’s not romantic, that’s not why he can’t bear it. It’s the fact that they’re so clearly sharing last-minute signals, silent communication only created by going through hell over and over again, and it makes him feel sick that he now knows what their expressions mean. Their doomsday looks.

When he pulls up to Steve’s driveway, he hears various murmurs of confusion—Dustin is the loudest.

Steve claps his hands and everyone falls abruptly silent.

“Okay!” he says, rising from his seat, and he sounds determined, almost up-beat; Christ, Eddie doesn’t know how he manages it. “Sinclairs, Mayfield, Henderson, you’re all with me. We’ll be in and out, got it?”

He heads out of the RV with purpose. Save for Eddie and Nancy, everyone is looking at each other with wide eyes and furrowed brows. Robin opens her mouth, but before she can say anything, Steve calls from outside, “Hello? Come on, let’s go!” and it sounds so normal, like they’re just running late for school or something.

I might not have known, Eddie thinks, with a creeping horror. If I had slept instead… fuck, why are you such a good actor, Steve?

Erica leads the way out, prompting the others to follow; Eddie hears frantic whispers that he can’t decipher, Max lifting up one side of her headphones so she can hear as Dustin and Lucas crowd close to her, hopping outside and heading to the house.

Robin moves to the RV door, but Nancy stops her.

“Robin, stay here. I need to talk to you,” she says firmly, and it sounds like Code Red. She fixes Eddie with a pointed look and nods towards the house, like it’s not even a question that Eddie should go after Steve.

So, he does. Of course he does.

He finds them all in the kitchen, voices echoing, rebounding off the high ceiling.

“What are we doing?” Lucas says.

The kids have formed a little group by the counter, staring as Steve opens cupboards, his back to them.

“Want some back-up alcohol for Operation Flambé,” Steve says easily, “just in case.”

It could almost work, Eddie thinks. He can hear the clinking of glass as Steve methodically pulls bottles off the shelves—that is what he’s doing, so it’s not exactly a lie. Not yet. But he looks at the growing frowns of shrewd kids that are too used to waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Steve must sense it, too, because he stops collecting bottles, turns round to face them. He gets closer, rests his hands on the counter. The pretense drops.

“...Steve?” Erica says.

“You guys trust me, right?”

Eddie doesn't answer; he knows it's not directed towards him. He watches as the rest nod as one. Steve takes a deep breath.

“This is the deal, non-negotiable, okay? I don’t ask much from you, so, y’know. Figure you owe me one.” He’s smiling again, his tone flippant; he’s trying so hard to make it easy for them. Eddie digs his fingernails into his palms. “Here’s your jobs for tonight: you stay right here. Eat some food, put on a movie, I don't care. Just no moving.” He points at Max. “You keep that Walkman on. I've got... see that cabinet, by the T.V? Got some tapes in there, Hounds of Love is on the... third row, I think? Yeah, see the purple? If your one wears out, you've got a back-up.”

They just stare at him. Relief sweeps through Lucas’s and Max’s shoulders, even as they stand rigid with tension, like they’re at war with themselves. Like they feel ashamed at the instinct to stay safe. Christ, they’re all just too young, far too young for any of this.

And so are you, Eddie thinks fiercely, as he watches Steve sweep past them, going up the stairs two at a time. So are you.

Dustin snaps out of it first. He moves forward, voice sharp and urgent, “Steve? Steve!” He barges past Eddie like he isn't even there, then thunders up the stairs.

Eddie follows.

He hears the tail-end of Max saying, “Lucas, he's... I can't feel him anymore. Why can't I—?” Then, he reaches the top of the stairs, heads to what must be Steve’s bedroom. He hovers in the doorway.

“—not even going to look at me?” Dustin is asking.

Steve doesn't answer. He's rooting around one of his drawers, distractedly pulls out a cassette, puts it into his jeans pocket. Eddie sees the horrible moment where it clicks for Dustin—of course, it barely takes half a second, kid's as smart as a whip. All the colour drains from his face.

“Steve,” he says. “You can't just—this isn't how we do things.”

“I'm older than you,” Steve returns. “I'm pulling rank for once, Henderson.” He's pinching the bridge of his nose harshly, still not looking at Dustin.

Dustin laughs. It’s an awful sound, his voice cracking with vulnerability. “Seriously? Fuck you.”

Eddie can’t stand it, feels like he’s intruding on something deeply private.

Steve sniffs, starts to head for the door.

“If—if you leave, I’m never speaking to you again,” Dustin says.

“Okay,” Steve says gently.

Dustin reels from the word as if struck. His eyes fill with furious tears. “I hate you.”

“Dustin,” Eddie says quietly, even though he knows that Dustin doesn’t mean it; it’s obvious that he doesn't mean it. It’s a tactic Eddie is all too familiar with: to say the most hurtful thing you can think of, just to make the other person lash out—because even if they’re angry with you, at least they’ve stayed.

Make sure Dustin doesn’t see, Steve had said. The reason is clear. Because Dustin’s eyes are full of something wild and desperate, like he would follow Steve anywhere.

I can't let that happen, Eddie realises. Steve’s almost at the doorway, and from here Eddie can see him angrily swipe a tear off his cheek, out of Dustin’s view. It would break him.

Steve turns, finally looks back. “It’s okay, Dustin,” he says, soft and kind. Kind until the end. “It's okay.”

And then he leaves.

“Eddie,” Dustin whispers. “Please.”

“I'm sorry,” Eddie says. It's all he can say. “Dustin, I’m so fucking sorry.”

It's torture, seeing the flash of hurt and betrayal across Dustin’s face. He storms out, catches Eddie's chest with his elbow.

Make sure Dustin doesn’t see.

Dustin might be fast, but Eddie is faster; at the foot of the stairs, he easily darts in front. With long, quick strides, he reaches the RV, sees that Nancy, Robin and Steve are already inside, and he locks the door, runs to the driver’s seat. Dustin is a second too late, pounding on the glass. Eddie has never heard someone scream like that before.

He glances behind as he reverses. Steve sits directly on the floor, his head in his hands; Robin is rubbing his back, murmuring something to him.

Eddie speeds away. His last sight of Dustin is in the wing mirror, trying to run after them, only stopping when it’s clearly hopeless.

“Fuck,” Steve whispers, and then he dry heaves.

“I've got water,” Robin says frantically. “Here, here, slow sips.”

There's a gentle hand on Eddie's shoulder. Nancy.

“Where...” Eddie clears his throat. “Where to, Wheeler?”

“Your trailer,” she says, and it sounds like something else again, like thank you and I'm sorry all at once.

He doesn’t talk for the whole drive there. The others keep up the conversation, Eddie straining to hear every noise Steve makes, inwardly pleading that he never falls silent. The plan is hastily amended: the extra alcohol Steve has brought means that they can split their supplies, leaving some for Vecna and some for deterring the bats and vines. He nods when Robin asks if there’s a tape deck in his room, which settles it: he will stay with Steve in the trailer, and… wait.

They don’t mention the word bait, but Eddie can hear it anyway.

Once he’s parked, Robin and Nancy get out first, carrying the drinks and weapons. When he gets out of his seat, he finds that Steve is still halfway to standing, swaying slightly, as if sea-sick.

“Woah, woah, hey,” Eddie says quickly, and he carefully pulls Steve up with one hand. Steve’s palm is damp with cold sweat, his pulse jumping rapidly in his neck, feverish. “Still with me?”

Steve’s eyes dart around before settling on Eddie.

What are you seeing? Eddie thinks, his own heart beating faster at the unknown he isn’t privy to. Let me in. Let me help.

But all Steve says is, “Get ready to duck out the way, man, feel like m’gonna throw up.”

Eddie squeezes his hand. “You’re good, I was kinda thinking my shirt should be a different colour.”

Steve wrinkles his nose, chuckles weakly. “Gross.”

He drops Eddie’s hand and climbs out of the RV. Eddie stays close, ready to catch him if he so much as stumbles.

In the trailer, Robin and Nancy wait by the makeshift rope. Steve’s posture straightens as they look at him, as if to say, See? Don’t worry about me.

“Give him hell, Nance,” he says.

Nancy nods. “See you when we get back,” she says, her tone firm. She catches Eddie’s eye, and the intent is clear: Look after him.

Eddie nods back. Always.

Robin’s lips are trembling; she’s trying to fight it, but it’s there all the same.

“Come on, Rob,” Steve says, through another one of his smiles, but his voice tightens, like he might break down if he’s shown an ounce of sympathy. And when he gives her a little wave, it’s like Eddie can see the routine of it, like Steve is simply bidding Robin goodbye after dropping her off somewhere. “See you soon.”

Robin doesn’t hug him, even though she’s clearly desperate to; must have noticed, just as Eddie did, that it would make this even harder still for Steve. Instead, she gives a joking little salute, like a sailor, and there must be something in that, because Steve lets out a choked laugh, and they all pretend that it doesn’t resemble a sob.

The girls climb the rope quickly, and by the time Eddie has turned back after having watched them leave, Steve has already headed for Eddie’s room, presumably looking for the tape deck.

But when Eddie hurriedly follows him, there’s no music playing, and Steve is sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“Don’t you want your music on for a bit?”

Steve shakes his head, then nods in the direction of the gate. “Wanna start the distraction as soon as possible,” he says, “give them the best shot.”

The distraction. Like he isn’t risking everything, like he’s just feigning a move on the goddamn basketball court.

“Okay,” Eddie says placatingly. He sits down opposite Steve, close enough that their knees bump. “Sorry, I should’ve vacuumed.”

Steve laughs, but it breaks off at the end. “Y-yeah, where’s the welcoming…” His voice fails and he sighs shakily. “Sorry, Eddie, I—I’m just. I’m really fucking scared.”

He sounds embarrassed. Eddie reaches for his hand, and Steve clings on in a tight grip, like he’s drowning.

“Jesus Christ, Steve, don’t be sorry. Don’t you dare.”

“That a threat, Munson?”

“You know what? Sure. Thought you could do with some more pressure.”

Steve gives a lovely, tender little smile. “Hey. Thanks. For… everything.”

Eddie shakes his head in disbelief. “Are you kidding? I haven’t fucking done anything. This is all you, Harrington.”

And Steve is laughing softly, really laughing, and he says, “Don’t bullshit—”

And his eyes roll back, the irises suddenly clouded over, and his hand becomes slack in Eddie’s grip.

Eddie has to force himself not to scream, not to jolt back; he thinks he might be sick, and the only thing stopping that outcome is the fact that Steve needs him. He barely counts to three inside his head, remembering Chrissy, how quick it all was, and he’s standing, tripping over his own feet.

“Right, I’m calling it,” he says, his chest tight, “long enough fucking distraction, they’ll already be at the—”

And he stops.

Because the tape deck doesn’t have anything inside. Because, next to it, is the plastic cassette case that was once in Steve’s pocket.

And it’s empty.

He pictures Steve back at his house, distractedly picking it up, focused on reassuring Dustin; Steve not realising his mistake until he had walked into Eddie’s bedroom and gone to put the tape in. Steve going ahead with it anyway, all while knowing…

“No,” Eddie breathes, “no, no, no.” He dives for the case, but the paper sleeve inside is worn beyond all recognition; he has no idea what the song could have been, even what album it came from. He grabs the closest tape he can find, ramming it in, and suddenly thinks Robin’s assessment of his music was more than accurate. Seriously, what is all this shit?

“Come on!” he shouts, and cranks the volume up as far as it will go.

When he turns back around, Steve is already floating.

Eddie can hardly hear over the roar of the music, but he feels the scream tear at his throat; he’s useless, he’s fucking useless, it’s Chrissy all over again—

One leg snaps. He screams again, screams Steve’s name. Then an arm begins to shake, to twist unnaturally at the elbow, and—

And Steve falls. Eddie lunges to catch him, and his heart both leaps and breaks at Steve’s cry of pain. You’re here, you’re here, you’re here.

“Steve, Steve, hey, hey, hey, try not to move,” he says, “you’re okay, you’re okay.”

Steve jerks, then vomits, the bile black with blood.

“All right, that’s fine,” Eddie babbles. “Just a little blood, you’re doing good, you’re—”

His hand brushes Steve’s side, comes away wet. The wounds on his stomach have reopened, as if something else has clawed at them.

“I can’t,” Steve gasps, “I can’t feel you.”

“I’m right here! Hey, Steve? Steve, look at me, I’m right—stop, stop, don’t move, you’re gonna be—”

“Eddie, I don’t want to go,” Steve says, and he’s sobbing, “I don’t want to die, I don’t want to—”

“You’re not dying. You’re not—Steve, Steve, just look at me, stay with me—”

But Steve just shakes in Eddie’s arms, and he throws up again, each breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps.

Fuck, he can’t breathe.

And then, it’s very quiet.

“Steve? Steve.”

Eddie looks down. Steve’s eyes are fixed, glassy. His chest is still.

The trailer splits. Jagged lines in both directions, one from the gate, one from Eddie’s room, burning red. Eddie runs out without consciously thinking about it, holding onto Steve, cradling his head.

“Oh my god. Oh my god.” The words are ripped out of his chest, his voice turned into something unrecognisable, so pained that it’s almost rendered inhuman.

He’s gone, Eddie thinks numbly.

His grip on the world fades, awareness only breaking through in fleeting impressions. Nancy and Robin’s faces. Screaming. Nancy saying, “Eddie, you have to let him go—”

He’s gone.

He comes back to himself in a crowded hospital corridor. Robin is reaching for him, and she’s crying, saying his name, but he moves away before she can touch him. He doesn’t deserve her kindness; Steve should be standing here, should be falling into her embrace—

He’s gone.

And then, he’s in a bathroom, thrusting his hands under scorching water. Red and black stains the sink. Blood. Steve’s blood.

The door bangs open. Dustin is standing before him. There are several cuts on his face, and he’s gasping and clutching his side like he ran all the way here. Maybe he did.

“Eddie,” he says, and it’s in that tone, the one Eddie heard when he was trembling in the boathouse, the one that shocked him to his core. Because it sounded like, Yeah, I’m the younger one, so what? I’m still going to protect you.

In hearing that, Eddie knows that he has already been forgiven. Because Dustin’s love is like what Steve’s had been: fierce and unconditional.

Eddie tries to take a breath—it comes out in a ragged, wet exhale. “I-I’m sorry, I couldn’t—I tried—”

And then words fail him completely. He can’t stop the tears once they’ve started; and there, chest heaving with grief, he falls apart in Dustin Henderson’s arms.

[clusterbuck]

what a beautiful feeling

6x06 coda

hen keeps waiting for the regret to hit, but it never comes.

not when she calls dr simmons to officially withdraw from medical school. not when she drives over to talk to bobby, and he breaks into a grin before she can even finish her first sentence. not even when she folds her lab coat into her wardrobe knowing that it’s the last time she’ll ever do so.

she keeps waiting for the regret to hit, but—

there isn’t anything hen regrets.

it had been surprisingly easy, all of it. from the moment she’d thrown the transfer papers in the kitchen garbage, everything has just been—easy.

bobby gave her a couple of weeks off before coming back to the firehouse, time to spend with karen while she heals, and it’s been so easy. lazy mornings in bed while toni takes denny to school, mindful of where karen’s body is still knitting itself together but eager to celebrate the fact that she’s alive, that they’re both alive and together and ready to face as many tomorrows as the universe is willing to give them. slow afternoons in the living room, making fun of daytime television and playing every boardgame in the house; karen backseat-cooking from the sofa as hen makes them a late lunch, insisting that she’s chopping the vegetables wrong as if it isn’t a dish hen brought into their marriage in the first place.

even now, obnoxiously early on the morning of her first day back at the firehouse, it’s easy. her alarm goes off and she rolls over, turning to karen, burying her face in her shoulder. karen laughs, soft and sleep-muffled, and presses her lips to hen’s temple. “vacation’s over,” she murmurs. “back to reality.”

“for some of us,” hen says. “you still have two weeks of sick leave.”

“god, i know,” karen groans. “i don’t know what i’m gonna do with myself.”

“be grateful you’re not pulling twenty-fours,” hen says, breaking into a yawn halfway through. “just when i’d gotten into a normal circadian rhythm, too.”

“normal is overrated,” karen says, nudging hen’s shoulder. “come on. i’ll put the coffee on.”

“you’re—” hen starts, and karen cuts her off with a kiss.

“not on strict bed rest anymore,” she says. “i’m supposed to be on my feet now. it’s good for me.”

“i know,” hen says, reaching up to rest her hand against karen’s cheek, her thumb running gently under karen’s eye. “i know, but—”

“but i’ll be careful,” karen finishes. “i promise. i’ll sit down as soon as i get tired.”

“before you get tired,” hen says, and karen huffs and rolls her eyes and turns her head to press her lips against hen’s palm.

“fine,” she murmurs. “before i get tired.”

“doctor’s orders,” hen says. “or—paramedic’s orders, really.”

karen hums, settling her hand on hen’s waist. “i wasn’t going to tell you when you were going full tilt in med school, but i think paramedic is much sexier.”

“yeah?” hen grins, leaning in closer, and—

the second alarm she’d set to make sure she gets out of bed on time goes off, and hen sighs.

“later,” she murmurs, reaching up to press a kiss to karen’s mouth. “after my shift.”

“you’ll be tired,” karen points out. “first shift back.”

“not too tired for you,” hen promises.

she drives to the firehouse feeling giddy, like she’s flying down the peak of a rollercoaster instead of inching through LA morning rush hour. she pulls into the employee parking lot just as chimney’s climbing out of his car, and when she sees him she grins so wide she can feel the dry skin of her lower lip crack. he grins back, holding his arms out as he walks towards her, and when she sinks against him she hears the sounds of buck and eddie cheering somewhere behind them.

she walks into the app bay with chimney at her side, buck and eddie falling into step with them, and looks up to see bobby standing at the loft railing holding a banner that says welcome home and a smile almost as wide.

and she’s known it this whole time, has known it all along, but certainty spreads through her body warm like the burn of whisky on a winter’s day.

there isn’t anything hen regrets.

[forget-you-morelike-fuck-you]

Sweet Child O' Mine- E.M.

Eddie and Y/N have been trying to have a baby for a long time. When it finally happens, you simply can't believe it.

Masterlist

Prequel

TW- cursing, innuendo, body talk, pregnancy, birth, mentions of bodily fluids, angst, fluff

Pairings- Eddie x Reader

Word Count- 3,645

(Gif not mine, credit to owner!)

You let out a breath, bracing yourself as you lift the blue stick up to your face, looking in the little window. A pink plus sign looks back at you, making you lift your hand to your mouth as you let out a gasp. You can’t believe what you’re seeing. Before you can even blink, hot tears are rolling down your face.

You and Eddie had been trying to get pregnant for over a year. You tracked your ovulation cycles, meticulously planning your “fun time” schedule around when you knew you’d be most fertile. You even looked into getting IVF treatments if your fertility problems continued. But every month without fail, you’d wake up one morning to discover blood in the toilet, crushing your hope for another few weeks. Until now.

You didn’t tell Eddie that you were late, or that you had been feeling queasy the past few days. You didn’t want to get his hopes up, but after an extra week after your period was supposed to start, you smuggled a dollar store pregnancy test into your home in your purse one night after work. It pained you to wait until the morning, but you knew that’s when you’d get the most accurate reading.

You think about waiting to surprise Eddie, maybe wrap the test as a gift to give to him, but you know you won’t be able to hide your excitement. “EDDIE!” You yell. You hear running footsteps and the door slams open, Eddie standing, his eyes wide, looking at you like he just got shot.

“What baby, are you okay? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He rushes to you, not processing the sight of you sitting on the toilet with the test in your hand.

“No, no, I’m fine, baby! Look.” You turn the test to him, holding it out. He tries to process what he’s seeing, and when it finally clicks, he shoots his eyes up to yours, already welling with tears.

“We’re gonna have a baby?” He asks, the hope in his eyes shining as you nod.

“We’re gonna have a baby!” You exclaim. He puts the test aside on the bathroom counter and you both go to hold each other’s faces, foreheads pressed together tightly as you both cry and laugh.

“We’re gonna be parents…” Eddie whispers, not believing what’s happening. He pulls away and picks up the test again, just to make sure he’s not going crazy. He stands up and jumps, pumping a fist into the air. “We’re gonna be fucking parents!”

You get in to see an OBG-YN as soon as you can for confirmation. Eddie stands up at your head, holding your hand tightly in both of his as the doctor works on the transvaginal ultrasound, looking to you, then to the screen, looking for a fetus. The doctor sits up, pointing to a little blurry blob on the screen. “That,” She says, smiling, “is your baby. Congratulations!” You both begin crying again, and Eddie leans down to press a hard, sweet kiss to your lips.

The first few weeks are hard. You can barely keep anything down and it pains Eddie to see you like this, hunched over the toilet, retching after almost every meal. He holds your hair up, rubbing circles on your back as he whispers sweet nothings to help you get through each episode. “The morning sickness will be over in just a couple more weeks, princess. I’m right here, I’ve got you, pretty.” It helps, it really does, but it’s still so overwhelming as you dry heave so hard you choke. After you’re done, he prepares your toothbrush and a little cup of mouthwash for you, then he holds you for a long time, keeping you curled in his arms as he smooths your hair and rubs your tummy.

Telling Uncle Wayne and your parents is an exciting day. You wanted to wait until you hit the 12-week mark, everything before being the most volatile time for a pregnancy. You invite them all over for dinner and you hand them gifts when you’re finished eating, your mom and dad screaming in excitement when they see the “World’s Greatest Grandparents” t-shirts. Wayne starts crying, holding his hand over his mouth as he opens his. His says “World’s Greatest Grandpa,” too, like your dad’s. Wayne holds Eddie tight to his chest in a bone-crushing hug for a few minutes after that, and you’re so touched that even though Eddie’s biological dad doesn’t get to experience the joy if having a grandchild, Eddie has someone that he can go to for parenting advice, because you know that Eddie thinks of Wayne as his dad, and Wayne thinks of Eddie as a son. There’s a group hug, lots of crying, and then dessert, which has to be cut short as you sprint to the bathroom. Eddie says the goodbyes for the both of you before coming to help you as he always does.

At about week 18, your morning sickness stops, but your cravings become so intense you can’t even stand to eat anything else. Eddie tries to keep up, but sometimes he’ll forget you’ve moved on to something else and when he presents you with pretzels instead of chicken nuggets, your newest craving, you break down and cry like he’s just insulted you. You don’t know why you’re crying; you don’t want to be crying, but you can’t stop the heavy sobs racking your chest. “I’m so-or-ry Ed-die! I’m just so-o stressed o-ou-ut!” Eddie can’t help but let out a chuckle at your ridiculous crying episode, pressing kisses to your hair as you sob into his chest.

“It’s okay, sweet pea. I’ve got you. I’ll get you some chicken nuggets.” He promises. You look up at him, eyes bleary, your breaths still shuddering.

“R-really?” He doesn’t like see you cry, but you really do just look like a cute little kid with your puppy-dog eyes.

“Yes, princess, I’ll go get my keys now.” You’re so touched that you start crying again, trembling breaths turning back into throaty sobs.

“Thank—you—baby! I-I love you- s-o mu-u-uch!” You get out between sobs.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, I love you too. We gotta take care of the little one, right?” He rationalizes. You simply nod into his chest, and he holds you tight until he can calm you down, then he grabs his wallet and keys and starts his mission to the nearest McDonald’s.

“Eddie!” you call before he opens the door. He looks back at you, your lip stuck out and trembling as a few hot tears begin to fall again.

“Yes, my love?”

“Can I have a strawberry milkshake too, please?” You ask, wiping your eyes. He gives a laugh, a sympathetic smile pulling at his lips.

“Of course, baby. I’ll get you a milkshake too.”

The day of your baby shower, around 23 weeks in, all of your closest friends are gathered in the living room of your home. Nancy, Robin, Steve, Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Max, Gareth, your parents, and Wayne. You’re all laughing as you play the little party games you planned. Pin the diaper on the baby is the favorite, Dustin getting so dizzy as Eddie spins him around, he falls flat on his face. After the games, it’s time to open gifts, and you cry at pretty much everything. Your parents brought you car seat, Wayne brought a bunch of baby toys and books, and the kids all pitched in to get you guys a diaper bag filled with essentials. Gareth brought some baby clothes, most notably a onesie that says “My Daddy is a Rock Star” and another, custom made, with the Hellfire logo on it. Eddie even shed a few tears for that one. Steve, Nancy, and Robin all went in on a really nice stroller. At the end of it, you were nearly inconsolable, so thankful to have such wonderful people in your and Eddie’s lives. But there is one more surprise before everyone goes home.

“So, we wanted to tell you while you all were here,” Eddie begins, looking to you to give the big news. You lay a hand on your growing bump, beaming as you wipe stray tears away.

“It’s a boy!” You exclaim. Everyone cheers. It never mattered if the baby was a boy or a girl, you and Eddie just wished for a baby; but now that you know that you’ll have a son, you feel so overwhelmed with joy you could simply burst.

It wakes you from your sleep the first time you feel it. It’s so strange, and at first, you panic, shaking Eddie awake. “Eddie!” You cry. He’s roused from his sleep, instantly alert at your tone.

“What is it, baby? Is everything okay?” You shake your head furiously, breaths speeding up.

“I don’t know. There’s something wrong. I don’t know what it is!” You exclaim, feeling it again. You press your hand to your abdomen, and Eddie is quick to follow, sitting himself up against the headboard of your bed.

“What is it? Are you in pain? Should we go to the hospital?” His other hand cups your face, his eyes filled with worry. You press your lips into a thin line.

“I-I don’t know. No? It’s just weird.” You feel it once more, and Eddie’s eyebrows lift in surprise.

“Y/N,” He says, a smile breaking onto his lips. “I think he’s moving.” And then it makes sense. You’re filled with relief as you let out a long breath, your panic being replaced with joy.

“He’s moving,” You breathe, laughing lightly.

You both lay back down and stay awake as long as you can, giggling between sweet kisses when you feel your son adjust in your womb. You finally fall back to sleep, both you and Eddie keeping a hand on your tummy all through the night.

“How about… Liam?” You suggest. Eddie cringes and shakes his head.

“No, I’m not a fan. Um, Scott?” Eddie suggests. You’ve been going through lists of baby names for a couple of weeks now, trying to figure out what to call your little prince.

You shake your head. “Nah.” You keep thinking. You must’ve gone through about 100 names by now. “Thomas?”

“Thomas Munson… It just doesn’t flow right. How about Joseph?” Eddie muses. Your nose wrinkles.

“If Thomas Munson doesn’t flow right, neither does Joseph Munson… Richard?” You’re not sure about that one yourself, but you’re just spitting names now until one sticks.

“And have my son be called ‘Dick Munson?’ Absolutely not!” Eddie laughs. You laugh too at that, waking up the little one. You feel him rolling around inside you.

“Honey, he’s moving again, come feel!” You reach out and take Eddie’s hand, pressing it to your abdomen. Naming kids is hard work. You two deserve a break to coo over your unborn son.

You really start noticing the change in your body when your third trimester begins. All of a sudden, your breasts are constantly aching, and it seems like your tummy doubles in size overnight. Everything is so uncomfortable. You can’t sit straight on the couch, because the baby will fall straight into your spine; you can’t sleep comfortably, waking up every hour to pee or strain to flip yourself over to your other side. Your feet swell from the extra pressure and sometimes your hips are in so much pain it’s hard to walk. It’s especially hard at work, because you’re trying to hold off as long as you can to start your maternity leave, but every day gets harder, waddling around, one hand on your back to support the baby’s weight. Thankfully you have an office job, so you get to sit a lot, but you still manage to run out of breath every time you have to make the short trip to the copier. At about 35 weeks, you finally break, the strain on your hips too much to bear. You immediately collapse into Eddie when you walk in the door from work that night. At least it’s Friday, so you’ll have two days to recuperate before taking on another grueling work week.

“I can’t do this, Eddie! Everything hurts! I just want it to be over!” You cry. Eddie’s been doing his best to support you, but when it comes to things like this, there’s not really anything he can do to ease your pain.

“I’m so sorry, princess. It’s just a few more weeks, then you’ll be able to relax, and I’ll take care of everything.” He promises. You shake your head at him, wishing it were true, but it’s just not feasible.

“No, baby. I appreciate it, but you’ll need to work. You’ll need to sleep! And besides, I’m gonna have to feed the baby every two hours anyway, and after the birth I’ll probably have stitches, and he won’t be able to sleep through the night... It’ll be a long time before things actually settle down.” You sigh, worried about the long road ahead. “We need to be a team for this to work.” He looks at you sympathetically, nodding in acceptance.

“Okay. Just don’t forget that you need those things too, alright? Don’t push yourself too hard.” He glides his thumb over your cheek.

“I won’t, I promise,” You say. “I think I’m gonna put in my request for maternity leave next week, though. I only get 12 weeks, so I need to make sure that I hold out as long as I can so I have more time to actually take care of the baby.” Eddie looks unsure, but eventually nods.

“If you think you can take it, I’ll support you. But I need you to promise not to break your beautiful self in the process, okay?”

“I promise.”

You try pumping at about 38 and a half weeks, trying to build up a stock of colostrum so you can stay ahead of the baby’s needs. It’s an odd sensation, and as you squeeze the hand pump unsuccessfully, groan in frustration, wishing that you could just produce a few drops of milk so you can give it a rest. You know you read the instructions perfectly, so why isn’t this working?! After about 15 minutes of squeezing, adjusting, and squeezing again, you give up, so frustrated you almost cry.

You toss the pump down on the bed in frustration and think of what to do. You decide to pull yourself out of bed, not bothering to put a shirt back on in fear of irritating your chest further, before waddling to the living room to the telephone. You pick it up and dial the familiar number, and you wait as the phone rings.

“Hello?” Your dad picks up, not exactly who you want to talk to about boob problems.

“Hey dad, is mom around? I need to talk to her.” You chew your lip, growing impatient.

“Yeah, sweetie, is everything okay?” He asks, concern lilting his tone.

“Um, pregnancy problems. You don’t need the details.” You give an embarrassed chuckle through the receiver.

“Ah, okay, yeah I’ll go get her,” he says. “Honey! Y/N is on the phone!” He calls to her. “She’s on her way. I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, dad. Thanks.” There are a few seconds of silence, then you hear the phone being passed.

“Hi, Y/N, is everything okay?” You let out a breath, rubbing a hand over your face, trying to keep from getting emotional at your embarrassing request.

“No, not really. I’m trying to pump and I’m getting frustrated because nothing is working. Can you help?” You ask pathetically.

“Of course, baby! Go get a pen and paper and I’ll tell you what to do. If this doesn’t do it, I’ll come and help you.” She promises. You feel a knot forming in your throat.

“Thanks, mom. I’ll be right back.”

You’re out with Eddie at the grocery store when it happens. You feel a rush of warmth all the way down to your socks, then cold. Eddie’s standing a few yards away picking up a box of cereal from a high shelf. “Eddie.” You call, your heart sinking into your stomach. He looks at you questioningly, but when he sees the dark stain of liquid soaking through your pants, all of the color drains from his face.

“Oh, my god. Y/N, is that—”

“Yeah, we need to go. I—Oh, fuck!” Your first contraction sets in. It’s nothing like the Braxton-Hicks contractions you’ve been experiencing the past few weeks. This one’s so much more intense, this one says It’s go time, guys. You lean on the cart, knuckles turning white from squeezing as you moan in pain, and then Eddie is by your side, holding you up as you abandon the cart and start walking toward the exit.

As you pass a worker, Eddie smiles apologetically, “My wife’s water just broke, and there’s a pretty big mess on aisle 4.” The pimply teenager’s eyes go wide, not sure what to do.

“Uh, okay. We’ll take care of it?” It comes out as a question, and Eddie mumbles a quick thank you as you continue toward the door. “Congratulations!” The teen calls after you, and you can’t help but let out a tight laugh.

You make it home with Eddie, having another contraction while he books it like a speed demon down the road. “Don’t panic, honey, just squeeze my hand. Squeeze as hard as you need to, okay, I can take—ah ah ah!” He yelps, feeling his bones nearly crushing as you hold onto him.

Eddie brings you into the house, laying you on the couch as he scurries about, making sure you have everything you need to get you through your stay at the hospital. The diaper bag is packed and ready to go next to the door, and you breathe deeply as Eddie nearly spirals out of control with worry. “Eddie! Eddie, baby, it’s okay. I’m not supposed to go in until the contractions are closer together.” If you had to guess, right now they’re about 10 to 15 minutes apart, giving you plenty of time before you really need to get to the hospital. This calms him, if only slightly and he comes to sit with you, pulling your legs into his lap as he rubs your abdomen.

“Okay, okay,” He breathes a deep sigh, trying to calm himself. He looks at you, his deep brown eyes shining brightly with tears. “Y/N, we’re about to be parents…” It’s incredible to think about, after waiting so long to finally conceive, then the exhaustingly long road of pregnancy… It’s all about to finally be worth it.

Your eyes brim with warm tears as well, and you reach to touch Eddie’s face, thumbing away his tears as they fall. “Yeah, Eddie, we’re gonna be parents.”

The labor is long and torturous. Once contractions hit about 5 minutes apart about six hours later, Eddie drives you to the hospital, definitely wanting an epidural as the contractions pick up in length and intensity. The check-in process is laborious, nurses scurrying around, taking blood and setting you up to IVs. When they come to give you the epidural, Eddie is holding your hands and whispering into your hair to try to help ease the pain as they impale you with a thick, long needle in your spine. Then, it’s a waiting game again.

Eddie calls all the important people to let them know what’s happening, and your parents offer to go get your groceries before coming to see you, which makes you cry. At about 9 at night, when the doctor comes to check your dilation, he looks to you with excited eyes. “You’re at ten centimeters, Y/N, it’s time to start pushing.”

It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done, even with the drugs, but when you hear that first cry, nothing else matters. Eddie grabs your sweaty, sticky face in his hands, kissing you deeply as you both laugh and cry.

He’s laid on your chest as soon as Eddie cuts the cord, and you take him in. He’s got head of thick black hair and his head is hands are so tiny and fragile. He wails, so overwhelmed with his first sensations, but as you welcome him to the world, you know he recognizes your voice, and he stills. “Hi baby boy. My sweet baby boy!” You exclaim. He’s still covered in blood and other bodily fluids, but that’s okay. He’s still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

The nurses take him away to make sure he’s okay, and you miss him already. Eddie follows the nurses to the other side of the room as they weigh, measure, and clean him. You stare longingly over to them as the doctor stitches and cleans you up. When the baby’s returned to you, wrapped in a bundle in Eddie’s arms, you reach out and touch him, so in love with the perfection you’ve created. “We did it,” You muse, eyes still on your son.

Eddie shakes his head, tears steadily streaming down his face. He adjusts the baby into one arm and reaches his hand out to hold your face. “No, Y/N. You did it. I just donated some essential ingredients.” He laughs. You laugh too, and you both go back to staring at him, now asleep.

Your family bursts into your room about an hour later, just after you’ve gotten him to eat for the first time. It was a bit tricky, but the lactation nurse was a big help, showing you exactly how to get him to latch. Your parents and Wayne all stare into the bundle wrapped in your arms. “Hey everyone!” You exclaim in a hushed tone. You don’t want to startle him.

“This is our son,” You introduce. “Eric Wayne Munson.”

[youmakemyhearthowl]

Punk Princess

Ao3| Part 1| Part 2| Part 3| Part 4| Part 5 | Part 6| Part 7| Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10| Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 (Next Part)

Eddie wakes up Friday morning feeling lighter than he has in a week and his uncle notices right away.

“You finally fix things with your boy?” He’s pretty sure the smug smirk on Wayne's face is a little uncalled for, but Eddie really can’t find it in him to be annoyed.

“We talked everything out, and everything is hopefully better than it even was before.” He beams, shoving half a pop tart in his mouth before downing his cup of coffee in one go.

“You got home awful late last night.” Wayne's fishing for information, and him and Eddie both know it.

“We just talked, Wayne. Just friends… who are really really important to each other, and are still figuring out the rest.” Eddie shoots his uncle a pointed look, the old man chuckling lightly in response and shooting Eddie a look that says ‘ yea sure ’ as he makes his way towards the bathroom.

Steve and Eddie had ended up staying up so late the night before, Eddie had really only gotten home with enough time for about 3 hours of sleep before he had to get up for school. He could still feel the soft press of Steve's lips to the underside of his jaw where he’d sealed his promise to be open with Eddie about how he was feeling in the future. Eddie in turn sealing his promise to be better, do better with a soft press of his lips to the inside of Steve’s wrist. Nothing had been defined, but they’d fully established that they were someone of great importance to each other, and their thoughts and feelings, and opinions meant something. Eddie had even spent an hour running his hands through Steve's hair as he cuddled into his lap while he’d re-sewn the Gothic print ‘E’ back into his vest, and explained what every patch meant, and the significance of them. 

Eddie couldn’t help but beam at the fact that he had small pieces to represent each member of the Hellfire club, snuggled into the material along with things that represented the kids and Robin.

“It’s all the pieces of me I’ve found and decided to love. That have loved me in return.”

He’d whispered it almost bashfully as he tied off the thread on the E and set the vest gently on the coffee table next to him. Eddie was beyond smitten, his heart full to the brim with everything that was Steve, and all he wanted to do, was just about everything to make Steve’s life the wonderful one he deserved. 

“I’m off Wayne, gotta head out early to stop at the diner on my way into school. Love you.” He calls over his shoulder in the direction of the bathroom. He heard the muffled ‘love you’ back as he shut the front door.

Eddie was practically floating as he made his way into the school. Coffee tray balanced with a bag of pastries in his right hand as he wiggled his backpack off his shoulder next to Gareth at his locker. 

“Oh sick, one of those for me?” Eddie slaps Gareth's hand away, shooting a glare at him, before handing him the pastry bag.

“Hands off Gar Bear. I know for a fact your moms got a fancy coffee maker and you’ve already had at least 3 cups this morning.” Gareth holds his hands up laughing, before opening the bag and peering inside, pulling out the pink sprinkle donut, as he watches Eddie's eyes scan the hallways.

“So I take it the apology went well?” Eddie knows his entire face lights up with the dopiest smile he’s ever had when he turns back to his best friend. 

“It went way better than well.” Gareth laughs, rolling his eyes as he goes back to putting his books in his locker, a smear of frosting on his lips, when Robin appears out of nowhere and drapes herself across his back, the black fabric that is very obviously Steve’s vest, bunching up as she snuggles into his back. He faintly hears her whisper something along the lines of ‘ still not dating’ in Gareth's ear before she turns her head and smiles softly at Eddie, practically rolling off Gareth's back when she realizes he’s holding out a coffee for her.

“A thank you, for knocking some sense into me.” Her whole face lights up as she takes it, guzzling it down, before shooting him a sharp glare.

“Don’t make me have to do it again, but maybe bring me a few more coffees.” She winks, the purple eyeshadow she's wearing making her eyes look brighter. 

“Stevie?”

“Oh he’s around here somewhere, he got hung up outside talking to the gremlins about something or other.” She flaps her hand around as she speaks, shimming her shoulders as she inhales the aroma of her coffee just as Steve rounds the corner. Eddie stumbles slightly smacking the side of his head into Gareth's open locker door. Steve’s got on a tight fitted black shirt, tucked into a baggy pair of split colored plaid pants, one side red and the other yellow, a larger lopsided smile plastered to his face when he spots Eddie. 

“Hey Stevie.” Eddie breaths, handing Steve a coffee and placing a kiss on the inside of his wrist. 

“For me?” His laugh is bright, dancing around the hallway and landing in Eddie's rib cage. He nods, slipping his own Battle vest off his shoulders.

“I know it’s not black like the rest of your aesthetic, but, if you want?” Eddie offers out the article of clothing, hearing a fake gag from the direction of their friends as Steve beams at him and slips it on, leaning forward and placing a soft kiss to the underside of Eddie's jaw. 

Promises, on promises. Eddie wants to give this man the world.

“Where’s mine man.” Jeff whines, coming up behind Steve and throwing an arm across his shoulders, causing him to spill some of the coffee as he takes a sip.

“Jesus Jeff, careful.” Eddie snaps, as he watches Steve’s sheepish expression while he wipes the spilled liquid up. 

“Sorry Steve-o” He says, pulling back and leaning against the wall beside them.

“When did Hawkins turn into such a fucking freak show?” Jason Carver is smirking to his friends as they pass the group, instinctively Eddie pulls up his fingers to his head in devil horns and sticks his tongue out at him, a strangled noise coming from Steve, and when he turns back to him he's wiping up more spilled coffee, a soft blush on his cheeks. Eddie raises an eyebrow at him and Steve scrunches up his nose in response, sticking his tongue out.

“Robbie!” Chrissy Cunningham's voice skitters across the hall towards them, as she breaks off from under Jason's arm and makes her way over to the other girl. “Oh gosh, hey good morning! I tried to catch you yesterday after Cheer practice, I wanted to give you this, I saw it at the store and instantly thought of you.”

What is happening right now?

Eddie glances at Gareth, who shrugs, shutting his locker door and leaning back against it, stealing Robin's coffee to take a sip while she's distracted.  Chrissy pulls out a large scrunchie, the deep velvet purple accented with silvery stars. 

“When you had the purple in your hair it looked so good, and this made me think of that!” She slips it onto Robin's wrist, Robin's face blooming a bright red as she smiles at her.

“Thank you so much Chrissy, I love it.” Her smile is genuine, even though Eddie feels like he can practically hear her internal freak out happening from where he's settled, wrapping himself across Steve's back to watch the interaction, chin resting on his shoulder.

“Chrissy, you telling her she's a star?” Eddie offers out, just to be a little shit, and Chrissy beams at him, a loud bubbly laugh dancing out of her throat.

“Well, that wasn’t the original intention, but I like it, so sure.” Her smile just seems to grow as she answers him. Eddie can vaguely make out the death glare Carver is shooting at him across the hall, but Eddie’s in a good mood today, and Chrissy just seems to be a beam of sunlight incarnate, so he chooses to ignore it, not wanting to dampen the happy atmosphere that's bloomed around his friends. Steve’s leaning back into Eddie’s chest as he hums softly, eyes sparkling while he watches his best friend fumble around trying to have a conversation with Chrissy. Eddie nuzzles his face into the crook of Steve’s neck, because apparently that’s something he can do now. He really can’t get over the easy way things seem to be falling into place with Steve. The long talk the night before seeming to push them even further past the line that had, had before their fight.

Eddie’s chest feels so fucking warm.

And then Steve’s wiggling his butt slightly where it’s lined up with Eddies crotch and he has to reach his hands down and grasp Steve’s hips to get them to stop moving, a low growl in the back of his throat, because now Steve’s playing dirty, since they’ve seemed to officially have veered into a more tactile friendship, friendship?  Was that still the right word for them? It felt like so much more than that, the remnants of Steve’s soft confessions of worrying that he thought he wasn’t good enough, even now to be something to Eddie, playing on repeat in his brain.

Steve snickers, glancing over his shoulder at Eddie, before pushing off him and out of his grip to grab his backpack. But Eddie beats him to it, bending down and scooping it and his own up to rest on his shoulder. 

“I got it, pretty boy.” He smirks, watching the soft pink dust Steve’s cheeks.

“Bye Chrissy!” Eddie calls cheerfully, a loud cackle falling from his lips at her startled giggle at the volume he says it in.

“Bye Eddie! Have a great Friday!”

With his free arm draped over Steve’s shoulders, and Steve leaning flush against his side, he’s pretty sure he’s going to have the best Friday.

Ao3| Part 1| Part 2| Part 3| Part 4| Part 5 | Part 6| Part 7| Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10| Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 (Next Part)

[flowersarefreetherapy]

Hold On: Lost If You Left Me

CW: implied noncon, dehumanization, defiant whumpee, blood, beating

“Alright, so I have some basic rules I want to cover, starting with how you will address me.”

Eddie leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. Daniel stands across from him, clothing rumpled, face sticky from tears. A far cry from the Romantic he knows his new master wants. He’s not going to be poised and perfect, he’s going to be iron and blood and all the things they never wanted him to become. 

“I’m not into all that ‘master’ and ‘sir’ stuff,” Eddie says with a wave of his hand. “Kinda old fashioned and I don’t like that. The future’s in our hands and I’m not in the business of pulling back on progress.”

God, you just like to hear yourself talk, don’t you? Daniel gives into the urge to roll his eyes. Eddie freezes, slowly pushing himself to his feet. 

“However,” he says, and his voice drops. Ice cold fear slides into Daniel’s veins. “Just because I won’t take the title doesn’t mean I don’t deserve respect. And that is exactly what you’re going to give me. The second rule is always listen to whatever I tell you.”

“Listen to you?” Daniel scoffs. “Listen. To. You?” 

He takes a step forward, fists raised and ready. Eddie only laughs, pushing himself out the chair. Too late Daniel registers the award he holds in his hand. 

This is why you aren’t a Guard, you aren’t a hero, you’re nothing more than a stupid boy playing pretend. 

“This was given to me for my work in exposing a safe house,” Eddie explains, advancing a step. “Stupid young couple, thinking they could help creatures like you. Exposed the whole thing. WRU even interviewed me themselves.”

Daniel’s vision flashes white. Silver logo, three letters, something cold and sharp stabbing into his arm and he hears himself screaming. When he can fully breathe again, Eddie is on him. The trophy knocks into his legs, sending him crashing to the ground. Fingers in his hair again and dammit, he used to like this sensation!

“So I know all about what to do with little pets like you.”

“Not surprised you get off on pets,” Daniel snarls. “Considering that you are one.”

He screams before he is fully aware of what happened. Something warm slides down the side of his face, his vision blurring, black dots dancing around the edges. Then the pain hits him like a truck and he screams again. The base of the trophy comes into view, painted red with his blood. 

“I would think very carefully about your next choice of words,” Eddie snarls in his ear. “I will not be talked to in such a manner. Theodore may have given you more reign, but you are no longer in his house and as such, will do as I tell you.”

Daniel glares up at him through watering vision. The blood running down his face drips to the carpet. Eddie scoffs and shoves his head down. The movement sends a wave of nausea through Daniel’s body and he sucks in a deep breath to keep from being sick. 

“We’ll start with something easy. I want you to make me a drink, then I want you between my legs while I work.”

“How about I bite off anything you put in my mouth? Would that be starting easy enough for you?”

“So violent. No wonder Theodore was selling you on the cheap.”

“You’re the one who just hit me in the head. I don’t see how I’m the violent one here.”

Eddie raises the trophy and Daniel flinches. He doesn’t want to, and he curses himself for doing so, but he still flinches. Eddie laughs and lowers his arm.

“Get up.” 

The room spins around him, but Daniel manages to stay on his feet. He glares at Eddie, but can only hold it for so long. The man points to the kitchen and he willingly goes. 

He makes a drink. It’s the one thing he remains good at, even all these months later. Muscle memory takes over and he shakes and stirs and pours without thought. Almost freeing, in a way. Not having to think about what to do next, who to obey. Unfortunately, his mind is now given time to wander. 

And wander it does. All the way back to their last night together. Star’s hands and lips and body. More than that, his smile and the way he clung to Daniel as if he was his only hope. The moments they had together in the kitchen, dancing in the shadows at a gala, secret smiles with meanings only they understood.

What would it be like for this to be their normal? Not hidden, not controlled, free to live their own life, in their own home. No masters, no handlers, just the two of them. 

The kitchen swirls. Daniel grasps the edge of the counter with a gasp, fighting to keep himself upright. The drink tips, sending alcohol sloshing across the counter. A slew of curses fills his mind. He bites his tongue to keep them back and reaches for the paper towels. 

“Well, well, well, looks like I got a little defect.”

Damn it all to hell. Daniel rests his head on the edge of the counter, sucking in several deep breaths. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. 

No, you have to. For Star, you have to do this for him.

“Bent over already, aren’t you.” Eddie’s hands encircle his hips. Daniel tries to jerk away, but the man holds him tight, pulling him closer. 

His eyelids flutter. God, he’s so tired. All he wants to do is sleep. 

“Come on, Danny,” Eddie chuckles, his breath hot on the back of Daniel’s neck. “You like hearing that name, don’t you? Danny?”

“Please,” he whimpers. “Please-”

“Look at that. Look at that. Gone from a fighter to a little whimpering pet in just a few seconds. Where did all that glorious fight go?”

Daniel chokes on a sob as cold fingers slide his pants from his hips. The warm fabric folds around his ankles, followed by his underwear. He sucks in a deep breath as Eddie bites the crook of his neck hard enough to draw blood.

Please, please, please, please stop!

His hips knock against the edge of the counter. His whole lower body will be a mass of bruises in the morning. The pain tears his body apart. 

Later that night, lying on a strange bed, unfamiliar arms wrapped around him, Daniel stares into the darkness and his heart shatters. He presses his face into the pillowcase to muffle his sobs, but it can only do so much.

“Shh,” Eddie mutters, voice thick with sleep. “Shh, Danny, shh.”

He swallows back the next sob. Crying isn’t going to help anyone. Crying isn’t going to bring his love back to him. 

No, he needs something stronger than tears. 

Daniel fists his hands in the sheets. I’m going to kill you. I swear on my bond, I will kill you.

Tagging: @blood-is-compulsory @darkthingshappen @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump (let me know if you want to be added/removed!)

[nurse-buckley]

Panic Attack

Fandom: 9-1-1 Word Count: 1,216 Pairing: Buddie Warnings: Mentions of panic attacks, fireworks, PTSD, near death experience. Spoilers for 911 4x13 and 4x14 (but if you haven’t seen them or the spoilers, where have you been?)  Tagslist: @firemedicdiaz , @fireladybuckley @pupandangelscoffee @winterreader-nowwriter @iamasimpingh0e @dayrin085 Thank you, as always, to my amazing beta @firemedicdiaz <3 Prompt fill for the square Panic Attack on my long neglected @badthingshappenbingo​ card! 

To say Chris had been excited ever since Buck had invited him and Eddie over to his apartment for 4th of July celebrations was an understatement. Buck’s balcony was the perfect vantage point to watch the various fireworks displays as the citizens of LA filled the sky with colorful flashes of light. The promise of burgers and cool beers had sealed the deal for Eddie. 

With night beginning to fall, the three made their way out onto the balcony as bright flashes of colour began to light up the night sky. Buck glanced between Chris and Eddie, smiling to himself as he saw the looks of awe in their faces at the displays, their heads moving from side to side, not quite knowing where to look next. 

Buck’s breath hitched, not quite prepared when a particularly loud and close firework ripped through the sky a few streets away, the orange illuminating the horizon as the embers from the firework littered the sky, fizzing out as they faded into the dark of the night. 

Buck couldn’t see that though; he couldn’t appreciate the dancing and swirling of golden light as another firework exploded with a bang. He couldn’t see the beautiful colours and hear the cheers of the people around him. He was back on that sunny LA street corner. Eddie stood a few feet in front of him. Another bang and he saw Eddie jerking forward as the bullet ripped a path through his shoulder. The warmth of the blood - Eddie’s blood - as it spattered across his face, the metallic tang of it in his mouth. Buck felt sick. He wanted to run, run as far away from the scene that plagued his mind over and over again as he could, but just as he’d been on that fateful day, he was unable to move. 

“Woah!” Eddie heard Chris gasp from beside him as the blues and greens littered the sky. His gaze lingered as he reveled in the moment, never growing tired of seeing the enjoyment on his son's face. 

Chris let out another cheer as a particularly impressive display began, the LA sky being blasted with golden rockets shooting into the darkness with a loud piercing scream, dancing around each other. 

The screams pierced through Buck’s mind. He was no longer on the street but in the back of the firetruck, his hands desperately trying to save his best friend’s life; begging him to hold on. The screams of the rockets echoing the screeching of the tires as they sped towards the hospital, bullets ricocheting off the side of the metal of the truck. 

Eddie’s gaze shifted from his son to Buck, hoping to see the same awe and wonder in his friend’s eyes. He froze, his smile fading as he noticed the vacant look there instead; Buck’s hands trembling, his breathing coming in short gasps. 

“Buck?” 

There was no response as Buck continued to stare into the distance, flinching in response as more explosions filled the sky. Eddie knew what was happening, he’d seen it before with other vets; he’d experienced it himself during the first 4th of July after he’d returned home from Afghanistan. Buck wasn’t next to him - physically maybe, but mentally he was stuck in the moment Eddie had almost lost his life. 

Eddie leaned in close to his friend.  

“Buck. I need you to take a deep breath for me,” Eddie ordered gently. “It’s alright. You’re okay. You’re safe. We’re both safe.” 

Chris noticed his dad and Buck were not by his side anymore. “Dad? What’s wrong with Buck?” 

Eddie looked back to his son, “it’s okay Mijo,” he reassured, “stay out here okay?” 

Eddie gently took a hold of Buck’s hand as he guided him back into the apartment, away from the noise outside. He sat Buck down, kneeling in front of him, taking Buck’s hand in his own and placed it on his own chest, holding him still as Buck attempted to pull away. 

Buck came to slightly, feeling Eddie solid and warm beneath him, the flashbacks fighting against his rational brain at the memory of his hands on Eddie’s chest. Eddie’s heart thumping wildly against his palm in an uneven and panicked rhythm, terrified it would stop at any given minute as he held pressure on his wound. 

This time was different though. The body beneath his palm wasn’t slick with blood, his skin wasn’t cold and clammy and the pulse beneath his fingertips wasn’t frantic. Eddie was warm, solid; his heart was steady and strong. Eddie was alive. 

Eddie held Buck’s hand on his chest, placing his other on Buck’s own chest, feeling the wild thumping as his heart pounded against his ribcage as the panic gripped him. “We’re going to take a deep breath together, okay? Follow my lead,” he instructed. 

Buck was coming to his senses a little more, the warmth of Eddie’s body beneath his hand, his steady heartbeat, strong and stable, the soft fabric of his Henley all helping to keep him grounded. The younger man swallowed, nodding his head before he followed Eddie’s lead as he sucked in a deep breath. 

“That’s good, now we’re going to hold,” Eddie continued, holding his breath for a few measured seconds, before he slowly let it out, instructing Buck to do the same. 

Eddie continued to guide Buck through the breathing exercise, helping to clear Buck’s mind and ground him with each cycle. Eddie was relieved when Buck’s vision came back into focus and his pulse finally began to slow as the adrenaline began to wear off. 

When Eddie was sure Buck was over the worst of it, he slowly released his and Buck’s hand, giving Buck a gentle clap on the shoulder, “are you okay?” 

“I-I don’t know what happened,” Buck let out a deep breath, “I was watching the fireworks and I guess the noise, I don’t know man. It was like I was back there. Back on the street, under the truck with the lights and smell of the smoke…” 

“Breathe,” Eddie reminded him. 

“I wasn’t even the one who got shot, I’ve got no right to feel this way,” Buck couldn’t look at Eddie, ashamed that he was taking away from the trauma Eddie went through. “I just…that day, I thought I’d lost you. When Captain Mehta held me down, all I could think about was getting to you. I didn’t care what happened to me. If anything happened to you that day…” 

“But it didn’t. Evan,” Eddie said his name softly, “you did. You got to me. You saved me. I survived.” 

“But…” 

“But nothing. Buck, you went through a trauma that day, the only reason you didn’t end up getting shot was pure luck and even with a crazed sniper shooting at us, you still chose to put yourself in danger for me.” 

“Thanks Eds,” Buck smiled sadly, “I’m sorry, I’ve ruined the night for you and Chris.” 

“You haven’t ruined the night, Buck. Chris is out there still having the time of his life,” Eddie reassured. “Do you feel ready to come back out?” Eddie asked, holding out a hand for him. 

Buck took a deep breath, shaking the last of the panic off before taking Eddie’s outstretched hand and following him back onto the balcony.

[thisissirius]

so apparently my brain needed to write this before it could write anything else. it’s not the kind of fic i want to attach to a prompt so i’m posting it as is. 

some things to note; this is extremely personal to my situation right now. i write to deal with my feelings and that’s what this is. i’m okay, i promise. or at least i’m getting close to okay. but i’m working on it! 

i will not be offended if you don’t want to read :)

it’s an open ending because i don’t know the ending to my own story but in my head, he beats it <3

(i researched this because obvs i am female and eddie is not)

be my help eddie/buck, cancer

“I think you might have an infection.” Buck’s nose wrinkles as he frowns and Eddie traces the lines of it. He doesn’t want to look at the wound, at what it represents. Buck’s fingers are light as he puts on the new bandage. “Though the inflammation is here,” he continues, thumb grazing the skin around Eddie’s nipple. “It feels warm. Does it hurt?”

Eddie shakes his head. “Not really. There’s been blood a couple of times but I assumed it was from the wound.”

With another nod, Buck finishes dressing the wound. There’s a tightness to his mouth that spells a research binge—and possibly a call to the doctor—but Eddie’s content to let him handle it. “All done.”

“Thanks,” Eddie says, curling his fingers around Buck’s wrist. He runs a thumb over Buck’s pulse point. “For everything.”

Buck’s cheeks tinge pink, but he looks pleased. “You’re welcome. Come on, Chris’ll be home soon and there’s still dinner to do.”

Eddie can’t forget about the inflammation; 

Buck’s frown gets progressively more pronounced with every passing day, and Eddie’s starting to feel it. His skin is warm, there’s been spotty blood on his shirts, and it looks puffy and inflamed. It’s not until Eddie takes off his shirt one night to get ready for bed and sees just how swollen it is, that he ends up calling for Buck. 

It’s been a few days since Buck’s stayed over; he’s taking extra shifts because Eddie’s struggling with finances—and if Eddie thinks about that too much, he’ll feel sick with guilt—and he looks tired when he stands in the doorway. When his eyes rise to Eddie’s nipple, his face shifts into shock and a touch of horror. “Fuck.”

“It’s only been like this yesterday and today,” Eddie says, because he doesn’t want Buck to think he missed it. “I don’t think it’s an infection.”

Buck hums and steps forward. “It could be,” but he doesn’t sound certain. “We should take you to the emergency room.”

Eddie doesn’t really want to. “Buck—”

“Eddie,” Buck says. There’s something in his voice, his face, that makes Eddie take notice. “Trust me, I think we need to get a doctor’s opinion.”

“Chris,” Eddie says, searching for something to keep them here, safe in his home. 

Buck doesn’t look happy when he says, “We’ll take him with us.” Eddie opens his mouth to answer, to say something else, but he stops short at the tremble in Buck’s tone. “Please, Eddie. I think this is something we need to get checked out.”

Eddie sits. And sits. And sits.

Chris is asleep on Buck’s lap. He’s tucked under Buck’s chin, breath even, and Eddie can’t help but rest a hand on his leg. Buck’s talking in a low voice, information Eddie’s not really taking in, but it’s soothing. The emergency room is always horrible, no less when it’s personal instead of work related, and he leans more heavily into Buck. 

“Alright?” Buck asks, trailing off. “I’m sure it won’t be much longer.”

Three has given way to five, and Eddie’s got no doubt they’ll still be sitting here at seven in the morning. He’s glad neither of them are working, but Buck’s gotta be dead tired. “You should go home.”

Buck’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline and Eddie only realises what that implies when the words are out. “Eddie—”

“No,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “I meant you don’t have to be here, now, when you could be sleeping.”

Expression softening, Buck’s lips quirk into a tired smile. “I wouldn’t be able to settle. I’d be worried about you.”

Eddie’s chest goes tight with emotion and he smiles back. Something feels different between them since the shooting, but he can’t pinpoint what it is. Maybe it’s the loss of Ana from his life; Eddie knows Buck wasn’t happy for whatever reason. Breaking up with her had been easy after that because Buck’s happiness means everything. 

“Edmundo Diaz?”

“Come on,” Buck says gently, readjusting Chris, who makes a soft noise. “Let’s get you checked out.”

“Breast cancer,” Eddie repeats. “I thought—”

Silence. 

“I thought it was women,” he admits. “I didn’t think it could happen to men.”

To me is what he means. 

Buck’s hand is the only thing tethering him to the moment, fingers tight in Eddie’s. He looks calm, calmer than Eddie thinks he should. “What stage?”

Eddie swallows. “You knew?”

“Suspected,” Buck says, looking guilty. Eddie squeezes his hand. He’s not really sure what his emotions are doing, but he needs to make sure Buck’s okay. One of them needs to be. “I went online and I know I shouldn’t look,” he says, more to the doctor than to Eddie, “but it seemed too far from the wound to be related.”

“Perhaps not unrelated,” the doctor says. His voice is calm, almost soothing, and Eddie hates it, though he can’t pinpoint why. Maybe he’s trying not to wake Chris, but Eddie suspects it’s more that he doesn’t want to spook Eddie. Fuck. “It’s true that we don’t always know what causes cancer—”

“I don’t care,” Eddie says. His voice sounds far away. “Can it—like Buck said, what stage?”

The doctor looks at him and is silent for long enough that Eddie can feel whatever stability he’s got left spiralling away. “If it is cancer, which we’re not completely sure of, it will be stage three or four; advanced because of the symptoms, but still treatable.”

Eddie drops Buck’s hand to press the palms of his hands to his eyes. There’s a burn in his eyes, something heavy settling in his stomach. He can hear Buck talking, feel the hand on the back of his neck, but it’s almost as if he’s not in the room. “I want to go home.”

“I know,” Buck says softly, stroking a hand down Eddie’s back. To the doctor he says, “thanks. You’ll let us know about the appointments?”

The moments slip away from him; he doesn’t remember leaving the office, or getting into the car. Doesn’t know how he and Chris both end up strapped in and moving; he can feel the gear shifts, the radio playing softly. Chris is snorting in the back seat, and Buck’s breathing seems oddly loud in the truck; maybe it’s Eddie—he doesn’t feel as if he’s there. 

“What am I gonna do,” he says, breathless. 

Buck reaches over, hand on Eddie’s thigh. “You can fight this.”

Eddie’s eyes burn again and he turns away, glances in the rearview mirror. “What am I supposed to tell Chris?”

A pause. Buck’s fingers squeeze. “We’ll figure it out together, okay?”

“Buck,” Eddie says, and even to his own voice he sounds wrecked. “I can’t—”

Buck pulls over, shifts into park and leans over, hand to Eddie’s face. “Listen to me,” he says, foreheads touching. Eddie closes his eyes and hangs on. “I’ll be here every second, okay? I promise, Eddie, whatever happens, we’ll get through it.”

The fatalistic part of Eddie thinks it can’t be that easy but the rest of him wants to lean on Buck, to take the comfort he’s offering. “If it’s cancer—”

“Then you’ll look over treatment, figure out what you want, and we’ll tackle it like we do everything else.” Buck’s thumb runs over Eddie’s cheek. “I’ve got your back, Eddie.”

Eddie lets out a shaky breath, leans into Buck. He can still hear Chris in the back seat. He knows there’s so much left unknown, but he’s got Buck, right here, and together they’ll protect Chris. He knows even if he does—if they can’t—if anything happens, Buck’s got Chris. 

“Stop it,” Buck says, running his thumbs under Eddie’s eyes. He’s wiping away tears and Eddie blinks, surprised; he’s not sure when they started. “You can fight this.”

“Okay,” Eddie whispers, because he desperately wants to believe he can. His mouth forms the words before his brain can catch up and stop them, “I’m scared.”

Something in Buck’s expression breaks, but he presses forward, touching their foreheads together. “I know, Eds. It’s okay to be, but I promise, no matter what, I’m gonna be here.”

Eddie swallows around the lump in his throat, leans into Buck’s touch on his cheek, the fingers curling around the back of his neck. “Promise?”

“Yeah,” Buck says without hesitation, his voice low and husky. “I promise.”

Kissing the corner of Buck’s mouth is easy. Turning his face into Buck’s neck is even easier. Listening to the thump of Buck’s heartbeat, the words of comfort and promise Buck whispers in his ear makes even the darkest thoughts in his head quieten down. 

“I’ve got you,” Buck promises. 

“I know,” Eddie says, and he means it.

[buckleyblueyes]

Buddie + 47 "This is home?" 😊

Thank you for your patience, nonnie! I know this took me some time to write and post. Loved this prompt, though! This fic features an appearance by Taylor Kelly, and maybe isn't the most friendly towards her? idk, I wasn’t actively trying to write her to be a bad person or anything, but just in case I thought I'd throw a warning for people who like her/like her and Buck.

Buck yawns and leans back into the cushions of the Diaz couch. He’s exhausted, physically and emotionally. They were called to a grizzly pileup on the freeway just before their shift was supposed to end, multiple on scene fatalities, and more that they lost later, in the ambulance. He had a date with Taylor scheduled for after his shift, but he knew before the engine even pulled back into the station that he was going to have to cancel. Not just for himself and his need for rest and recovery, but for Taylor’s sake. He wouldn’t have been a good date in his current state. He texted her from the locker room that his shift had run long and he was going to head home and rest. She texted him back with a “I understand, get some sleep” and that was that.

He followed Eddie home, because neither of them wanted to be alone, and he wanted to see Chris, even for a few minutes before the boy had to go to bed. They exchanged hugs and Buck and Eddie both pressed kisses to the top of Christopher’s head. Ever since Eddie was shot--since he told Buck about his will, since Buck spent the summer living on their couch and taking care of both of them--Buck took on a more parental role with Christopher. They don’t really talk about it, but it’s undeniably true, and Buck loves it. The three of them feel like a family, are a family.

Buck showered at the station, but Eddie hadn’t. Eddie likes to take his time in the shower, making it into a sort of ritual where he scrubs off more than just the grime of the day, but the stress and trauma of it as well. He’s going to be gone awhile. So, Buck settles into the couch and pulls out his phone.

I know it’s not the same, but wanna FaceTime before bed?

Seconds later his phone lights up with the call. He smiles when he answers it.

“Hey, babe!” Her smile is bright and bubbly as always.

“Hey, Taylor,” he says, forcing himself to keep his own smile up. “Sorry about our date.”

“No, no it’s fine…” Taylor trails off, blinking curiously through the screen. “I thought you said you were going home?”

Buck glances around the room behind him and frowns. “This is home?”

She rolls her eyes. “I know what your loft looks like.”

“Oh,” His smile returns. Of course, she’s only been to Eddie’s a few times, she doesn’t recognize it from the bit of it she could see through FaceTime. “I’m at Eddie’s.”

Taylor’s confusion morphs into exasperation. “I should’ve realized.”

“You’ve only been here a few times, it’s--”

“No, I mean I should’ve realized you were blowing me off for him,” she snaps.

It feels like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. “What does that mean?”

“It means that I’m always playing second to Eddie, and I’m getting sick of it,” Taylor’s tone is huffy and irritated and Buck hates it. “It was one thing when he was still recovering. But he’s fine now, so why are you still spending so much time with him?”

“He’s my best friend, Taylor,” Buck narrows his eyes. “Of course I spend time with him.”

She scowls. “How can you be too tired for me, but be sitting on his couch?”

Buck runs a hand through his ungelled curls. “Look, our shift ran long and it was really rough. My therapist says I shouldn’t be alone during times like this, and I happen agree with her--”

“So why not be with me?” Taylor asks, tone shifting from anger to sadness.

“Because Eddie knows exactly where I’m at emotionally,” Buck sighs. “He was there, he saw what I saw. There’s nothing to explain. And he shouldn’t be alone tonight, either. It just makes sense.”

She frowns. “So, that’s it? I’m not a first responder, so I’ll never be able to understand like Eddie?”

His stomach twists. This conversation is starting to sound familiar. “It’s not--”

“How can I understand if you don’t open up to me?”

Buck doesn’t know what to say to that. She’s right, of course. He isn’t open with her. She doesn’t know about his childhood, or about Daniel. She doesn’t know about the nightmares that haunt him, doesn’t know about the waves and ladder trucks, gunshots and explosions. She doesn’t know any of it, and he has no desire to share it with her. Maybe it’s the way she looks at her phone half the time they’re talking, or the fact that they haven’t really talked about her willingness to put Bobby’s trauma on the news, but he still doesn’t trust her, not really.

“You’re right,” he finally says. “I’ve been shutting you out.” She looks hopeful, which makes Buck feel like a huge jerk because this isn’t about to go in the direction she seems to think it will. “I have to be honest, I don’t think I’ll ever feel like opening up to you. I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” She looks so sad, and the part of Buck that’s terrified of disappointing people is two seconds from taking it all back, when she speaks again. “So, where does that leave us, then?”

“I don’t know,” Buck answers honestly. He doesn’t want to be single and lonely again, but he can’t deny any longer that Taylor isn’t right for him.

“I think you do.” She gives him a weak smile.

Buck blinks. Cocks his head to the side in confusion. “What does that mean?”

“Buck, be honest with me, are you in love with Eddie?”

Whatever Buck is expecting her to say, it isn’t that. All at once it feels like all the air in the room has been sucked out. He knows that he feels more for Eddie than could be strictly described as platonic, but he’s been avoiding those feelings for as long as he’s known Eddie. First because he thought he had Abby, then because Eddie was married, then because Eddie was grieving his wife, and then because they weren’t speaking to each other, and then because the pandemic hit and they had other things to focus on, and then because Eddie was dating Ana...It was never the right time, and he was always too afraid of losing Eddie, when he inevitably had to turn Buck down.

But Eddie changed his will, and Eddie broke up with Ana because “she’s not what I want” and Eddie let Buck stay here, for months, taking care of him and Christopher, and Buck knows in his core that he and Eddie are tied together, no matter what.

“Buck?”

He realizes she’s still waiting for an answer. “Yeah, yeah I think I am.”

She nods stiffly. “Right, well then. I guess we’re done here.”

“I guess we are.” Buck shifts uncomfortably. “Can we still be friends?”

“I don’t think so,” Taylor shakes her head.

Buck opens his mouth to respond, to say goodbye, but he’s cut off by a voice coming from the hallway. “You’re in love with me?” Buck looks up to see Eddie standing there in his sweats, hair still damp and dripping from the shower, brown eyes wide with shock.

Oh, fuck. “Taylor, I have to go.”

“I know,” she rolls her eyes. “Goodbye, Buck.”

“Bye, Taylor,” Buck swallows, setting his phone down on the coffee table. “How--How long have you been standing there? I didn’t hear the shower turn off.”

“Long enough,” Eddie steps forward. “You’re in love with me?”

“I--” There’s no point in denying. “Yeah. Is that...okay?”

It’s a stupid thing to say, but it’s all Buck can think to say.

To say Eddie looks dumbfounded would be an understatement. “Is it--What kind of question is that?”

Buck shrugs “Well, y’know. I thought it might make things awkward.”

Eddie shakes his head and shuffles the rest of the way into the living room, so he’s standing right above Buck. “Awkward? Why--What--Like, at work? We’re adults, we can keep things professional.”

“Keep...it...professional…” Buck’s brain processes the words slowly, but when he finally does, his heart sinks. “You don’t want to be friends with me anymore?”

“Um.” Eddie cocks his head to the side, in almost the same movement Buck made just minutes earlier. “Obviously not.”

Buck feels numb. This is it. The end of everything. Just when he thinks he’s found someone who will stay. “W-What about Christopher?”

Again Eddie looks baffled. “What about Christopher? I think he’ll be happy we’re together.”

Time stops. Together? “Uh-Wh-Huh? Together? Like...together-together? Like dating? Each other?”

“Oh.” The confusion melts off Eddie’s face. “Buck. I’m in love with you, too.”

Buck blinks up at him. “You are?”

“Yeah,” Eddie smiles warmly. “I thought I made that clear when I broke up with Ana and kept asking you to stay, but I guess I should’ve known that I needed to be more explicit with you.”

Buck laughs. “Oh, you think? I’m only in therapy for my abandonment issues, it’s not like I have problems trusting that people want me around or something.”

Eddie leans down and takes Buck’s hands in his. “Evan Buckley, I am deeply in love with you, and I want to be with you for as long as you’ll have me.”

Buck grins, tightens his grip on Eddie’s hands, and pulls the other man down onto the couch, right into his lap. “How does forever sound?”

“Sounds wonderful.”

Later, after they makeout on the couch like teenagers, after Eddie guides Buck down the hall to his bedroom, after they curl up in each other’s arms, it finally occurs to Eddie to ask. “How exactly did your FaceTime with Taylor end up with her asking if you were in love with me?”

Buck doesn’t open his eyes when he answers. “She asked why I wasn’t at home like I told her I’d be.”

“This is your home.”

Buck smiles and snuggles closer. “I know.”

[sociallyawkward--fics]

Dirty Little Secret

Hello I just finished this and I have not edited it and I am never going to reread it lol. It is probably disjointed, OOC, and incomprehensible. Welcome to my super sick and drug-induced It oneshot. Also for the title I was torn between this and ‘truth or dare’

My friends also told me I had to put this joke in the author’s notes: “I’m paying homage to the original It. King was on coke when he wrote it, and I’m on a wild amount of cold medicine and illness”

----

Summary: Miraculously, they all lived. They killed that damn clown and they lived. Now, Richie just had one last thing to say.

Word Count: 1877 words

[ao3 link]

-----------------------------------------------

The sounds of his old friends splashing around in the quarry faded around him. Distantly, as though he wasn’t in his own body, Richie could hear them cracking jokes and laughing at each other, as if the seven of them hadn’t almost just lost their lives.

As if Eddie hadn’t almost--

Richie focused on cleaning his glasses. Without them on, it was blurry and hard to tell, but he thought there was still blood embedded into the new spiderwebbing of cracks left on one of the lenses. It wouldn’t come out. Really, it could be anyone’s blood, he’d lost track of their injuries by this point. 

But Richie knew who’s it could have been. 

Bev had said the Deadlights gave her visions of their deaths, but he hadn’t known just how vivid they could be until he dropped out of them himself. He’d opened his eyes to Eddie being skewered above him, helpless to do anything but scream his name, the Loser’s a chorus of the same. Then, he blinked, and Eddie was above him laughing and cheering his “victory.”

Richie had barely rolled them out of the way in time for one of It’s massive claws to dig deep into the stone where they had been laying. Pennywise made a noise of rage, but Richie hadn’t allowed himself even a moment to think. He’d grabbed Eddie and ran.

And now here they were. They’d killed It, crushed Its heart in their hands, and Derry was safe. They were safe. Eddie was safe. Richie sat on a rock in the dirty quarry water, distantly aware of the splash wars going on while Eddie chopped his hands and told them how unsanitary it was, cleaning themselves in dirty water. Richie knew he was being unusually quiet, and someone was bound to notice soon, but he felt like if he didn’t laugh, he was going to cry.

And for once, Richie was all out of jokes.

Then, the absolute worst thing happened: Richie was dragged into the spotlight.

Apparently, the other six Losers had been recounting the “best moments” of their battle. Richie didn’t remember much, truthfully, aside from running for his life and sniveling like a little kid.

“Hey, Rich,” Beverly called. “What was that whole ‘Truth or Dare’ thing about anyway?”

Richie let out an awkward laugh, plastering a smile onto his face. He’d gotten good at it, over the years, with how much he hated his own act, but now it just felt stiff and misshapen. He waved his hands in the air as he spoke, his glasses flopping around precariously in his grip.

“Oh, you know, just something that damn clown had brought up.”

Bill laughed. “Why would he b-b-bring up Truth or D-Dare?”

Bev swam over and started poking at his sides as she laughed. They were all laughing so much. They were clearly handling the trauma far differently than him.

“Why would It use that?” She teased. “Got something you’re afraid to confess, Trashmouth?”

Richie forced out another laugh, sounding weak to his own ears. More than you know.

Instead, Richie reached for a distraction. “Yeah, how fast it took me to finish with Eddie’s mom--”

“Beep beep, asshole!” Eddie shouted, and Richie’s next laugh felt a little less desperate. Teasing Eddie was familiar and comfortable, and Richie was almost tempted to put his glasses back on to see the adorable way his jaw clenched with annoyance.

“Remember that one time Bill dared Mike to smuggle one of the sheep into his grandfather’s house?” Ben asked, and if Richie wasn’t so gone on Eddie, he could’ve kissed him. Intentionally or not, he’d just saved Richie a whole lot of floundering to keep the attention off where he wanted it least.

The group laughed and Mike shook his head with a grin. “He was so mad,” Mike said. “I thought for sure he’d make me sleep in the barn for that.”

“Or what about the t-t-time Eddie dared Richie to eat that year-old twinkie we f-found in R-R-Richie’s room,” Bill said.

Even Richie had to laugh at that one. “Yeah, where was the concern for my health there, Eddie Spaghetti?”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie snapped, though there was no heat behind it. “Plus, those things never fucking expire. They’re garbage, but that wouldn’t have hurt you.”

“Oh yeah? It tasted as bad as your mom’s--”

Eddie splashed Richie, sending a wave of nasty quarry water into his mouth and preventing him from finishing his sentence. He sputtered and coughed, laughing as he spit it out, and the weight of everything felt a little less oppressive now that he was laughing with them all.

“Oh!” Bev said, “What about the time Stan dared Bill--”

Richie grinned as he went back to trying to dig the blood out of the cracks in his glasses with his nails. They were short and stubby, so it wasn’t exactly easy, but he managed to make some progress. This time, though, he made sure not to tune his friends out. He listened to each of their stories, letting their laughter wrap around him like a warm, worn, familiar blanket, just like he had always been searching for when they were kids, and slowly felt his shoulders relax. And as they were laughing, the thought occurred to Richie.

What was he so afraid of?

This was Richie’s family. After everything they’d been through, killer alien clowns and all, would his sexuality really be the thing to break them? It’d be a little silly at that point, Richie thought. 

A little silly, and a lot unfair. And who knew how they’d react? He’d seen them all in their underwear, shared blankets and chairs and beds with them, held them close (he wished he could do that now, but he wasn’t brave enough to be so touchy as an adult). What if they accused him of taking advantage of them when they hadn’t known? What if they were disgusted by him? What if they forgot him again, but this time by choice?

Richie was forced out of his thoughts when someone shrieked, and he promptly realized he’d allowed himself to tune everyone out again as he catastrophized. His head shot up at the shriek, his heart pounding in panic. Instead of a psychotic clown or a gruesome murder, Richie caught sight of Ben, who had seemingly heaved Beverly out of the water, tossing Bev as far as he could back into the murky water. She came up sputtering and laughing, arguing that whatever she’d said had definitely happened, no matter what he said.

Bill and Mike were leaning on each other from the force of their laughter. Ben had a sly grin on his face, though the corner of his lip was twisted a little in embarrassment as Bev kept hounding at him. Stan wasn’t outright laughing so much as he was grinning, but that was pretty much the same thing when it came to him. Eddie was laughing so hard that his cheeks had gone pink.

Richie promptly realized that if he didn’t do it now, he was never going to get up the courage to do it again.

“I’m gay,” Richie said loudly, the words echoing uncomfortably across the quarry.

The sounds of splashing and play fighting stopped and Richie heard more than saw everyone turn toward him. He kept his glasses off, eyes focused on his hands. If he had to look at them, see them clearly, he wouldn’t get through this. Every cell in his being was telling him to bury this with a joke, to move on and make a funny and forget the whole thing, but he couldn’t. Not this time. He needed to stop hiding.

“I’m gay,” he said again, quieter this time. “That’s why It brought up ‘Truth or Dare.’ Because I wouldn’t want anyone to pick truth.”

Richie kept his head down, but he heard the others moving through the water. He startled when he felt Bev’s arms wrap around one of his own. Richie looked up and saw his friends (or, really, saw blobs shaped vaguely like his friends) all coming toward him, wrapping themselves around him where he sat.

Ben curled himself around Richie’s knee, right below Bev. On Richie’s other side, Mike, Bill, and Stan all crushed in trying to wrap around him in some way. Mike ended up wrapped around Richie’s leg, which probably looked ridiculous, if only Richie could see, while Bill and Stan curled up around his arm and side. Then, Eddie came up behind Richie, wrapping his arms carefully around Richie’s shoulders and resting his head on Richie’s own (probably taking advantage of being taller than Richie, for the moment).

“We’re proud of you, Rich,” Stan said quietly.

Tears stung at Richie’s eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He sat there for a few minutes, soaking in their warmth and care, closing his eyes and letting peace finally overcome him. The secret, his dirty little secret, had finally been aired. He didn’t need to be scared of it anymore, at least not in this small circle (coming out as a public figure was an entirely different story, and Richie sure as fuck wasn’t ready for that yet). Pennywise’s words, echoing in his head since they were said, finally began to quiet.

“Thank you,” Rich said eventually, his shields formed from humor finally coming back up. He could only handle so much emotional vulnerability without making a joke. “I don’t have my glasses on so I don’t know who you people are, but thank you.”

Richie’s friends laughed, and he could feel Eddie’s chin brushing against his head with the force of Eddie’s eyeroll. Richie himself chuckled a little, blinking to clear the lingering tears from his eyes before they could fall. It was then that he noticed his hands: one clasped tightly between Ben and Beverly’s fingers, and the other resting on one of Eddie’s arms, Stan’s hand resting atop his.

“Oh shit,” he mumbled.

He felt more than saw (seeing as he couldn’t see) Beverly and Mike look up at him.

“I legit can’t find my glasses.”

A chorus of “Are you serious?” met Richie’s ears and he almost laughed again, but it was true. Sometime between the six of them latching onto him, Richie’s glasses had completely vanished.

Richie settled in where he sat as the others went off to find his glasses, diving beneath the water and arguing between themselves. The only person who didn’t move away was Eddie, who shifted from standing behind him to sitting next to him. As he heard Bev laugh, followed by a splash (Richie would bet money she just dunked Ben, the two had been attached at the hip and making heart eyes at each other since they escaped Neibolt), he felt Eddie grab his right hand and interlock their fingers.

There was a distinct lack of cold, wet metal as Eddie squeezed his hand, and Richie swore his heart skipped more than a few beats.

Maybe he wasn’t the only one with a secret, Richie thought as Eddie’s head leaned against his shoulder for a few seconds. And maybe, just maybe, Richie wouldn’t have to go home and face his nightmares alone after this.

[writingwithacupoftea]

Quiet

Summary: Following Grace’s death, Tommy shuts himself off from the rest of the world, dealing with all of the noise in his head alone. But Y/N Shelby will be damned if she doesn’t try to help her brother...

Word Count: 3158

A/N: This has unexpectedly become my 200 follower celebration fic, so thank you again!! I was getting my doctor-prescribed daily dose of Cillian Murphy the other day watching his video about the rise of Tommy Shelby, and the part where he talks about Tommy being burdened by his intelligence for some reason made me think of Matilda. So, the song ‘Quiet’ from Matilda the Musical (which I love btw, I’m a massive musical theatre nerd) became the inspiration for this fic. Hope you enjoy it!!

Y/N Shelby was always a source of amazement to the rest of her family. Being the second youngest of the Shelby clan, it had come as a shock to her three elder brothers that she could be quite as ruthless as them when it came to business and enemies who threatened her family. However, it wasn't just that which truly surprised them: it was the fact that she still managed to retain her heart of gold. This was largely reserved for her family and, despite the violence and atrocities committed by them in front of her very eyes, she loved them unconditionally (even if they were a pain in the arse sometimes).

When Tommy bought Arrow House, he also acquired the little cottage on the estate. Knowing that Y/N was getting restless at the prospect of still living with her family as she approached her twenties, Tommy had given the place to her to do with as she wished. This arrangement pleased both siblings immensely. Tommy and Y/N had always had an incredibly close relationship, despite the large age gap, and the cottage's location meant that Y/N got the independence that she so desperately wanted, whilst also being close enough for them to see each other as often as they wished.

(As well as this, it gave Tommy peace of mind that the only way to access the cottage was to cross the grounds which lay in front of Arrow House. This meant that any enemies would have to go past the blinders stationed in front of his house, then through Tommy himself, and finally deal with the blinders outside of Y/N's cottage in order to get to her. Oh, and he always knew when she dared to bring a boy back with her.)

Everything was going perfectly, and Tommy and Y/N were, for once, happy with their lives.

And then Grace died.

For two weeks after the funeral, Tommy spent most of his time riding around the estate, thinking by himself. He didn't want to see anyone apart from his son. Sometimes, depending on where he stopped at night, Y/N could see her brother at a distance from her living room. She longed to run to him, not to tell him that she was sorry and offer her condolences because she knew he'd be sick of that already. Y/N just wanted Tommy to know that he didn't have to fight every battle alone.

Then, out of the blue, there came a point when he stopped doing that. Instead, Tommy chose to throw himself into his work, providing a different type of isolation. He barely left the house, locking himself away in his office, and when he did go out on business he hardly told a soul. According to Mary (who secretly phoned Y/N every week to let her know how Tommy was doing) he seemed lifeless now, as if he were the one that died, not his wife. Her employer was even quieter than he usually was, and Y/N knew that that was when his brain got the loudest.

Y/N refused to sit by and let him destroy himself for any longer...and she knew just the trick to bring her brother back to life.

***

The phone on Tommy's desk seemed to ring even louder than usual, adding to his pounding headache. He hadn't left the house in three days, not that he'd noticed it, and was more on-edge than ever. With a sigh, he picked up the receiver.

"Tom?" Despite the million thoughts that clogged up his brain, he couldn't help the flicker of a smile that passed over his face upon hearing his little sister's light voice, something he'd gotten so used to when she'd lived with him. But that calm didn't last long before his brain went into overdrive again.

"You alright?" He had tried his best to keep any tones of alarm and worry at bay, but knew that he had failed when his voice faltered on the last word.

"I'm fine, I just need to you pop over and help me move a bookcase."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Tommy replied steadily, "Y/N, I'm waiting on about three different phone calls and I have a business to run. Why don't you ask -" He paused, looking at the list in front of him, "Ben or Harry to help you, eh?" (They were in charge of guarding Y/N's house during the daytime this week, according to the rota.)

"I mean I would do, but I've given them the weekend off, and quite frankly you're the closest other person, Tom."

The man in question froze. "You've sent Ben and Harry away?"

"Yes."

"For an entire weekend?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't tell me about it?"

"That's about the size of it, yeah."

"What the fuck do you think you're playing at Y/N?" Tommy was shouting now, furious that his sister would be this stupid. "I thought you had more sense than this!"

"Actually, Thomas, I think in this case I've got more sense than you. They've been outside this house for two, nearly three, weeks now because you haven't stood them down and you won't let me do it myself. How do you expect them to do their job properly if they're dead on their feet?"

Tommy fell silent, his heart beating at a mile a minute, worry taking over from his anger. What if someone took advantage of this moment? What if they used this opportunity to take his sister from him, like they took his wife? He was terrified, and the worst part was that it would be entirely his fault: he should never have let this fuck up happen, he should've kept a closer eye on his sister. Y/N lived on his grounds, anyone that came for Tommy would inevitably go for her as well.

He didn't even bother to try and conceal the tremor in his voice when he finally spoke again. "Okay, I'm coming over. Do not, I repeat, do not leave your house, alright? Don’t open the door to anyone but me, either. Have you got a gun with you?"

"Tom, you made sure that an entire armoury was installed here before I even set foot in the place, yes I have a gun."

"Good. Keep it with you, make sure it's loaded. I'm on my way."

Tommy hadn't even put the receiver down before he was on his feet, scrambling to get ready. Guilt and worry consuming him, Tommy made another phone call to get some more men stationed outside Arrow House, went up to the nursery and kissed Charlie goodbye, and then told Mary of his plan. Tommy would be staying with his sister until Monday morning – he was taking his sister's safety into his own hands this time.

It was common knowledge that the patriarch of the Shelby family didn't give a toss about religion any more, but as his pace quickened down the drive of Arrow House that Saturday morning, he sent a prayer up to anyone who was listening that he wouldn't be too late.

***

Livid. That's the only way to describe how Tommy felt upon turning the corner to his sister's cottage. For there she was, stood in the open doorway, clearly waiting for him. As he got closer, Tommy noticed that Y/N was wearing one of his old shirts under her worn grey cardigan, with a gun tucked into the top of her rolled up, oversized trousers. She also had a gentle smile on her face, the one that was reserved only for her family members.

Shaking a stern finger at his sister as he marched over to her, Tommy stated in a dangerous tone "I told you to stay indoors."

Y/N's smile moulded into a smirk. "Yeah, and I told you that Ben and Harry had the weekend off, not that there was no one guarding the house. Eddie and Will took their place last night."

Tommy ran a hand through his hair, whether out of relief or frustration, neither of the siblings knew. "You are in so much trouble." His tone was far from teasing, and anyone else would be quaking at the knees. But not Y/N.

"I thought I would be, but you can shout at me as we walk." Y/N grabbed a large basket from inside the door before locking it. "Come on!"

"You're not going fucking anywhere until -"

"You know, Thomas, the further away I get the less I'll be able to hear of you telling me off." Y/N hadn't even turned around or stopped to say it, she just kept walking.

"For fuck's sake," Tommy muttered angrily under his breath and then started moving to try and catch up with her.

***

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry for making you panic so much." Tommy had only just caught up to Y/N, and had opened his mouth to continue speaking when she cut him off. "I knew you wouldn't leave the house unless I made you think that I was in danger. You were always too good of a big brother to risk that."

Tommy was rendered speechless by her words. He had neglected her for over a month, barely speaking to her and never visiting – how could she still claim that he was a good brother?

As if she could hear his thoughts, Y/N continued to speak. "You're grieving, Tom. I didn't expect anything from you, no matter how much I wanted to see you. Although you haven't been checking that the blinders change over, that part of my call was true. But I've been taking care of it, so I've been safe the entire time. Don't go blaming yourself for anything else."

"We thought that Grace was safe." That was the first thing that Tommy had said in minutes, and his anger at being lured into his sister's trap lay forgotten for the time being. Y/N simply placed her free hand into the crook of Tommy's arm and squeezed it.

"You probably think I'm so selfish for doing this, but I promise I'm not just doing it for me." She paused, almost reluctant to put her next question out into the open. "Everything's getting loud again, isn't it?"

Tommy stared at the ground as they kept walking further and further away from either of their houses, wordlessly confirming her suspicions. He let out a small chuckle. "You always know, don't you, sweetheart? For someone so young, you don't miss much."

Y/N breathed out a laugh. "When you grow up with John and his bloody booby traps all over the house, you do tend to notice everything and more."  

That was enough to bring out the first proper smile that Tommy had produced since his wife's death. He had forgotten what a tonic his sister could be – just her presence and gentle voice was enough to soothe him and ease some of his pain. Tommy brought his free hand up to rest on top of her small one, still nestled into the crook of his arm, and she responded by leaning her head against his shoulder contentedly.  

They continued to walk in silence before Tommy realised that, for once, he had no clue what they were doing. When he asked, his sister's answer made him stop in his tracks.

"Nothing?"

"Yep." Y/N smiled at him proudly. "Absolutely nothing."

"Y/N, I don’t have time to -"

"Everyone has the time to do nothing, Tommy, even you." Her brother sighed in defeat, knowing that there was no point in starting an argument over it (the look that Y/N was giving him was enough to tell him that he'd lost it before it had even begun).

"Alright, fine. But how am I supposed to do nothing and clear my head at the same time, eh?" His tone boarded on impatient.

"You'll figure it out soon enough." Y/N responded, calmly.

***

She was right, of course. They had laid down the blankets that had been tucked away in Y/N's basket and for a while they simply watched the clouds dancing across the sky, bringing back fond memories for Tommy: he had done this countless times with his mother before she passed, and afterwards he used to take a much younger Y/N out to do the same before the war took over. Tommy let the rustling of the wind in the trees and the singing of the birds melt away the endless stream of thoughts in his head. His sister had also been clever enough to bring them so far out into the Warwickshire countryside that he knew that no-one would find them, causing a feeling of safety and freedom to wash over him for the first time in years.

Tommy reached over and held Y/N's hand in his, and whispered "Thank you, bug," just loudly enough for her to hear.

Y/N turned her head to smile at him and squeezed his hand. But then she frowned at her brother, causing him to mirror her expression. "Tom, you've got some grey hairs coming. Seriously, I can see them now, just at the side."

His lips parted in shock as her expression turned into one of mirth. "You cheeky fucker." Tommy's tone was deadly serious; however, Y/N knew her brother well enough to know what was coming next. She just managed to roll out of the way before Tommy's hand reached out to tickle her stomach.

Before they both knew it, Y/N was running like her life depended on it and Tommy was following in hot pursuit, uncontrollable laughter bubbling out from both of them.

***

A few hours later and night had fallen. Tommy had built a fire some time ago, and Y/N was sat by it, reading. He realised that, whilst the scene wasn't too dissimilar to the one he created every night in the weeks following Grace's funeral, it was also entirely different. Before, he had only focused on the thoughts constantly whizzing around in his brain, not noticing anything else going on around him.  

But now, everything was quiet. Not silent, for that would surely send all of the noise flooding back into his head. The sounds of the pages turning steadily in his sister's book provided that nice sort of quiet which meant that that noise just...stopped. Y/N hadn't actually tried to distract him from his grief or his thoughts, either, or tried to get him to talk about it as so many other people had done; all Y/N did was bring him physically away from everything and been there, a strong presence without pressure. For that, he loved her more than ever.

Tommy looked up as Y/N released a long sigh, having just finished her last chapter. He noticed her shiver slightly when a cool breeze brushed over the field, and fished another blanket out of the basket as she walked over to sit next to him. Tommy wrapped the soft material tightly around her and placed his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in for a one-armed hug.  

Breaking the silence, Y/N looked up and said "The stars are so much brighter out here than in Small Heath."

Tommy hummed in agreement. "When you were little and we were on the road with mum, I used to point out all the different constellations to you."

"I don't remember that."

"Well, you were always about half asleep."

"Do you still remember them?"

"I do."

"Would you show me them again?"

The question was asked with such innocence that Tommy glanced down at his sister, and saw her bright blue eyes staring back up at him, eyes that had him wrapped around her little finger. He laid down, patting the space next to him, encouraging her to do the same. "Let's have a look then, shall we?"

He was rewarded with a big, beaming smile.

***

When Y/N started to yawn and her eyelids began to droop, lulled by the warmth and her brother's steady voice, Tommy decided that it was time for them to head back. He bundled everything back into the basket bar one blanket, which he layered on top of the other one covering his sister once they started walking away from the dying fire (despite Y/N's apparent annoyance at his fussing).

Tommy was still set on staying in his sister's spare room for the weekend, wanting to make up for lost time. Part of him also still worried that she would be taken away from him, and knew that there wasn't much chance of him sleeping if he returned to his own bed. After all that she had done for him today, Tommy couldn't bear to leave her just yet.

He carried the basket in one hand, and Y/N had wrapped both of her arms around his other arm, revelling in the chance to be so close to her brother again, and not just physically. Y/N wasn't naïve in her view of Tommy: he was cold, brutal, rude and relentless, and she knew that. But she had also never wavered in her belief that parts of the Tommy that she knew before the war were still there; they were simply buried deep within, so much so that it was slowly becoming more and more difficult to bring them to the surface.  

However, looking up and noting the absence of a crease between Tommy's brows, she couldn't help but feel that she could afford herself a small victory this time.

"I'm always here for you, Tom," Y/N mumbled, seemingly out of the blue. "When you need some quiet, and remember that I always know when you do, I'll never get bored of things like this."

Tommy was silent, and Y/N wondered if she'd ruined it and pushed it too far. But then she heard him clear his throat and quietly reply "That sounds perfect, sweetheart," and her worries washed away in an instant.

***

As the siblings stepped over the threshold of the cottage, exhaustion hit both of them. Y/N headed to the kitchen and Tommy made his way towards the living room. Upon his arrival, however, he stopped in the doorway and simply stared in...

"Y/N?" He called, confusion seeping into his voice.

The woman in question appeared behind him, and peered over her brother's shoulder at the bookcase abandoned in the middle of the room. "Fuck, I'd forgotten about that. Well, you can move it out of the way while I make tea – it's what I called you here to do anyway." Y/N began to wander back towards the kitchen, ignoring the befuddled, yet amused, expression on her brother's face. "Thanks Tom, love you!"

"Love you too, darling," Tommy murmured, not loud enough for her to hear, a full and genuine smile gracing his features.

Yep, he thought, his sister was definitely one of a kind, but he wouldn't change her for the world; and no matter what else he did, he refused to fail Y/N again.

[kitchen-witch-bitch]

6. Let’s make a deal shall we? With Reddie?

EEEE THANK YOU BBY I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS!! If not you can beat my ass Friday XD

“Let’s make a deal, shall we?”

The statement comes unprompted from Richie’s lazy form in the hammock, shouted across the clubhouse in a poor imitation of a Bond villain Eddie is too tired to keep up with. 

Eddie peeks over his comic book from Bill’s old spot; their friend, the last one of the Losers to leave besides Mike, had moved for college a few weeks prior, and Eddie and Richie honestly weren’t far behind. Richie was due to leave for California any day now, and Eddie...Eddie was headed to New York. Tomorrow. With his girlfriend (re: babysitter, as Richie had called her on more than one occasion) that he may or may not be hiding from in an effort to spend a few more hours with Richie.

Just a few more hours.

As Eddie’s stomach churns at the thought, he realizes he hasn’t given his friend an answer. He may have pulled out a voice, but it was a statement that Eddie was supposed to respond to, based on the way the raven-haired boy pushed up so he could look at Eddie and fiddle with his glasses.

Eddie turns a page without having really read the first one, his fingers just needing something to do besides stain the pages with sweat from their sitting in one place too long. “What kind of deal?”

“One of those marriage deals.” Eddie chokes, and Richie is quick to correct himself. “I mean! Wait! No! We don’t have to get married!” Richie really sits up now; he does it so fast the hammock angrily drops him to an unforgiving dirt floor. “I’m not, like, gay or anything--” he’s spitting out dirt as he tries to talk, and for some reason, Eddie can’t move from his spot to check on him.

Eddie grips the comic book so tightly he feels one of the pages tear a bit. He doesn’t care. “Yeah. uh. Not gay. I know you’re not gay. I’m not gay either.”

The statements hang in the air while Richie situates himself on a sturdier chair, neither of them really even breathing for fear of disturbing the bubble they’ve created here. The lies taste like dirt on Eddie’s tongue and he just barely catches himself in time to not retch. He figures the way his throat and eyes twitch and the blood that is pooling in his cheeks may have given him away or, at least, alerted Richie to the fact that he was uncomfortable. Neither one calls the other out. 

Richie clears his throat. “I guess, uh, what I meant was--God, I sound like Bill--what I meant was we could, you know, live together. You know. If I’m not married and you’re not married by the time we’re 35, we could buy a house wherever we want and be bachelors forever.”

“I can’t stand you, how the fuck could I live with you?”

“You can too stand me,” Richie insists, but there’s a look behind his eyes that Eddie knows means he’s been hurt. “You would have gone and hidden from Myra at Mike’s farm instead of hiding here with me if you couldn’t stand me.”

Eddie pulls his bottom lip into his mouth; Richie has a point. He doesn’t know how right he is. Eddie would give anything to be going to California with Richie instead of to New York with Myra. He doesn’t have anything to retort. “Richie, I...I’m getting married. Right after college.”

“Things can change,” Richie’s voice has taken on a definite edge, but Eddie hears the hitch in his breath. It’s enough to make Eddie hide his face behind his comic to hide his own red eyes.

“I don’t know, Rich. I...mom already had me give her the ring.”

Richie is uncharacteristically silent before storming to the ladder, quickly scaling it. “Well, offer’s on the table. We all know that’s not gonna last.”

Eddie breathes out a quiet “Deal,” although he’s not sure Richie heard. He swears he sees Richie’s foot waver on the top rung when Eddie speaks, but when Richie keeps going, Eddie is afraid he didn’t hear him.

He doesn’t call Richie and apologize like he feels like he should.

*~*~*

It's 23 years before Eddie sees Richie again, 27 years after their first encounter with the clown that has killed so many, including sweet Stan, and took their memories of one another piece by piece. Everything was so murky when he got back to Derry at first, but now it's all clear as a bell, now that he's lying in a hospital bed, actually struggling to breathe for the first time in his life. 

He's not alone, though. It's not so scary. Richie and Beverly are holding his hands; Ben is rubbing at his feet because not only are his hands good for building delicate things, they're good at reflexology, too; Bill is settled on the bed with a hand on part of his chest that isn't torn, trying to be a steady force against which Eddie can start to regulate his breathing; Mike is stroking his hair from somewhere above. 

In all of it, he lets out a choked laugh. If he dies, he's not alone. 

He passes out shortly after staring Richie in the eyes, remembering their last encounter as teenagers. The way Richie ran away from him, and how this entire time he’d been home, Richie kept running back to him, protecting him just like he had all those years before. 

Richie's the only one in the room when Eddie wakes up for real, eyes fluttering open and then snapping shut against the startling sun, intruding through the windows. He's got a killer migraine, but he can breathe. 

Fuck, he can breathe.

His chest doesn't hurt. 

He lets one hand move across where there should be a gaping hole, but there's nothing. 

He feels someone sit on the bed next to him and gently take his hand. He recognizes those hands as Richie's, but he can't open his eyes. Even though he wants to look at Richie all the time, his head hurts too badly. 

"What happened?" Eddie slurred.

"We don't know." It is a quiet admission, and Richie starts stroking his thumb across the back of Eddie’s hand. "They had you in surgery and...you just started closing up? Everything's working perfectly, the doctors say you can go home soon." One knuckle strokes at Eddie's cheek. "You gotta open those doe eyes, though."

Eddie keeps them closed. "I don't wanna go home."

They're both quiet for a long moment, and Richie pulls his hand back down to where his other one is holding Eddie’s. "No?"

"No." Eddie shifts a little, moving his head from where the window is so that he can just barely squint. Nope. Still hurts. He shuts them tight again. "Where is everybody?"

"They had to go get everything packed up at the Inn, but they'll be back soon, Eds."

Eddie hums and tries to nod. Good. That gives them time to talk. "We had a deal."

Richie chuckles lowly; it's self-deprecating, a tone Eddie doesn't like him using. It's the only voice of Richie's he actually hates, just because it breaks his heart. "Yeah, that only works if you agreed to it and held up your end of the bargain, baby."

"I did agree to it," Eddie insisted, voice strained. He needs water, but he needs to finish this conversation more. "I don't wanna go home to Myra. I wanna find a new home with you."

There's a long pause, and Richie is frozen in place. "Bachelor life calling your name, hm?"

"No," Eddie insists. "I don't want that either."

Richie is still and quiet long enough for Eddie to almost open his eyes, fuck the pain, but right as he's doing so, Richie's lips are pressed against his own. His fingers keep Eddie’s chin tilted toward him as they kiss, soft and sweet and hesitant. Eddie melts, tears from the stress of this whole situation and sadness of a lifetime lost with his best friend hitting him hard while Richie coos at him. 

"Deal," Richie says softly, moving to kiss at Eddie's cheeks, his temples. "We'll find a new home, Eds, I promise. You don't gotta cry. You're okay. You're gonna walk out of here and we're gonna go home, baby. We're gonna spend as much time as we can with our friends, too, because life is too fuckin' short." 

Eddie lets out a little snort--when did Richie get so good with words?--and nods, finally able to flutter his eyes open all the way and smile at his friend, who looks just as tired and sick as Eddie feels.

"Close the blinds and lay down with me, Trashmouth," he insists, moving to make room. 

"Deal." 

If the other Losers come back to find them curled up together, Richie's face buried in Eddie’s hair and Eddie’s face finally blissful, they don't tease. 

They knew well enough. 

[joshslater]

Durag

A little rewrite of The Durag by bodilychanges.

“Ella! Where the fuck is today’s mail?” David shouted before even having sat down at the breakfast table. He was firm in his view that vigilant scrutiny and immediate punishment was the source of his wealth, allowing him to have a maid in the first place. David had many other firm views. “Homosexuals are all gay” he often joked, but he was an equal target offender. Homosexuals, Muslims, people of color. Although he would call them “the blacks” and the gays “people of color”. It often got a laugh at the club or at parties. In truth it didn’t really matter how poorly made his jokes were, people would laugh anyway. That’s the thing with money.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Cohen, but this just arrived.” Ella came rushing as quickly as she could, without running, from the front part of the mansion with a few small letter envelops and a larger DHL plastic envelope.

“What is it?” “It must be from one of your secret admirers, sir.” Ella suggested. “Good save.”

David snatched the bunch of envelopes from her hand, and she left almost as quickly as she entered, knowing David hated seeing any service personnel around. It had to be a secret admirer as no one would ever admit to like you, she mused on her way out.

David downed his ginger-lemon-honey booster shot and looked at the DHL envelope. It was more of a plastic pouch than a real envelope, big as a pocketbook and with something soft inside. There was no corporate sender on the address sticker, but just said DHL dropoff service point and “Tristan″ as sender. Sounded to him like some of the new ad companies with their hip names. Perhaps it was some T-shirt or something someone wanted him to have. He started to pull the plastic, which only stretched from his efforts. “Fuck!” he exclaimed and reached for a fruit knife from the bowl of exotic fruits, cut open the envelope and reached inside.

The shock was far worse than a normal static electricity shock. He dropped the knife on the floor and involuntary sent the envelope with its content across the room. All of his right arm hurt, and he could feel tingles as if the arm had fallen asleep and was waking up. “Motherfucking what the hell!” he shouted, and stood up. He walked a few steps to the envelope on the marble floor, grabbed one corner of it, and shook out its contents. Something black and glossy landed on the floor. The arm didn’t hurt as much, but the tingling sensation was spreading and he started to feel hot.

Carefully he gave the piece of cloth a quick pat with his hand. Nothing. He grabbed it and twisted it around in his hands, working out what it was. It took him a while to recognize it as a durag, though he had never heard that name. He was boiling with rage. Who the fuck would send black paraphernalia as some kind of sick joke, he thought. Was the electrocution also intentional?

He didn’t want to drop it back on the floor for Ella to pick up, or throw it in the trash himself. He wanted to incinerate the shit out of it, right now. The outdoor grill, or fire pit, or the ballroom fireplace, or the kitchen burner, all good options. He decided for the gas burner in his study, where he got rid of documents and USB sticks he didn’t just want to shred.

Somewhere in the stairs though he did something that he wouldn’t be able to explain. It was like an involuntary reflex, or a compulsion. Almost without knowing it himself he put the cloth on his head over his grey hair, put one of the smaller bands in his mouth, and pulled the other one flat around the front of his head. Then he took the first one out of his mouth, pulled it the other way around, and quickly tied them both behind his back. Finally he pulled everything tight, twisted the neckcloth, and tied it into a knot in the back.

As he entered the study he was almost surprised his hands were empty. He was breathing heavy, sweating profusely, and feeling like he had gotten a fever. He stepped over to the art deco mirror from 1922 he bought at an auction. He looked different, tanned like he had been out sailing all of last week, but somehow different in other ways. For a brief moment the thought “Why is there a fucking rag on my head?” caught his attention, until just a moment later he was more concerned about what was happening with his body.

He lifted the front of his black tank top and stared aghast. He had tried to take care of his body, it’s simply a matter of discipline after all, but there is only so much you can do to prevent skin from aging. But the skin, his skin, looked nothing like it did mere minutes ago. Glistening from sweat, the now hairless, young skin was slowly turning darker and darker, as if someone was pouring coffee into milk. He didn’t care if it so made him immortal. If it made him look this filthy it wasn’t a trade he wanted. Without noticing he lifted the front of the tank top over his head and placed it behind his neck.

His lean body was visibly gaining weight. His pecs grew and he could see abdominal muscles filling out his midriff. His arms and legs were also stacking up pounds. The tingling sensation in his arms didn’t diminish at all, and he did a few muscle flexes, which made the veins pop and sent a wave of relief through his body, along with a massive dose of testosterone. The low key itching that had been growing in his groin and armpits crescendoed into feeling like a rash, as wet hair visibly grew out under his arms.

All his senses were bombarded with an onslaught he couldn’t cope with. There was too much information to sort through. He scratched his armpit and looked at disbelief at his wet fingers as the testosterone boosted armpit stench reached his nose. He was confused, revolted, scared, and just wanted all of this to stop, whatever was going on. Something inside of him cracked and he moved his hand up to his nose and took a deep whiff of his armpit sweat. It was like his brain decided to like what was happening as a coping mechanism. Right there and then David believed the scent from his pits to be the most arousing thing he had ever experienced in his 54 years on earth. He took another deep breath and felt his dick stir.

He unbuttoned his Eddie Bauer shorts and started to climb out of them. It was a struggle to get out of both them and his briefs, and looking at his lower body it wasn’t a surprise why they were getting tight. His legs and feet had undergone the same transformation as the rest of him and were slowly settling in its new shapes and sizes. His ass was a pair of round basketballs of a bubble butt. Massive athletic thighs led down to hard calves, which ended in a set of size 16 feet.

His dick and balls were however of the same size as before, but now the same dark color as the rest of him. He let his left hand fingers run through the wet pubic hairs. He started to masturbate with his right hand while inhaling deeply from his sweaty fingers. It was good, but not as good as the armpits. He coated the back of his left hand in the sweaty right armpit. How he wished he could stick his nose in there, or lick it. He moved his gaze up in the mirror and saw a young, muscled man who looked anything but David. Alluring dick sucking lips, the strong bone structure of African descent, strong, muscled, sweaty. He could not think of anything he wanted more than to be fucked hard by the man in the mirror.

He let a moan slip from his lips. It was the deep rumble of an African American bull in heat. The sound he made made himself even hornier. What if the hot man in the mirror was a sex-addicted jock who wanted nothing but fucking him as deep and as hard and as long as he could as often as he could. But he wanted him to have a monster of a cock. To his delight he could see that every stroke made the cock in the mirror a little bit longer and a little bit thicker, but it also became more and more difficult to resist to climax. He wanted both to enjoy it more and enjoy it for longer. He shut his eyes and tried to think of something else, but all he could think of was dark, sweaty skin from different parts of the body.

The first thing he felt was a sharp tug on his nutsack as his balls suddenly exploded in size and mass. It didn’t hurt, but it surprised him, and made him unprepared for wave after wave of pleasure as he shot load after load of cum on the mirror, screaming in ecstasy as he did so. Exhausted but euphoric he just stood there with his eyes shut, trying to not think of anything but just savor the moment when a shriek knocked him out of his trance.

In the mirror he saw Ella by the door, her face completely drained of color. She was in by the desk, pressed the panic button, and out again before Darius had time to react. It felt like syrup to think. What was the response time for the police again? He couldn’t remember. He should go, but where? Away. He should bring something. He looked at the too small shorts below him he was dripping cum on. He had cash in the safe. No, you can’t open it when the panic alarm is active. What was the response time for the police again? He couldn’t remember. Was his name even Darius?

“FUCK!” he shouted and almost in panic ran down the stairs, out the patio, passed the pool, rounded the pool house, went past the BBQ area, around the smaller pond, rounded the hedge, came around the tool shed, down the access road, and ran to the garden entrance.

“Perhaps he split the front.” Malcolm thought out load. “Relax man. He’s still David inside. He just can’t get enough black cock, that’s all. He knows he can’t come runnin out the white folk side.” Tristan was sitting in the driver’s seat in the City Gardening truck they’d lent as a favor. They hadn’t seen any security driving up the access road, but they came prepared with excuses. “Perhaps cops shot him” “You just jumpy, man. We talked all this before. Police wont shoot nobody out here. Goes on public records and fucks with the value of the hood. Besides, we’d hear if... There!”

Stumbling out through the gate was an athletic man wearing nothing but a durag and a tank top pulled over his head. His eyes were wild and he was staring at the car like a deer in oncoming traffic and his mind was a jumble of contradictions. Why the fuck did those black fuckers park here, he thought. The police will have to deal with them. I want to suck them off, both of them. I want one to fuck me while I blow the other, and then have them swap places. No, why the fuck would I even touch them. The police is on their way. I wonder what they smell like. It looks hot in that truck.

“Remember, we need to get it on him before he clears up.” Tristan told Malcolm. “On it.” he lowered the window, waved and shouted. “Hey borther! Hurry! Come here before anyone sees you. There are clothes in the back!”

Darius was shaken into action and quickly ran and entered the truck.

5 months later.

Darius looked at the purple stud. It would look so good on him. Perhaps he could ask Tristan to buy it for him, since he didn’t have any money himself. Every time he raised the question with Malcolm and Tristan they just brushed it off, saying it was too early. He needed to take care of himself and focus on remembering anything from before his memory loss. Besides, if he worked he wouldn’t have time to have sex around the clock. They did have a point there. There probably wasn’t a black dick above 5″ in town that he hadn’t had inside of him. All of the squad, and Malcolm in particular were regulars, but Tristan had a way to get almost anyone, straight or gay, to fuck him. He once asked Tristan what he tells people to have sex with him, but he just smiled and said it was a secret.

Jammal was one of them. He wasn’t gay, but something Tristan told him made him make an exception for Darius. Jammal worked in the docks, and every time they fucked he made sure to show up sweaty. Darius loved nothing more than to inhale deeply from Jammal’s armpits, lick them, suck his dick, and finally have him ride his ass for as long as possible. He would like to get the purple stud and wear it next time they met. It was just a piece of glass on a needle, but he would love to wear it for Jammal.

“Hi. Can I help you?” the girl in the store asked. “Yo. I want to... I can’t...” “You want to try it on? It’s no problem. I have disinfectant.”

With a bit of hesitation Darius started to unscrew his stud from its plate. He’d had it in place for as long as he could remember. Just as the needle left the hole of the pierced ear lobe his mind was assaulted.

Everything from before the car ride came rushing in. How he put on the underwear and sweat pants. How he had been sniffing the clothes and Tristan complained that they should have used clean ones. How he had been running from the mansion. How he had transformed from racist, bigoted, multi-millionaire into the hot, dark meat he was now. The old memories mixed with the new ones, how he had lived together with Tristan and Malcolm in their trashy place. How he had spent every hour over the past months sucking, fucking, and working out with anyone willing. He was filled with nauseating disgust for them, what he’d done with them, who he was. At the same time he could feel his large dick getting hard, and it wasn’t despite what he was thinking of, but because of it he realized.

“Are you alright?” the girl said with a concerned look. “I think I... I know what is wrong.” he said and carefully put the needle of the stud back in.

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

No more

A/N: I’m so sorry it took me so to finish this requests, I hope you still like it though! 

Summary: can you do one where Eddie's son gets into a fight to defend Richie?

Myra is a very opinionated person. Matt’s been on the brute end of her opinions more than once, and he’s done his best ever since to refrain from eliciting any argument pertaining his mother ever since. It’s simply easier to smile and nod along to what she says, to hear her words and realize how wrong she is but to still be quiet regardless. His father was the prime example of how to do it, nodding to whatever she was going on about at the moment but not retraining any info while doing so, and Matt’s picked that habit up, but lately he’s been feeling guilty.

Guilty because, in light of everything: his father leaving, him getting admitted to the hospital, him moving away to live with a guy and suddenly coming out as gay and talking about marriage with said guy, Matt still absolutely adores Richie Tozier.

It’s weird, because his mother despises everything about the man, and always has. He remembers watching one of his comedy shows a while before his dad left for Derry, and she had screeched his way to get that vile man of her tv screen and out of her home, stating that she got a sick hunch in the back of her mind whenever she saw his face. As can be expected, Eddie leaving her for him has not helped her see the light of the end of the tunnel for him.

By all accords, Matt should hate Richie Tozier with every fiber of his being. He doesn’t necessary like his mom or support her views, but he still loves her, because she’s his mom. Tozier is part of the reasons she’s hurting now, with her husband leaving her behind while starting a new thing with him. And, if Matt needed more ideas on why to hate him, the newspaper articles about how he murdered somebody was plenty to seal the deal.

Still, when his father had invited him over to go see his new house and meet the new love of his life, a lot more lively and happy, even daring to leave the house in the summer without putting sunscreen on, Matt agreed. His curiosity was peeked and with his phone at the ready to dial 911 at any given time should it be necessary, a cautionary directed to him by his mother, Matt assumed he was prepared to meet Richie.

He was wrong. In spite of all his expectations, Richie was fun, loving and an over the top good person. It was almost ridiculous how terrific he was, to the point where Matt was ashamed to admit to him that he had such bad expectations of him. Richie replied with a simple, ‘just like my parents’, and Eddie, fond but peeved, threatened to throw away his favorite mug and received a kiss on the check as a pardon. Matt decided right then and there, that as long as Tozier made his dad happy, Matt would like him the same.

Once Myra heard about the positive things Matt said about Richie, she promptly cut off all his contact with both his dad and Tozier alike. She justified her actions by saying that she was afraid she was going to lose Matt like she lost Eddie, but failed to understand that she was the one pushing Matt away by implementing all of her fanatic rules.

She obtains these crazy laws, as if she in any way could change the way Matt perceives things by simply by ordering him. She’s completely held in the dark, and has no idea that every day after school Matt makes a pit stop to hang around his dad and occasionally Richie. Those times are fun, but Matt misses Eddie more than anything, and he’s tired of having to keep his visit short and fleeting. He’s tried to talk to Myra about it, but she trampled all over him off before Matt even had time to debate his arguments.

He’s desperate for more time with his dad, who suggested Matt come live with him for a while, but he also feels weirdly guilty towards his mom at even the abstract idea that he would accept. She’s got no one besides her own son, and so he bears a big amount of responsibility towards her. He doesn’t mind the task, though he’s also not fond of it, but he had hoped there would be some sort of balance between his parents. That doesn’t see possible anymore, not with the way Myra’s been blocking Eddie’s attempts at conversing.

The metaphorical bomb shell, the destruction of the carefully planned strategy Matt used to keep his parents affairs separated, explodes on the day Matt tells her he’s going to spend an evening with Richie and Eddie. He tells her he’s going, he doesn’t ask, because if he posed it as a question, Myra would never allow him to go.

Still, the first thing that comes out of Myra’s moth is a very firm no, followed by a threat that she’ll take Matt’s cellphone away if he doesn’t listen. After Matt rebels against her, by stating that it’s technically not up to her, she shoves her chair back, picking up their plates aggressively and practically throwing them in the dishwasher. Matt follows her.

‘Mom stop. I haven’t ever held anything you said about dad against you, so why can’t you do the same for me? I’m okay with Richie being around, but that doesn’t mean I love you any less.’

‘How can you love me and still hang around those… those pigs that did this to me? Do you have any idea how hard this has been on me? I’ve got one less paycheck coming in, and I still have a whole lot of mouths to feed, my friends are gossiping about me and I can’t go into any room without it reminding you of your father. And it’s all Richie Tozier’s fault.’

‘No it’s not mom,’ Matt spits in a brief moment of exponential anger. He diminishes at once, ashamed that he spoke to his mother in that way. ‘I’m sorry’, he explains before his mother’s resentment can be misplaced onto him. ‘But it’s not his fault, he would never do anything to hurt dad. And dad wouldn’t have left if he didn’t want too. You know how he is.’

‘I thought I did, and I thought I knew you. I was sorely mistaken. This isn’t a time for to hang around someone who is mentally your age. I’m sure Tozier is very friendly around you and allows you to do anything you want, but that’s nothing but a ploy to get you on their side.’

She paces towards the fire mantel, blowing out a candle she lit before lunch. Clearly, she does this as another way to state that the conversation is over, but she can’t help herself but to throw more shade Eddie’s way.

‘If your father wasn’t so clouded in his judgment, he would realize that he’s still allowed to visit you. In our home, without that filthy man, but he’s not. Because of that, you need to choose, and you need to choose right now. A stranger or your own mother.’

‘You can’t do that mom, that’s not fair.’

She swivels on her heels with her nose high up in the air, dismayed at Matt contrary comments to her. ‘Then I guess you have made your choice.’

‘Mom,’ Matt calls out to her, ushering no other signs for her to halt her movements. He wouldn’t even know what to say anyway. Her mind is already made up, there is no room for both her and Richie in Matt’s life.

For once in his life, Matt fights against the urge to run after his mother and pamper to her needs. He doesn’t go up and apologizes, and he also doesn’t call to cancel the outing. He’s old enough to decide for his himself the type of people he associates with, and for once, it won’t be him that backs down from an argument.

He writes her a quick message on his phone, hurrying over to the front door so she won’t be able to stop him if she tried, and slips out quietly. Outside, Richie and his dad are already waiting for him, and once they see him, they wave excitedly like a bunch of kids. Matt shoulders sage, his worried cease to exist for the rest of the day, because he’s sure Eddie will never bring up problems with his mom up in front of him.

Eddie playful slaps Richie’s hand away, but instead of the later reciprocating, he leans in and kisses Eddie’s check. Matt rolls his eyes, but he can’t help the playful smile tugging on his lips. The fight with his mom will continue to nag at him until they make up, but he’s not regretful for sticking up for Richie and his dad, and that sense of rightness isn’t something that he’s had many times before.

[set-phasers-to-whump]

is something burning?

Prompt: fire, heat exhaustion

Whumpee: Eddie Diaz

Fandom: 911

hey whats up!! hope u like this fic! 

It’s been a long day, and they’re only ten hours into their shift. Call after call, fire after fire. As soon as they’re back to the station, the alarm is ringing again. They’re all handling it in various ways, from Chim’s griping to Buck’s staring wistfully out the window of the truck as they rush to yet another accident. Eddie, though, feels he’s handling it far worse than the others.

Not because he’s being especially irritable about it, or snapping at anyone, or having any kind of emotional reaction to the seemingly neverending calls. He just feels bad. If he didn’t know better, he’d say he felt feverish, but that wasn’t quite right. He’s sweaty, yes, weirdly thirsty, and tired, but he doesn’t feel sick. Just...bad.

He wonders, briefly, as they’re climbing into the truck to go to their second structure fire of the day, if it’s because of the heat. But he looks around at everyone else, and they all seem fine. Maybe a little tired and grumpy, but none of them look like how he feels. There’s no point in bringing it up, then, he figures. He’s not sick and they’re not feeling it. He can just ignore this, anyway. It’s not that bad, and he’s still got a lot of work ahead of him. He pushes the bad feeling to the side.

They arrive at the fire a minute later, and it’s a big one. Normally, they’d all be a little more excited about such a fire, but the stress of the day has worn on them, so that they all just do their jobs, with little conversation passing between them, something which suits Eddie just fine. He’s too tired to focus on anything but doing what he needs to do. 

The fire is in a small, one-story home, something which Eddie is deeply grateful for. No ladders to climb this time. The family that lives there is gathered safely outside, but looking considerably distressed. 

“You have to go in there and get Benny!” a little boy says to Eddie, running up to him as he’s pulling equipment off the truck.

“Who’s Benny?” Eddie asks, alarmed. There shouldn’t have been anyone still inside. 

“He’s our dog, he was hiding under the couch and we couldn’t get him out!” the boy responds tearfully. “Dad was going to go back to get him, but it was too hot. You have to save him!”

“I will,” Eddie promises, and hurries to relay this information to Bobby, who tells him to get the dog as quickly as he can so they can start with the hoses.

As Eddie enters the burning house, he feels briefly faint, stumbling over his feet for a second. As soon as the smoke engulfs him, though, the feeling fades, and everything unimportant goes away. 

He locates the dog quickly enough. He’s shivering and a little dusty, but seems otherwise unharmed. Eddie picks him up and carries him outside, setting him onto the grass and watching with a smile as he goes running up to the little boy.

He starts walking back to his team to help them extinguish the fire, but he doesn’t make it more than three steps before that faint feeling comes back, and his head starts to spin. A wave of nausea hits him all of a sudden, and he scrabbles to get his mask off. The second it’s away from his face, he turns to the side, thinking he’s going to be sick, but instead the faintness increases tenfold, the world spins rapidly around him, and he collapses to his knees on the grass, not unconscious but not fully present, shivering and sweating at the same time.

And then, there’s a cold hand on the back of his neck, and he flinches away from it, then leans back into it, not sure if he’s hot or cold. He hears voices talking above him, hears water being pumped from the hoses, but all of it blurs together so that he can’t pick out anything distinct. His head is spinning. He thinks he’d be lying on the ground if it weren’t for the hand on his neck and the other one on his chest, holding him up. 

Suddenly, the hand on his neck is moving, and then he feels someone undoing the zipper of his turnout coat and pulling it off of him. The first gust of hot air that hits his chest feels like the best thing in the world, and then the hand is back on the back of his neck, this time pressing something much cooler and much more wet into his skin. It drips down his back and makes him shudder, but whoever is holding it there doesn’t move it. 

He’s not sure of how long he stays like that, half out of it, with someone - multiple someones? - keeping him from collapsing, cooling him down. Eventually, though, his hearing clears up, and then Buck is talking to him, and Eddie thinks that he would really like to respond, but he is far too tired to even open his mouth.

Buck asks if he feels up to moving, and he shakes his head, wincing when it brings a brief wave of dizziness with it. 

“Can you drink some water, at least?” Buck asks, and Eddie nods, feeling suddenly as though he’s never been this thirsty in his life. 

Then there is a cool bottle being pressed into his hands, and he drinks half of it at record speed, only stopping when he nearly chokes. Someone takes the bottle from him, then, and presses another cool cloth to his forehead. He leans unconsciously into the touch, no longer shivering at the cold. 

Buck is speaking to him again, about nothing in particular, and he listens, slowly but surely feeling some of his strength come back, feeling some of the overwhelming heat leave his body. Finally, after what might be minutes but might just as easily be hours, he feels well enough to stand on shaky legs, nearly falling right back to his knees until Buck’s arm wraps around his shoulders. He leans heavily on the other man as they start walking - where to, he can’t tell. 

They stop after what feels like a mile, and then Buck is gently pushing him down onto something, and he recognizes, through his now mostly-cleared-up but still unfocused vision, that he’s in the back of the ambulance. He feels Buck sit down next to him, far enough away that none of his body heat is affecting Eddie, and then he feels someone else - Hen, he knows, instinctively - touch his forehead, and his cheeks, and his neck, and so on. She asks him how he’s feeling as she hands him another bottle of water, warning him to take it slow this time. 

He tells her he feels okay in between sips, which isn’t completely true considering he still feels like shit, but he certainly feels better than he had before, at any rate. 

“What happened?” he thinks to ask. 

“You almost passed out from heat exhaustion is what happened,” Buck says from next to him, sounding angry.

“Oh,” Eddie says, eloquently. 

Hen sighs. “Why didn’t you tell us, Eddie?” she asks. “You must’ve felt it coming on.”

Eddie shrugs halfheartedly. “Didn’t seem like a big deal. Nothing I couldn’t handle.” 

Buck scoffs. “Really, Eddie? You didn’t think heat exhaustion was a big deal? People die from that.”

“Sorry,” Eddie mutters. “I really didn’t think anything was wrong. Not seriously, anyway. Didn’t feel sick. Just kinda bad.”

Now it’s Buck’s turn to sigh, his voice softening from that angry-yet-concerned tone. “Eds, you gotta tell us stuff like that. Even if you don’t think it’s important.”

“I’ll try,” Eddie says, knowing that he probably won’t. He’s just not that kind of person. He never has been. He keeps his problems to himself.

And then those problems overwhelm you, says a voice in the back of his head that he hates because he knows it’s right. 

He is spared the pain of having to think on that particular subject anymore by Buck’s hand coming to rest on his back, a presence that feels blissfully neither warm nor cold. 

“We’re a team, Eddie,” he says, like a promise. “We’re always here for you. You just have to let us be.”

Thanks so much for reading this!!!!!! I hope u enjoyed and sorry for any errors, i didnt edit alot bc i gotta go watch the amazing race bc its finally back on!!! idk if any of u like it but i’ve been watching it w my family for as long as i can remember lol