#most wanted fanfic

[lonesome-dreamsss]

his handprint may be burned into your skin but it's still the gentlest touch you've ever received.

[fluffyartbl0g]

Holy crap this is like world record breaking pace guys

Speedrun/Time Travel AU masterlist

[flowercrowngods]

who did this to you. part 2

🤍🌷 read part 1 here pre-s4, steve whump, protective (but scared) eddie

This is not happening. None of this is happening, he’s… He’s dreaming. He’s high. High as a kite somewhere where reality doesn’t matter, where it can’t fucking reach him and he’s— He’s not panicking behind the wheel with Steve Fucking Harrington bleeding against the passenger side window. 

It’s not happening. 

Because if it were happening, Eddie would simply throw up. He’d leave his van on the side of the road and run the fuck away. Away from Harrington and his trouble, away from his rattling breath that’s so loud and unsteady, Eddie doesn’t even dare to turn on any sort of music, even though he’s itching for it, his hands clenching and unclenching around the wheel until his knuckles go white. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he mumbles under his breath, barely aware of his surroundings at all, his eyes flitting from Harrington to the red stain against the window, back to the road and then down to the white-knuckled grip and the speckles of dried blood that is decidedly not his. 

Lost in his panic and disbelief, Eddie almost runs a red light. 

It’s harsh, the way he hits the brakes, and the sound Harrington makes is pathetic enough that Eddie feels like maybe this might actually be happening. 

“Sorry,” he breathes, his voice no better than Steve’s — and he’s not the one with a concussion, a broken rib, and that… fucking fear. Of something. Or someone. 

Who’s hurting you, Steve? 

Jus’ everyone, sometimes. God you don’t… You don’t even know.

He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t wanna know. All he wants is for Harrington to stop fucking bleeding, to keep his eyes wide open and— 

“Ed,” the boy says, wheezes, and it sounds like he wanted to say his full name, but had to swallow first. Blood, Eddie thinks. Don’t let it be blood. “Think I’m… ‘M gonna throw up.” 

“Please don’t throw up,” Eddie says before he can stop himself, hating how small his voice sounds, how urgent — like that’s the thing to be urgent about. God, he’s such an ass, but he… If Harrington throws up, Eddie will lose it. He knows he will. 

He chances a glance over at Steve, who has somehow managed to get his right arm tangled with the handle at the door, keeping himself upright and safe from Eddie’s rather frantic driving style. His head is drooping, moving this way and that against the red-stained glass, and he blinks unseeingly as blood begins to trickle down from his nose and temple again. 

He’s making himself small, and Eddie wants to pull him upright and tell him to stay like that, tell him to stop looking so terrible, so horrible, so… 

So much like Eddie’s fucking problem. 

He hates it. Hates everything about that vision. Boys like Harrington shouldn’t look like this, shouldn’t hold themselves like this, shouldn’t… Shouldn’t have no one but Eddie to take them somewhere safe. 

It’s just not tight. 

“Don’ wanna throw up,” Steve says at last, the pause too long for Eddie’s liking, and he sounds so solemn about it, yet so helpless, and Eddie kinda wants to scream. Wants Harrington to scream. Anything to stay awake and maybe not ruin his car. Anything to not fucking die in it. 

“Tell me something,” he says then, because he knows he has to keep Harrington awake and speaking. Just for another ten, fifteen minutes, he tells himself. “Anything, yeah? Tell me anything. Gotta keep you awake there, you hear me? Sounds great, right, staying awake?” 

He’s rambling and he knows it, desperation shining through his words and the god-awful way his voice breaks a little. This is not about him, he knows it isn’t, but still he wants to punch himself, wants to pinch himself and stay fucking calm. 

But who could stay calm in a situation like this? The silence is filled with the horrible wheezing and rattling of Harrington’s breath barely audible over the engine, and Eddie has to look over several times to make sure he’s still there, still with him, still alive. His panic spikes each time. 

He’s just about to reach over and shake him a little, snap in front of his face to get him back, when—

“I don’t know what.” 

It’s quiet, that voice, breathy and tiny and almost invisible, and Eddie wants to scream again. 

Tell me why you’re so scared. Tell me why your old buddy did this to you. Hagan would never touch you, so why did he now? Tell me what happened to Hargrove. Tell me why you sound so fucking small. 

“Tell me about your…” He fumbles for a moment, taking a sharp left and pretending not to hear the choked-off whimper. Focusing on good things. On normal things. “Your favourite person.” 

Eddie cringes at himself the moment the words leave his mouth. Your favourite person? Really, Munson? He scrambles to find something better, something cooler, or maybe something easier like asking his favourite fucking colour, but the overthinking really doesn’t mix well with the already panicked state of his mind. And Eddie just blanks. 

Beside him, though, Harrington sits up a little straighter, smearing more blood against his window in the process that Eddie pretends not to feel nauseous about. 

God, he never did like blood. 

“You wan’ me to tell you ‘bout Rob?” 

“Sure, yeah,” Eddie says, a little too loud, a little too shrill, actually running a red light this time because he doesn’t want to brake again and hurt the boy some more. There’s no one around anyway. This is Hawkins. Fucking dead-end of a town. It doesn’t need red lights, or boys who look like Harrington. “Rob. Tell me ‘bout him, what’s he like? Favourite colour, all that shit.” 

“Her.” 

Eddie blinks, looking over to find Harrington looking at him — or trying to, his eyes still drooping and empty. But it’s a good sign. People don’t die when they look at you, right? 

“What?” 

“Her,” Harrington says again. “An’ blue. Deep ‘n’ dark blue. She’ll say something corny when, when you ask her, jus’ to fuck with you. Sunset gold or rose, jus’ to mess with… But is blue.”

Eddie doesn’t really listen, doesn’t really process what Steve is saying, already thinking of the next question just to keep him talking. But then he continues on his own. 

“Mornin’ blue dep— de… makes her sad, though. So only dark blue. Says it’s why we’re friends. You’re so blue, Stevie. Got half’a my clothes, still, she does. All the blues.” 

That's... really fucking endearing, actually. 

And he says it with a half-smile, too, bloody and pathetic as it is. Like it’s a secret that only the two of them are in on, only Steve and Robin. It’s kind of sweet. 

Not for the first time today does Eddie find himself wondering, Who the hell are you, Steve Harrington?

He exhales through his nose, ignoring the way he’s started to shake with all that panic that’s been sitting inside him for a little too long now with no way to let it out. 

“Not much longer,” he mumbles under his breath again, or maybe he just thinks very hard. Maybe he doesn’t know where he is at all. It’s like he blanks every few seconds, too busy thinking and trying not to.

Before he can tell Harrington to talk some more about that girlfriend of his, there’s a pained, confused little whine that forcefully tears Eddie’s eyes from the street for a moment only to meet hazel eyes widened in confusion. 

“Wh— Where… Where’re we going?” 

Oh no. 

“Why’m I in y—“ 

“You’re safe,” Eddie interrupts him, speaking slowly because suddenly his tongue is too big for his mouth, and not entirely sure if he’s reassuring Harrington or himself. “You’re hurt, okay? It’s bad, but it wasn’t me. I’m taking you to… to someone. My uncle Wayne, he’s— He knows about that kinda stuff. You were telling me about Rob. Remember her, Blue? How about you tell me some more, hm?” 

Eddie’s voice is unsteady with worry and fear and panic, and he’s doing a piss-poor job at hiding it. The thing is, he’s going to cry. He’s actually, absolutely, no-doubt-about-it going to scream and cry and punch a fucking hole into something when this day is over, when his van is no longer bloody, and when Steve Harrington won’t have reason to look at him any longer. 

Oh, how he wants to skip forward. Past the nausea, past the fear, past everything that’s happening right now. Maybe past the insomnia that will come with a day like this, too. 

Past all of it. 

Or better yet, travel back in time and never get to that fucking boat house. 

But he can’t. So he breathes. 

At first, through the ringing in his ears and the racing of his own heart so loud and so forceful he’s shaking with it, he worries that Steve’s gone silent again, that he’s gonna ask again, ask what happened, ask where he is, ask all the questions that make Eddie feel like he’s been doused in ice water because they’re questions that only get asked in stupid movies where terrible things happen to people. 

But then he hears him mumbling something. Numbers. 

“What’cha mumbling there, Blue?” 

“‘S her number,” Steve says, his voice slurring again, worse than before, and Eddie hits the gas a little harder. “‘S jus’ her number. Robbie’s number.” 

And he mumbles again. Over and over and over, until Eddie couldn’t forget it if he wanted to, ingrained into the frayed edges of his mind now. 

He lets him ramble, lets him repeat the number until the words slur together and he can’t separate a four from a nine anymore. Each time Harrington hesitates, each time he stumbles over the words or forgets a digit, Eddie wants to punch the wheel. 

He doesn’t. He only grips it tighter and counts down the turns he takes, the streets he passes, the fucking trees that are familiar, before, finally, the trailer park comes into view. 

The sob Eddie lets out when, with shaking, trembling hands he pulls up to his home to find his uncle having a smoke outside is deafening to his ears after the quiet weakness of Harrington’s voice. 

It startles him, makes him stop his rambles and sit up straighter when Eddie finally kills the engine. For a moment, without the steady, rolling hum, the car is filled with the small, tiny whines Steve makes on each exhale. Like it hurts to even breathe. 

“Wha’s wrong?” He asks, but Eddie can’t really hear him. Can’t turn to him, can’t— “Eddie?” 

He’s out of the car before he can take hold of another thought, stumbling out of his open door on legs that feel numb and heavy. The urge to cry is back again, the burning in his eyes only getting worse when Wayne takes in the dried blood on his clothes and hands with careful, calculated worry.

“Ed?” 

“I didn’t know what— where—- I’m… Wayne, I’m sorry.” 

“Slow down, kid,” Wayne says, raising his hands as if to calm a spooked deer. Like Eddie is the one who needs his help. And he is. He really, really is, and he shouldn’t be, because this isn’t about him, but—

Wayne grabs him by the shoulders to keep him still, and only now does Eddie realise he’s shaking again, restlessly moving his weight from one leg to the other. His uncle steadies him, gently pressing down on his shoulders to ground him, and Eddie nearly sobs again. 

“Ed. Are you in trouble?” 

“No,” Eddie scrambles to say, becoming aware of what this looks like, hiding his hands behind his back on instinct, like that’ll make Harrington’s blood disappear. “‘S not my blood, I didn’t do anything, I swear! I swear. It’s, uh. I just found him. In the boathouse, I found him, and he was… God, he looked so bad, okay, but he didn’t want the hospital, and he was, like, so scared of something, and we don’t even talk, we don’t even look at each other, but I just… I didn’t know what to do, and you know something about concussions and people who were beat to shit and, again, I’m—“ 

“Eddie,” Wayne says, his voice so calm but so assertive that Eddie shuts up immediately, gladly handing over to controls to his uncle now. “Who’s the kid?” 

He nods towards Eddie’s van, where Harrington looks to be halfway unbuckled, but his eyes are closed and his face smushed against the door again, like he just gave up.  

“Shit,” Eddie says, adrenaline and panic slowly falling from him with Wayne’s hand on his shoulder. He sags into his uncle and rubs at his face. “It’s Steve. Uh, Steve Harrington, I mean.” 

“Okay,” Wayne says, and he’s so calm. So calm. Eddie feels like he’s about to fall apart, and Wayne is the only one keeping him together, with that’d steady, warm hand on his shoulder. “And you promise me he didn’t give you trouble? Or anyone else who’ll come finish what they started?” 

Eddie shakes his head profusely, getting a little dizzy with it. “I promise I’m not in trouble. He said Hagan did this to him, was alone when I found him. No trouble, Wayne, I swear, I’m not like that, you know I’m not.”

“Okay,” Wayne says again, and Eddie wants to weep. “I know you’re not like that, but some people are, y’know? You did good, son. You did good. Now help me get him out of that car.” 

It takes his uncle tugging him towards the van for Eddie to kick back into motion, nearly falling over his feet turning back around. It’s only Wayne’s “Easy” murmured under his breath that keeps the ground from opening up and swallowing him whole. 

He climbs in on the driver’s side while Wayne rounds the car and gets to Harrington’s side. 

“Hey there, Blue,” Eddie says, his voice shaking and the nickname slipping again — but it’s easier to call him that than his real name, it’s easier to pretend it’s literally anyone else in here with him, bleeding against his door. 

It’s easier to pretend it’s not Harrington’s breath rattling the way it does, easier to pretend those pained groans so high in their cadence they can only count as whines don’t come from Hawkins High’s Golden Boy who graduated a few months ago and was supposed to be done with bullshit like this. 

“Come on, up you get,” he tells him, not daring to raise his voice too much. 

He looks so frail. Like he’s already broken. Or like he’s trying not to. Like he’s holding on. 

Eddie pretends not to think that the hand he places on Steve’s cheek to gently pry him from the window is not the only thing keeping that boy together right now. 

Harrington groans, whines, wheezes, but opens his eyes to meet Eddie’s. Jesus, we’re they this blown before? Or this swollen?

“Hey,” Eddie says, just to say something. Just so he won’t have to hold the boy’s face in silence, just so he won’t have to focus on all the blood. Just so he won’t have to hear more questions that people aren’t supposed to ask. 

Steve opens his mouth, his breath coming out a little sharper, like he wants to say Hi rather than Where am I? or When will it stop hurting? Like he wants to say How can I help you help me? 

Somehow, Eddie manages a smile. 

Wayne chooses that moment to open the door — just unclicking it, not pulling yet; giving Eddie enough time to support Harrington, make sure he doesn’t fall.

“Careful,” he whispers, though whether it’s for Wayne, for Steve, or for himself, he can’t quite tell. Maybe it’s a plea to the rest of the world, and to anyone else who will listen. 

Steve is still staring at him. That’s probably not a good sign. He leans back a little, turning Steve’s head to make him follow him. Slowly, of course. Gently. Eddie can’t remember ever having touched something like it was going to break if only he looked at it wrong, but somehow he’s hyper-aware of it now. 

Because Harrington is staring at him. Entirely too still, like he has no strength, no coordination to do anything but stare. And yet Eddie is the one who, now that the adrenaline has fallen from him, now that he can let someone else take over, now that Harrington doesn’t need him anymore, finds himself unable to look away. 

Because Steve is just a boy. And so is Eddie, who can feel Steve’s breath against his wrist. And maybe, out of the two of them, Eddie is the fragile one. The one about to break. 

“Blue, you with me?”

Steve nods. Doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t move. Eddie swallows, briefly looking back down at Wayne to see if he’s ready. His uncle nods, ready to catch Harrington should he go down, and Eddie turns back to the boy who’s smeared with his own blood.

“I’m gonna take off your seatbelt now, yeah?” he tells him, not entirely recognising his voice anymore. “That man out there, that is Wayne. My uncle. He’s safe. He’ll take care of you, okay?” 

“Safe,” Steve breathes, and that shouldn’t be the one thing he focuses on. It shouldn’t sound so unsure. So insecure. So hopeful, so relieved, so— Fucking earnest. 

Swallowing all these thoughts, all this desperation and all those questions, Eddie reaches over Steve, one hand still supporting his head and feeling the overheated skin of Harrington’s cheek against his palm, the hint of stubble and the crust of dried blood. As if in slow motion, not daring to make a wrong move and hurt him more than he already does, Eddie frees him the rest of the way, letting the seatbelt slide into its hold behind his shoulder. 

“Careful,” he says again, just to say anything, but he is careful, and his hold on Steve is steady. 

“‘M careful. Not gonna break, Eddie.” 

“I know.” But maybe I will. 

“Good. ‘Cause… Don’ wanna break.” 

Eddie smiles, despite everything. “You’re not gonna break, Blue. Wayne’ll catch you.” 

Harrington loses his focus then, his eyes glazing over, but the small smile on his lips widens. “Blue. ‘S nice.” 

Yeah, Eddie thinks. He kinda is. 

Somehow, miraculously, they get Harrington out of the van and into the trailer. He throws up halfway to the doorstep, and Eddie curses under his breath while Wayne talks quietly, asking him yes and no questions that Eddie can’t really hear through the ringing in his ears — a strange mix of fear and relief, a panic not quite over, but soothed by his uncle’s familiar voice; even if it’s not directed at him.

“Don’t worry about it, kid, the next rain’ll take care of that. Stop apologising.” 

It throws him then, rather suddenly and violently, watching Wayne supporting Harrington, watching the blood smeared boy with the swelling, angry red bruises in his face. Somehow it’s different, seeing him in his home. 

This was always a safe space. Always void of everything terrible. 

And now there’s a broken boy on his doorstep who’s not Eddie. 

He remembers the fear, the panic, the plea for no hospital, Eddie. Can’t go there.

Why not? You need a doctor—

Monsters. Only monsters there.

It paralyses him and he stays where he is, holding the door with an arm that’s heavy like lead, standing on legs that begin to go numb again. He watches, but not really, as Wayne sits Harrington down on the living room couch, between magazines and brochures and some of Eddie’s calculus notes from last night that he was searching for a sketch of a monster he was so certain he’d drawn in the margins a few weeks back. 

Now there’s blood on his calculus notes. And Eddie is helplessly keeping the door open as though he’s going to run away any second now. Letting in more trouble to join Harrington on his couch. 

He should… He should close the door. Help. Run. Disappear. 

“Ed,” Wayne calls, snapping him out of his stupor. “The first aid kit, please. A bottle of water. A clean, wet cloth. A blanket, too.” 

Wayne talks him through it, takes it one step at a time, has Eddie bring him one after the other like he knows how much he’s keeping his nephew together by keeping him on the brink of usefulness.

Soon, Wayne has everything he needs, taking care of Harrington and his wounds, keeping him awake and talking so much better than Eddie did, even making him smile here and there, hiding his wince when the motion pulls on his split lip or the huffed breath sends a jolt of pain through his rib that Eddie is absolutely certain must be broken with the way he holds himself — with the way he lets Wayne hold him up. 

Wayne is doing his thing and Eddie is hiding, gripping the kitchen counter like a vice, staring both unseeingly and hyper-vigilantly as exhaustion washes over him, dragging him under and draining him of more than adrenaline. He slumps against the cupboard behind him, rubbing at his face like that’ll make it all go away. 

It’s not right. It’s not. This is Eddie’s home, it’s supposed to be safe, it’s not… 

He breaks away, ripping his hands from the counter and all but stumbling outside, heaving a deep breath and giving in to the urge to cry. Tears spring to his eyes and he wipes them away angrily, because it’s dumb, it’s so stupid, it’s absolutely fucking insane that he should be so worked up when Harrington talked about dying earlier. 

These things don’t happen. They don’t! 

“Stop fucking crying,” Eddie grumbles, sniffling and wiping away more tears as he closes his eyes against the afternoon sun. “Get a grip, Munson, Jesus Christ, there’s no reason to cry you big fuckin’ baby.” 

Nobody’s there to contradict him. Nobody’s there to make it worse. So he lets his eyes sting for a while, lets his lips wobble, his jaw clenched shut, the balls of his hands pressing into his eyes, breathing deliberately. 

In. Hold. Out. Hold. 

He doesn’t even scream. Doesn’t punch the still bloody side of his van, doesn’t run into the woods and disappear into the void. 

He simply breathes. Tries not to think about boys dying in mall fires, and even less so about boys beaten and abandoned in boat houses.

Doesn’t think about fucking Hawkins in Bumfuck-Indiana and the cursed way it has, driving its people mad. 

Doesn’t think about, They said my brain is hurt, Eddie. Doesn’t think about the Monsters Harrington mentioned. Doesn’t think about Blue, doesn’t think about I’m tired, Eddie. Don’t wanna hurt anymore. 

Doesn’t think about blue, blue, blue. 

He’s shaking when he comes back inside. He’s shaking when Harrington meets his eyes, looking a little clearer now, the blood washed away and everything bandaged a lot better than Eddie managed. He’a bundled in Eddie’s blanket. It’s wrong. It’s so, so wrong. 

Eddie can’t move, and neither does Steve. 

“Steve,” Wayne says, waiting until those eyes tear themselves away from Eddie and back to him, though Eddie sees them fill with such trepidation, he almost asks what’s wrong. “I won’t hear a no on this, and I won’t let you go home. I’m taking you to the hospital. Especially if you tell me your head was hurt like this before, more times than one.” 

“Three,” Blue breathes, a little dazed still. Not magically healed, not even from Wayne. Another thing that doesn’t feel right. 

“Three times,” Wayne says, nodding, like he’s encouraging Steve to continue. 

“But I don’t want a hospital.” Again with that tiny fucking voice. Like the Monsters are hiding under hospital beds. 

“I know, son,” Wayne sighs, tugging the blanket a little tighter around Steve, and Eddie’s eyes begin to sting again when he notices the tone Wayne uses. When he realises. When he remembers. 

”I want my mom.“ 

”I know, son. But she’s not coming. Your mama is gone, Ed, and this is your home now. Think we can make that work, hm? You and I?” 

Eddie had never felt so lost as he did then, clutching his blanket to his chest, burying his face in the wet fabric even as this man — his uncle — tugs it tighter around him. Like he is fine with Eddie wanting to hide as long as he doesn’t run away. 

He had shrugged, then, even though we wanted to shake his head, tell him no, tell him he wanted his mama. 

”I’m scared, uncle Wayne.” 

And Wayne had smiled a little, and nodded. “Then we do it scared, Eddie.”

Actually, Eddie feels like he never stopped doing it scared. 

And now there is Steve, who Eddie never believed knew what being scared felt like. It’s dumb, of course, because even Harrington is just a boy, but he was always untouchable to Eddie. They never talked. They never existed in the same space together, not in a good way and not in a bad way. Their worlds just never aligned, never collided, never coexisted. 

And now… 

“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, okay? There’s a doctor, Doctor Clarke. Like— Yeah, like your science teacher, remember him? ‘S got a brother who’s just as much of a genius, and just as kind. He’ll take a look at you, yeah? Make sure your brain isn’t too hurt, clean your wounds, give you something for the pain. He won’t, uh. He won’t hurt you, kid. Whatever’s got you so scared, Dr Clarke will be nice to you. Especially when I’m there with ya, I’m an old pal of his. And I will be. Won’t let you outta my sight until you’re well enough to run away from me, you hear me, kid?” 

Eddie’s hands are hurting, his fingertips raw from where he’s been biting his nails while Wayne talks Blue through what’s going to happen — and he wonders, with the way Steve’s eyes are glued to Wayne, if he ever had anyone talking him through shit like this. 

“Okay,” Harrington breathes at last, still sounding way too small. “But. I’m…” 

“Scared anyway?” Wayne offers. Steve nods. You’re so blue, Stevie. “Then we do it scared anyway.”

And they do. Wayne goes to get the car so Steve won’t have to walk too far, leaving Eddie alone with him for a brief moment. 

He watches, from his place in the kitchen, how Steve’s face falls into a look of utter exhaustion and tiredness; the adrenaline washing from him just the same. Eddie wants to reach out. Wants to say something, break the spell of tension and silence and I know we don’t talk, but I’m glad you’re doing a little better. I’m glad you’ll go see a doctor. I’m glad you haven’t died, I guess. Do you really think you will? Are you really so scared of that? 

But Eddie keeps biting his nails, and Steve keeps his eyes closed, blanket around his shoulders. And they don’t talk. 

“Thank you.” 

Eddie perks up, not entirely sure he didn’t imagine the words — but Harrington moved slightly, his eyes still closed but his face now turned towards Eddie. 

“For, uh. This.” 

“I didn’t do shit, Blue,” Eddie says. “That was all Wayne. All I did was freak out, I promise.” 

Harrington shakes his head, though, slowly. “Mh-mm.” 

Eddie’s mouth snaps shut, because there is no room for discussion here. They don’t talk. And he doesn’t want the bubble to burst with insecurity and sourness. 

“Thank you,” he says again, and he sounds final about it. It makes Eddie wonder what he’s like, really like, when he doesn’t consist of pain and nausea and disorientation. 

He has a feeling that, despite everything, despite Monsters under hospital beds and torture in boathouses and mall fires that kill teenagers, Blue Harrington might be someone good to talk to. Compassionate as shit, even when all he wants to do is pass out. 

“You’re welcome,” Eddie rasps, pretending that his eyes don’t sting.

He wraps his arms around his chest like he’s hugging himself, or like he’s holding himself back. From reaching out, from asking, from telling, from talking. 

Unwittingly, even with his eyes closed, Steve mirrors him, and Eddie wonders if he, too, it holding himself back, or just curling in on himself some more even though it must hurt, feeling so small. 

Maybe that’s what fear of death does to a nineteen year-old. It’s so fucked up. Eddie wants to scream again. 

Outside, he hears a car door fall shut just before Wayne reappears in the door, giving Eddie some kind of meaningful look that he wouldn’t mind deciphering on any other day, but today he fears he needs words. 

“I don’t know how long this’ll take. Will you be okay, Ed?” 

“Will I be— Yes! I’m not the one with the concussion, man, of course I’ll be—“ 

It’s a bluff, comes too fast, and Wayne sees right through it before Eddie even realises it, and he steps closer. A warm hand on his shoulder. His eyes stinging again. 

“You did good, kid. Everything will be fine. But it might take a while. It’s fine if you need to go somewhere, just… Don’t drive. Call Jeff if you need someone, just. Don’t do anything stupid. And don’t get behind the wheel. Deal?” 

Eddie swallows hard, hit by another desperate, aching wave of I wanna go back in time and skip this day. A wave of tired exhaustion and wondering, aimlessly, just who the fuck Steve Harrington really is. 

“Deal,” he says, and Wayne pulls him into a hug. 

Eddie follows them outside then, trailing behind them like a lost little puppy, helping Harrington into Wayne’s car. His movements are still slugged and a little disoriented, so Eddie decides to lean in again and fasten his seatbelt. 

“Careful,” he mumbles, allowing the boy a moment’s warning, a moment to adjust before the weight settles on his chest. 

Dejá-vù hits him and makes him pause, with Harrington staring at him again. 

“I’m careful,” he says, the corners of his mouth tugging into a little smile.

More lucid than earlier, and Eddie thinks it that which takes his breath away for a moment. 

“Not gonna break, Eddie.” 

“I know,” he says, still not moving back, instead reaching up to tighten the blanket around his shoulders even though the seatbelt is already there to hold it in place. “You’re not gonna break, Blue.” 

The smile on those lips is genuine now, gentle enough to not be ruined by the blood crusting them. 

“Thanks. Again.” And then, when Eddie finally pulls away to close the door and tell Wayne to drive safely, “I really do like that name.”

It soothes the urge to scream.

Eddie closes the door as gently as he can — which isn’t much, because the car is old and not exactly smooth. 

“I’ll see you later,” he tells Wayne. Promises. To stay out of trouble, to stick around, to not run away for a while again, to stay out of his car. 

Wayne nods, a faint smile on his lips. 

“Later, Ed.” 

And then they’re gone, and Eddie is untethered again. Wonders, for a few seconds every now and then if it really happened, if this is real. 

But it did. And it is. 

And after sitting on the steps for a while, having a smoke and staring at where Wayne’s car disappeared ten, twenty, forty minutes ago, Eddie heads inside. 

He has a phone call to make.

🤍🌷 tagging: @theshippirate22 @mentallyundone @ledleaf @imfinereallyy @itsall-taken @simply-shin @romanticdestruction @temptingfatetakingnames @stevesbipanic @steddie-island @estrellami-1 @jackiemonroe5512 @emofratboy @writing-kiki @steviesummer @devondespresso @swimmingbirdrunningrock @dodger-chan @tellatoast @inkjette @weirdandabsurd42 (a thousand percent sure i missed some but oh well such is the 3am disease)

addendum 22 jan 24: onwards to part 3

[impyssadobsessions]

My Sister's Imposter (DPXDC PROMPT)

Danny owed Jazz, big time. And to make it up to her, he now has to pretend to be her at this big event that could pivot her whole career!

Well.. Jazz didn't ASK him too. Not that she could seeing she's stuck in confinement by her parents from a weapon they had built to stick Phantom solid. It had misfired, aimed towards Danny, when Jazz pushed him out of the way.. only for her face to be covered by the goo.

Danny took Jazz's flailing and signing as a yes, that it be a good idea. (News flash… she said no in all the sign language she knew. that this was a terrible plan.)

Sam said same thing- but she also didn't want to pretend to be Jazz. Tucker is helping out.

All signs point of this not working- but turns out it does. like… really well. Bruce Wayne was very interested in Danny's speech that he had to mid-way improvise.

Now anyone who doesn't want Arkham to change is after "Jazz" and Danny realizes he didn't think about AFTER the speech what to do. He only knows what psychology terms Jazz been preaching around him.

He prays it be enough until Jazz gets better or maybe not because these "Talons" are starting to worry him and the heroes are way too insistent.

Sam and Tucker helping Jazz get the gunk off her face when the parents aren't there. And feeding her through a straw while not telling her what Danny is doing.

OBVIOUSLY Bruce knows this isn't Jazz. He even deduced its her brother posing as her.. and the more they uncover the more he assumes the reason Danny is filling in for Jazz is because they would KNOW she was going to be targeted. And from what little they seen of Danny avoiding these hits done by the Talons, they think he's a meta. Thus starts them trying to keep Danny safe, figure out what happen to Jazz, and whose targeting them. They also think Danny is on to them so they have to play it extra careful, because they can't get him to spill information. Danny just thinks the Waynes are nice, and the heroes are annoyingly always there. >:T He doesn't want to wear a wig 24/7. Give a guy a break. Also imagine like it keeps cutting back to different ways Tucker and Sam are trying to get the gunk off Jazz's face. From chiseling it, to using acetone, to drawing on it from being bored.... until they accidentally spill the beans of Danny being in Gotham in her place... and he's being targeted. Thus Jazz with face full of gunk drives them to Gotham. Tucker crying in the backseat not wanting to die, and Sam screaming directions holding on for dear life but someone has to give directions to blind JAzz... Jazz definitely has her father's driving skills in this. PFFT then imagine it cutting back to like big reveal- and then boom. JAzz's car busts in, hitting whoever about to hurt her brother. Talons probably having realized Danny is meta, and one that they can use to get eternal life.. so imagine the shift in plans on their part. Bats just watched a purple sedan run-over the talons like they were traffic cones.

[spicy-apple-pie]

Thank you @cdelphiki for giving us a Damian that is a normal(ish) eight year old boy.

(GO READ THE IN FOR A POUND SERIES RIGHT NOW ITS SO GOOD)

[unfinishedslurs]

RIP Mike Wheeler’s heterosexuality

“Is being gay contagious?”

Steve stares at his phone groggily before putting it back against his ear. “…Mike?”

“Is it?”

“It’s three in the fuckin’ morning is what it is.” He rubs his nose, Mike’s words finally catching up to his brain. “Seriously, Mike? No it’s not fucking contagious, you’re not gonna get the gay disease or whatever from me. I promise you’ll keep liking girls.”

He’s a little hurt, even though he knows the question is innocent. They’ve been asking a lot of questions, like the inquisitive little assholes they are, but none of them had seemed like they weren’t okay with it. Until now.

“…that’s not what I meant,” Mike says. Steve realizes that his voice sounds shaky, even over the phone.

“Then what—“ he cuts himself off, realizing halfway through his bitching that there was only one reason Mike would call about this. “Oh.”

“Can you pick me up?”

“It’s three in the morning,” he repeats, even as he starts wondering where he left his keys. “Your mom…”

“Steve,” Mike pleads. “Please?”

He sighs. “I’m on my way.”

Mike is sitting on his doorstep when he pulls up, head in his hands. Steve doesn’t have to get out of the car, he stalks to the passenger door with all the vitriol of a boy with too many emotions to hold in, and wrenches the door open hard enough that Steve worries he’s going to break it.

“Watch it, noodle arms,” he says, trying to pretend this is normal. Maybe if he acts like it’s not well past midnight, Mike will relax.

It doesn’t work. Mike slumps in his seat, not bothering with the seatbelt. “Can you just drive?”

Steve drives. Doesn’t really know where they’re going, but it doesn’t matter. Just away seems to suffice.

He eventually pulls into a side road

“I’m scared to even touch another guy now! Because apparently hugging is gay when you’re older, and so is sleeping in the same bed, and telling your friends you love them, and…and I’m fucking scared all the time, ‘cause what if they’re right? How do they know? How can they tell by just fucking looking at me? It’s bullshit!”

“Shit, kid,” Steve says, heartbroken. “Shit. C’mere.”

He pulls him close, and Mike turns his face into the crook of his neck, shaking. His shirt collar starts to get damp.

“I don’t know what to do,” he cries. “I thought it was normal, I thought everyone was just…so scared all the time, and we just didn’t talk about it. But then you said that thing about being afraid and pushing it down, and I didn’t— I tried to ignore it. I tried so hard not to think about it, Steve, I swear I tried.”

“I know you did,” he says quietly. It hits him that he might be the only one who really gets it. Eddie gave up denying it long ago, deciding to evolve into something else for them to focus on. Robin’s a girl. Which doesn’t mean jack shit in most cases, because being a lesbian fucking sucks in a town like Hawkins, but girls aren’t as obsessive about it. Sometimes when they compare notes, Robin will just stare at him.

Mike shakes his head. “I don’t know what I did wrong,” he mumbles tearfully into his shoulder.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Steve says with a surprising amount of vehemence. He grabs Mike by his scrawny little shoulders, pulls him away so he can look directly into his bloodshot eyes. “Not a damn thing, do you hear me? There is nothing wrong with you, and anyone who tells you otherwise deserves a swift kick in the balls. Got it?”

Mike responds by bursting into loud, messy sobs.

Steve just keeps holding him, running a hand through his hair and soothing him gently, like he wishes someone had done for him or Robin or Eddie when they were young. Finally Mike pulls away, embarrassment starting to set in.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Steve asks instead of a meaningless platitude he knows Mike wouldn’t accept.

Mike gives him a suspicious look. “I guess.”

“I’m scared too. All the time.”

“No you’re not,” Mike snorts. “You don’t need to make me feel better just because I’m a pussy.”

“I’m not joking,” he says. “Why do you think I dated girls? Why do you think I went through so many lengths to hide it? It’s fucking terrifying, man. But you know what makes it less scary?”

“Dating girls? Marrying a woman?”

“No.” He pokes Mike’s chest, right over his heart. “People. Friends who love and accept you. Friends who know what you’re going through, even.”

“Do you…” Mike chews his lip. “Do you think Nancy would be okay with it? With me?”

“Absolutely I do. She was okay with me, wasn’t she? And I was her boyfriend.”

“Yeah, but it’s different when it’s your family, right? Sometimes people don’t care if someone is… people don’t care until it affects them. Do you think Nancy is like that?”

He knows Nancy isn’t like that, but that's a talk they’re going to have to have themselves. “I really don’t,” he encourages. “I think she’d be really glad to know this part of you, actually. She loves you.”

“…I know,” he says, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t… we made this dumb no secrets pact the first time the Upside-Down happened, I don’t know why. It’s stupid. But…I don’t want to keep secrets from her anymore.”

[chaoticallyfluffy]

Ok consider:

A new hero emerges and the Justice League watches him for a while who make sure he’s not a threat. They see this giant clumsy man who moves like he’s not used to his body, smiles goofily every time he saves someone, and is clearly inexperienced with his powers and they’re all just like. Ah. This is a child.

Except they don’t think he’s a ten year old or however old Billy is at the time, no no. Clearly this hero came into existence shortly before his first appearance, just a few months ago. They don’t know how or why but It’s not the weirdest thing they’ve seen so it’s pretty easy to believe.

But they can’t just leave this toddler with the powers of a god to stumble around and potentially hurt someone by accident, nor go down the wrong path and become a villain. So of course they decide to ‘subtly’ guide him without alerting him to the fact they’re onto him.

They introduce themselves but instead of inviting him to the league they pop by every once in a while to ‘subtly’ teach him about responsibility and power, but also about love and humanity. They try to teach him to enjoy life and that he doesn’t have to act like an adult around them, instead encouraging him to enjoy his childhood even if it’s not an ordinary one.

(Too bad the Justice League suck at subtlety.)

Billy is certain they somehow found out he’s a kid before they even met him, probably because of Batman’s freaky know-it-all powers, but he isn’t very worried as they seem nice and don’t treat him like he’s dumb or fragile. They respect him as a hero despite his age so he lets himself act like a kid around them after a while.

When he gets comfortable enough to detransform Billy thinks that’s his identity reveal. The league thinks that he magicked himself a body that’s more of a representation of his true self and fits his developmental age better, possibly as a way to blend in with humans and experience what it’s like to be a normal child. Good for him!

Basically Billy gets a bunch of super powered parents and the Justice League get a newborn man that they think they’re raising from scratch lol

[dreagine]

Aroace ink sans I love you…………….

[teddybeartoji]

彡A LOVER SO BEAUTIFUL THAT HE ALMOST DIES

☆. contains: bf!satoru gojo x fem!reader; fluff fluff fluff!!!!!!, reader almost gives him a heart attack smh, they're very cute and very much in love wc: 1.1k

walking through the door, his eyes immediately start scanning the crowd in search of you. suguru mumbles something about getting drinks and wanders off, leaving bf!gojo to his mission. and then he hears it. his ears perk up at his own personal favourite sound - your laughter. it bounces off the walls, muting every other sound in the room and it makes the corners of his lips twitch upward. god, he can't wait to see you.

and finally.

there you are.

a group of people step aside just in time and it's like something out of a movie. everything is in slow motion and everyone in the background blurs, all except for you. you're facing a friend of yours, not noticing your beloved boyfriend almost having a heart attack, before said friend nudges you toward him. turning around, you greet him with the biggest smile.

satoru feels his heart explode. he's standing there like a fish out of water, his mouth hanging ajar. you look like an angel. the lights are hitting you perfectly, making it seem like you're the only person in the room. finally regaining consciousness over his body, his hand flies to his chest with a big sigh, making you giggle. excusing yourself, you start making your way over to him and his eyes almost pop out of his head. it's like he's seeing you for the first time again.

he keeps his hand over his heart, trying to make sure it stands in it's place and he seems to be speechless. that's a first. there just aren't words good enough to describe you. sure, he can keep calling you his angel but in reality that just won't suffice. he needs to start making up new words for the love of his life. a whole new language just meant for you.

when you're just about two steps away, satoru releases another deep sigh, letting his eyes close and head hang back. you're killing him. you really are. he lolls his head to the side as he looks at you with his one opened eye. if he were to look at you with both of them, his heart would surely give out then and there.

now stood in front of him, with an unwavering smile, you beam at him and his dramatic antics. raising a hand, you brush a stray white hair from in front of his eyes, fingertips gently brushing over his cheek - a pinkish hue now embellishing his face.

satoru stares down at you and all he can think is how fast could he get a wedding ring? is there a store nearby? would it be open at this hour? how silly would it be if he just dropped down to his knee right now? would you say ye--

"you're drooling." you say with a giggle. you're trying to remain cool and calm and collected but in reality, his reaction is making you sick; the butterflies in your stomach are about to burst out of you and you can feel your ears burning. god, you hope he doesn't notice.

he does. how could he not. he's now extremely focused on your current state, how even though you try to keep your eyes on him, they seem to keep flickering down to your fidgety fingers. how even though, a big grin adorns your face, a deep blush creeps up your skin - a hint of shyness poking through.

"a-am not." he nevertheless wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smiling. he takes your small hand into his big one and urges you to do a spin for him. "c'mon, show me."

laughing, you do as he says. still holding onto his hand, you do a full 360 and demonstrate your outfit, making him groan and grasp at his heart once more. do you know what you're doing to him?

"you are ridiculous." he is truly the most dramatic person you know.

"you are the most beautiful girl on the planet." but also the sweetest.

your eyes soften while his are filled with pure admiration. you are the one for him. a comfortable silence falls between you, gazes and fingers locked together. bound together. it's just the two of you in this crowded room.

"thank you." it comes out as a whisper. "you look so handsome." you raise your free hand to trace over his tie and up and over his shirt collar. you can smell his cologne, it's the one you gifted him last year and it warms your heart.

he leans down to your ear and whispers back. "i think i'm having a heart attack."

"you- wait, what?" you pull back at his serious tone but you're still met with just a stupid smirk. "that's not funny, satoru. heart attacks are a serious topic."

"and i am so serious, baby. dead serious." he places your palm over his heart and you feel it strongly thumping in it's cage. "told you."

"maybe it's trying to escape, have you considered that? maybe it's fed up with your antics, hm?" you tease.

"well, maybe it's making it's way over to you, to crawl into your chest, have you considered that? maybe it just wants to stay with you forever, hm?" he quips back.

you flutter your eyelashes at him, trying to find the words to show how much you really truly appreciate him and his silly words. so you take his other hand and bring it to your chest, where he meets your very own pounding heart.

"hm, maybe we should exhange them? you know... maybe they'll calm down?" and it's the seriousness in your voice that really gets him. satoru feels himself turning into putty. it's like he's melting away. you and your touch and your words and your heart - it's all too much for him. his mind goes back to that proposal scenario. he wants you to be his and him to be yours. he does want to exhange hearts.

he leans down to press a chaste kiss on your nose. "i love you." he has said it before but he doesn't tire of it. you need to know.

pressing a kiss on your cheek. "i love you." he says it again. his affection is making laughter bubble in your throat and you don't want this moment to end.

another one on your other cheek. "i love you."

and finally, he presses his soft lips to yours, hands still holding each other's hearts. "wan' to have your heart and wan' you to have mine." he mutters against you.

another silent giggle escapes your lips and falls straight into his mouth. he swallows it proudly. "promise?"

"promise."

[gunstellations]

double trouble

[flowercrowngods]

It's unreal. The light is streaming in through the windows, the curtains still drawn to block out the midday heat, tinging their living room in golden hues that match so well with the light grey fabric of their new sofa.

Eddie should probably snap out of it and head over to the windows, open the curtains and let the light in, and with it the warmth and fresh air of a surprisingly wonderful day.

It's March, he hears the echoes of Steve's giddy voice a week or two ago. Everything's better in March.

Eddie didn't agree then, and he's not sure he agrees now, but he must admit there is something magical about this moment.

Still he remains rooted to the spot, leather jacket heavy on his shoulders, his hands hidden in the sleeves of it, just in case this really is a dream. Just in case someone will come in and snap him out of it, take away their couch and leave an eviction notice.

It's dumb. But Eddie doesn't deal well with things that are unreal. Things that he knows aren't meant for him. Things that he knows he only gets in this one play-through of his life, while millions of other Eddie Munsons are out there in parallel universes who never get to even lay eyes upon a couch this nice. Let alone buy it. From their own real adult money.

It's a corner sofa, the fabric light grey, and he remembers it being harder than it looks. Solid. Just perfect for both their fucked up backs, scar tissue pulling if they sit wrong for too long, phantom pain and muscle aches coming in hot when all they want is to just relax and enjoy a lazy evening.

Eddie bites his lip, trailing his eyes along the pristine fabric, the pillows lining the back of it, the flawless stitches keeping everything in shape.

They have a couch now. A sofa.

It's so fucking unreal.

He drops to the floor right then and there, sitting with his back against the wall, and never once taking his eyes off their sofa. It feels important to look at it for a while. It feels important to wait for Steve. It feels... It feels like maybe he'll ruin everything if he goes and sits on it now.

And it feels really fucking big.

At some point he hears the front door opening, their lock going so smoothly now that Steve fixed it with some graphite, and the sound makes Eddie smile. That's another thing that's unreal. The key barely making any noise, the lock not rattling, the door not creaking and cracking. Eddie pulls a strand of hair between his lips, the smile feeling too silly for this room, for this home, for everything he gets to have now.

For all the tiny things that matter now. All the tiny things he gets to have, turning the key's smooth slide into an allegory of everything he ever wanted but never dared to hope for.

The slide of curtains, the click-click-click of the window handle being turned to let the air in. The breeze of fresh spring air dancing around his nose.

It's all a little much. It's so fucking addicting.

And then Steve. Socked feet coming to a stop beside him, a hand landing in his hair, a voice that's so endlessly warm and fond and maybe a little worried sounding from above him, "Hi, angel."

"Hi," Eddie says, tearing his eyes away from their couch to meet Steve's. The sunlight from the windows hugs him, making him glow. Eddie smiles. He smiles and smiles and never wants to stop.

Steve hums as he leans down to press a kiss to his forehead, and Eddie weaves his arm through Steve's legs, holding onto his knee.

Everything feels a little less silly now. Like every time Steve doesn't question his little moments of sitting on the floor and just staring at things.

"We have a couch now," Eddie says, because it feels important to point out. Because Steve isn't looking at it.

"We do," he hums. "I got the call earlier. Thanks for helping with that, baby."

Eddie nods again, leaning his cheek against Steve's knee and trailing the couch again with his eyes. It looks brighter now that the curtains don't turn the room into something out of a sepia-type movie anymore.

Steve's hands comb through his hair, massaging his scalp a little with his nails. It's nice. It's warm. It's pretty.

And it's so unreal.

"I'm twenty-four," Eddie says then, and some part of him wants to carve that into the fabric. He won't. But maybe he should carve it somewhere else. "And I own a couch. It's a little crazy."

Steve comes to sit down beside him, their shoulders pressed together and he links their hands, resting them in his lap after a brushes a kiss to Eddie's knuckles.

"Why's it crazy, angel?"

He shrugs, resting his head on Steve's shoulders and curling into his warmth some more.

"Most of my life I never thought either of those would happen, y'know."

Another hum, followed by another kiss to the crown of his head. Another smile.

"But you did it," Steve whispers. "You made it. And we've got a couch now."

"We've got a couch now."

Saying it out loud doesn't make it feel any realer. It only makes his heart race and his eyes prick.

"I love you," he says, finally looking away from pretty grey fabric to meet prettier hazel eyes. "I love you so much."

Steve leans in, kissing the tip of his nose. "I love you. Thank you for buying a couch with me."

And it occurs to Eddie then that Steve understands him. Sitting there on the floor with him, hearing his words and listening to those unsaid, understanding Eddie on such a fundamental level that it should be scary. And it is, sometimes.

But he's not scared now. Because they have a couch. And they have pretty curtains that keep the light outside and still turn the room into something magical. And they have a lock that only needed a bit of graphite to let the keys glide smoothly.

And they have each other.

They stay on the floor until Steve's stomach growls, and they eat dinner with their backs against the couch and Eddie's feet in Steve's lap. They hold each other close after dinner, just breathing each other in as the breeze blows around them.

In the end, Eddie is the first to sit on the couch, with Steve standing between his legs and giving him a scalp massage in silence. In the end, Eddie buries his face in Steve's stomach to hide the tears, and Steve lets him.

Because this is real. And he gets to have this. They both do.

🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @stobin-cryptid@hotluncheddie @gutterflower77@auroraplume@steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important@stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround@pukner@i-amthepizzaman @swimmingbirdrunningrock @hammity-hammer @stevesbipanic@bitchysunflower @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @awkwardgravity1 (lmk if you want on or off, for this story or permanently)

[wired-heartbeats]

I think self shippers are allowed to have complicated-ass relationships with their F/Os, like yeah we love the lovey-dovey sweet flustering stuff, but also some of us go nuts for a good case of

‘we want to and probably have practically strangled each other but also you’re my soulmate and fate has intrinsically tied us together and I would protect you and fight for you in any given universe but also you’re an actual dumbass and I will tell you so and if we ever go down it’s going to be by the others hand’

Or other related variations, I think it’s great to go hogwild and not all F/O relationships stop at Romantic or Platonic or Familial, the dynamics are endless and can be so fun to play with and navigate

[demaparbat-hp]

Zuko was a child when he met Agni. Then, the spirits started coming to him. Eyes hidden in the hallways, voices pleading for help, for recognition, for remembrance.

Zuko could see Agni. He could see the broken remains of a Great Spirit and the empty smiles of amnesiac ghosts.

And they could see him in return.

[luludohs]

oie amigas do tumblr! voltei bem mais rápido que o planejado. fiquei muito feliz com os comentários positivos que eu recebi, ainda mais pq eu tava bem insegura de começar a falar por aqui

por isso queria pedir que vcs tenham um pouco de paciência comigo porque eu ainda não me sinto confiante o suficiente pra publicar alguma one shot, então por enquanto vou ficar só nos cenários mesmo (que são praticamente uma one pq eu me empolgo). mas minha mente ta sempre pipocando de ideias então vou tentar aparecer aqui o máximo que eu puder! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

enfim, queria contar pra vcs de um cenário que eu nao vi ninguém falando e que na minha cabeça faz muito sentido (se alguém ja tiver falado me perdoa, tenho uma memória de peixe e esqueci ou as vezes nem vi). faz muito sentido pra mim existir o pipe!mochileiro que ta viajando pela américa do sul e acaba se esbarrando com a reader em uma das viagens dele

indo mais fundo nessa do pipe!mochileiro eu pensei em um cenário realmente muito específico e queria compartilhar com vocês!

e mais uma vez eu me empolguei MUITO e sem querer isso aqui virou praticamente uma one shot 🫣🫣

você e sua família estão viajando de férias pra alguma cidadezinha litorânea bem paradisíaca e pequenininha. no seu segundo dia de viagem, quando você acorda pra ir tomar o café na pequena pousada em que está hospedada, da de cara com toda a sua família interagindo horrores com um rapaz muito bonito

você se aproxima envergonhada por estar com a cara toda amassada de sono e dá um bom dia todo contido e senta na mesa pra comer, o pipe ja fica assim 😏😏 pq te achou uma gracinha toda tímida. sua mãe te apresenta o felipe e diz que ele é um argentino que ta fazendo um mochilão por toda américa do sul sozinho, quando você olha pra ele de perto fica hipnotizada. o olho azul, o cabelo com os cachinhos nas pontas, a pele queimadinha de sol, o abdômen todo definido, você foi descendo o olhar até ir parar na linha v 🫦🫦 e parou quando viu que ja tava secando ele demais. porém é ÓBVIO que essa secada monstruosa nao passou nem um pouco despercebida pelo pipe que ficou com o ego lá em cima

com o passar dos dias ele foi se aproximando cada vez mais da sua família, se deu bem com seus pais, seus tios, brincava com seus priminhos mais novos, a noite saia com os mais velhos, dançava pagode com a sua vó, sempre se oferecia pra buscar cerveja pra turma quando via que tava acabando, basicamente sua família adotou ele naquela viagem

você e o pipe conversavam as vezes, você ficava mais tímida com ele (muito porque a beleza absurda dele te intimidava), mas ele sempre era atencioso, principalmente quando seus primos te chamavam pra dar um mergulho no mar e você sempre negava porque tinha medo, mas com a ajuda do pipe você foi entrando aos poucos. ele sempre pegava sua mão e entrava aos poucos com você. no dia que ele conseguiu te fazer ir até a água bater na sua cintura foi uma vitória imensa para ambos, e quando a onda enorme vinha na direção dos dois você entrava em desespero, mas ele por já ser experiente te abraçou pela cintura e te impulsionou pra cima e vocês pularam com a onda. a partir desse dia você começou a entrar no mar sem aquele medo de sempre

sua paixãozinha pelo pipe era muito óbvia pra todo mundo, seus primos viviam rindo quando ele aparecia e sua mãe e sua vó até se juntaram pra tentar te convencer a chamar ele pra jantar fora, o que obviamente não funcionou porque você negou qualquer quedinha por ele. o pipe também ja tinha notado que você tava afim dele, ele adorava te ver toda tímida quando ele chegava perto, ou quando ele pegava na sua mão pra te ajudar a entrar no mar e ele achou uma graça em como você ficou toda vermelha quando ele acidentalmente entrou no seu quarto bem na hora que você estava trocando de roupa. nesse dia ele conseguiu ver um pedacinho de você que ansiava em descobrir e desde então ficou com mais vontade ainda

até que em uma noite da viagem, você e sua família tinham pedido pizza pra comer na pousada que estavam hospedados e você reparou na ausência de pipe e perguntou para os seus primos onde ele estava, “ele foi sair com uma menina tá passando uns dias aqui” um deles te contou esperando uma reação sua que não apareceu, você se conteve o máximo que pode mas sua vontade era fazer uma cena e ir atras do pipe e gritar com ele, mas obviamente você não podia até porque seria bizarro e ele nunca demonstrou interesse por você

perguntando mais você descobriu que ele conheceu a garota em uma das noites de bebedeira com seus primos e ele acabou ficando com ela nesse mesmo dia e pegou o instagram da menina e eles vem conversando desde então. você fingiu pra todo mundo que tava cagando pra isso mas na real tava toda borocoxô porque tava realmente apaixonadinha pelo argentino charmoso que sem querer sua família incluiu na viagem

depois de terminar de comer foi pro quarto tentar - e falhar miseravelmente - dormir, você só se revirava na cama pensando no que o felipe tava fazendo com a moça. você saiu do quarto se sentindo patética e foi em direção a praia tentar esfriar a cabeça. quando tava chegando só ouviu alguém te chamando e lá estava o dito cujo todo alegrinho vindo na sua direção

“por que ta acordada?” ele perguntou com o sotaque arranhando, sotaque esse que você normalmente achava um charme mas que agora tava servindo pra te deixar mais puta ainda. você disse que tava com insônia e saiu deixando ele todo confuso, mas o bichinho é insistente quando quer e foi atrás de você te seguindo até você estender a canga que pegou no quarto e sentar na areia “quer companhia?” ele perguntou todo meiguinho e você sentiu vontade de dar uns tapas naquele rosto bonito

você aceitou a companhia porque nao saberia negar, então ele se sentou ao seu lado todo feliz mas você não falou um ‘a’ sequer até que ele começasse a puxar assunto, você respondia na maior secura possível porque tava real puta com ele, tava pouco se fudendo se parecesse uma criança mimada.

“o que houve com você? ta toda emburrada” ele perguntou e você não respondeu “ta com ciúmes?” nessa hora você congelou, felipe riu quando viu sua carinha toda assustada “seus primos me contaram” ele continuou dizendo e você nem piscava direito “relaxa, cariño. eu nao fui encontrar mulher nenhuma” nessa hora você finalmente olhou pra ele assim 😧 “foi ideia dos seus primos falar que eu fui ver uma menina, eu só fui encontrar um amigo meu colombiano” você ficou toda sem graça, se sentindo a menina mais burra que existe

o pipe reparou que você ficou daquele jeito e logo já tava te acalmando e dizendo que tava tudo bem, você desconversou e fingiu que não ligava (mesmo ligando muito!!!). “para de pose, nena. eu também te quero” foi o que ele disse quando colocou a mão no seu queixo e te puxou devagar pra um beijo. o beijo dele era lento e molhadinho, você se sentiu toda molinha conforme ele ia se deitando por cima de você. ele passava a mão pelo seu corpo inteirinho bem devagar, apertava seus peitos, arranhava sua coxa, fazia carinho seu cabelo

desceu os beijos para o seu pescoço junto com os toques que foram parar na sua buceta coberta pelo short do pijama, ele massageava seu pontinho por cima do short justo enquanto marcava seu pescoço. você agarrava os cabelos dele enquanto gemia e se esfregava nos dedos dele. desceu a própria mão até o pau duro do pipe e apertava de levinho. “porra eu preciso muito te comer” ele falou se ajoelhando entre as suas pernas “aqui não pipe, alguém pode ver” você disse relutante “já é de madrugada, nena. ninguém vai ver não. deixa vai” você continuou negando, nunca tinha feito nada em um lugar tão publico “deixa eu colocar só a cabecinha então” ele pediu, dizendo que tava com muita vontade, você compadeceu por causa da carinha de coitado que ele fez

pipe tirou seu short do pijama e sorriu ao ver que nem calcinha você tava usando “que putinha hein, e ainda com esse papo de que alguém pode nos ver. como se você não quisesse ser vista” ele nao mentiu, você tava morrendo de tesao ao saber que em qualquer momento poderiam ser flagrados. felipe só tirou o pau pra fora da bermuda, ele colocou só a cabecinha mas quando viu sua carinha cheia de tesao empurrou um pouco mais, você percebeu mas estava tão perdida no próprio prazer que nem ligou, ele empurrou tudo pra dentro sem dificuldade alguma de tão molhadinha que você se encontrava

pipe começou a te foder to jeitinho que sempre quis, desde a primeira vez que te viu. você gemia tão alto que ele teve que tampar sua boca com a própria mão, sem parar de meter. quando ele sentiu você apertando ele sem parar percebeu que estava perto e acelerou os movimentos, acertando sempre o lugar certo. assim que você gozou ele saiu de dentro, olhando sua carinha toda acabadinha

você sentiu dois tapinhas no seu rosto e abriu os olhos devagar “ta toda burrinha de tanto levar pica, né?” ele riu da sua cara “mas eu ainda nao gozei, princesa. vem cá me ajudar, vem”

depois dessa vou me segurar mais 🫠🫠

[cluescorner]

I cannot imagine being a Damian stan right now. You've got both Zdarsky's bullshit (where he clearly doesn't give a shit about your boy) and The Boy Wonder (where Juni Ba clearly gives so many shits about your boy) coming out on the same day. The whiplash must be insane. I hope y'all get some nice warm soup for your efforts jfc