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#miscommunication
charlieeenby · 2 days
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meeting robin
the justice league is happy that batman is socializing, but they're worried that he doesn't seem to notice when robin is switched out every few years
warnings and tags: miscommunication but it's funny, alien invasion, mentioned violence
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“Batman,” Clark said slowly, “why do you have a second heartbeat?”
Instead of responding, Batman grunted.
“A second heartbeat?” Barry questioned, zipping over. “How would that even work?”
Another grunt from Batman.
“Batman?”
“I don’t.”
“But I can hear a second heartbeat coming from you.” Clark said, confused.
“It’s not mine.”
Barry choked. “Huh? Who is it then?”
“Robin’s.”
Clark frowned. “Who’s Robin?”
Batman grunted again, and Barry groaned.
“Come on, man!”
Then, Batman’s cape, which hid his entire body, shifted. Clark heard a small giggle. A child popped out, beaming.
“I’m Robin!” he exclaimed, clearly excited to be there. Barry was startled and jumped back a bit.
“What the f-” he stopped short when Batman glared at him. “Fudge?”
“Batman, what is…who is this?” Clark asked.
“This is Robin.” Batman said, like it explained anything.
“We got that. Why is he here?”
Robin bounced. “I’m gonna help!” he said, and Clark caught an accent he couldn’t quite place.
“Help?”
This got him a nod. “Yeah. B said I was ready to meet the Justice League!”
“Who’s B?”
Robin squinted at Barry’s question. Then pointed up at Batman. “B.”
“Batman, where’s Robin?” Diana asked, surprised the young vigilante wasn’t with Batman.
“He’s busy. Couldn’t come.” Batman said, and Diana got the sense that there was something that Batman wasn’t saying to her, but she decided to leave it be.
“I see. Is he alright?”
“Fine. Work.” Batman seemed to be giving short answers again, something he’d stopped doing after Robin had shown up.
“Well, tell him we all missed him, please.”
Batman grunted.
“Batman, what happened to Robin?” Barry questioned, staring at the small boy that had replaced the teen they’d watched grow up. This one seemed shy, half hidden behind Batman.
“Nothing.”
“Well something had to have happened, Robin was a lot taller last time we saw him.” Clark said, also watching the boy. “That’s not the same person.”
“No.” Batman said in an almost growl.
“Huh?” Barry said, confused.
“That’s not the Robin we know. That’s someone else.” Clark said.
“We’re ready to start.” Diana said from behind Batman and Robin, the latter of which startled by her.
Clark heard a quiet ‘woah’ from the boy and smiled. He must be a fan of Wonder Woman.
The Justice League and Robin shuffled into the meeting room, Robin sitting in a chair very close to Batman.
For the entire meeting, he sat quietly, mostly watching Diana with obvious wonder across his face.
Afterwards, Diana approached him, kneeling down to his level.
“Hello. My name is Diana.”
“H-hi.”
“How long have you been Robin?” she asked gently.
“Uh,” he looked up at Batman, who nodded encouragingly to the small boy. “A few months.”
“And are you enjoying it?”
Robin nodded. “Yeah. It’s fun and we get ta help people.'' This boy had an accent as well, though it was quite different from the first Robin’s.
“That’s wonderful.” Diana said. “We’re excited to work with you, Robin.” the kid beamed, looking like he was having the best day of his life.
“Batman, what the fuck?” Barry exclaimed, ignoring the various looks he got at the curse. “Why did Robin get smaller again?”
“Because I’m a different person.” Robin said.
“But he just replaced the first one like, two years ago!”
“Four, actually.”
“Batman? Could you explain, please?” Diana asked.
They got a grunt in response.
Clark sighed. “Batman, please, can you explain this?”
Robin scoffed. “Are you stupid?”
“Robin.” Batman’s tone had a warning in it.
“There’s nothing to explain.”
A grunt.
“Batman, Robin is a girl.” Hal said, confused and done with the entire thing.
“Is that a problem, fuckface?” The entire League took a step back, surprised by this Robin’s language.
“No, of course not. I’m just surprised, that’s all.” Hal said, trying to recover.
Robin huffed before turning back to Batman.
“Language, Robin.” was Batman’s response.
“Oh, come on, I coulda said a whole lot worse.” Her accent reminded Clark of the second Robin’s accent, though more pronounced.
“Tell that to Agent A.”
Robin gasped. “You wouldn’t!”
Batman grunted, though this sounded like one of his amused grunts.
“Fiiine.” She turned to Hal. “I'm sorry for calling you a fuckface.” that got a sigh from Batman.
She turned back to Batman. “Happy?”
Batman grunted again, and while Robin seemed content, Clark and the rest of the league had no idea what it meant.
“Oh my god, this one has a sword!” Hal screeched, running into the meeting room.
“Who does?” Diana asked, standing.
“Robin! Batman got a new one and he has a sword! He tried to stab me!”
“If I had tried to stab you, you would have been stabbed.” a small voice said from the doorway.
Everyone looked over to find Robin, scowling and glaring at all of them.
“He looks just like Batman.” Barry whispered, and Clark agreed. The boy in front of them had an uncanny similarity to Batman.
“Of course I look like him, I’m his son.” Robin snapped, and there were various gasps around the room.
“His son?” Barry’s pitch was high enough that Clark winced.
“Yes.”
“Robin.” Batman appeared behind Robin, frowning at the small boy and looking more annoyed then concerned. “Please don’t stab them. They are our allies, not our enemies.”
Robin looked annoyed, glaring at the Justice League. “Fine.”
“Go sit.” Batman said, nudging the boy towards a chair.
Clark looked up when the computer whirred to life.
“Recognized, Nightwing, B-0-1. Recognized, Red Robin, B-0-3. Recognized, Spoiler, B-0-4. Recognized, Robin, B-0-5.”
Clark stood and walked over to the zeta tube, staring at the four people that stepped out.
“Hey, Supes!”
“Who are you?” he asked, confused.
“We’re-” the one in black and blue started, but was interrupted by the one in red.
“We’re looking for Batman. It’s an emergency.” he stated, matter of fact. “Where is he?”
Clark hesitated. He didn’t know these people or how they got into the tower to begin with, but he wasn’t keen on taking them to Batman.
He didn’t have time to make a decision before the zeta tube started again.
“Recognized, Red Hood, B-0-2.”
He knew that Red Hood was a crime lord, how was the computer recognizing him?
“Where’s B?” Hood asked as soon as he was through.
“We’re still working on that.”
Hood groaned. “What part of ‘emergency’ did you not understand?”
The person dressed in purple scoffed. “We just got here and Superman is in the way. You wanna fight Superman?”
Hood looked over at Clark. “Hi.”
“Hi. What’s going on?”
“We need Batman. Got a bit of an emergency.”
Clark frowned and looked down at Robin. “Robin, what is going on? Who are these people?”
Robin scoffed. “Hood and Red Robin both informed you of what is going on, Superman. I didn’t know you were that dense.”
At least he knew the name of one of the new ones.
“Alright. Just, stay here, okay?”
“Fine.” Robin snapped, looking annoyed.
Clark went over to the chair he’d been in and hit the intercom. “Batman, you’re needed by the zeta tubes.”
A few minutes later, Batman appeared. When he saw the assortment of vigilantes, he sighed loudly.
“What happened?” he asked, sounding tired.
“We are being attacked by aliens.” the one in purple said.
Clark frowned and Batman shook his head.
“So you came up here to tell me instead of using the coms? Why?”
“Well, the com lines are down.” Hood said. “So yes, we came up here.”
“B, we really need to go take care of the aliens. Can we go?” the one in black and blue asked.
“Yes. Go, I’ll be down in a minute.” Batman said, still just sounding mildly inconvenienced instead of like someone who was just informed of an alien invasion.
As soon as they were all gone, Clark rounded on Batman. “What the hell? Who are they?”
Batman grunted. “Notify the rest of the League, then get down there.” he walked away, and left through the zeta tube.
Clark sighed and did as Batman had asked.
“Will you explain this now?” Clark asked, waving at the group of vigilantes that all said they worked with Batman, despite the League only knowing about Robin.
Batman just grunted and Clark was about to lose it, but then Batman said, “Robin.”
Clark stopped. “Huh?”
“Nightwing was the first Robin, Hood the second, Red Robin the third, and Spoiler the fourth. Orphan was never Robin, but she was Batgirl. Signal is new and has only ever been Signal.
“What the fuck?” Barry exclaimed. “I thought they all died!”
Hood raised his hand. “I did die.”
Batman sighed at that.
“Did he really?” Clark asked.
“Yes. But he’s fine now.”
“Am I?”
Batman groaned.
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buddieswhvre · 23 hours
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I've been thinking about Madney's wedding and I just can't stop imagining Buck and Eddie as Mónica and Chandler from friends. Just hear me out, I know the Buckley parents are trying their best but what if they still let out remarks like 'this will be the only wedding we're attending' or 'we're so happy to see Maddie get happily married, this might be the one for a LONG time'
And Buck knows that he shouldn't pay attention to their parents remarks but he also agrees with what they are saying. It has been weeks since Natalia and he broke up and he's almost as lost as he was after the lightning strike. He still tries his best to not let his parent's remarks get to him and fully enjoy his sister's wedding. He's not sure how much he succeeded though. Now imagine,
Eddie: So you're not upset about what your parents said, right?
Buck: Wouldn't you be? I mean they weren't exactly wrong.
Eddie: Hey, I know it's a very emotional time for you and you've had a lot of drinks but you need to let that go. I mean you were the most beautiful man in the room tonight.
Buck: Really?
Eddie: Are you kidding? You're the most beautiful man in most rooms-
And then they kiss now also imagine the morning after where Chimney is excited and running in Eddie's room about how he's going to get married today and once he leaves, Buck's like 'Do you think he saw I was here?'
Now ofc there will be angst on how are oblivious idiots would be sure that this is just fwb for them yk a friend helping another friend and it takes a lot of miscommunication and finally communication to know that they really do love each other.
(I know I should stop with my ideas considering exams and my wips but I can't help it lol)
Maybe I can write this one for didn't know they were dating prompt of buddie week where Buck is clear this was a one time thing and Eddie is sure that ofc Buck knows that I like him so much.
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its-tickety-boo · 4 months
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These two idiots kill me because what Crowley is hearing from Aziraphale is, “I am able to look past your demonic nature because I love you so much, but if there was a way, I would change that part of you” and what Crowley wants to hear is, “I look at all of you and I love all of you”
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Meanwhile Aziraphale’s actually saying, “I love every version of you that I’ve known, but I miss the smile you had when I met you and I would give anything to bring that joy back”
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ghost-bxrd · 2 months
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Prompt:
Tim is the first to find out the Red Hood’s identity and from then on sticks to Jason during patrol like glue (much to Jason’s chagrin, dammit, it would feel wrong to beat up Robin when he’s that starry eyed…)
Cue: PANIC from the rest of the Batfamily, who still think Hood is a forty-something year old crime lord and now assume they’re dating.
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utterlyazriel · 3 months
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an eternity, my love
eep! this is a bit longer than the last at just over 6k forgive me... but thank so much for all love on the first piece 🥹 and thank u for all your lovely ideas! i hope this does sum justice to the nonnie who asked for further miscommuncation... <3 part one here but u don’t need to read it to read this :)
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How does one even begin to decide what to wear to dinner with a person, the person, who matched your soul perfectly?
When your friend had hunted her way through clothing stores of Velaris and stashed away a custom dress — far fancier than anything you owned — for the first date with her mate, you had laughed at her.
Now, staring at your closet in only your undergarments, you were beginning to envy her preparation.
Seriously, how are you supposed to choose?
You pick up your latest addition to your closet, a glossy dress the colour of red wine that reveals the length of your legs and planes of your collarbones— perfect for a night out dancing.
With a grimace, you place it back on the hanger. It was far more scandalous than you would want to be on a first date, even though — well, you’re sure that, being mates, Azriel would like anything you wore.
You heave a sigh. An uneasy prickle beneath your skin has you crossing your arms; it was almost alarming how badly you wanted to impress him. But… mating bonds were rare and powerful.
Almost as if you had summoned it — in fact, maybe you had — there’s a soft shimmer in your chest. Your beautiful glow, the bridge between you and Azriel humming to life. In a way you can’t explain, it’s as though you can feel him soothe across your mind, his soft touch full of assurances.
He’s comforting you. All your emotions must be shooting down the bond without your permission. Gods, that would take some getting used to. You wonder if he can feel your resounding pang of embarrassment as well.
You do your best to push back something less nervous, more of your excitement for the night to come — and you know, without even seeing him, he’s smiling.
After another moment of fussing, you decide on something simpler than your glossy night dress.
Comfortable black slacks with plenty of flow to them and a shirt you thought was one of your nicer ones. With the slightest touch ups to your makeup, you rush yourself out the door before you convince yourself to change all over again.
The Sidra keeps you company, a rush of water beside you as you wind through the streets of Velaris, eyes flicking up to take in the darkening sky. The sun was sinking below the mountain tops, rays tickling across the ridges.
And while you could admit that Velaris was very beautiful in the daytime, you were a true Night court citizen— and believed its true beauty came out at night.
Somehow, despite the lack of concrete plans made as you had ushered the male out of your office, you knew resolutely that you would be able to find him. You weren’t even worried about the timing of it all. It was… what was the word? Absurd. Insane. Utterly, breathtakingly incredible.
Sure enough, as you exit the alley and round the corner, your eyes falling on the sage green building you reside in for work, there he is; waiting for you.
You inhale a sharp breath. A thousand cells in your body fizz, hum, and glow, at the mere sight of him.
It's easy to understand just how he had garnered his dark reputation, the image of him every bit of the Spymaster of the Night Court — a title like Shadowsinger has never been so fitting for him.
He’s blurred at the edges, a thousand tiny wisps that blend him into the shadows of the nighttime. His wings stretch up behind, towering over his already tall frame, black as ink, and beneath his darkened attire, you can spot his tan skin. Your eyes drag up his neck, tracing his adam's apple, along the scruff of his sharp jaw until you reach his hazel eyes.
Your heart burns.
In the depth of it, you know, if he doesn't love you, he will undo you completely.
It's wholly terrifying to come face to face with — the intensity of the mating bond scorching through your mind like a fierce wind, burning embers left in its wake.
It's enough to make you pause, the definitive thought that doing this, offering him your heart and trusting him, could very well lead to your ruin.
Your chest squeezes tightly. You let your eyes drink in the Illyrian, the Male who waited so patiently for all those years and was prepared to wait years more, if you had asked.
Focusing, you pluck up that golden thread in your chest and hold it tightly. It heats and melts, hotter and hotter, and you know that any fear you have, you can conquer to be with him.
Ruination be damned.
Azriel notices you the moment your frame exits the alley, notices the moment you pause — has been able to feel you drawing nearer to him this whole time. Your every emotion is transparent to him through the bond between you, whether you’re aware of it or not.
You must not have the tightened mental shields he had come to be so familiar with over all his years. It makes sense; you are no warrior. Mental walls over your mind are not something you have ever had to concern yourself with.
Azriel vows it to be one of the things he teaches you. You deserved the privacy of your emotions, at the very least.
But... for now, Azriel can feel them all. It's why, as you round the corner, Azriel can feel your eyes on him and then, then he feels it.
The wash of fear that spills over your bond like icy water.
An old enemy rises within him. He grits his teeth, even as he feels the fear from you slide away and he tries to ignore the sting from an unhealed wound. But self-deprecation never seems to drown, no matter how much he tries to suffocate it within him.
He shifts his hands, relieved suddenly to have them covered up beneath gloves. His wings tuck in tighter, if possible, and he wills his shadows sternly to contain themselves. Something in the slightest baring of his teeth has them obeying. They shoot to his sides and make themselves scarce.
All this in time to greet you pleasantly as you bounce into view, sidling up before him with a shy grin. It's only been a few hours since he got his proper look at you and yet, you're every bit as breathtaking as you were earlier. More so, in fact.
It feels as though Azriel has never seen the sky before and you before him, are the first sunset of his life. You look so pretty that Azriel could probably gaze at you all evening if you so allowed him to.
And then, he remembers the pang of fear.
He doesn't waste time mulling over which detail of him had made you afraid — only that he would dim or change or hide any part of himself to stop it from happening again.
"Hello, again," You say, your lips pressed together to contain your smile. You have to tilt your head back to look up at his handsome face. His shadows swirl around him and despite his strict instructions, one still slips away to touch you.
You don't notice it circling your ankle, tentative and shy.
"Hello, again." Azriel echoes your words, unable to help his own glimmer of joy.
He wants to offer you his arm, his hand. Can feel it within him, down to the very marrow of his bones, the craving to be closer to you, to touch you, however he can.
Azriel swallows heavily and does what he has done over decades, over centuries; he takes the wanting and pushes it down, down, down.
The two of you begin to walk, side by side, with no destination in mind. Aimless and content at the same time.
Azriel doesn't need the bond to see the flittering of nerves hidden in your expression. The shadow still circulating around your ankle climbs higher, like it wants to comfort you too.
Azriel wills it to still, desperate to not scare you again. He drops his shoulders from his usual warrior posture in hopes of making himself a little smaller.
“You don’t need to be nervous.” He says reassuringly.
You steal a glimpse at him, your smile breaking into a grin. Your nerves are still potent but less so.
“Who says I’m nervous?”
Azriel smiles gently, his eyes dancing across your face as he reads your lie easily. “I do."
There's a scrunch between your eyebrows then, like he had seen during his time in your office earlier. Azriel places a hand on his chest, over the place where the glowing tug is strongest.
"I can feel it.”
Your eyes widen slightly as you stare at his gloved hand, the cogs in your brain spinning and turning at a rapid rate. Still strolling, your hand rises slowly and touches to the same spot on your own chest. Azriel can feel his heart stutter at the sight, you holding the spot that connected you to him undeniably.
"You can?" Your gaze lifts to his face, puzzlement adorning your features. You frown and focus for a moment, staring hard into the distance — and Azriel feels a sudden twinge of disgust through the thread.
"Did you feel that?" You ask, eyes wide and curious.
Azriel nods wordlessly and he can't help but ask. "What is it you were thinking of?"
You look embarrassed for a moment, eyes averting to the ground. You chuckle awkwardly and tuck your hair behind your ears, glancing back up at the Male with a sheepish smile.
"Brussels sprouts."
Azriel blinks once, twice, and then has to turn to hide his smile. He tries to cover his laugh with a cough. It doesn't work, given how you make a small noise of indignation. He turns back, his politest expression on.
"Don't laugh at me!" You whine, reaching out to poke him in the shoulder. Your touch radiates through his body like a drop of golden sun, blazing warm.
"You're right," Azriel hums, his lips twitching as he presses back his smile. "My apologies, my lady. This is important knowledge I should be filing away. I swear on my life I will feed you no brussels sprouts this evening, or any in the future."
He wants to nudge your shoulder with his own, just to touch you, wants to reach out as easily as you had. But his shadows slip before his self-control does, skittering out along onto your shoulder and giving you a small shock and Azriel remembers himself. His fists clench tightly at his sides.
You walk side by side all evening, like two planets in orbit — close, oh so close, but never quite touching.
The first date you share is nothing short of… wonderful.
Resolutely and overwhelming good, the entire date you can't help but feel as though your very soul is singing, a thousand particles blithesome at the nearness you get to share with Azriel. He's surprising in a manner of ways.
Firstly, he's terribly quiet.
Next to him, you look quite the blabber-mouth, no matter how much he insists he enjoys it. His dark eyes are intense as they watch you closely, soaking in every word that passes your lips, and yet, beneath it, his dry sense of humour comes out to play. There's the occasional tease, almost as if just to see if he could make you flustered. (He could, easily).
With a Male as beautiful as him, suited to your very being in every way, it's nearly unbearable how much you ache for him. How much his very attention creeps down your neck and makes every nerve along your spine tingle.
You know it will take some time to get used to his unwavering and devoted attention.
There’s… just one small, itty-bitty, tiny problem.
He doesn’t touch you.
Throughout that whole first evening, you had noticed it somewhat— a flex in his gloved hands, a moment where his wing strayed too close only to be pulled back in a flash, even his shadows, darting out to be near you but never quite touching you as they had on that first meeting.
His hands reach out but they do not find you.
At first, you believed it was a first date thing. Azriel was, first and foremost, a gentleman, and you thought perhaps, his skirting touch, like his hand lingering over the small of your back but not touching it, was to be polite. Courteous and gracious.
Then, you had seen him just two days after that date, all bundled up in your giddiness that it had managed to slip your mind.
The two of you had spent the day together, traversing through the market — before you quickly found a quieter space for your mate as it became clear that large bustling areas, such as the Palace of Threads and Jewels, were not so suited to his tastes.
As you had tugged him out of the crowd, laughing over your shoulder at how he fought to keep his broad wings from knocking into anyone else, the thought suddenly snapped back into you.
Though you yearned to link his arm with your own, to interlace your fingers with his, you remembered his hesitance. Remembered the hover of his gloved hand.
And so, you dropped his arm the moment you cleared the crowd.
A hurt warbled deep within you to so do and knowing you were not the deftest at schooling your expressions, you hid your face so you could contain your childish reactions. You huffed at your own upset. What matter is it if your mate has no affinity to touch?
Truly, it was a miracle to have found a mate at all, you tried to scold yourself. You would not take him for granted for a moment, not even if it was not quite the picture of perfection you had envisioned.
Rooted deep in you was a truth; you could abide by this, abstain to his level of comfort for years, for millennia, if it made him happier.
The fabric of the mating bond, connecting the two of you intrinsically, made it so you would not want it any other way.
It's a decidedly Azriel thing.
He always wears the gloves, he never touches you more than he has to, and he's got... this really specific look when you're doing a terrible job of hiding your emotions.
As he had vowed, Azriel had set about teaching you how to build the mental walls up within your mind, brick by brick by brick. While it would help you hold against daemati if that loathsome situation should ever arise, it would also shield you from your mate.
It would protect you from having your emotions ripped out for him to see, no matter how much you held back — if it was in your mind, it would travel down the bond.
So, the wall had to be built. It had been tedious, tricky, and tiring work. Yet every time you would feel yourself ready to throw in the towel, Azriel would lean in closer, his hazel eyes softened, and his hand resting upon your arm, thumb swatching up and down, to encourage you.
"I know it is tiresome," He had mused, that faint smile twitching at his lips as you scowled at the ground. His thumb was still moving, still drawing light circles on your bicep. The skin beneath it blazed with warmth. "But it is worth it, that I can promise. You deserve this privacy, my dear. I would never wish to take it from you."
My dear, my dear, my dear— the words had sunk into your sternum and bloomed, bright and golden.
It's enough to hold onto, his kind affections. The sweet shape of his mouth when it says your name. The way his lashes kiss in the corner when he can't hold back his smile.
It's enough to soothe yourself over. To take the lack of touch on the chin and swallow down your desire for more.
It's why— why you can't help yourself— why you couldn't tear your eyes away from Azriel's hand where it touches Cassian's arm.
You're meeting his family today, which you've quickly realised doesn't mean his mother or father but instead means... the literal Highlord of the Night Court.
There are several warriors crowded around the cramped entrance room to the River House. Each of them is taller than you, and two of them with the very same huge wingspans that you've come to revere on your own mate.
Your usual talkativeness has been dimmed in your shock, though, really, it shouldn't be such a surprise. Azriel is a force to be reckoned with, honed over decades, and the Spymaster of the Night Court. You know these things. The company he keeps makes sense.
Somehow... still, seeing them all together leaves you strikingly speechless. The legion that protects your home — a family.
Rhysand greets you first, dapper in his dark attire, his violet eyes equal parts calculating and welcoming as he steps forward and offers his hand.
Despite the fact you have never bowed to him before, you still have to repress the urge. His power is overwhelming, the very night lapping at his edges and you're suddenly very grateful to be meeting him as a friend and not as a foe.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Rhysand's voice purrs out, soft as silk. When you place your hand in his, he brings it to his lips and presses a polite kiss to the back of your hand.
"Any friend of Azriel's is a friend of mine."
You can feel your own heart thundering in your chest. Azriel hovers behind you, his presence soothing in itself. You can't see it but his wings are outstretched towards you, cocooning around you ever so slightly. A shadow hovers behind your shoulder, just out of sight.
"I— the pleasure is mine, my Highlord." You manage to make yourself speak.
You almost wish you hadn't when your words inspire a burst of laughter from one of the others behind Rhysand, the other Illyrian. He's tall, his hair dark but longer than your mate's own.
As your hand is dropped, Rhysand turns to scowl at the Male laughing, and you only grow further perplexed when he gives a whack against the other's shoulder. They begin to squabble for a moment — and you don't even hear Azriel move until he's speaking, his lips right by your ear.
"You'll have to forgive Cassian." His voice is low, raspy in a way that sends a zing down your spine. You shiver lightly. "He can be well-mannered at the best of times. But I promise he isn't laughing at you."
The two Males seem to tune back into Azriel's words, even though they had been whispered for you specifically.
"It's true!" The Illyrian, Cassian you now know, pipes up. He brandishes a devilishly handsome grin at you, with his hands held up in defense. "I apologise. It just still makes me laugh to see someone address this one so formally."
You blink. "But... he is the Highlord."
Azriel speaks again, bent over still to talk in your ear, but much less of a whisper this time. "Rhys is our Highlord but he does not bother with such formalities."
"And," Cassian interjects, lugging a punch into Rhy's shoulder, much like the other had done to him not a moment before. "Before he was the o'mighty Highlord, he was our friend."
Cassian says the word o'mighty with such an air of sarcasm that you can't help but glance at Rhys, sure he wouldn't take such disrespect. But around you, there are only easy grins.
"Might we move to somewhere more comfortable than the doorway," Azriel speaks up from behind you, his voice dry. "Unless that is, you're all hoping to do one-on-one greetings with her?"
There it is, the dry sense of humour you've come to adore. The group before you seems to grumble, as if they were quite keen on the one-on-one meetings but begin to move through the house.
One of the group dips back to walk beside you and you do your best not to repeat your past mistakes, even as your eyes widen almost comically. Azriel chuckles silently to himself, feeling your polite astonishment down the bond.
"It's so great to finally meet you.” Feyre, your Highlady greets you, her pretty face rife with glee. She seems genuinely very happy to make your acquaintance. "Azriel has told me all about you."
You stumble in surprise, your eyes casting back to Azriel behind the pair of you. His eyes are fixed on Feyre, narrowed at her blatant betrayal, his shadows swirling around him. She sticks her tongue out at him playfully and you smother a laugh.
When his eyes shift over to you, you're positively delighted at how his cheeks have turned the lightest shade of ruby.
"Feyre is very persuasive when she wants to be." He murmurs, almost grumbling. You turn back to the Highlady and she grins at you, devious and captivating all at once.
It’s a whirlwind once you reach one of the many living rooms, each member of Azriel’s family all very eager to shake your hand.
Cassian grips it firm, his grin still on the side of wicked as he tells you he’s been waiting years to find the woman who could contain Azriel. Nesta, his mate as you find out, is a fierce kind of pretty with a grip as strong as Cassian’s. She tells you welcome to the family with the smile of a shark.
Morrigon is next, breathtakingly gorgeous, and every bit as charismatic as Azriel had described. You don't catch the glimpse between Mor and Cassian, not the beat of relief they both feel at your arrival in their lives— in Azriel's life.
It's swallowed up in her words, going a mile a minute. She jumps about, like popcorn in a pan, overly keen to finally speak to the one whom the Mother deemed worthy of Azriel’s heart. Where are you from? What do you do? How did you meet?
“Mor,” Azriel warns, after her twelfth consecutive question about your life. He hasn’t moved from his protective position behind you, close enough you can feel the heat of his body. His wings had brushed your shoulder just once.
“Yeah, Mor,” Rhys jeers. He nudges his cousin in the side playfully and Cassian snickers behind the group. “Give the girl some time to breathe.”
Even with all of Azriel's masterclass on who you would be meeting, it's still terribly overwhelming just trying to keep track of them all. They're each such strong spirits, each with seemingly a thousand battles in their past and far more years with Azriel.
On top of this is the fact you met both your Highlord and Highlady so casually in one single afternoon. It's difficult to not be daunted by the group that is so clearly intertwined with each other on a deeper level altogether— bonded by devastation and choosing each other through love.
Try as you might, you can feel the seed of doubt, of insecurity, make a home between your ribs.
You clamp down the shields you've spent the last few weeks learning, building the wall up and holding it tight. It's silly to feel dismayed because these Fae, these friends, know your mate better than you do.
Azriel had told you he had been waiting for you for five hundred years. For the first time since you've met him, you wonder if he was ever disappointed.
And then— then, you see it.
Azriel's hand on Cassian's arm. Then the half embrace they share, a hand on each other's neck as Cassian grins, wild and fierce, and presses his forehead against Azriel's own; brothers, sharing a moment of euphoria at the other finding his long-deserved happiness.
You should be soaking in the smile Azriel hides from you too often, showing his teeth and crinkling his eyes. But instead, you can't see past it, can't stop the loop in your own mind as it prints a fact over and over and over.
It isn't an Azriel thing; it's a you thing.
He doesn't touch you.
The mental walls in your mind feel paper-thin as a fresh kind of agony ripples through your chest. The soft rejection of a mate stings, a papercut on your very heart. You can feel it warble through you and know, terribly, the exact moment that Azriel feels it too.
His head whips around, his dark shadows that surround him suddenly spinning and flitting faster than before— a couple dive across the room to you.
You stand up and the chair scrapes noisily beneath you.
"I—" You say before you realise you haven't planned an exit or an excuse in the slightest. Azriel's gaze burns into you. You turn to Feyre instead, who had been talking across from you when you rudely stood up.
"I'm so sorry, I just—" Some excuse, any excuse! "I think I— left the stove on."
It's a lie. A complete utter lie that fools no one in the room as you retreat from it hastily. None of them try to stop you though, which you're thankful for. Each of them watches, every expression slightly concerned as you hurry out of the room, your feet walking backward rapidly until you bump into the door frame.
You pass through it with your eyes on the floor, knowing that all of the eyes are on you. You know the ones you can feel searing into your soul are Azriel's.
You leave the River House. You walk along the Sidra, your steps hurried and your chin tucked low. It hurts. It hurts the feeling inside you. A tear streaks down your cheek, unbidden, and collects on your jaw. You wipe it away meanly.
The sight of your apartment door is an overwhelming comfort, one that has you sighing aloud as you rush up to it, your fingers already digging around in your pockets for your key.
And like always, you never hear him coming.
"What happened?" Azriel asks, his voice almost pained.
You give a little yelp of surprise and whip around, remembering half a second later that there's still evidence on your face of your tears. Azriel grows characteristically still, his hazel eyes fixed on yours as you sniffle for a moment, aggravation beginning to creep in.
He could feel everything from you and you got... what? Whatever he deemed fit to offer? How is that fair?
His usually wispy shadows are inkier than usual, almost tornado-ing around his shoulders. They keep leaping out towards you before being caught in an invisible net, a barrier between you and them.
Even as Azriel remains motionless, his eyes are the opposite—they jump around, searching, hunting, begging to find the cause of your pain. Had it been one of his friends?
"Please," He tries his words again.
His heart throbs painfully when you finally find your key and turn your back on him without a word, unlocking your door and pressing your way inside. He follows quickly, wings tucked in tight, unable to keep his shadows at his side this time. They whiz to you, circling your ankles protectively.
"Please," Azriel says, an anguished growl to his words. "What hurt you? I will— my friends, if they said something— if it was someone, I hunt them down and make it right for you."
You inhale sharply and when you speak, your tone is cold in a way you have never used before with Azriel. You say the words without thinking.
"It would be impossible to hunt yourself, Azriel."
Regret howls through you like a hurricane the moment you say the words. You don't mean to be mean, jealous, or whatever unseemly emotion you can't stop from sprouting in your chest, growing in size, tangling into your heartstrings like twisted gnarled vines. It hurts.
You turn back to him, mouth open. No words come out.
Hurt is slashed across his face, his eyebrows furrowed tightly, his shadows tucked in tight. It's as though he's blended into the very air, the wispy edge of him threatening to retreat into his own shadows.
All his emotions on display just for a moment, before they're schooled away. Tucked away, hidden, not for you to see.
Inside, your hurricane howls again, this time in pain.
You can tell he feels it, even as you mentally gather your bricks. It isn't fair. How can he have every bit of you and you get what he pleases to return?
You want to know him completely, want to see every part of his rugged, weathered soul, and love him anyway. It's an untold type of agony to have him deny you.
"My love," His feet finally move, his wings almost dragging on the floor as he steps forward, slowly, as though he was afraid he might spook you.
"Tell me how to fix this pain." He pleads. His gloved hands are held out, palms up and suddenly, he looks nothing like a warrior. Just a Male, afraid of losing what is most dear to him. You shake your head, like a child, and keep building your brick wall.
"Please don’t keep this from me," He takes another step forward, his shadows sent awry as they dart across to you. You can feel them on your calves, on your arms, feel the tiny kisses they leave. Azriel speaks again, voice low. "My love, I can feel your pain.”
You can't help how you screw your eyes closed, the ache in your chest unbearable— made worse when you know he can feel it too.
"That is my problem." You utter the words quietly, eyes still clenched shut, knowing he can hear you. He takes another step, close enough now that you can feel the heat of his enormous frame, his wings bracketing around you. "I cannot hide anything from you."
Azriel makes a noise, a punched-out wounded sound that reverberates down the bond.
"My love," He murmurs for the third time. Down the bond, you can feel his sweet love, his golden gentle feelings travelling along to assure you. "I would not wish for you to hide anything from me."
“But you hide everything from me." You whine, eyes finally crinkling open. Azriel stares down at you, his eyes softer than they've ever been. You can see the hurt swimming in them, the hurt you've caused. Still, you speak.
"You hide your emotions. You hide your touch, yet you give it willingly to your friends." You share each ugly thought with him, whispered as you gaze into his face to search for your answers.
Lifting your hands, you curl your fingers around his wrists tentatively. Azriel swallows heavily, his eyes dancing down to where you're touching him. You slide your hands forward, dragging the pads of your fingers over his pulse, along his palm, til your hands are holding his gloved ones.
"Is there some test I don't know about?" You ask, your focus on your intertwined hands. "Is there— do I have to earn this?"
"No," Azriel chokes out the word suddenly. You look up at him. He clears his throat and you feel his hands grip yours back, surer and stronger than you had. "No, I'm sorry. There is no test, nothing to prove you deserving of this. I just..."
His words trail off and you watch as he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, as if gathering his courage. His hands slide from yours, pulled backward and you nearly feel the urge to cry once more— before you realise he's removing his gloves.
The skin of them is warped, you realise acutely with horror. The skin of his hands is swirled and mottled, an injury long healed but scarred for eternity. Azriel is watching your face closely, holding his hands close to his chest as though he was prepared to hide them away at the first flicker of fear.
You're grateful for the link between and all your shoddy attempts at blocking him out. Your love and your unwavering devotion drifts along the bond.
Azriel shudders, his wings giving the tiniest shiver. Slowly, gently, he reaches out towards you. You feel his hands, the unruly scarred feel of his skin sliding along your jaw to hold it tenderly. He has never held you like this before.
He cradles your face gently — like his hands have never held weapons of war, like they aren't twisted and marred with a memory he can't forget, like they're worthy of holding something so precious.
Azriel holds you as if you're holy — and he's come to kneel at your altar.
"I was afraid of what you would think." He admits. His voice is hoarse, gravelly as he fights off the lump in his throat. "I— on the first day we met, I felt your fear along the bond and—"
"It was not of you." You interrupt him, your hands jumping up to cover his own where they hold you. Azriel inhales sharply, eyes darting to watch.
But you pay him no heed, the palm of your hand covering his like a lover would. You let your thumb soothe up at down the ridges of his skin. You let your love ripple along the bond.
"It was not fear of you, Azriel." You repeat, your voice soft. His eyes are still fixed on your joined hands. His wings have begun to pick up, no longer drooping behind his back— you're not sure if he even notices.
"It was fear for how strongly I already felt for you." You lean into his hand and Azriel lets you, lets the length of your nose nuzzle into the touch of his hands — something no one in all his years of living had ever done before.
"It was fear that you already could ruin me," The words are murmured. "And that I would let you."
You whisper his name to pull his wide-eyed gaze from where his hands touch you and his hazel eyes burn into yours. Every whitened scar on his skin, every eyelash, the adorable pinch between his eyebrows; you drink it all in and smile at him. Azriel, your mate.
"Azriel, I chose this despite that fear. I choose you.”
Azriel quivers at the words, at your unflinching tone and suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, time moving around you, untouching, with such a perfect grace.
“I choose you too,” He murmurs, an emotion so strong a fire of possessiveness streaks down the bond. This time, you can feel his wall melt away, allowing you access to all he feels — his mountain of fear and his melting relief.
“Forgive me—” He begins and you laugh without meaning to, cutting him off.
“Stop,” you say, the word light and as pretty as your grin. “We keep doing this to ourselves, tying ourselves in knots over and over.”
Azriel laughs, his lips twitching into a smile as he allows himself to stroke his thumb lovingly over your cheek. The way you melt beneath it, your lashes fluttering and heart burning so brightly he can feel it in his own chest too— Azriel knows this longing will long outlive his body.
“We do,” He agrees. He dips his head a little lower, probably the only apology you’ll let him have, and inhales shakily. His hands shift across your face, down to hold your chin, his fingers pressed together tightly to hide the way they quiver.
“Then let me apologise in another way,” He murmurs, his voice closer to playful. “In a way I’ve been selfishly depriving you of.”
And when he kisses you, it’s with a reverence that softens all your corners.
His lips are plush and sweet, and with the way he dedicates himself to your bottom lip, you can’t help how you sigh into his mouth. He finds home in the curve of your mouth.
It’s delirious the way he kisses once, twice, three times like he’s hungry for something found only in your lips.
Your hands stagger forward, leaving his own to wind over around his neck. Your fingers curl up, raking through the hair on the nape of his neck — feeling the shiver that travels up his spine, his wings giving a little flare out.
He kisses you breathless, one hand abandoning your jaw to wrap snugly around your waist, bringing you closer to him.
When he pulls back, something within you glows molten gold at the panting that leaves his lips. He’s gazing at you, his hazel eyes alight in a way you haven’t quite seen before. His wings shift behind his shoulders, curling forward to wrap the two of you together, not quite touching.
Your heart thrills. You grin, your lips still just an inch apart as Azriel nudges forward, his own twitching in that way when he fights his smile. His lips brush yours, his smile barely held back.
“Have you forgiven me yet?” He says, sweet and low, allowing the smile to finally pull his pretty mouth up at the corners.
“Or should I make it up to you a little more?”
He kisses the corner of your mouth, chaste and gentle.
“Mmm,” your eyes are bright as they peer up at him, full of playful mirth and adoring affection. “You're forgiven but... I think you should make it up to me, just a little more.”
Azriel willingly obliges, his smile as sweet as the moonlight.
some people i thought might want to be tagged :)
@strangerstilinski @astoriaviviane @lana08 @florence-end @lportes-22 @torrick17 @florencemtrash @sidthedollface2 @seafrost-fangirl @goldenmagnolias @jeweline16 @meshellexplosionmurder @michellexgriffey @susiekern @toobsessedsstuff @fxckmiup @littlebookbengal @elenapril0502 @glitterypirateduck @hnyclover @technoelfie @itsapunklife @coffeecares
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Trust me.
By @onlylurkingreadingstuff
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ellecdc · 20 days
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can i request angst with sirius 🥲 like where reader finds out he only dated her for a bet 🧍‍♀️my hyperfixation on this trope is sickening and i hope to hear mother elle’s take on this 🙏🩷
ughhhhh I think maybe you guys hate me??? what's with the angst, my loves? why are we doing this to me? Listen: I wrote your Sirius Black dating reader for a bet..............but I made it a miscommunication trope/hurt-comfort I'M SORRY I COULDN'T DO IT. I get angst, truly, but I didn't want Sirius to actually be mean to us 😢 hope this works for you 🫶
Sirius Black x fem!reader CW: perceived bullying, miscommunication trope, hurt/comfort
Sirius Black was many things. He was a wizard, he was an animagus, he was a disinherited heir to a Pureblood family, he was a Gryffindor, he was a flirt and a friend.
One thing Sirius Black was not was a coward.
“Then go ask her out.” Peter said plainly.
Sirius scoffed. “I will do no such thing.”
“Why not?” Remus asked with a smirk. “You like her, you can’t stop staring at her, and you find every excuse in the book to be in her vicinity other than ask her out.”
“I don’t understand what your hang up is.” James added. “You’ve never had a problem asking girls out before.”
“I don’t have any hang up’s, Prongsie. I’ve never had and still don’t have a problem asking girls out.”
“Good.” Remus jumped in quickly. “So go ask her out.”
“No.” Sirius said petulantly. 
Peter’s expression grew into a mischievous smirk as he shared a knowing look with his two other friends. “Let’s make a bet then.”
This caught Sirius’ attention. “I’m listening.”
“If you don’t ask Y/N out on a date, you have to do my Astronomy homework for two weeks.” Peter offered.
Sirius scoffed. “I fail to see how this bet benefit’s me at all.”
“Well, ignoring the fact that you’d have a date with the girl of your dreams; if you do ask her out, I will do your Ancient Runes homework for two weeks.” Peter bargained.
Well…Sirius couldn’t deny that those stakes were pretty beneficial to him. 
And he could really use the help in Ancient Runes.
“Petey, my boy. You’ve got yourself a deal.” He proclaimed with a smirk as he marched his way across the library to where you were sitting. 
But by the time he got over to you…all words left his brain.
Why was this so difficult for him? He had a reputation as Hogwarts' Ladies Man. You were a lady – why couldn’t he talk to you!?
“Hello Sirius.” You greeted him warmly, putting the dumb sod out of his misery.
“Uhm, er, hi Y/N!” He returned awkwardly, grimacing at the delivery himself. You had the good graces just to smile at him, though. Gods he was a goner.
He heard snickering behind him from his friends and your eyes nervously darted over to the group.
“Uhm, was…was there something I could help you with?” You asked nervously, eyes moving between Sirius and his friends as you played nervously with the quill in your hands. 
“Uhm, no. Well, yes actually, you see…I was wondering if perhaps you might want to maybe go to Hogsmeade with me, at some point. No pressure though…” He rambled, trailing off awkwardly and grimacing once again. 
You chuckled nervously, but kept your eyes locked on his friends.
“Sirius, is…is this a prank?”
Sirius felt all colour drain from his face. 
Oh gods. Between his awkwardness and his friends all giggling like schoolgirls behind him paired with the fact they are known for their mischief, you thought he was pranking you!?
“Oh gods. Y/N, no! No, ugh, I’ve really mucked this up.” He groaned as he slumped down into a chair beside you. “It’s just…the wankers” he said, motioning to said wankers behind him, “know I’ve been uncharacteristically nervous about asking you out for a while now. They’re just having a go at me.” 
“Sirius Black? Nervous? To ask me out?” You scoffed. “Do you take me as a fool, Black?”
“No! No, Merlin, please, believe me – one date, okay? One date to prove I’m not the tosser I apparently look like right now.” He begged. Begged! Sirius Black had been diminished to begging. 
He was never going to live this down.
You narrowed your eyes and surveyed Sirius’ form whilst Sirius fought the urge to shield himself from your piercing gaze. Your eyes flit over to his friends before decision seemed to paint your features.
“Fine.” You said, “one date at Hogsmeade, this weekend.”
The way you were speaking made it sound like a formal business transaction, but Sirius beamed at you feeling slightly bolder in the face of (reluctant) agreement on your part, standing from his chair.
“You won’t regret it! I’ll meet you in the courtyard, Saturday morning – 10 am!” He called as he walked backwards towards his friends, only stumbling into one stray chair on his way.
Sirius could tell you were fighting the urge to smile or laugh, and even though you would have been laughing at him, it still felt like a win in his books. 
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The Hogsmeade date was a success. In fact, you had to admit it was one of the best dates you’ve ever been on. You had been friendly enough with Sirius from your shared classes and such – but your interactions had never exceeded as much as a polite “hello” from either party. You always figured that was for the best – considering those who found themselves to be too familiar with the Marauders were often victims of their many pranks. 
You only knew the Sirius Black that the rest of the school knew:
Mischief maker, Gryffindor, quidditch beater, flirt, a player, and anti-all-the-things-that-his-family-stood-for. Some of those things were bad, whilst others were good. But you had no idea that this Sirius Black existed.
The Sirius Black that was an amazing listener, who held doors open and pulled chairs out for you, who made you feel as though every word coming out of your mouth was the most fascinating thing he ever heard, who could make you laugh until your stomach hurt, who seemed to be able to fill any lull in the conversation with ease. 
You hated to admit it, but…you sort of liked this Sirius Black. 
After a nice day of window shopping, actual shopping, butterbeer’s and scenic strolls through the picturesque town, you made your way back to Hogwarts. Sirius bid you farewell by kissing your knuckles (you actually think you might have swooned a little bit) and asked if you’d be so inclined to make this a “regular thing.”
“I wouldn’t be opposed to that.” You tried to say noncommittally, though you were sure the grin on your face gave away your enthusiasm. 
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” He asked as he walked backwards towards his friends, face turning a little shy.
You couldn’t help but take the piss for it. “We live in the same castle, Black. I’m sure you’ll see me tomorrow.”
“Cheeky minx.” He called back, though his face remained soft as he shot a wink at you before turning towards his friends.
You started to head towards the castle but watched as Remus pat him on the back and James’ cheered at his friend’s reunion. 
Before you got too far away, you overheard a part of their conversation. Remus asked if he had enjoyed himself, James asked if the two of you were going to do it again, but it was what you heard Peter say that made your heart drop to your stomach.
“So? Was the bet worth it, did you have a nice time?”
A bet…had a nice time, because of a bet?
He made a bet…he asked you out…because of a bet.
Stupid, stupid girl.
You knew better.
You felt sick, you felt foolish, you felt betrayed.
He really was a player; he really was a flirt. He made you feel so special today, and it was all just an act? 
How could you be so naïve?
How could you have believed his whole “I’ve been so nervous to ask you out” bit. You’ve seen him at parties – you’ve seen him with other girls.
You were such an idiot. 
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Sirius had really enjoyed himself yesterday. He had to continuously wipe his hands on his jeans as they were clammy with nerves all day, but generally he felt he handled himself okay. 
At least, as good as could be considering he’d completely lost the ability to keep his fucking cool around a pretty girl. 
So, maybe he hadn’t been as smooth as he normally was. But he didn’t think he’d been so bad as to have elicited this reaction from you.
You barely spared him a glance as you marched past him in the Great Hall the following morning, shouldering him as you headed to sit with your friends.
You…you had enjoyed yourself yesterday, right? When the two of you parted, you’d actually expressed interest in seeing him again.
So, why were you ignoring him?
He figured perhaps you just hadn’t noticed him or mistaken him for someone else or some other such thing as he took his place at the Gryffindor table, but not before he spared one more glance at you. 
You looked painfully dejected and one of your friends placed a comforting hand on your back, rubbing soothing circles. She was also glaring at Sirius.
What had he done? 
He had gotten up to go over and ask you, but if he thought he had been intimidated to talk to you before – his intimidation was increased ten-fold at the withering glares your friends all cast at him.
He’d just have to find a chance to chat with you alone.
That chance never came, however, as you seemed to have an entourage escorting you to all of your classes that Monday.
But by the following evening, he couldn’t take it anymore – wouldn’t take it anymore. He’d had a nice time, dammit! And he wanted to enjoy time with you again!
“Are you lost, Black?” One of your friends goaded him as he approached your table in the library. He sucked in a steadying breath as he focused his sights on you. You, who sat unbelievably tense but still never lifted your head from your quill and notebook.
“Y/N? Could we talk for a moment?” He asked quietly.
“No.” Another friend answered for you.
As politely as he could – which was becoming increasingly difficult due to his frayed nerves – he addressed your friend. “With all due respect, Bones, I wasn’t talking to you.”
“No, you were talking to Y/N, right? Why? Did your friends make another bet with you?” She sneered.
Sirius felt his heart fall out of his arse.
He scoffed in disbelief. “You…you mean Pete’s bet?”
You laughed humourlessly and threw your quill down in front of you. “Why? Was there more than one bet, Black?” You spat, finally turning to face him. He was horrified to see your eyes were red and glassy – you were close to crying. 
“No! No, Circe, I-”
“Oh good,” your friend said sarcastically, “there was only one bet. Guess that’s not so bad then.”
“Y/N, please, you have to listen I-”
“Whoa, what’s going on here?” James said as he moved towards Sirius, apparently only having just arrived in the library. Sirius was sort of horrified to notice that some of the surrounding students had turned in their chairs to witness the ultimate downfall of Sirius Black.
That’s right - fuck being formally and officially disowned by his family – this was the undoing of Sirius Orion Black.
“What’s going on is Y/N found out about your lot’s stupid bet.” Your friend announced. Sirius could feel James’ confused face beside him, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from your face as he watched a single tear roll down your cheek. 
“Pete’s bet?” James asked dumbly.
“Yes! Yes, Pete’s bet!” Sirius shouted. He got down on his knees and kneeled in front of you, willing your eyes to him. You denied him the sight, but he supposed he sort of deserved as such. “Pete’s bet, Y/N, to finally get me to stop being a sodding coward and ask you out.” He offered, albeit much more quietly.
“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I don’t mean to intrude but I can assure you that’s really all it was.” James offered with a pained grimace from where he stood behind Sirius’ crouched form. “We’d been so tired of him convincing us all to hang out in the sodding library just so he could stare at you and never do anything about it. Took us weeks to get him to even start saying hello to you.”
You looked at James, eyebrows furrowing which seemed to cause more tears to fall.
“That makes no sense. I’m not that scary.” You cried.
“No,” Sirius agreed, “you’re just that pretty. That special. That lovely and kind. You’re not scary but you were really intimidating. I was so afraid of botching the whole thing – looks like I kind of did that anyway, huh?”
You were finally looking at him, and Sirius relished in the sight of your eyes meeting his once again, even if they were filled with hurt and tears. He took your two hands in his and ran his thumbs along the backs of your knuckles.
“I begged you for one chance, Y/N. I have no problem begging you for a hundred more. I swear to you, one of these times I’ll get it right.” He promised.
You stared at him for a moment longer before laughing wetly. “Gods, I’m sorry for being so cold. I…I really thought-”
But he cut you off by shaking his head. “I think you were justified. I would have been hurt if I’d overheard that I’d only been asked out on account of a bet. But I promise, it was not malicious.” 
You nodded in understanding and pulled on of your hands away from Sirius’ to wipe away the tear tracks on your face.
“Gods I feel so silly.”
“Let me make it up to you.” Sirius barked quickly. “Right now, come with me. Please?”
You looked at him confusedly for a moment before nodding your head and looking back to your friends. One of them still seemed slightly miffed, so conceded to letting him steal you away from them though she didn’t let you part without shooting him a few more withering glares. 
No matter, Sirius would have time to win over your friends.
Right now, he was more worried about winning you over. And hopefully keeping you this time. 
To start, he’d spend the rest of the night snuggled up to you under stolen blankets from the Gryffindor common room while the two of you watched the stars from the Astronomy tower.
Well, you watched the stars; he spent the evening watching admiring you.
He’d make sure you never felt like the butt of some joke ever again – not if he could help it.
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urfriendlywriter · 8 months
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miscommunication prompts:
(feel free to use <3 req by @seungspolaroid )
"Do you think I'm joking around right now?"
"everytime i look at you, i feel more alone."
after A says something that B understand wrongly, "i think i fucking deserve better than that."
"out of all the people, why would you..."
"you upset me multiple times, [name]-" "i don't know what i did, i swear idk why you're so mad right now?" "I'm the mad one now huh.."
"how hard it is for you to sit and TALK to me? "
"wow. you're putting words in my mouth that I've never said."
"no one can save this relationship now, can they?" "it isn't like something i saw is gonna change your mind."
"you lost me a long, long time ago."
"but you said that.. you said what you knew would hurt me the most. you did it too." "i.. didn't.."
"how can i believe you?"
"i don't trust you anymore."
"what is your problem? why won't you trust me anymore??"
"talk it out with me please, please i beg you."
"you didn't say that...?" "i.. didn't."
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piratefishmama · 11 months
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Forgiven not Forgotten | Prompt
Steve Harrington was eleven years old when he learned what Homophobia was. It wasn’t through other people making jokes, it wasn’t his parents, who actually found Steve’s little crushes cute as all hell, his mother joking around about how he’d make the perfect little housewife someday as she had him helping with dinner, Steve wearing his own adorable little ‘head chef’ apron as he struggled with the garlic press, her comments made much to his father’s exasperated amusement.
Nobody ever made him feel bad about it. The crushes. Nobody ever put him down or made him feel like it was wrong. Kids didn’t care until close minded grown ups made it a thing. Kids minds were wide open ready to be shaped. It wasn’t a bad thing...
Until Eddie.
Eddie was one of the bigger kids on the playground. Quiet and mysterious, he came to Hawkins halfway through the year from places unknown, his hair buzzed close to his scalp, now growing back thick, brown, and soft enough for Steve to crave touching it. He’d never seen Eddie up close, they didn’t share any classes but… from a distance he was clearly very pretty. With big dark eyes, soft cheeks, and a cute nose, he was perfect.
Steve was sure he’d caught sight of dimples once. DIMPLES.
Lynda Harrington was about five minutes away from being done with dimples, Steve talked about them that much.
Eddie didn’t talk much, he had no friends to speak of, kept to himself in the playground, either reading an impossibly thick book with a pretty picture on the front that Steve couldn’t quite make out, sat under the jungle gym, or laid under the jungle gym scribbling things into a black notebook covered in stickers and scribbled paint marker marks.
He carried a big guitar case sometimes, and Steve occasionally caught him coming from the music rooms, but he’d never heard him play. He wanted too, but hadn’t quite worked out how to make that happen without being forced to talk to him.
And that. That was just far too scary.
He was an older kid from seventh grade, and from what little he’d heard him speak, he had a nice southern twang to his accent that made Steve’s hands all clammy and his chest feel so full of butterflies that he feared he’d float away.
Too scary basically. But he could watch from afar! Afar was safe. Afar was—
“Hey trailer park FREAK!” Oh boy. The biggest kids. Eighth graders. Eddie was just going to the jungle gym, notebook in hand to get a little light doodling in, when they descended upon him. The sporty kids that dominated in dodgeball, the mean ones that picked on the nerds, the popular ones his parents had told him to steer clear of.
“They’re bad influences” his father would say. “Just focus on your classes and keep your distance from those troublemakers.” Steve was happy to do just that. He had a couple of friends but… he kept to his studies and steered clear.
Eddie was quiet, he had no friends, he hung out in the same place every day doing the same thing, he was an easy target. Steve looked for the teachers, any teachers, any grown-ups, but they were all busy elsewhere, Eddie didn’t have any friends to stand up for him, anyone to back him up as the big kids descended, shoving him against the jungle gym’s climbing net, he barely even complained, just told them to leave him alone, which obviously they weren’t going to do, leaving Steve with a choice to make.
He could stay there, where he was, and keep watch from a far as his crushes notebook was stolen, the panic kicking up a notch from Eddie as he rushed forward to try and get it back, demanding “Not my notebook!! Give it back! Please give it back!” To no avail, the two flanking the main bully just shoving him back against the netting while the main bully roughly ransacked through the pages, uncaring as to the damage he was doing despite Eddie’s continued cries for him to stop, he looked again, any adult, any adult would do.
How had no adult noticed yet?!
Steve found himself crossing the distance before he could even think about it, just in time to watch Eddie be thumped in the gut by the biggest of the three, “trailer trash nerd” spat down at him, his torn notebook thrown to the floor, papers torn free from the seam falling out across the woodchip floor, Steve was too late to stop the worse of it but— he could do something.
“Hey!” All three eyes were on him, Eddies not included, he was too busy clutching his gut and trying to reach for his book at the same time “U-uh… uhm” Steve turned his head and holy shit hallelujah “teachers coming! Better scram before she catches you!” She wasn’t even coming, she was just there, close enough that it made a difference.
The boys got out of there, each one pushing the other to move faster to get out of dodge before the teacher came. At least Steve hadn’t had to stand up to them, just… make them leave. They were probably about to go anyway, given they’d already done enough damage to put their point across.
Eddie was right there, nursing his wounds, trying to gather his papers up, so close, Steve could feel his palms clam up, his heart beating a thousand miles a minute. He pushed through, bending down to pick up a scrunched up ball of paper, he gently began unfolding it. It was nerve wracking, every second he spent in Eddies presence, the boy watching him hesitantly, big dark eyes rimmed red with unshed tears, brown. His eyes were brown. Steve gulped down his own saliva.
“You should uh… you should ignore those guys.” WORDS! He managed words. Okay. He could do this.
“Yeah? What’s it to you?” Eddie was upset, he probably didn’t mean the bite to his tone, it was okay, it’d be okay.
“I just… I mean, it’s not bad, y’know. To be like… nerdy and stuff, you shouldn’t listen to them. They’re just jealous cause you’re… y’know, creative and uhm… an smart, an really talented at drawing and—and people really like that.” He offered the creased paper back as Eddie rose to his feet, wrecked notebook tightly clutched in his arms, he took it back, not quite snatched but… it wasn’t taken gently.
“Yeah, what people? So far things ain’t exactly been makin me feel welcome here.” He shoved the paper full of… god Steve didn’t even know, but Steve knew they were doodles of some kind, winged things, and skeleton monsters, they were cool! Eddie could draw! Steve couldn’t draw, he could barely make stickmen work, the legs were always mismatched lengths, and the arms were never coming from the same point of the stickman’s stick body.
“I mean…” Steve fumbled with his own fingers, warmth decorating his cheeks, pinking the tips of his ears this was it! He could do it, he could tell him, and it’d be fine, and maybe they could hold hands or something, that’d be neat “people… people like me… I—I like you, I mean… I like you a lot and—and I just… I was just wondering if—if maybe—”
“Ew” Steve stopped dead, eyes snapping to the other boy, the other boy who looked at him with an icy disgust that wrapped its frozen claws around Steve’s heart and clenched “that’s gross. Boys can’t like other boys, that’s so fuckin weird!” Weird? It was weird? Steve looked around him, panic filling his very being, from his head to his toes every inch of him felt wrong all of a sudden, his heart beating faster and faster only this time it wasn’t good “and they call me a freak, freak.”
His small fist connected with Eddie’s face without thought, right in the nose. Instinct to fight rearing its head for the first time in his life, panic replaced so swiftly by an anger so unlike him he was consumed by it, and the resulting pained cries filled him with a sick sense of satisfaction that he enjoyed far more than the panic, than the sense of wrong in himself at Eddie’s words.
He didn’t say anything else to Eddie, he just, left him there by the jungle gym, crying in pain holding a bleeding nose. His book dropped to the floor, ruined papers strewn across the woodchip.
And his dimples?
Never to be thought of again.
—Until the boathouse in '86 when everything went to shit for the fourth time in a row.
Part 2
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sp0o0kylights · 6 months
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Still working on the BB fic but have another snippet of that Stobin Timeloop AU. This can be read as stand-alone.
Steve Harrington snaps on a completely random Friday.
Well--not completely random. It's both the day of the Big Sportsball Game as well as Hellfire’s grand finale--but neither of those things should matter to Harrington.
Not that he needs a reason to lose his shit--Eddie’s long used to being threatened, insulted or outright attacked out of the blue. 
It’s the whole reason he built up the persona he had--because the scarier he was, the more people left him alone. 
Unfortunately it would appear that Hawkins fallen king hadn’t gotten the memo, given he seemed hellbent on kicking Eddie’s ass. 
"Come on Harrington, we can talk about this." Eddie says, as he’s shoved back, scrambling for a way out, as the former jock gets up in his face. 
The guy had called out his name the second he pulled into the parking lot (sans Buckley or any of the freshman they shared, which has Eddie's back up instantly) but Eddie had simply ignored him.
It was too early to deal with whatever had Harrington sounding like his ass was on fire.
Pity Steve had charged over instead, a look in his eyes that said whatever happened next was going to hurt.
Eddie carries a switchblade, but hes never had to use it before. 
Had instead made an entire production about having it, including cleaning his nails with the blade or stabbing it into the cheap wood desks when a teacher stepped out of the room. 
Had shouted that he’d pull it even when Harrington had charged him, but the guy didn't even blink.
Thus forcing Eddie to confront the fact that he really doesn’t want to stab someone.
Particularly not someone whose family has the police in their pockets (or did with Chief Hopper, though Eddie doesn’t doubt that the Harrington Hoard won’t immediately grab onto the next pig to get promoted.) 
His panic leaves him flailing but somehow, (and unfairly Eddie may add) Steve seems to expect this. 
Knows how to navigate it.
Eddie's back hits the metal of the van and he winces, expecting the hit, the pain. 
If he can duck, if he can make it so the first punch only grazes him, he can grab his fucking knife and wave it around, see if that gets the asshole off him, except--
Instead of hitting him, Steve reaches past, to yank one of the van’s passenger doors open. 
Herds Eddie inside, slamming the door behind him before snatching a fistful of Eddie's shirt and hauling him forward. 
"What--" Eddie asked, confused, right before Steve smashes their lips together. 
It's a hard kiss, practically a claim. 
Steve kisses him like a drowning man gasps for air and Eddie can only fall into it, stunned. 
(The stunned portion only lasts long enough for Eddie to blink before he's kissing back, hot and heavy.
He's been horny for Harrington since the asshole did a trick shot that showed off his ass and involved flipping Hagan off at the same time, sue him.) 
Thinks as he does, that this is probably a trap.
That even if it isn't, then whatever it is Steve will make him regret it--even if he started it. 
(Not like Eddie can claim he wasn’t enjoying it, either. He’s giving as good as he gets, dick quickly overwhelming any rational thought in his brain. 
He clings to Steve like a lifeline, gasping when the jocks takes his bottom lip between his teeth and lightly drags it out, begging to be let into Eddie's mouth. 
This isn't reality.
 Cannot be reality, must be the start of a wet dream or some…vivid hallucinations because when Eddie grinds himself upwards into Steve, cock chasing friction, Steve presses back.) 
"Fuck." Eddie moans when Steve finally releases him, panting up at the ceiling. 
"Do I have your attention now?" Steve asks, voice raspy and Eddie finds himself able to die happy, because that tone is downright possessive. 
"Yeah big boy, you have me--it." Eddie corrects himself fast, the words practically blending together. 
Steve gives a strangled sort of laugh at that, and instead of getting up, presses his face down onto Munsons shoulder. 
Eddie expects him to spring up at any moment. Declare insanity maybe, or far more likely threaten him about telling anybody.
If past bar hookups were an indicator, he'd  throw a few slurs in for good measure. 
(And those men had been at a gay bar, not Hawkins high school parking lot.) 
It's nothing Eddie can't handle, but Steve…isn't doing any of them.
Instead his breathings gone weird, body trembling--and Eddie can see how Steve is holding himself up.
Like he's worried about Eddie taking his weight.
Slowly, carefully, he raises a hand to the back of Steve's hair.
He presses in slow, waiting to be yelled at, waiting to be rejected but never is. 
"You can lay on me, Harrington, I won't break." Eddie tells him and knows his voice is too sweet when he says it.
Too lovey dovey, too awed. 
Too late, for him to recover into a normal voice but fuck it. Not like Eddie was known for making smart decisions. 
Nothing could have prepared him from the wounded noise Steve makes in return. 
"Hey--hey." Eddie says, in rising panic. "I've got you." 
"I know." Steve raises, and head coming up at last, cheeks red and tear stained but his eyes are clear.
Clear and fucking haunted.
 "I know you do, Eds, but we don't have time. Which is why I need you to listen to me, because I'm not the Steve Harrington you know."  
Utterly reeling from being called "Eds" it takes Eddie a moment to digest what was just said. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Steve sighs, a blast of frustration, and Eddie finds himself automatically scritching at Steve's head. 
For some reason that seems to help. 
"Your D&D finale’s tonight, right?" 
"Yes." Eddie says slowly, his mind spinning uselessly, every coherent thought derailed by something new. The moles on Steve's neck. The way he shifts, how his leg is tangling with Eddie's, awkwardly because it's cramped as shit back here. 
"I'm way past this. I've lived this. More than once." 
Aha. 
So it's a mental breakdown Steve's having. 
"I'm still waiting for you to make sense, Harrington." Eddie says to buy himself time to think. 
"Steve." The younger man corrects and he's holding Eddie's gaze. "And I'm not making sense because saying it sounds stupid." 
Eddie can't help the little derisive laugh that breaks out of him. "I hear a lot of stupid things, one more won't kill me." 
"I know, you're famous for your rants about them." Steve snarks back, but it's teasing. 
Friendly and familiar, like he's used to bantering. 
Not just that, but bantering with Eddie, specifically.
He doesn't know what to do with that, so he tugs a little on Harrington's too perfect hair. 
Demands an explanation with that little jolt--and somehow, Steve doesn't haul off and punch him for it. Instead a shudder rollers through him, eyes closing just a touch and--Oh.
Oh, Harri-Steve, likes it.
"I'm from the future." Steve says, which does indeed sound stupid. 
Eddie blinks. "What?" 
"Robin and I are stuck in a time loop-- we keep living this week over and over." He continues, only now he's leaning his head against Eddie's arm. 
"Every single time, you take the longest to get on board and buy in, and every single time I fail to get everyone out alive so fuck it. Fuck all of it--I'm speedrunning this part." 
Oh this is beyond breakdown. 
This is 'took something he shouldn't have and then some' and Eddie knows how to trip sit. 
He just…doesn't want to get punched for being the first person Steve released his repressed homosexual urges out on, drugged or not. 
(The fact Steve's still letting Eddie pet him like a cat absolutely does not have anything to do with it, no sir.)
because his mouth bypasses his rational mind most days and today is no exception. 
"Okay." Eddie says. "Let's say you are from the future and not shot up with what I'm assuming you were told was steroids and was very much not."
 Steve rolls his eyes. 
He never bothered to dry his cheeks and Eddie does it now for him, with the hand that's not in Steve's hair.
Steve leans into it, which somehow feels like the craziest part of it all.
"Prove to me that you're from the future." Eddie challenges.
"Oh the kissing wasn't enough? Fine." Steve bitches, before rattling off facts like he's blowing through answers on Jeopardy. 
"You call your guitar sweetheart and apologize for cheating on it anytime you use your other guitar, who is named Arwin. Your favorite mug in Wayne's collection is the Garfield one and you can play Master of Puppets by heart even though the album came out last month."
"And this is coming from the future and not one of the freshmen we somehow share custody over…?"  Eddie says, even while alarm shoots down his spine.
Had he told the kids about his Garfield mug? 
That his acoustic was named Arwin…?
He suddenly couldn't recall but that made the most sense. Had to make sense.
Steve huffs, annoyed.
Its very cute, and Eddie bites his own lip hard to keep himself focused. 
A finger dips under Eddie's collar, wrapping gently around the chain that sits there before he can react.
 "This," Steve emphasizes with a gentle tug, "was your mom's. She gave it to you the morning of the accident." 
Eddie's world stops.
Not the same way it stopped when Steve kissed him, it stopped in a way they felt like ice had been dumped over his head. A flash freeze that squeezed his chest, claws digging into his exposed heart.
The only person who knew about the pick was Wayne. 
No one else, not even his band, his closest friends, knew the origin of it. 
To tell someone that, to say it was not only his mothers but that shed given it to him the morning before some drunk asshole t boned her shitty, shitty car and killed her-- was akin to handing over step by step instructions on how to hurt him. 
Eddie would go to the ends of the earth for that pick, and he had never let anyone know just how important it was to him.
Except Steve Harrington, apparently. 
"Okay." Eddie says, "Okay, you're from the future. You said--" He pauses, swallows. 
Fights down his disbelief even as the dots connect, because why else would he tell anyone about his pick? 
The only reason he can possibly conjure is if he needed someone to give it back to Wayne, because he, for whatever reason, couldn't.
 "You said you're reliving this because you can't get everyone out alive?" Eddie managed to get out, grappling with the knowledge that "everyone" included him. 
"Yeah." 
 "Are you also my boyfriend or something?" 
"If we can make it there, then yes." Steve says, slightly hysterical. "And really? You're finally gonna believe me?" 
"Are you arguing here for me to believe you or not, Steve, you're giving conflicting signals--" 
"No it's--you've fought me on this man. I've tried every method of getting you with us and every time you argue until the bats show up but one kiss and you're all for it?" 
"Give yourself some credit, it was a grand slam of a kiss.” Eddie replies, because it was by far and large the best kiss of his life. 
He’d follow Steve to hell and back if more kisses like that were on the table, mental breakdown or no. 
Steve snorts at him, a half-hysterical sound. “Noted.” He says. 
Then; “You believe me though?”
“Not at all!” Eddie chirps with a wobbly grin that betrays him.  “But on the off chance you’re right the uh…the thing about my pick…” He trails off self consciously. 
“I should have guessed that was what it. You only ever tell me that when you’re dying.” Steve fills in for him, and it’s weird, to know that for two seconds Steve Harrington apparently read his face and correctly guessed what he was thinking about. 
Abruptly decides he doesn’t want to think of his impending doom any longer. 
“So how about we skip the dying part and focus on the boyfriend part?” He says, poking at Steve’s cheek. 
Steve makes a face at him, before grabbing a his hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. 
“We gotta fix this mess first, Munson.” He tells him gently, looking up at him through his lashes and oh, that is a look Eddie will keep for the rest of his life. 
“Lead on, lassie.” Eddie tells him to hide how dazed he feels. “Let’s go save the world and shit.” 
With one final kiss to the palm of Eddie’s hand, Steve does. 
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hairmetal666 · 1 year
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Steve
Asking Eddie to move to Indy with him and Robin is the most natural thing in the world. After Vecna they became SteveandRobinandEddie, so it just made sense to live together.
Everything is perfect.
It changes one night, at their favorite gay bar. He and Eddie nurse a couple of beers at a hightop, while Robin dances with a cute blonde. Steve half-heartedly shimmies along to the Madonna song pumping through the speakers. Eddie watches him vamp to Material Girl with a look in his dark eyes that Steve can't quite read. It's not the usual fondness he's used to from his friend; too dark and too serious. It makes him nervous.
Eddie drains his drink, mouths the word "bathroom," at Steve, then disappears in the crowd.
Steve sips his own beer, letting his attention drift until he finds Robin, still dancing with the blonde, looking like she's having the time of her life. He expects Eddie back at any time, only--ten, fifteen minutes pass with no sign of him.
His eyes start scanning the crowd in earnest, desperately seeking familiar leather and denim and long dark hair. Anxiety builds in his chest, a dull sizzle beneath his skin.
He finally spots a set of leather-clad broad shoulders towards the back of the room. Eddie has one hand braced against the brick wall, pressed up nice and close to someone Steve can't quite make out.
There's bile in Steve's throat, nausea clenching at his stomach. He shouldn't look; he can't tear his eyes away.
The person is revealed in a flash of light from the dance floor. He has an All-American jaw, swoopy dark blond hair, and is wearing a grass green sweater. The closest thing to Indiana golden boy in the place, second only to Steve.
Room suddenly spinning, Steve struggles to catch his breath, but gives up entirely as Eddie closes the remaining distance between himself and the mystery man, sealing their lips in a searing kiss.
Steve watches, feels himself breaking apart piece by piece. He thought--he thought they were something. Becoming something. All their late night talks and casual touches. He'd been working up the courage to make a move for weeks, and now--
Maybe it's a mistake. Maybe Eddie breaks the embrace and gives an embarrassed chuckle before he comes back to Steve, only he doesn't. The kiss ends, sure, but then Eddie is taking the guy's hand, leading him down the hall towards the bathrooms.
Hands clutched in his hair, Steve sinks into a crouch. He pants, huffing like he just ran sprints, can't catch his breath. Tears dance at his lash line, threatening to fall. He can't have a panic attack now, here. Doesn't want Robin to see; doesn't want Eddie--
It's all too small, too tight, too loud, and Steve shoves his way outside. He rounds the building before sinking to the ground, hands shaking.
He waits outside until Robin and Eddie emerge from the club, both flushed and sweaty. He doesn't speak to either of them and they spend the drive in silence.
When they get home, he goes straight to his bedroom.
"Ste--" Robin calls, but he lets the door shut behind him. He doesn't think it slams.
Eddie
Steve hasn't spoken to him in weeks. Not since that night at the bar. When Eddie hooked up with a guy and he's pretty sure Steve knows; pretty sure it's why they're no longer on speaking terms. Eddie keeps meaning to confront him. He really does. It's just--it'll change everything, and his life was finally going okay for once.
He reaches his limit when he joins Steve in the kitchen before work, and the guy literally, visibly flinches away from him. It hits Eddie like being punched in the dick.
"What the fuck, Harrington." Eddie's voice is too loud in the small space.
"S-sorry, I'll just get out of your way." Steve's eyes don't stray from his own hands.
"I hook up with one guy and now can't even bear to touch me?"
"What? Eds that's not--"
"Don't lie to my fucking face."
"I wouldn't. Eddie, please--"
"I can't believe that this is the last vestige of King Steve. Can say you're cool with me, but when you see me do gay shit, you can't hang? Fuck you. I'm done. I'll be gone by the weekend." His voice stays remarkably steady, even though he's pretty sure not even the bat bites hurt this much.
"Christ, Munson, I'm not freaked out cause I saw you do 'gay shit.' I don't care." Steve's looking at him now; his little mouth held tight and mad.
"Like hell you don't. You haven't spoken to me since it happened."
"Not because I'm homophobic, asshole."
That makes Eddie laugh, shrill and mean. "Oh yeah? Then why."
"It doesn't matter." Steve yanks his hand through his hair.
"It does to me."
"Just drop it. You don't have to move out. I don't care who you fuck."
"You can barely stand to look at me!" Eddie shouts; doesn't mean to. "What if I bring someone home, huh? How are you gonna cope with that, knowing I'm fucking a guy in the next room?"
"It should have been me," Steve screams.
Neither of them move in the ringing silence that follows. Eddie's throat is tight.
"Wh-what?" He manages.
"Forget it." Steve turns to go. "Just--forget I said anything."
"Steve." Eddie follows him into their living room. His heart's beating all funny. "What do you mean?"
"It's nothing," Steve's face is leached of color; his eyes too bright.
"Please? I want to understand."
Steve laughs a little, looks absolutely miserable. "I saw you. With the guy. And he...he looked like me, right? And I don't understand why I'm not good enough."
Eddie swallows hard. "You don't--you're not--I didn't think you were a choice. For me."
Steve's chin drops, anywhere but on Eddie. "Yeah. Well. Surprise." He doe a pathetic flourish with his hands that clenches at Eddie's heart.
"Ah," is all Eddie can manage. The world is shifting under his feet, tectonic plates realigning as he processes Steve's words.
"It's--it's fine that you don't feel the same way. Just because you're gay doesn't mean you have to like me, and I--I was trying to get over it. I didn't want to--"
Eddie can't stand to listen to another word. He crosses the distance to Steve. "Shh, sweetheart. It's--just. Stop okay?"
Steve is looking up at him now, doe eyes wide.
He laughs, genuine this time. "Stevie. I've had a crush on you for years. Years. I used to make the guys go with me to Starcourt. I told them it was because I liked seeing King Steve laid low. Really I just liked how you looked in those little shorts." Steve giggles, face blushing such a pretty pink Eddie almost forgets what he's saying.
"It only got worse when I met the kids, with how much they talked about you. And then I met you for real? Pssh," Eddie waves his hand in the air. "Gone. No hope for Eddie Munson when you're--you're so pretty and bitchy and brave and hot, Steve, and I'm the weakest man in Indiana.
"That night. That guy. It was--I'd just overheard you and Robin talking about a cute girl, and I realized that I had to stop doing that to myself, pining over a straight guy who could never see me like I wanted. I decided that I'd try to pick someone up, force myself to see you just as a best friend."
Steve's face falls impassive. "Did it work?" He almost whispers.
"Not even close, baby," Eddie whispers back. "I'm hopeless for you."
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iamadequate1717 · 5 months
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Stede's Strange Day
I want to talk about Stede Bonnet's very strange day. Let's look at the progression of just what Stede sees.
He spends the night with his boyfriend for the first time, and his boyfriend brings him breakfast in bed like Doug did for Mary. They talk about their reunion. Stede is very happy right now!
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His boyfriend tells him that he envisioned him as a beautiful merperson and that he thinks he saved his life.
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They get dressed, and they go out on a breakfast date on the town. Stede tells Ed about the letters he wrote, and Ed loved that!
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Stede then discovers he has a fanclub! Ed laughs and is happy for him! They're going to go down to Jackie's so Stede can enjoy this some more!
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Ed throws in some light banter/teasing about this turn of events, and Stede literally squeals before they run off giggling together.
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They get to Jackie's, and Ed continues to encourage Stede!
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Ed leaves him to it! "Enjoy the night" are his parting words.
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So Stede enjoys the night!
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He's being accepted! And he still talks about his boyfriend while being fawned over!
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Everyone tells him he's awesome! He offs an assassin while saying something cool! No one is making fun of him!
After a bit, he goes to find Ed to share in his fun! He's had a great day.
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Only, he's immediately met with this with no context: Ed regrets being with him! Ed is leaving immediately!
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Remember: Ed's last words to him were "Enjoy the night!" This is complete emotional whiplash. Stede knows right away what the problem is, but Ed shuts it down.
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Ed wants to be a fisherman! A proclamation completely out of the blue! Stede tries to talk him down. That fish wasn't so awesome that it should completely change Ed's life trajectory, casting Stede out of the way.
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Ed disagrees and abandons Stede with no real explanation or listening to what Stede was trying to say, which isn't a great move for a healthy relationship.
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Basically, Stede spent a few hours (only a few hours!) enjoying himself (in a manner that Ed encouraged him to!). He did nothing awful (because murder is cool in this show), and was a lot tamer than what Ed and company were doing in 1x8 (turtle vs crab is mean!).
I'm going to go more into Stede defense in another post. "Last night was a mistake" is an egregious phrasing to use with the man you love who has self esteem and trauma issues (we know what he means but it can be interpreted much worse), but Stede took it in stride. But for some reason people act like Stede committed war crimes with the fish comment? Ed sharing his day and Ed excising himself from Stede's life are different contexts and the fish is viewed differently in each lens. It was an OK fish, and Stede did nothing wrong. Stede is right that Ed is a coward, and I don't think Stede saying a few slightly harsh things in the heat of the moment when being blindsided like this is a character flaw.
Ed behaved appallingly in shutting down the conversation and refusing to even give context to what was going on. With 1x9&10 and Stede deciding Ed was better off without him, I saw plenty of comments about how Stede couldn't make a major life decision for Ed like that. With this, Ed has made a major life decision for Stede (I'm going to dump him and remove myself before he can choose piracy over me!), but I have yet to see the same comments, and I know exactly why that is.
...
More Stede defense!:
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californiaboytoybilly · 5 months
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Billy, who has only ever known a life of ‘use or be used’ comes to Hawkins, Indiana with exactly one plan.
To get the fuck back out.
But see, the problem is that that takes money. Money he definitely doesn’t have.
The first night in his new room, he doesn’t bother to unpack. No, he sits on the floor by his bare mattress and he plots.
It’s not worth the risk trying to steal from Neil. Can’t escape this shithole if he’s fucking dead. Getting a job and actually managing to keep the money without his father finding out would be… difficult.
Bored housewives would probably be willing to shell out gifts for the privilege of a quick fuck to forget their balding, miserable husbands. It wasn’t much, but it was a thought to consider.
He leaves that half finished plan open in his brain when he goes to his first day at Hawkins High, only to have the page ripped up and burned at the first sight of one Steve Harrington.
Bored and- seemingly- apathetic pretty boy with absent parents and a big house. Considerably more his type than some desperate midwest housewife with sickly sweet perfume and a simpering voice.
And clearly rich.
By the second week of classes, Billy has caught Steve’s eyes lingering on him a few too many times.
So starts what would become both the only thing that mattered to him, and the worst thing he’d ever do.
His usual charm doesn’t work on Steve, so he goes the other way. Taunts him, a bully pulling on his pigtails until one day Steve snaps and kisses him behind the gym until Billy almost forgets why he’s doing this entirely.
At first, he feels no guilt in it. They don’t talk feelings, it’s just good fucking sex and Steve apparently loves to give gifts.
Gifts that are too thoughtful. Too knowing.
First aid supplies. Clothes. Buying him expensive dinners to make up for the nights Billy was sent to his room without a bite to eat the entire day, even if he didn’t know that.
Billy starts to become more aware of his plan as the days, then months slip by. He thinks of all the times Steve has given him money for gas or other things, how Billy has lied to him. How all that money is stashed away, just waiting for a chance that he can disappear into the night like an asshole outlaw.
Steve becomes his boyfriend and the guilt sits heavy and sticky in his gut. He starts to second guess what he’s been doing.
Billy doesn’t say he’s in love, not even when Steve does. He knows he is- has fought against it with every fibre of his being the whole fucked up way down- but he can’t bring himself to say it when his escape is on the horizon.
He comforts himself by telling himself Steve will forget about him. Move on and marry some docile stay-at-home wife who wouldn’t push his buttons the way Billy did.
But then, late one night, Steve says it again while he’s pressing Billy down into the mattress. And Billy- emotionally taken apart by a particularly bad day at home- crumbles. His eyes fill with tears and he says it back in a fit of weakness. The first time he’s ever said those words to someone.
I love you too.
That’s when his plan starts to fall apart. It’s become annoyingly apparent that he can’t escape this. Doesn’t want to. Steve has become his escape.
So even though it feels like pulling teeth, he starts to empty his stash. He buys Steve gifts now, because spending it on him makes him feel less vile. Takes Steve out on dates.
He finally feels a sense of relief when it’s gone, even if he says goodbye to California mournfully in the same thought.
It’s easier to be around Steve after that, even if a trace of the guilt always lingers. Easier to say he loves him when he isn’t constantly ready to say goodbye. Easier to open up to him.
He finally tells Steve the truth about Neil, and the first thing Steve does is offer him a place in his home if he needs to run.
Billy loves him. He feels free for the first time in his life. He’s happy.
And that’s when Steve finds out the truth.
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ghost-bxrd · 21 days
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Prompt:
Damian isn’t happy about father’s rule not to hurt the gaggle of false kids he has acquired. How is he supposed to prove to him that he is the only one worthy of the title of heir now?
But fine. Most of them are stupid enough they’ll end up dead sooner or later. Damian just has to play the long game. Establish himself as the only constant.
But then father’s wayward son, Todd, comes home… and it’s so much worse than Damian expected.
He remembers this man. Remembers him from hushed whispers in the League, from mother’s creased eyebrow, and training halls drenched with blood.
And he’ll take one look at Damian and know. Know that he’s a threat to his position.
And the worst thing: Damian isn’t allowed to defend himself.
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metalhoops · 1 year
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People debate if Eddie or Steve would say ‘I love you’ first, but I propose an alternative perspective where they both say it long before they start dating and confuse the hell out of everyone, including themselves. 
Almost dying could put your life into perspective. 
When Eddie awoke in his hospital bed with his uncle at his side and the late afternoon light shining through the window blinds, he was struck with the kind of death-bed revelation reserved for men sentenced to dangle from gallows or grit worn teeth down the muzzle of guns. He was alive, despite the assumed certainty of his death hours or days before. 
Eddie let Wayne hold him, despite how much it hurt because the pain reminded him he was alive, that he’d made it out on the other side. Without thought, Eddie told Wayne he loved him. It wasn’t the first time he’d said it, but he couldn’t remember the last time it’d happened. 
They were long past the first few tumultuous years when Eddie had moved in with Wayne. Where they’d tiptoed around each other and waited with bated breath for their shared peace to go wrong. Eddie hadn’t been used to living in a household where he didn’t have to walk on eggshells to get by and Wayne wasn’t used to looking after himself, let alone a kid. 
They’d since found their rhythm, but it wasn’t often either man voiced their affections. Wayne showed his love. He didn’t speak it. That was just the way he was. Eddie didn’t share the man’s reservations, not anymore. His adolescents was a wave that had long since crested, and all care for others’ opinions had been thrown out the window. He wasn’t shy with his love, but his proximity to death made him reckless with it. 
When Dustin appeared at his bedside not long after, looking as though he were staring down a spectre, Eddie knew he had to do something. He leaned over, ruffled Dustin’s hair and told the kid everything was going to be okay, that he loved him. 
When the whole mess had died down and Eddie was able to come out of hiding, he showed up in Gareth’s garage at the usual time for band rehearsal. He was bombarded by a mess of limbs and an earful of questions. He told them his well-practised lie then muttered how glad he was to be back, how much he loved those stupid sons of bitches, because he did and they should know it. He’d never told them that before. 
What Eddie hadn’t expected was to fall fast and hard for Steve Harrington. Eddie wasn’t one for fast affection or grand romantic ideals. He had his head firmly attached to his shoulders, thank you very much. He knew fast love was just infatuation. You were falling for the idea of a person, not the real deal.
He knew it was stupid and yet at seeing Steve sprawled out on the floor of his trailer, in front of their shitty Philips Color TV, his usually styled hair mussed, Eddie thought he loved him, which was a terrible thought because it meant Eddie had to tell him. 
Steve was straight, and Eddie had only known him for two months. Sure, they’d floated past each other in high school, but that wasn’t this Steve. The Steve he loved. It was pathetic. Eddie was well aware. All the same, when he caught Steve’s curious brown eyes, he knew he’d have to tell him. Nothing good would come of it, but he was sick of leaving things unsaid. After all, he could die tomorrow. 
“What are you thinking about?” Steve asked, appearing blissfully ignorant of Eddie’s inner turmoil. 
“Nothing, I’m just glad you’re here. I love you, man.” 
Eddie spoke before his brain had the time to think through his actions. He tacked on a haphazard ‘man’, as though it lessened the severity of the statement. Eddie had never called anyone ‘man’ in his life- who the hell was he? 
“Oh, yeah. Me too,” Steve mumbled absentmindedly, laying back down and looking at the TV as the commercials came to an end. He was so cool and unbothered. 
Eddie was sure he’d taken his confession as a platonic one, which was what he’d hoped for. He’d got it off his chest, but it wasn’t going to screw up the good thing they had going. What he didn’t know was the meaning behind Steve’s response, ‘me too’ what? Was he glad he was with Eddie or...? 
“I love you too, Munson. I can hear the cogs ticking from over here and I want to watch the movie. You got me invested now,” Steve grumbled, returning his attention to the fantasy film Steve had no right to be as emotionally invested in as he was. 
“Have I got you invested or has Tom Cruse in chain mail got you invested?” Eddie joked, pushing his luck as he felt Steve lean over to smack his shoulder, mumbling ‘asshole’, under his breath. 
What Eddie hadn’t expected was for it to become a habit. Sure, he made a point of telling Wayne, Corroded Coffin and his band of misfit children he loved them when the mood struck, but with Steve, it somehow became a daily occurrence, what floored him most was that Steve was the one who started it. 
The next time they saw each other was when Eddie went to grab a movie from the Family Video store. At least that was the excuse he’d given to see Steve again. He chatted with Steve and Buckley before grabbing whatever caught his eye in the horror section and was about to head out with an overdramatised bow and salute when Steve smirked and mumbled, ‘love you, Munson,’ before his eyes widened in alarm. He caught Robin’s hawklike gaze shifting between them as she choked on a days-expired potato chip. 
“I meant... see you, Munson,” Steve amended awkwardly. Eddie shrugged his shoulders, practically preening at the slip of the tongue. He liked how Steve said it. Something about it felt special. 
“Love you too, Stevie,” he called as he turned to retreat to the safety of his van, not wanting to witness whatever can of worms he’d opened between Steve and Buckley. 
That was all it took to form a habit. He would spend the night at Steve’s place since the guy's parents had been MIA for months, and as the two went to part ways Steve would take one look at Eddie’s beaten-up van and mumble, ‘drive safe you idiot, love you,’ and a smile would threaten to split Eddie’s face in two. ‘love you too, jerk’. For a while, it was a tradition reserved for the two of them. Robin had to bear witness to the brunt of the love confessions, as Eddie would visit them at work, but in many ways, Steve saw Robin as an extension of himself, so for the most part, it was just between them. 
That was until Steve showed up to band practice. Eddie had offhandedly mentioned the time and location of their rehearsals in the hopes that one day Steve would show up. When he did Eddie was over the moon. He was halfway through a killer guitar solo when the familiar BMW Beamer pulled up the drive. With the rest of his bandmates promptly forgotten, Eddie lay his Warlock gently in his case (because no matter how absentminded the guy was he still cared about that damn guitar like a kid) then ploughed forward to meet Steve at the mouth of the garage. 
“Stevie, you came.” 
Eddie was too excited at the prospect of Steve watching him play. Music, along with D&D, was his creative outlet. It said everything his tongue couldn’t articulate and he had a lot he wanted to say to Steve.
Anyone who knew Eddie knew he was excitable and theatrical. He didn’t know how to do things in half measures. His bandmates shouldn’t have been surprised when Eddie wrapped his arms around Steve’s midsection, picked him up and spun him in several dizzy circles, only setting him down when they almost tumbled ass backwards over Gareth’s drum set. 
Eddie may have witnessed Steve try that move on Wheeler years before, but he’d deny it if anyone asked. Steve made the act seem easy and graceful. With Eddie at the helm, it was a chaotic jumble of limbs. While Steve gripped onto the man’s arm for dear life, not used to being manhandled, though by the fitful gasps of laughter that escaped his lips at the motion, Eddie noted he wasn’t opposed to it. When the two broke apart, Eddie felt his bandmates' watchful eyes on them, all sharing twin looks of confusion. 
“You’re going to break something, dumbass,” Steve grumbled as he smoothed over his hair and bowed his head to hide the blush from his cheeks.
Eddie tried to carry on with the rehearsal as usual, but he’d admit he added some peacocking for Steve’s benefit, not that the boy seemed to mind. Steve watched from one of Gareth’s bean bag chairs. It wasn’t his type of music, Eddie knew that, but the guy still watched enamoured. 
When the band was finished for the day, Steve managed to make small talk with the other boys when a thought struck Eddie. 
“What are you doing after this, Steve? The boys and I are having a movie marathon at my place. Want to hang out?” Steve blinked owlishly, surprised to be invited to what appeared to be a ‘band-only deal’. That wasn’t exactly true. Sometimes Jeff’s girlfriend or Grant’s brother would join them, once Gareth had even invited a guy over. Eddie had never done it, but there was a first time for everything. 
“I could do a movie night. I’ve gotta pick up Dustin from the Byers first, though, so I’ll meet you there,” Steve reasoned, and Eddie nodded, knowing Dustin came first. The little guy had weaselled his way into Steve’s heart and there was no way Eddie would ask him to forget the kid. Dustin had Eddie wrapped around his little finger as well, the brat.  
“Alright, meet you there. Love you, Stevie.” 
“Love you too.” The words rolled off Steve’s tongue easily as breathing. 
Left in Steve’s wake was utter chaos from the rest of the Corroded Coffin members. 
“Dude, why didn’t you tell us you were dating Steve Harrington?” Gareth berated, knocking Eddie’s shoulder roughly. 
“Seriously? What the hell, man? I never would’ve called that,” Jeff added before Eddie could get a word in edge-wise. 
“Wait, I’m lost, Harrington’s gay now?” Grant muttered, looking between the other boys. His bandmates knew Eddie was gay, but they’d definitely pulled the rest out of their asses. 
“I didn’t tell you because we’re not, and he’s not. Far as I’m aware. Can you guys drop it before we get back to mine? Steve doesn’t know I am and I’m planning on keeping it that way, thanks.” All three boys looked at Eddie as though he’d grown a third head. 
“But you guys were aggressively flirting,” Gareth argued. 
“You said you loved each other,” Jeff added. 
“Yeah, but I tell you guys I love you,” Eddie argued. 
“Definitely not like that and if you did, I’d be trying to work out how to let you down gently because Eds you’re firmly in the brother zone,” Gareth reasoned, playing with his drum kit. 
After that day, Eddie thought he should use his ‘I love yous’ more sparingly with Steve. Sooner or later, the guy was going to work out that the intent was anything but platonic. He’d gotten to know Steve well since the incident with The Upside Down. Nine months had passed and Eddie was still sickeningly sure he loved Steve. It’d gone past any form of infatuation. 
He knew who Steve Harrington was and what he wanted. Steve wanted his future to be a gaggle of kids, crammed into an R.V. heading out on family vacations. If they were to do it, it would be anything but the conventional nuclear family of Steve’s dreams but Eddie couldn’t help but fantasise about ways they could make it work. He wanted it. He was beyond screwed. 
When he and Steve were parting ways after the band’s movie night. This time Eddie uttered a lame,
“See you later, Stevie.’ 
To his surprise, he caught a look of confusion flash across Steve’s face. He opened and shut his mouth, looking as though he were weighing up his options. Unlike Eddie, the guy was good with social interactions. He knew how to read a room. 
“See you,” Steve replied, awkwardly smoothing down his hair in what Eddie knew to be a self-soothing gesture. Weird. 
Eddie kept this new, more formal, stilted form of goodbye going for a week, hating every second of it. He could feel Steve pulling away from him. Suddenly when he wanted to spend time with the guy, he was busy. The one time he hadn’t said ‘I love you’ back to Steve in front of Robin she shot him a look like he’d just kicked a wounded puppy. Eddie was understandably confused. 
It took the passing of another week for Steve to call him out on it. Eddie showed up on Steve’s doorstep unannounced, insisting they hang out because Steve had been avoiding him and he damn well wanted to know why. Steve let him in, much to Eddie’s surprise. 
“Did I do something wrong?’ Steve asked out of the blue as the two sat hunched over at the Harrington’s dining room table, looking over Eddie’s Dark Tower board game. Steve had picked it up surprisingly fast when he’d first brought the game to his place. 
Eddie’s eyes swept over the board before shaking his head. 
“No, that was a safe move. You’re fine.” Steve’s brows drew together, and he shook his head. 
“I’m not talking about the game,” He grumbled, still not meeting Eddie’s eyes. Alright, what had Eddie done wrong now? 
“What? No. Stevie. Why would you think that?” 
Eddie had been asking himself the same question: what had he done to push Steve away? Now that Eddie was focusing on Steve, he noticed how the boy had hunched over himself, his shoulders up around his ears. His body tucked into itself. Usually, Steve was confident and unbothered, but he looked so small. Eddie knew something was very wrong.  
“You stopped saying...” Steve’s voice trailed off. He rolled his eyes, looking pissed off. Not with Eddie, but with himself. 
“Doesn’t matter. It’s stupid. My knight guy is going to the ruins,” Steve amended before Eddie could get a word in edge-wise. He leaned over, pushing the keypad on the tower, obnoxious electronic music filling the silence between them.
Eddie finally understood what Steve was worried about. Instead of taking his next turn he twisted a strand of hair around his finger and inhaled. Screw what other people thought. Since when did he care, anyway? 
“Steve,” Eddie breathed. Full name. Serious business. Steve looked up. 
“I love you. Sorry I haven’t said it in a while. I was getting in my head about... stuff.” Steve nodded, trying to look uncaring, but he failed miserably, his face scrunched and contorted. 
“Stevie, I can hear the cogs ticking from here. Whatever you want to say, say it,” Eddie breathed, nudging Steve’s socked foot with his. 
“I just- you were acting like... Christ. Forget it. It’s bullshit,” Steve stammered, standing up from the table, suddenly a bundle of energy, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but there. 
“What was I acting like?” Eddie asked, staying rooted to his seat, though his fingers drummed on the table nervously. 
“Like we were in love,” Steve spoke at last, scrubbing a hand over his face. 
“Like we were in love?” Eddie echoed, unable to believe what Steve was implying.  He watched Steve recoil as the words escaped his lips.
‘In love’ wasn’t a description someone used for friendship. Friends weren’t ‘in love’ with each other. Jesus Christ. 
Eddie stood, cringing at the scraping sound his chair made against the tile floor. He really hoped he wasn’t reading this wrong. 
“Please don’t punch me in the face,” Eddie grumbled under his breath as he crossed the space between them. 
Steve remained rooted to the spot as Eddie hesitantly placed a hand on his cheek. He remained still. His brown eyes swelled wide and locked on Eddie’s. He waited for a beat, just long enough for Steve to pull away if that’s not what he wanted. When he didn’t, Eddie pulled him closer, crashing their lips together, his fingers snaking their way to the back of Steve’s neck. Holy shit, Steve was kissing him back. 
Eddie lost the capacity for logical thought somewhere between Steve’s hand finding his ass, and his tongue slipping into his mouth. When they did pull apart, Eddie felt breathless and boneless. 
“Wait, you actually love me?” Eddie asked when his brain finally came back online. Steve nodded, looking equally as shocked. 
“I told you that months ago,” Steve confirmed. 
“I didn’t know you meant it like that... you were so damn unbothered I thought you...” Eddie’s voice trailed off, a vague memory spiking of a story Dustin had told him a lifetime before. It was something to do with Steve’s dating advice. From what Eddie remembered, he’d stressed the importance of acting aloof, as if that actually worked for anyone. 
“I didn’t want to come on too strong,” Steve argued, sounding equally exasperated. 
“You, Steve Harrington, are a dumbass,” Eddie scoffed disbelievingly. 
“How the hell am I in love with you?” 
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written-by-jayy · 2 months
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Prompt #4
Masterlist
••••••••••••••••••••••••
Whumpees misinterpreting or taking too literally something caretaker says always gets me, but there's one specific scenario that I don't ever see, but it's been on my mind a lot lately;
Whumpee was kidnapped and has been held in a basement/prison/etc. for quite some time now. Months or maybe even years at this point. They've been severely injured (maybe by torture, failed escape, etc.) and finally they're being rescued. Only, the person rescuing them is a stranger (Caretaker). Not that Whumpee minds, at this point they just can't care. Anything is better than this, anywhere is better than here.
As their bindings are being undone, Whumpee's eyes begin to flutter as a wave of exhaustion comes over them. Caretaker notices this and they lightly tap Whumpee's face, "c'mon, I need you to keep those eyes open for me, alright? Stay awake, you can't go to sleep yet."
Whumpee, to the best of their ability, listens.
Infact, they listen so well that a few days into recovery, Caretaker notices how tired they seem.
"You alright there? You can take a nap if you need."
Whumpee looks at them in surprise as their eyes begin to well up, a slight, grateful smile creeping its way to their face. They begin thanking Caretaker profusely.
Confused, Caretaker questions them on their reaction and as they piece everything together, they ask Whumpee if they've not been sleeping.
"When you came for me, you said I have to stay awake. And I think I was good, I did good right?" They ask, proudly and excited to finally sleep.
Or they feel guilty and admit that they think they passed out a few times but they're so sorry and they didn't mean to, and they'll be good from now on, they promise!
Either way, Caretaker feels a combination of concern and guilt. They hadn't specified when Whumpee would be allowed to sleep, becuase they didn't think they had to.
They apologize to Whumpee and explain that that's not necessary and that it was a misunderstanding and miscommunication.
Idrk where it goes from here, so if you have any ideas, or you want to write something based on this, lmk or tag me! I'd love to hear some ideas!
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