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total-dxmure · 9 months

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✦ INVISIBLE STRING THEORY →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】→ CHAPTER ONE

pairings: modern!marine ellie x reader

summary: the marines didn’t ruin ellie. ellie ruined ellie. after being medically discharged she feels lost. being sent to live with joel is more of a last ditch effort to save her and less of a fun reunion for the father-daughter duo. jackson is worlds different than chicago, but the fresh air and sprawling countrysides are a welcome reprieve. ellie finds herself finding comfort in more than just the change in scenery though. after losing your girlfriend due to an accident you feel as though you’ll never find love again- but that was before meeting ellie williams. the two of you figure out that you have more in common than just the fact that she and your girlfriend were both marines though. tethered by some invisible string, the two of you meeting has to be fate. who would have known that you were the golden ticket to ellie’s recovery?

warnings: eventual smut! lots of tension building and mutual pining. ellie falls first and hard. small town girl meets a frightening, strong ex marine. TW: talk of panic attacks, ptsd episodes and death. come for the ellie smut and stay for the plot and fluff.

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“The fact that she’s military is the only thing saving her ass right now.”

Ellie kept her head bowed down low, her hands clasped in between her legs as she hunched over in the seat, making herself as small as possible. Her knuckles were bruised and scrapped to hell, the blood already dried and crusted. Most of the blood wasn’t hers, and if she thought about that fact for too long she’d probably have an episode. Either that or she’d throw up all over the sheriff’s office.

“Boss, I really appreciate you calling me instead of booking her. You have to understand that she’s in therapy and is on a shit ton of medications. Is the guy gonna press charges. . . ?” Hearing her best friend kiss up to his boss on her behalf had the vein in her forehead twitching.

“Technically the boy was shoplifting, so I doubt he’s gonna go forward with any sort’a legal action. I know she was trying to help, but she used excessive force. Beat the poor kid black and blue. . . I mean-” The officer lowered his voice, and Ellie could hear Jesse’s chair creak as he leaned forward. “His damn tooth was knocked out.” The sheriff whispered.

She closed her eyes tight, running a shaky hand over her face. She should own up to all of this and apologize. This was her fault, so why. . . why was she just sitting there? It was like she was glued to the chair, unable to move her head up. She couldn’t look Jesse in the eye. She was ashamed of herself.

Because she smelled like greasy, unwashed hair and cigarettes, was wearing the same pair of jeans she’d worn yesterday when he invited her over to his and Dina’s for dinner, and now he was having to pick her up at the police station for starting a fight.

A pack of beer. That’s what she’d pummeled the boy over.

He couldn’t have even been her age. He looked freshly legal, and something in her fucked up mind told her that it was okay to hurt him like that. The second that the nice elderly woman behind the counter had started screaming about a man stealing from her, some sort of switch had been flipped in her brain. Loud noises always made her feel anxious, but screaming like that? She couldn’t have stopped the meltdown even if she’d wanted to. So she dropped what she was holding and ran after him. What happened afterwards was. . . well, it was a blur. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and rubbed her temples, trying hard to remember.

Her therapist called them “PTSD episodes”. Random things triggered a breakdown: loud noises, gunshots, screams, flashes of light. . . they were unavoidable. She’d lose total track of time when it happened. One second the door to Ellie’s walk-in closet was closing behind her, plummeting her in darkness, and the next she’d be laying on her back in the middle of her room, balling her eyes out. Living like this was hell, but no matter how many mind-numbing pills she was prescribed, she still found it nearly impossible to function.

She didn’t want to scare her loved ones. When Joel called she just. . . lied. It made her feel dirty. It was wrong and she knew that, but it was better than the alternative. Being a liar was better than being a broken failure.

“Yeah, I’m doing great. My therapist is on to something, I think.”

“Come on, rambo. Let’s get you to bed.” Jesse placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, knowing better than to pat her on the back like he used to.

Ellie knew it hurt him to see her flinch under his touch. She swallowed back bile and stood up, practically having to drag herself out of the officers office. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t thank him or- or anything.

But then he did that thing. . . he thanked Ellie.

Ellie didn’t give a shit about the military discounts or the cheaper car insurance- she got a nice cushy check from the military every month just for breathing. She didn’t want pity or thanks simply because she didn’t deserve it.

“Thank you for your service, Williams.” The sheriff’s voice reminded her of Joel’s. For some reason that made it hurt even worse.

Still, her muscles tightened, and she worked hard to straighten her posture.

“It was my privilege.” It was a well rehearsed response. It didn’t even sound like her voice when she had said it though, and it scared her.

As she followed Jesse out to his truck, she tried to ascertain whether she was just beginning to disassociate or whether or not this was all just another strange side effect from her meds.

She blinked and suddenly she was already situated in the car, Jesse on the main road to get the both of them back home. He had the radio turned down to just a hum, his sleepy eyes glued to the road in front of him. The clock on his dashboard told her that it wasn’t just “late” anymore, but “morning” now. Ellie sat up suddenly, her heart pounding as she tried to map out exactly how many minutes she had just lost.

“Fuck.” She breathed, pressing her palms against her eyes.

She needed to call her therapist sometime today. She needed. . . She needed a lower dose of medication. There’s no way any of this was normal.

“Have you eaten?” Jesse asked, turning his head to finally look at her.

Ellie wished that he felt inconvenienced by her. Anger would be better than pity, but the look in his eyes was anything but annoyance. Jesse looked like he was close to tears. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, and Ellie felt called to reach her hand out and place it on his shoulder. She wasn’t a very touchy person these days (and it’s not like she was to begin with), but he needed it.

“Not in a couple of hours.” Ellie answered him, letting her fingers dig into the soft fabric of his shirt.

He nodded and cleared his throat, sitting up a little straighter. When Ellie dropped her hand and turned to look out the passenger side window, she could have sworn he lifted his arm to hurriedly wipe at his eyes. She couldn’t be sure though. . . seeing as she was now legally blind in her left eye. The wonky eye and the thin scar that started in the middle of her forehead and ended on her brow bone were the only physical reminders that she had of the explosion.

It seemed so miniscule compared to all of the shit that was going on in her head. She’d much rather have a destroyed body than a brain that didn’t work right anymore.

“How about you sleep in the guest bedroom? Dina’s probably worried sick about the both of us. Let’s. . . let’s spend the day together. Yeah?” It sounded like he was pleading with her.

There was a brief moment of heavy silence. No matter how much of a burden she saw herself as, the thought of going home right now frightened her. Ellie was terrified that she was going to end up all alone in this world, but she couldn’t stop pushing everyone away. It’s almost as if. . . she knew that she was bound to self-destruct at some point. She didn’t want anyone to see her like that.

“She’s going to kill me.” Ellie groaned out, dramatically banging her head against the headrest.

Jesse’s lips twitched up into a smile, but he was quick to try and mask it. “Nah. Dina? Mad at you for getting arrested at one thirty in the morning? No way.” His tone was sarcastic, and Ellie appreciated the fact that Jesse could still joke under circumstances like this. It made things feel almost normal. Almost.

Ellie winced, dragging a battered and bruised hand over her face. She had no idea why she’d been at the gas station picking up a bag of pretzels and a pack of ding-dongs that late at night. A documentary about the recently discovered Exo-planet was on the Discovery channel, and she’d actually worked up an appetite after it was over. She missed acting her age. Maybe that’s why she ended up getting into her Jeep. She was tired of feeling nostalgic and actually wanted to do something for herself. As minuscule as grabbing snacks from the gas station down the street was, it still felt out of the ordinary for her. Special.

Dina was sitting on the couch when the pair slunk into the house, walking on their tip toes in the hopes that the creaking wooden floors wouldn’t wake up JJ. Ellie froze in the entryway, green eyes wide as she took in the female’s crossed arms and death-glare. She was in trouble, which meant that Jesse was in trouble as well by association.

“Do you know what time it is?” Dina whisper-yelled, throwing her arm in the direction of the clock on the wall.

Ellie squinted her one good eye, noting that it was now four in the morning. She’d lost three hours. She should have been passed out on her prescribed sleeping pills by now, plagued by vivid nightmares. Instead she was intruding on her two best friends, and for what? ‘A pack of beer’, she reminded herself. A god damn pack of fuckin’ beer.

Ellie’s mouth went dry, her lips moving but no words escaping her. How many times had she apologized to Dina since she’d gotten home after the accident? Still, her best friend’s anger was better than Jesse’s pity. The sleeves of Ellie’s flannel tightened around her biceps as she crossed her arms over her chest, mirroring Dina’s posture as if to protect herself. She slipped a hand up, covering her neck anxiously.

“I’m getting better, D. I’ll schedule an emergency meeting with my therapist and-” Ellie sounded pathetic, even to her own ears.

What she was doing couldn’t be called living. Ellie was simply existing and not doing a very good job at it either. She was tired of being tired. She blinked her misty eyes, turning to face the kitchen. She refused to cry. Once she started she couldn’t be sure that she’d be able to stop.

Jesse and Dina’s shoes were all neatly laid out by the front door and JJ’s baby bag was sitting on the dining room table. This was a family that she had just burdened. Her eyes snagged on JJ’s highchair, and then the guilt was building right back up in her chest.

Guilt and jealousy.

Ellie had once had hopes of starting her own family eventually. When did she lose her grasp on that? On her lifelong dreams and aspirations? She wanted to help people- save people- so when had she become the one that needed saving? The marines hadn’t ruined Ellie. Ellie had ruined Ellie.

“No, you’re not.” Dina said simply, her voice sounding thick with emotion. “Ellie, look at me.” Her voice was commanding despite her sadness.

Ellie’s eyes fell to the floor, but she turned her head to face Dina, green eyes flickering up to her face. Bottom lip quivering, brown eyes misty- Dina looked miserable.

“You’re not getting better.” She whispered to Ellie, shaking her head to drive the point home. It looked like the words physically hurt for her to say.

Every excuse that she could have given dissipated. Suddenly she felt naked, utterly exposed. Every nasty, jagged scar was on full display. How many times had she said that to the people that cared about her?

“I’m getting better.” “I actually feel a bit better today.” “You don’t have to worry about me. The meds are really working this time.” Ellie wasn’t sure when it happened but she had become a liar. A damn good one too. Dina was looking at her now though, really looking at her, and Ellie’s face crumpled.

“Fuck.” Ellie whispered to herself, moving her hands to cover her face.

Jesse stepped behind Ellie, wrapping his arms around her tightly, resting his cheek on the top of her head. A sob caught in Ellie’s chest and she strangled it before it could escape her. She couldn’t lose it. She couldn’t let her shoulders sag, couldn’t allow herself to feel everything in front of her best friends.

“I called Joel,” Dina finally said, leaning against the back of the couch, her knuckles going white with how hard she gripped the leather. “And he bought you a plane ticket. You’re flying out tomorrow.”

“No,” Ellie was already shaking her head before Dina had even finished her sentence. “How could you do this?” She felt the betrayal like a slap in the face. Her lips parted, eyes wide in silent desperation.

Please let this be a nightmare.

Her hand desperately flew to her arm, giving it a sharp pinch. The floor didn’t fall out from under her. She didn’t sit up sweating in her tangled sheets. This was actually happening. Actually real.

“You’re flailing, Ellie. We thought that eventually you’d level out,” Dina tried, taking a few steps towards Ellie and her husband. “But you’re only getting worse.”

“I’m getting better.” The well rehearsed line was the only thing she could think to utter. She prayed that eventually she could convince herself of that too. If she said the words enough times then maybe, eventually, they would become her reality. Perhaps she could somehow manifest her recovery.

“When was the last time you ate a solid meal? You barely touched your plate the other night. And I know you aren’t eating the food that Jesse drops off for you.” Dina was pointing out her flaws as if she didn’t see them all herself.

A full stomach meant nausea.

“When was the last time you showered?” The dark haired girl questioned.

Showering meant closing herself up into a tight space. It meant getting naked- seeing her scars. Remembering what happened to her and the rest of her unit.

“We know how this will end, Ellie. I don’t care if you hate me for the rest of my life for calling Joel. I refuse to lose you like this.” Dina’s voice quivered as she spoke, but her eyes hardened. She was resolute about her decision.

Jesse’s arms tightened around Ellie and suddenly they no longer felt like a comfort but a prison. She needed air. Needed to call Joel and apologize. Needed to tell him that she was fine. She was fine. She would be just fine.

“I can’t breathe.” Ellie managed to whisper out, knees buckling from underneath her. It felt like the world was finally swallowing her up whole.

She was a failure. She’d failed Jesse, Dina, JJ and Joel. Why couldn’t she just be normal again? Why couldn’t she just fucking breathe.

Jesse let go of Ellie as she began gasping for air, helping to sit her down on the cold hardwood floor. It felt like everything around her had slowed down to a crawl, but her mind- it had sped up to a breakneck pace. She couldn’t turn it off. Couldn’t turn off the thoughts and the images and the feelings.

She’d killed her unit. It was her fault that they all died. They had all been taken home in body bags, and what had Ellie gotten? A fucking government issued check every month that she blew on booze and a Purple Heart that collected dust.

“D, get the medication that’s in the cabinet and a glass of water.” Jesse called out to his wife. It sounded like they were underwater. She was drowning.

“She’s ripping her fucking hair out, Jesse.” Dina called out in panic, rifling through the medicine cabinet with shaky hands. Her best friend gripped her wrists, forcing them back down to her sides. Strands of Auburn hair were tangled up between her clammy fingers.

JJ must have woken up because of the comotion. She could hear him crying from the other room. Screaming for his mother.

Blood. So much blood. It’s coming out of her mouth, what do I do? What do I do about internal bleeding again? Wasn’t I trained for this? Breathe. She’s not breathing. Are there other landmines? Can I drag her to safety? Where is everyone else? H-How. . . How can I help?

“Swallow, Ellie.” Dina was crouched in front of her, forcing her lips open to slide a pill onto her tongue.

“It was my fault. I-I fucking,” She choked out, gagging at the taste of the pill that was beginning to dissolve on her tongue. “I led them out there. Oh, fuck.”

Dina was beginning to panic, pushing the plastic cup up to Ellie’s mouth in the hopes that she would drink. She did, choking back the water in deep gulps. The water helped to fill the aching pit that was beginning to grow in her stomach. Water poured down the sides of Ellie’s lips, but she kept drinking. Deep, thoughtful gulps of ice cold water.

“Should I call an ambulance?” Dina finally asked, her eyes flickering between Ellie and her husband.

“No. No hospital. Just go sit with JJ, alright? I’ve got her.” Jesse told her, letting go of Ellie’s hands so that he could wrap an arm around her waist, hugging her against his chest so that she couldn’t stand up.

Ellie blinked and Dina was gone, the sound of her bare feet jogging down the hall was the only reminder of her presence.

“Joel isn’t going to judge you, Ellie. We all just want to help. So let us, alright?” She knew he was telling the truth, but the thought of Joel seeing her as lesser-than killed her. She would crumble completely if Joel looked at her with the same sorrowful eyes that Jesse did.

Joel was newly retired though, and the last thing he needed was to put up with his PTSD-ridden adopted daughter. She was tired of feeling like a burden, but where had standing on her own two feet gotten her? Arrested on multiple occasions? So she relented. She surrendered to the idea of sleeping in her old bedroom and taking up space in Joel’s too-big ranch home.

“Okay.” Ellie croaked, feeling the medication kicking in. Sleep. All Ellie wanted to do was sleep.

“Okay?” Jesse repeated back to her, needing to know that she was serious. The last thing he probably wanted to do was wrestle Ellie onto the plane. He wasn’t entirely sure he could overpower her when it came down to it.

“Okay.”

Grief was an uphill battle. One minute you’re laughing with your friends and then the next you’re laid up in bed, tossing and turning with the realization that what could have been was now an impossibility. You missed Abby. You missed the life that you could have had with her. All of the memories and milestones you missed out on were soul crushing the second that the sun went down.

You were left in your empty house, laid up in the bed that the two of you once shared. Her scent had long since washed out of her pillow. All that was left were pictures and a gravesite that you still couldn’t bring yourself to visit. Life doesn’t stop when you lose somebody though. People eventually become less forgiving as the months pass by.

So you squeezed your eyes closed and hoped that sleep would come sooner rather than later. You had an early start tomorrow for work, and the last thing you wanted was to show up with puffy eyes.

Life was getting better though. The pain wasn't as debilitating as it had been months ago, and for that you were thankful.

One step at a time, one day at a time.

You were still breathing, which was exactly what Abby would have wanted for you. The overwhelming grief hadn't killed you, no matter how many times you'd secretly prayed that it would. You were still here and that was good enough.

For now, at least.

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ckret2 · 4 months

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So y'all know the Gravity Falls production bible that leaked three weeks ago. Someone in one of my discord servers pointed this out:

And, naturally, that spawned an entire AU.

AU Concept: Ford was kicked out instead of Stan and takes a job as a trucker to makes ends meet since he couldn't go to college, while still studying the weird and anomalous however he can.

Ford driving around from quirky small town to quirky small town, drifting through the liminal spaces of truck stops, meeting odd people in isolated diners, seeing strange things out on the road—a deer with too many eyes bounding across a two-lane highway, a flirty woman at a rest stop who doesn't blink or breathe, mysterious lights in the sky at night, inhuman growls on the CB or 50-year-old broadcasts on the radio—and taking notes when he stops for gas or food.

Aside from having gotten kicked out before graduating high school, Ford's the same person he is in canon.

He's still an ambitious guy, and here "ambitious" means working hard and saving as much money as he can—so, a long haul owner-operator who spends weeks at a time on the road. (He goes through a LOT of educational audiobooks.) Plus, this is the easiest way for him to get to travel the country; and since it looks like his "travel the world" dreams with Stan are dead, he'll take what he can get.

Since he's never in the same spot long and carries his life in a truck, almost all of Ford's research is in his journal. His bag of investigation supplies has an instant camera, a portable tape recorder, a thermometer, a flashlight, rubber gloves, and a few zip lock bags—and that's about it. It has to share space with all his clothes, toiletries, and nonperishable food when he's on the road. He doesn't have much opportunity to closely examine anything odd he finds, unless he's lucky enough to run into something when he can stop for the night. He has to cram his paranormal research around the side of his full-time job.

He doesn't live in Gravity Falls, but he knows it exists. Every time he moves—to Chicago, to Nebraska, to California—he seems to inch closer. He currently lives in Portland and usually hauls loads between the Pacific Northwest and Chicago or New York. He stops at the truck stop outside Gravity Falls when he can and has gone fishing in town a few times. He doesn't have the benefit of extensive research to know that this is the weirdest town in the world; but it seems pretty weird to him, there are local rumors about the town, and he's had some weird experiences in the area.

Plus, he can't explain it, but it's like the town's calling to him. He wants to move there, but it'd put him over an hour outside of Portland where the nearest jobs are. Maybe if somebody chucked him like $100k to build a cabin in the woods; but what are the odds of that?

He does know Fiddleford. Truck broke down somewhere and Fiddleford kindly pulled over to fix it on the fly. They looked at each other, had mutual knee-jerk "dumb trucker/hillbilly" reactions, and within ten minutes both went "oh wait you're the most brilliant genius i've ever met." Fiddleford's living the same life he was in canon before Ford called him to Gravity Falls—with his family in California, trying to start a computer company out of his garage—but they make friends and keep in contact.

One time Ford stops at a kitschy roadside knickknack store that also sells new agey magic things—crystals, tarot cards, incense, etc. He bought a "lucky" rearview mirror ornament that looks like an Eye of Providence in a top hat and hung it from his cab fan, and ever since then he's had weird dreams whenever he sleeps in his truck.

Things I don't know yet: what Stan's up to; or why Ford's the one who got kicked out. I tend to believe that in canon Stan wasn't just kicked out because he ruined Ford's college prospects, but rather because the family thought he deliberately sabotaged Ford; so in this AU, Ford would've been kicked out over a proportionate crime.

#gravity falls #gravity falls au #grunkle ford #stanford pines #fanart #my art #my writing #(since i'm not posting a chapter this week this is y'all's substitute Writing And Art From Me)#(i traced the trucks & diner background and i am not ashamed bc i cannot be assed. i just wanna draw ford in Situations)#(i tried a new kind of lining & coloring on the truck! i will never be doing it again!)#(for my follower who's into vehicles: his truck's based on a late 70s Kenworth W900A. loosely. the headlights are anachronistic.)#(the design has been simplified via the logic of—)#(—'if I don't think that detail would be included in a cheap Optimus Prime toy then I don't need to draw it.')#(EDIT: over a week later i realize i typed freightliner instead of kenworth... i don't know why i typed freightliner.)#(i hope the reason no one corrected me is because no one noticed rather than because y'all think im dumb)#trucker ford au

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chelseeebe · 2 months

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moth to a flame

18+. mdni. smut. king!steve x kinda alt fem!reader. mentions of alcohol and drugs throughout. no ud so steve never gets the opportunity to develop from his jackass high school self. both he and tommy are kinda mean to poor old reader but he makes up for it in the end i promise.

a/n: there's something about lil stevie at the moment.. i think it's because i neglected him for so long that now i'm overcompensating lol. more eddie is coming tho i swear<3 so in my head r is like alt though descriptions don't really go past anything vague.

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steve wasn’t really ever that choosy with his women. he didn’t have to be.

they’d throw themselves at him, from the start of high school right through to college. by some grace of god, meaning his dad and his endless wallet, he’d made it into the university of chicago.

partying his way through his studies with a plethora of women and friends who really only saw him as an open wallet.

that’s where he’d met you.

you weren’t a regular, that’s for sure.

your hair dyed, clothes torn purposely and thick, dark rings of black around your eyes.

he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off of you all night. watching as you’d ducked outside just after midnight, deciding to follow you, muttering something about a cigarette to tommy without a second thought.

he’d found you around the empty side of the house smoking and stuck his tongue down your throat.

with permission, of course.

he’d seen you in there with the guy with the long hair, steve recognised him as someone he bought weed off occasionally. “he your boyfriend?”

relief washing over him when you’d shook your head no, “i can’t get you a discount if that’s what you’re asking.”

his shoulder had bumped against the hard brick in an attempt to nonchalantly lean against it, “noo.. i was just hoping you were single.”

your smile grows though steve didn’t pick up on the sarcastic twang about it until after, “is that right?”

“you don’t believe me?”

“hmm not really,” stubbing the cigarette out on the side of the house.

“but you are single, right?” deploying that trademark harrington grin, ever unfailing in his entire career.

“i am.”

“so why don’t you wanna make out with me?” reverse psychology, another never faltering technique.

your eyes had narrowed, “i didn’t say that,” he’d known he was in from then on out, putty in his hands just the way he’d hoped.

and thus, birthed this. whatever this is.

steve waits rather impatiently for the party to die down enough to sneak out of here and get you into the back of his bmw. he hadn’t drank, swerving tommy’s attempts at getting him to drink with some vague, mumbly excuse.

your meetings weren’t exactly tasteful, usually entailing some dark corner of the town and the leather of his backseat.

you don’t speak outside of this, maybe a quick glance if he ever saw you outside of the parties but never anything substantial.

but you’d gotten wise to his signals, you were usually found outside with that long-haired boy smoking which meant he had also began to get wise.

steve would drop a cup and glance quickly in your direction or he’d loudly say his goodbyes before slipping out of the door. earning a groan or a roll of the eyes from your friend.

steve’s grateful though, because he knows you’ll only be a few minutes behind. shuffling down the street to his beemer.

tonight, you’d taken longer than usual. sighing as you slid into the passenger seat, steve’s gaze immediately falling to your chest, hungry as ever.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, putting the car into drive before anyone had the opportunity to catch you.

you shake your head, buckling in as the car speeds off, “it’s nothing,” settling yourself in the seat.

“didn’t sound like nothing,” he’s not sure why he’s prying so much, you didn’t owe him any explanation.

“it’s just..” debating whether to divulge, “eddie feels the need to tell me how much he hates you, every single time. it’s boring, you know?”

oh.

steve wasn’t quite expecting that.

sure, he wasn’t the most likeable person ever but hate?

“right,” he nods, unsure of where to go from here, “well.. i’m sure if he knew me, he’d think differently,” though even steve doesn’t quite believe that himself.

you hum in response, staring out at the disappearing road ahead.

the car pulls in to it’s usual saturday night spot, overlooking the city on some disused street. quiet and calm but not for long.

it’s the same foolproof routine every single week, you’ll sit and talk for a minute until one or the other gets fed up and pulls the other into the backseat.

this week it takes a little longer for either of you to crack. you’re still pissed off by whatever eddie had said and he was desperate to try and break through your hardened exterior.

he didn’t want to be hated by anyone, let alone your friends.

perhaps it was fear. scared of eddie revealing the truth about your little rendezvous’ or maybe he really did want to know more about you. he’d been inside of you more than he’d ever asked about your day.

steve had once thought the only people that had tattoos were freaks and criminals, but he doesn’t suppose you’re either of the two.

he loves the way they look on your skin, adorning your arms like they were there before you were born.

“why’d you get that one?” pointing to the flower on your wrist.

you tut, “d’you wanna talk about my tattoos or d’you wanna have sex?” becoming annoyed with his attempts to close the bridge between you.

“why not both?” he didn’t know a thing about you besides your name and how hard you liked his palm against your ass. maybe you really were a freak.

“because you don’t care, not really,” shrugging at him from the passenger seat, “you don’t have to pretend y’know?”

“i’m not pretending,” steve frowns, “i wanna know about your tattoos and i wanna have sex with you, is that crazy?”

you chuckle, turning in your seat to face him, “a little, yeah. i don’t believe that steve harrington cares about my tattoos at all.”

fuck, he wishes this was normal, that you were normal and he could just take you out like he would any other girl.

he doesn’t have a reply, sighing quietly to himself instead.

your hand reaches over, cupping his chin in your palm and gently tilting it upward til he meets your eye again, “so.. sex?”

steve nods, blinking rapidly as you shift over into his lap. if you weren’t going to indulge him then the least he could do was give you what you wanted.

you keep your hand firmly on his chin, locking your lips as your hips move forward, grinding against his jeans, his hands coming to meet your waist.

frantic in the way he grabs at your skin, needing you closer than his car allowed.

what had really shocked him most about you, was the fact that your nipples were pierced. he’d never seen it before, not in real life anyway. but now he couldn’t imagine ever having another boob in his mouth that didn’t taste slightly of metal.

he claws at your shirt, yanking it higher for access to your chest, pulling your bra down enough to reveal your tit, palming at the flesh before locking his lips around the sensitive skin.

your skirt ends up above your waist, his hands roaming the fleshy area, grinding down against his stiff cock with an insatiable hunger. rutting until you’re moaning into the cramped car, his tongue still swirling around your nipple.

“c’mon,” instructing him breathlessly, “need you now stevie,” your hands firm on his shoulders, praying he won’t make you wait any longer.

he nods, letting your breast fall from his lips, gripping your waist to allow himself the space to wiggle his jeans down enough, his boxers following closely. your eyes roll at the sight of his cock springing out, already glistening with pre-cum from your incessant rutting.

you’re already raring to go, sodden panties held to the side as he lines his tip with your soaked entrance, gazing up at you with wondrous lust.

“fuck,” whispering harshly when you lower yourself onto him, his fingers leaving heavy marks on your hips.

you take a moment to adjust, biting down onto your lip as your eyes reopen, meeting his before you begin moving. slow at first, thick thighs enveloping his waist. he wants to gnaw on them, leave purple markings all along the doughy skin.

steve knows he has a big cock, he’s not stupid. it had been a thing to marvel throughout high school, in locker rooms and after hooking up with whoever. everyone had known.

it doesn’t seem to phase you, bouncing up and down as your skin slaps together. he’s always found it hot, that two bodies could make such a sexy sound but with you it’s better.

“that’s it,” you whine, melodically breathing in time with your body bouncing.

your hand creeps away from his shoulder, hanging loosely around his neck, too scared to place any real pressure until he nods enthusiastically, placing a harsh hand to your ass, a clear cut green flag.

you practically growl in response, tightening your grip on his neck, the seats of his car squeak and groan underneath your bodies as the car rocks on the wheels.

keeping one hand on your ass and the other now nestling between your thighs, fingers perched on your soft stomach as his thumb finds your clit.

“oh fuck,” you whine, enthusiastically moving up and down, squeezing his neck just enough to make his eyes roll back.

steve tightens his grip on your ass, losing grip of his throat to slam your palm against the foggy window when his hips thrust upward, moving with yours in perfect harmony.

he wants to swallow you whole, entranced by the sheer pleasure on your face, eyelashes fluttering and your lips parted to allow your melodic mewls to flow freely.

“oh honey,” he moans, slamming into your dripping cunt. an insatiable urge to stay inside of you forever, “fucking.. shit, you feel so fucking good,” eye contact intensely heavy, dripping in pure unadulterated lust. “d-do that again,” referring to your palm around his neck.

“you like that? hmm?” leaving steve to hold you upright, enveloping his jugular with a comfortable squeeze.

no one had ever touched him like that, nor had he ever thought to ask anyone to touch him like that. sex had been a mostly placid affair before he met you, a couple positions if he was feeling crazy but nothing compared to the lewd shit you got up to.

he can’t speak, his balls slapping against your thighs in a maniacal rhythm, relishing the feel of your cunt dripping down his cock onto his boxers.

the car is stuffy, suffocating almost. the fluidity of your two bodies moving against each other only makes it worse. your skin sticks to his, chest clammy and slick. steve loves it, the messiness, the sheer animalistic need for one another.

he grunts into the air, weaving his fingers through your untamed hair, a palm flat to your cheek as he finds your lips in a fumbling haze.

your fingers leave his neck to trail down his chest, clawing at his shirt, desperately rutting your hips as you chase your orgasm. it all becomes sloppy when you begin to pant into his mouth, barely able to keep up the rhythm.

“oh god,” whimpering between his parted lips, “fuck,” your thighs begin to shake, trembling uncontrollably as steve continues to thrust upwards, unrelenting though he’s teetering over the edge himself.

your lips graze against his chin, mewling loudly while you come undone. a trembling mess, relying on his arms to keep your body upright.

he can’t take anymore, your cunt squeezing and clenching around him, driving him completely insane. there's no way in hell that he could ever possibly imagine having sex with anyone else for the rest of his measly life.

“are you cumming?” you ask, holding onto the back of his clammy neck with a panicked look in your eye.

steve nods quickly, using the last of his energy to thrust upwards one final time, uncaring of the consequences. or quite honestly not even considering what cumming inside of you could mean.

his hips stutter, the back of his head hitting the headrest as he grunts and groans, filthy words filling the warm car.

he’s still inside of you when you look down, only allowing him a short moment to gather himself before you frown, “steve,” using your finger to flick his ear.

“shit,” the threat of a child dawns on him, realising how much he shouldn’t have done that, “i’ll pay for.. whatever you need, fuck- i’m sorry,” keeping a firm hand on your waist, pleading for forgiveness.

if you could feel what he felt, he thinks you’d understand.

“you’re so lucky i’m on birth control.. idiot,” climbing off of him to rest on his thighs instead, readjusting your underwear as his release threatens to leak out.

steve clears his throat, a little embarrassed to have lost all self control over your pussy. he's never been overly enthusiastic about the thought of having children but for a split second there, he had truly contemplated how bad it could be.

clearing the awkward silence with a quiet chuckle, raising his chin to meet your gaze, "sorry."

your glossy lips pout, gaze scanning his face before you hum, "you're forgiven."

tommy had dragged him out despite it being a tuesday night, knowing full well he’d be skipping his 9am class tomorrow. he had been really trying to make more of an effort with school lately.

you'd made a passing comment, something you'd definitely have forgotten by now but steve hadn't quite been able to shake it.

your dad's money won't last forever, you know?

it wasn't incorrect by any means, he just hadn't expected the wake up call to come from you.

obviously tommy hadn't got the memo, egging him on to ditch the books to get plastered.

the bar is packed for a weekday evening although steve recognises no one, mostly older folk with a lot of tattoos, eyeing steve’s nervous exterior.

“get me a beer, i need a piss,” tommy hollers into his ear before disappearing off to the bathroom. ever the charming gentleman.

steve goes stiff, wondering if he’d seen a ghost.

you’d materialised behind the bar, looking disinterested in whatever the man in front was jabbering about.

why are you here?

he’s never asked what you do for work, never felt the need to. though he wishes he’d asked now. there’s no chance he can collect himself enough to speak to you.

what if you gave it all away? what if tommy saw? oh fuck.

steve’s never had a panic attack before but he feels mighty close now.

he wipes his palms indiscreetly down his jeans, attempting to slow his breathing before he reaches the bar. why did tommy have to be such a jackass? they could’ve been at home tonight. he wouldn’t be having a fucking heart attack if they were.

the person before him clears off, leaving a space for him to quietly shuffle into. you turn around, eyes locking with his but only letting the corner of your mouth twitch a tiny inch.

your tongue clicks against your teeth, “what can i get ya?” playing along just as he’d hoped.

“two.. uh, two uhm, coors.. please,” dropping his gaze as he pleads with god to let the world swallow him up.

clearing your throat before getting the bottles from the fridge, sliding them across the bar with a sigh, “didn’t think this would be your scene to be honest,” stifling your laugh as the other patrons eye his sweater and too-tight jeans.

steve gets it.

the bar was crawling with people with piercings, ripped clothes and an overall disdain for the status quo.

tommy fit in, he was loud and sweary just as they were but steve, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

“it’s not.. really, tommy said it was cool.. i dunno,” he hated the fumbling mess you made him, he couldn’t ever understand it.

you stare back at the disaster you’d created, running your tongue along your top teeth before tapping the bar, “seven bucks, please,” palm outstretched beside him.

he shoves a ten into your hand, “keep the change,” grabbing the bottles before elbowing his way back to tommy.

“what the hell took you so long?”

“there was a line, dumbass,” rolling his eyes, passing off one of the bottles to his friend.

“don’t lie,” tommy’s elbow jabs steve harshly in the ribs, “i saw you talking to that girl,” steve freezes, terrified of what tommy might say next. “she’s hot,” tommy leers, “y’know in like a freak sorta way,” laughing obnoxiously loud for such a small bar. “you at least get her number?”

he just glares back, unsure of whether tommy knows more than he’s letting on or just being his usual ignorant self.

“i could fuck the freak outta’ her, trust me,” the drunk continues, only serving to anger steve further. he didn’t want anyone to speak about you like that, much less tommy fucking hagan.

“don’t say shit like that,” steve scolds, like he’s some petulant child who needs punishment.

“what? like you care,” blowing raspberries with his mouth, “c’mon, loads of weird broads in here i can help instead,” walking off into the crowd with a mission.

he glances over at you smiling with some customer, his stomach churning with unfathomable jealousy. he had no right to feel that way, in fact, he probably deserved it.

tommy’s in one of his unbearable moods again, bouncing around the party, antagonising any and every one who even attempts to get him to stop.

steve doesn’t really care, nervously eyeing the door, confused by your absence. you hadn’t told him you were coming, but then you also hadn’t told him that you weren’t coming.

had he done something wrong? the last time you’d spoken was when he and tommy had crashed your shift, only muttering a few nervous words about beer. he’s pathetic. you’d made him pathetic.

an arm latches around his shoulder harshly, almost knocking the drink from his hand, “stop watching the door, she’s not coming,” tommy slurs, laughing cruelly in his face.

“what?” steve’s body tenses, trying to shake off the drunkard.

“your little girlfriend,” clarifying exactly what steve had thought he was saying. tommy clocks steve’s gawping mouth, his heightened breaths, “what?” chuckling loudly, “you think i don’t know? everyone fucking knows dude, you can cut the shit.”

he wriggles free from his grasp, “the fuck are you talking about?” it’s not as if playing dumb would help him now but he’d at least give it a shot.

“fuck off man,” tommy shoves him backwards, “that’s why you’re acting like a little pussy at the moment,” spitting in his face, belligerent and arrogant, “steve fucks the weird girl and now he pretends to give a fuck about feelings and shit,” drawing the attention of the entire party.

if it really had been that obvious, they’d all already know about it anyway.

“you’re an asshole, you know that right?” steve fumes, shoving tommy back into the counter before grabbing the container of vodka behind, walking off into the party with his head held high.

people eye him as he goes, sure they all knew. they’d all heard what tommy was screaming about, hell, they’d probably seen the two of you sneaking about for months.

why did he care so? why didn’t he care more?

steve’s hopeless, completely and utterly tragic.

deserting the party after an hour of his ‘friends’ dancing around him and girls completely dodging his advances.

he didn’t want them, not really. he just needed to fill a you shaped hole.

the only place his intoxicated brain can conjure up to go is your house. his feet carrying him out of the door and across the large campus without much thought to it.

it’s only when he reaches the small row of houses that he realises where he is. looking up at the quaint house he’d dropped you off at tens of times.

he can’t go in, can’t go back to the party either.

stuck between a rock and a hard place because no matter what, he’d come off pretty badly.

“what’re you doing?” a girl he’s never seen before speaks from the shadows, a certain look of disgust on her features.

steve stops his aimless pacing, realising just how weird he looked. how could he ever begin to explain himself?

the girl i have sex with sometimes lives here and i’m here because my best friend found out about it and i don’t really know how to feel about that.

though he opts for something a little easier to digest, “i’m just.. walking.”

the girl narrows her eyes, “i know who you are, steve harrington,” full disgust in her voice, “i don’t know if she’s home,” putting her key into the door.

of course. the roommate you’d mentioned. robin or something like that. he’s not sure why he hadn’t thought of it.

“can you.. can you check?” relieved to not have been the one knocking on the door.

“well duh,” she scowls, opening the door and disappearing into the hall.

thankfully, she doesn’t reemerge. unsure of how much he could take tonight without bursting into tears.

you do though, peeking out of the door with a small frown, opening the door wider when you see his frame lingering.

“steve?” confusion echoing, “what the hell are you doing here?”

“hey,” steve waves, watching his fingers wiggle and immediately regretting it. the realisation creeping in that he was lurking around your house like a complete weirdo.

“you’re drunk,” you state plainly, opening the door wider to reveal your heart-adorned pyjama shorts and fuzzy slippers.

his eyes fall immediately, still desperate to suffocate himself between your thighs.

“yup,” hiccuping through the dark.

you sigh, you do that a lot when you’re talking to him, “jesus christ.. come in,” ushering him inside.

he stumbles through the door, hazy eyes looking at your house, the decorations that littered the place.

it’s so.. you.

different and spunky, a guitar leant against the couch, banners and posters and pictures of you and your friends beaming plaster the walls. he can’t help but think about how much his mother would detest it all. wouldn’t fit her cookie-cutter world view, neither would you, really.

is that why he liked you?

some repressed act of defiance against his mother?

no, no he really doesn’t think so.

“okay,” your hand finds his back, “upstairs now,” flashing a look to robin that he can’t distinguish between confusion and maybe slight fear.

steve lets you guide him, appreciating the gentle hand, only wishing it hadn’t taken half a quart of vodka to get him here into your room.

he flops onto the bed with a sigh, still too intoxicated to feel any real shame yet though he’s sure it’ll inevitably sneak in at some point.

“what’re you doing?” pity addling your voice as you come to sit on the bed, desperate to not let his eyes trail down to your legs.

“i wanted to see you,” murmuring his words, “you didn’t come tonight.. i missed you,” letting the spirit speak for him.

you stare at him for a second, figuring out how to approach his fragile state, “didn’t think you’d want me there after the bar.”

“why wouldn’t i?”

you scoff, “you couldn’t even look me in the eye,” reinvigorating that twinge of guilt in his chest, “you were terrified of tommy finding out you even knew me,” you must really pity him. letting him into your house after he’d acted like you simply didn’t exist just a few weeks ago.

“tommy knows anyway.. none of it even mattered,” steve sighs, rubbing his temple as the headache kicks in.

“i know, steve,” offering little remorse. your eyes roll back, sighing softly, “he came by the bar a few days ago, he was drunk, trying to.. it doesn’t matter. i know he knows, i don’t really care,” shrugging as if you couldn’t understand why he did.

maybe rather selfishly steve had assumed that you were also somewhat ashamed of this arrangement. it hadn’t occurred to him that only he felt so pathetically guilty and oddly protective over your relationship.

he wanted you to himself and at the same time wanted absolutely no one to know about it.

“but i care,” it sounding even worse out loud than it did in his head.

yet he means it. he just can’t really understand why.

your eyes lower, shifting uncomfortably on your bed as your smile grows sadder, “you don’t want anyone to know that you fuck the freak, right?” a glum, melancholic tone to your words that makes his heart ache.

“yes- no, i don’t really know,” shoulders slumping, giving up all hope of ever understanding the things he was feeling.

your lips purse, the mattress dipping as you stand, unwilling to give any more energy to the conversation. “why don’t you sleep it off here?” still refusing to re-meet his eye, “i’ll take the couch, alright? you just.. get some sleep,” slinking off to the door before he can protest.

“wai-,” but you’re gone.

left on his own in your room.

he can’t help but think that you should be here too, the first time he’d gathered enough courage to come to your house and he’d pissed you off that badly, you had to sleep on the couch.

all he wants is for this to be normal. to take you out like he did the other girls, show you off to his friends and be proud of it too.

steve wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want that, but he wanted to at least tell you.

screw tommy hagan and anyone else that had anything to say about it.

he stumbles out of your bedroom, trying to remember which way to go to reach the steep stairs. god he hopes robin isn't down there with you. they'd interacted for no more than five minutes and yet he could already sense her general distaste for him.

the floorboards creak under his weight, dragging his uncoordinated feet down until he hits the floor with a thud, missing the last few steps completely.

your head pokes out of the closed door, with what he hopes is worry on your face. "what the fuck? are you okay?" rushing over to his crumpled body. this would all be highly entertaining if he weren't in the midst of an identity crisis.

"i'm good, i'm okay," clinging onto your arm. rather than standing to get to your level, he decides that dragging you down onto the floor with him is the best way to confess. ignoring your shrieks of complaint as you land harshly on his lap.

"what are you doing?" unable to hold back the maniacal cackle any longer.

"i'm trying to tell you something," steve mumbles, pressing his forehead against yours in hopes the words would somehow telepathically absorb through your skin.

they don't, obviously. because that's not how this works.

"i think that i," he hiccups,, sliding his hand down your arm to grasp your hand, "i think i really, really like you," stammering through his half-assed confession. on further thought, he probably should've waited until morning before deciding to unleash this unto you. "and i think that i've been an asshole to you," swallowing the gargantuan lump in his throat, "and i want to- only if you want to," earnestly gazing into your eyes, his thumb tracing your soft knuckle.

"want to what, steve?"

"i want to be with you, like.. dating or- or your boyfriend," hoping that now you’d understand his stammering, incoherent words.

your face displays something he can’t place, twisting the knife in his chest completely to only ease up when your lips twitch, “i think you’re drunk,” brushing off his confession.

steve wants to scream, he’d laid himself bare for you and while he probably didn’t deserve to call you his girlfriend, he also didn’t deserve to never get the chance to ask.

“i am,” admitting to his sins, “but i mean it,” nodding his head against yours, putting your hand to his chest, “i want it, i want you.”

your lips purse, he hates it when you do that. still unable to get through that mysterious shell you’re clinging onto, leaving him to try and guess what you’re thinking. most girls were fairly obvious in the way they treated steve. either fawning over him or they’d argue until he’d hate it and ghost them.

“even if everyone knows?” slowly opening up to the idea of you two. or at least he hopes so.

“especially if everyone knows.”

it’s a stark contrast from the embarrassingly nervous wreck he was at the bar, too terrified to even look you in the eye. he’d decided that it just wasn’t him. you deserved better and steve couldn’t stand to watch anyone other than himself give you that.

“..okay,” you blink, lashes brushing against his skin as they flutter, “but i’m gonna ask you again in the morning,” narrowing your eyes, ever the voice of caution.

steve just grins, morning couldn’t come soon enough if that was all it’d take to get you to believe him.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x you

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hairmetal666 · 7 months

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Steve doesn't date, not anymore. He goes to bars, clubs, picks people up and makes it clear it's just for the night; that it can't, won't, be for anything more.

He falls too fast and too hard; wants so badly to be loved that he loses himself to it. So, he doesn't date and he's fine. More than fine, actually. Not worrying about finding someone, about falling in love, lets him truly enjoy his life; maybe for the first time since childhood.

He goes with Robin to visit her parents in Hawkins, wakes up at the ass crack of dawn to go for a run. With the sun barely up, he doesn't expect to come face-to-face with Eddie Munson, smoking on a park bench.

They startle each other in the early Hawkins quiet, Eddie jumping hard enough that he drops his cigarette into the dirt at his feet.

"Christ, Harrington!" He snarls a little.

"Fuck, Eddie." Steve fights to catch his breath. "What are you doing out this early?"

He glances up, finds Eddie's eyes raking over this body in a way that makes him go hot all over.

"Haven't been home yet." Eddie smirks. And he can see that's true, Eddie is fully dressed, faint lines of mascara trail across his cheeks.

"Had a show?"

"Something like that." Eddie's cheeks pink, and he pulls a chunk of hair over his face.

Understanding dawns, and Steve points at him, delighted laugh bubbling in his throat.

"Don't--"

"You had an all night Hellfire meeting?" Steve cackles.

"Shut--Harrington, shut-up." But he's smiling too. "I'm in town this weekend. Dustin insisted!"

"You can tell him no, you know?" Steve giggles.

"Like you ever could."

Eddie stands then, and they hug, quick and tight. He practically crumbles into his friend's body, but then, that's nothing new. Steve breathes him in, immediately comforted by the familiarity of tobacco and leather and sweat and weed.

"I'm at Rob's. Come say hi?"

Eddie nods and they trek back together. They kept in touch, after Vecna, and their chatting is easy, like it's not been six months since the last time.

Eddie stays for breakfast tells them with a smile, "I was gonna call but--I'm moving to Chicago. That's why I'm crashing at Wayne's for now, stopped on the way--"

The rest of his words are smothered by the force of Steve and Robin's hug, Steve's heart beating an elated rhythm he doesn't bother investigating.

When Eddie makes it to town, they hang out as constantly as an adult with a day job and a touring musician can. It's nice, good, to see Eddie sitting on their couch. To watch him smoke a joint on the balcony. To hangout in his bed as he works on new music. It's just like the summer of '86, before they all went off to find their futures.

They're closer than they've ever been. Crashing at each other's apartments, sharing clothes, meeting for coffee and drinks and meals. There's not a day or night when they're free that they don't spend together.

Steve knows he's falling for Eddie; was halfway there already, and now--well, Eddie's beautiful and funny and smart and talented. He doesn't make a move, though. Because Eddie'll leave, like they all do, and losing Eddie will crush him more than anyone else ever has.

In June, Eddie's gone for a month, touring across the midwest. The day he's expected back, Steve's in the kitchen, rolling up fresh pasta, simmering sauce on the stove.

Robin stomps in, eyes flashing. "What are you doing?"

"Making dinner?" Steve raises an eyebrow.

"Steve."

"Robin."

They glare at each other across the kitchen. Steve breaks first. "What's wrong with making our friend dinner?"

"I don't want either of you to get hurt."

Steve freezes, swallows. "I'm not--I'm--I wouldn't."

"Just. Promise you'll be careful?"

He nods, squeezes his hands into fists. "Course, Rob."

And he means it, he really does, but when Eddie lets himself in, Steve runs to the doorway to pull his friend into a tight hug.

Eddie huffs out a burst of air on impact, laughing lightly. "Miss me, sweetheart?"

"So much," Steve whispers. He presses his nose into Eddie's neck, breathing him in, and he doesn't miss the way a kiss is pressed into his hair, the way Eddie's breathing him in too.

They fall into their natural rhythm immediately, Eddie following him to the kitchen, cooing and posturing that Steve made him dinner.

As Steve serves up the food, Eddie wraps his arms around his waist, leaning against his back. God help him, but Steve can't help relax into the hold, turning his head until their eyes meet.

Desire bleeds from Eddie's gaze, and Steve's breath hitches. He wants this so badly, knows he shouldn't, but he lets himself lean in until they share air.

But--he can't lose Eddie. He can't.

He turns away, lets the moment die. Eddie doesn't stay over that night, and Steve pretends like it doesn't make his stomach hurt.

They aren't as close after that.

Steve keeps telling himself it's because they're busy. The school year's starting up, Steve's got lesson plans to write; Eddie made an EP, it got interest, he's taking meetings in New York and LA. It's okay that they're spending less time together.

Until Eddie stops returning his calls.

He tries not to worry. But one call becomes two, becomes three, and he can't help it. He goes over, dread a knot in his stomach. Eddie opens the door, and he's shirtless with sweatpants slung low on his hips, hair loose and streaming around his shoulders. He looks happy.

"Steve? What are you--"

"You weren't answering my calls, and--can I come in?"

Eddie winces. "It's not a good time, Harrington."

He stands there for a second, stung, not sure what to say.

"Eddie, I--"

"Babe?" A voice calls from inside the apartment. "Who's at the door?"

Steve freezes. Can't think, can't move. He hopes it isn't obvious that his heart is shattering, but Eddie's blinking at him, panic written in the lines gathering on his forehead.

"Steve, Stevie, please," Eddie is saying, but he can't do this. He can't do this.

He walks away, all the way home, numb to everything around him.

The phone's ringing when he gets to the apartment. He ignores it. Goes to his room, locks himself in, crawls into bed.

The phone keeps ringing. He keeps ignoring it.

It isn't supposed to be like this. They weren't dating, weren't trying for a relationship; Eddie's supposed to be his. He curls into himself, sobs until his ribs hurt, until his eyes are as heavy as his heart, and he falls asleep.

Steve startles awake, disoriented, to someone knocking on his bedroom door. He has no idea what time it is, how long he slept, but he expects Robin to be waiting in the hall.

It's Eddie. Hair in a messy bun, face flushed, eyes too bright.

"I'm sorry," falls out of Steve's mouth before he can think of anything else.

"Steve, I--I don't--" Eddie shakes his head. "Do you want to be in a relationship with me?"

"Yes," Steve whispers. "But I can't lose you, Eddie."

Eddie reaches out, slender hand, cupping Steve's jaw. "I need you to really listen when I say this, sweetheart. You will never, ever lose me. Not a chance."

"You can't know that," Steve says. Tears break free, cascade down his cheeks. "I used to think who could ever leave me? You know, back before Nancy. But I realized that actually no one would stay. And I can't--with you I can't--"

"Sweetheart," Eddie chokes on a sob. "I'm yours. Have been for years. I will never, ever leave you, no matter what we are to each other. But I can't be in some of a relationship with you. You have me wrapped around your finger, and I--I need it all, Steve."

"I want you to have it, Eddie." He presses his hand to his heart. "This belongs to you, but I--I couldn't survive you leaving."

"I would stay, Steve. I will. I promise on everything I have, everything I am, that you would never, ever lose me."

Steve stumbles into Eddie's arms, totally gone, and their mouths meet in a clumsy kiss. It wrecks Steve, tears him apart, renders him down to his smallest parts only to build him back together. He knows now for certain that there is no one else in the world for him.

They break apart, but don't move out of each other's orbit. "I love you," Steve whispers.

"Stevie, sweetheart, I love you more than anything." His fingers wind their way into Steve's hair, gentle, holding him. "I promise you'll have me for forever--fuck, longer than forever. My soul will find yours wherever we end up. I swear it."

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qlossytbh · 6 months

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im so FUCKING stupid and i accidentally forgot to add tags and i deleted the anon request this fic was inspired from so i will paste it here

“Could you please write one about having a team night round Rossi's but you and Spencer had had an argument before so it was tense between the pair of you so you try and flirt with one of the out of town agents to try and get his attention?”

𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧- 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐛𝐚𝐮!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 you and Spencer don’t usually get along due to your constant fights to prove who was better. But when the two of you are paired on a case together, hidden feelings start to arise towards the surface.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 enemies to lovers type beat (?), academic rivals (?), fem!reader, typical criminal minds content, jealous spence, mentions of a guy that gets a little too handsy

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 4.6k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 i get a little carried away with request oops. i don’t think this is exactly what you were asking for but

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It had come to no one's attention that you and Spencer were fighting— again..

The BAU team was currently hunting down a murderer that was attacking teenagers at a local campus in the city of Chicago, and all that Reid seemed to be doing these past few days was getting on your nerves.

Wether it was searching the crime scene, analyzing the possible behavioral patterns of the UnSub, or setting down a profile, you and Reid could not stop bickering, driven solely off the desperation of beating each other with whoever could piss the other off more.

You thought Spencer had this aggravatingly, annoying need to prove he was always so much smarter than everyone else, using his wide variety of big intellectual words just to show off.

He, on the other hand, truly couldn't stand how you'd always butt into every conversation you deemed necessary attempting to seem smarter just to get yourself on top of a case. Your ego had been Spencer's main problem across these past few months, but it was slowly driving him off the wall and he found that with each passing day, he was finding it harder to work with you.

The initial conflict seemed irrelevant right now— something about Spencer purposely embarrassing you in front of the the team back when you had just started out in the BAU. Even if it was unintentional, the anger stuck.

You had been so embarrassed, feeling your insides pool with irritation as you questioned why he felt the necessity to correct you so publicly— in front of people you still didn't know.

With time, it slowly morphed into a constant competition to prove who was smarter, quicker on their feet, more widely intellectual than the other, always finding ways to one up each other in conversations— anything.

You were smart and you couldn’t blame him for seeing you as a competition the second you stepped foot into the BAU.

The rest of the team was growing sick of the two of you always whining and bickering. It could be the smallest, stupidest fights— or something so weighty, the two of you wouldn’t speak for days.

However, the two of you got into a fight yesterday when landing in Chicago.

It had been stupid

It started when you "accidentally" slammed the taxi door in his face, genuinely not realizing he was getting out of the cab on the same side you were, even though a side of you thought he deserved much more than a slammed door to the face.

Later on in the day a heavier argument spewed, given since he accused you of being ‘unprofessional’, which had incredibly pissed you off. It was the one thing that truly got to you, and Spencer knew this.

Since then, none of you had spoken to each other and the rest of the team could practically feel the tension. Hotch rounded the table, pressing his hands together.

"So, let's lay it all out," Hotch announced. "Who's starting?”

You and Spencer both volunteered simultaneously. You shot a glare in his direction, which he easily disregarded as he stood from his seat at the table

"So far, we know were looking for a male between the age of 20-25," You cross your arms across your chest and look over at the board with a huff, accepting your defeat.

Your eyes scanned through the evidence and pictures at hand. While Spencer continued his analysis, hands shoved deep into his pockets, you squinted at the words scribbled onto the case file. "The killer seems to have a target preference given how all four victims have been female college students between the ages of 18-24"

"So, do we know which kind of killer were dealing with here?" Morgan asked, flipping through the case files.

"If I'm not mistaken, the last victim presented a alteration in the Unsub’s M.O in comparison to what we've been observing so far, which could ultimately mean we could be dealing with a disorganized offender acting out on—" He stated, turning towards the board, but when your eye caught a part of information in the file, you were quick to interrupt.

"Actually, you are mistaken," You reached over, grabbing the file in front of you in one swift movement and flipped the page as you stood to your feet. Spencer froze and turned towards you.

"Excuse me?" He inquired, clearly unamused at your antics. You briefly looked up at him, only sparing him a brief glance.

"You're wrong. The Unsub isn't disorganized," You jutted your chin towards the board. "We're actually dealing with an organized offender."

Morgan glanced over at JJ, quietly cursing to himself knowing that this was probably payback and not heading in any favorable direction.

"Sure, this specific victim wasn't as calculated and precise as the other," You started. "Up until now, the Unsub seemed to be killing all of these girls with long, tedious methods, such as torturing them, which clearly shows us he feels no remorse and actually finds pleassure out of killing them. Organized crimes are premeditated and carefully planned, so that would explain why we found little to no evidence at the scene yesterday and organized criminals, according to the classification scheme, can tell right from wrong—"

"—But our buddy here doesn't care," Morgan finished off, looking up at you. With a nod, you continued

"Precisely. The pattern of our victims also leads us to believe that he's seeaking some sort of revenge on the girls, since they're all from the same background." You pointed to a few post-it notes on the board. "Right here it says that all four girls belonged to the same frat house on campus—"

"Yet our recent victim did not," Spencer butted in with a shurg, facing you smugly. With an unamused glance, you took two warning steps towards him, maintaining your composure.

"Well, Dr. Reid, if you read the autopsy report you'd see that the newest victim died from a blunt force to the head," Annoyed was an understatement as to what you were feeling towards him at that precise moment. Your eyes narrowed while you managed to keep on the most innocent smile you could. "That means that the attack was out of some unplanned rage, which caused him to lashout and therefore break his regime."

You took one more step towards Reid, suddenly dangerously close to him. Intimidating people wasn’t something that came hard, much less with Spencer.

Something inside you fed off that vast satisfaction that arose when he'd get activated with you. Seeing his breaths go shallow, his whole posture to stiffen along with the habitual furrow in his brows felt like your daily dosis of serotonin.

"If you payed more attention to these case files, you'd also see that the newest victims was our previous victims best friend, so there still is a connection just not the one you've been blindly looking for.”

With that you slapped the files into his chest and stepped back, referring back over to the board.

Spencer gapped at you, opening his mouth before clamping it shut immediately. He fumbled, grappling at the papers on his chest and looking down at them in embarrassment. You felt yourself smile with satisfaction at how his movements became sloppy. "I— I would've said that if you let me finish my analysis and let me actually read these papers."

"Or you can just admit you're slow—"

"So!" JJ butted in, quickly cutting off whatever fight was about to implode in-front of them. "We’re looking for someone connected throughout the campus that would somehow want some sort of revenge on these girls? Correct?"

"Yes." You and Spencer stated simultaneously. You bit back a comment, swiping your tongue against your lower lip, annoyance filling every single nerve in your body while he let out a noise similar to a scoff.

"Here's the plan then," Hotch said, ignoring the two of you. "Prentiss and I will give the Chicago police force the profile. Morgan and JJ, deal with collecting possible witnesses; anyone at that campus who knows anything that may deem useful."

You stood, glancing over at Spencer. When he met your eyes you quickly looked away, crossing your arms over your chest defensively.

"Reid, Y/L/N," Hotch said, finally acknowledging the two of you with a steady gaze. "You two will assigned search the crime scene to see if any evidence was left behind—just protocol checking, but we need to be sure nothing was left unseen."

You opened and closed your mouth, intending to protest about the pairing but deciding strongly otherwise.

With the intention to remain professional you nodded in agreement. As hard as you found to do so, you waited patiently for the other members of the team to draining the room until only you, Morgan, JJ, Spencer were left collecting the remaining of your things.

As Morgan was grabbing a few of his things with JJ patiently waiting by his side, you walked up to her with a devious smile. "Hey Jayj, wanna change partners?"

"I am right here." Spencer answered.

"I dont care," You shot back, causing him to angrily shove more of his files into his satchel. You turned back to Morgan, practically ready to get onto your knees and beg him for sympathy. "Please Morgan, trade with me— I'm begging you."

"We don’t get to choose who we get paired with,” He started, looking down at you unamused. Your face fell, deadpanning at your friend.

“If you're going to complain about being paired with Reid none of us wanna hear it," Morgan groaned, dragging a hand across his face. You opened your mouth to protest, but he rudely cut you off by pointing an accusitory finger at you. "The two of you have been yapping at eachother faces since we got here."

"We have not!" You both shouted in unison. You angrily turning around to face Spencer, warning him with a glare. “Stop that!"

"It's always something with the two of you," JJ shook her head in disappointment. "You're lucky you two are the smartest members on the team cause we would've had you seperated months ago,"

JJ finished grabbing her things and glared at the two of you. Morgan grabbed his things as well, before turning to you. "Either you sort out all of this sexual tension you've got going on or you keep your mouths shut and get along!"

"What!?" You gaped, taking aback by Morgan's accusations. "Thats not—We dont—"

You fumbled with your words as your cheeks grew hot. You stammered, trying to hit back with something, but inevitably found your mind blank. You huffed, snatching your bag and rushing towards the exit of the conference room "I hate you."

"No you don't princess." Morgan stated as you walked past him and shoved his arm.

"And you boy genius," Morgan said looking at Spencer and tossed her bag across her shoulder. "That goes for you too, either get laid, or shut up."

With that, they left the room leaving a sputtering and angry Spencer struggling to regain his composure after the absurdity that had left his collegues mouth. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and grabbed his final things, leaving the room in a frenzy.

You pulled the cars ignition once you pulled the car into the Campus buildings entrance. You put the car in park as you umblucked your seatbelt, which Spencer started doing not long after you had, following your suit. The ride had been completely silent, none of you wanted to speak to eachother, worrying that if you did another argument would start.

All he did during the ride was read some of the case files while you intently focused on the road. Your hands gripped tightly at the steering wheel and every once and a while you'd sneak small glances at him— not because you cared or anything, you just wanted to see how much more information he was getting ahead of you with.

The building was secluded off to the public and the entrance was swarmed with countless police officers and agents. As you climbed out of the car, you pulled your glasses onto the top of your head and slammed the door in one swift motion. By the time you got to Spencers side of the door, he was still inside slowly collecting his things, which pissed you off. You waited impatiently for him to climb out with a huff.

For what seemed to feel like forever, he finally opened the car door and started to climb out as you waited impatienly. "You look like you're doing that on purpose."

"Getting out of the car? Yeah, I am actually" He stated, finally stepping out. A snide remark came up your throat but wasn't able to leave your mouth given how Spencer towered over you once he strightened himself out.

He unintentionally stepped way too close for your personal preference, but your boundaries melted somewhere in your consciousness.

You craned your head back just slightly, allowing yourself to look into his eyes. Spencer swallowed thickly, suddenly painfully aware of how close the two of you were. An unfamiliar voice reeled the two of you back to reality. "Dr. Y/L/N?"

You practically jumped, swallowing down the urge to yelp. You stepped away from Spencer, blinking rapidly as you cleared your throat. "Uh yes!—“

"Thats, uhm, me—“ You slipped your glasses off and put them into your bag anxiously. "Dr. Y/L/N."

You turned to the Agent in front of you, who held his hand out with an irksomely pearly white smile. You gazed at the man, and you had to admit he was easy on the eyes— a little too stereotypically attractive for your taste.

"I'm Agent Mirthwood, head of the Chicago police department, Aaron Hotchner specified you'd be here to help with the case," You took his hand and shook it. "Wasnt expecting a doll like you."

Spencer didnt miss the way his eyes raked across your body, taking in every part of you with careful detail. You were wearing a silk black button up, along with a blazer that matched the skirt that hugged your skin tightly. Spencer would have to be blind to ignore how every piece of clothing you had on hugged every inch of your curves perfectly, so obviously, whoever this guy was, he was going to be staring.

How couldnt he?

You laughed nervously and Spencer, despite his profiler background, couldn't tell if it was becasue you were uncomfrotable or flattered. Either possibilities made his skin crawl.

"Charming," You noted, not really wanting to give him any more material to chew at. "So, mind leading the way?"

"Not at all." He grinned, placing his hand on your lower back and guiding you towards the building. Spencer followed behind pathetically, feeling his hands clench and his jaw tighten while he watched the guys hand linger where they didn't belong.

Once inside the building, you and Spencer looked around your surroundings, checking over a few areas of the marked numbers and rerunning the supposed series of events in your heads. "This is where the first victim tried escaping,"

You and Spencer simultaneously looked over to the glass window that had been merely cracked. "Can't believe how a murder took place and the campus director didn't even close the place down for more than five days."

"Agent Mirthwood, you said that the floor above us was where Anya Colins was murdered, correct?" You asked, looking over towards the locker. Spencer stood beside you with his hands shoved into his pocket.

"Over in classroom seven, yes” He responded. His eyes flickered towards the pop of your hip. “Call me Ben,"

You looked over your shoulder momentarily, shooting him a polite smile. Spencer bored his eyes into the side of the agents face, slyly enough so that he wouldn’t notice.

"Could it be possible that we take a look across the flooring, you know, check inside any of the clases for some clues we may have missed?" You said, lifting your chin and facing Agent Mirthwood. He smiled bumptiously at you.

"Why I'd be delighted to accompany you and help you look out for whatever it is you're looking for—"

"Actually," Spencer butted in, somewhat protectively if you let yourself assume— given how the tone of his voice had grown territorial. "Hotchner specifically implied we stick together as the pair we were assigned, and we usually work best when just the two of our heads are looking around."

You furrowed your brows, looking up at Spencer with confusion. His tone alarmed you momentarily, and at first you wanted to grow defensive because who was he to boss you around?

You took in the familiar line-out of his clenched jaw and how his shoulders broadened ever so slightly. You noticed he had chosen to stand between you and Agent Mirthwood, and suddenly it dawned you and hit you harder than a ton of bricks.

Spencer Reid was jealous.

Despite the weird feeling nagging at your chest, you couldn't contain how a smug smile began to appear onto your face. Somehow this newfound information cave you a newfound cockiness— you finally found something you knew had the upper hand on.

"Actually Ben," You dodged Spencer, making a B-line for the broad man you had only recently met. You tried looking as innocent as you possibly could, the look you always used to get men right into the corner you needed them in. "I'd actually love having your company. I'm gonna need someone watching over me up there."

Spencer froze, looking back and forth as the darkness in this guys eyes only increased and suddenly— he panicked. Spencer was panicking because he genuinely thought you were going to leave with Agent Mirthwood and he wouldn't be able to watch over you or him, or anything you did with him—

Then he saw it. The way you turned, shooting him a challenging glare over your shoulder towards him.

"You wouldn't mind, would you Dr. Reid?"

“I—“ His fists tightened as he stared at you, stunned. Something underneath his gaze was warning you that you were pushing him close to his limits and you loved it.

“One of the victims was attacked up there and then dragged herself all the way down here,” You watched the agent explain broadly.

“That must’ve been horrible,” You added an almost feather like gasp to your words. He knew damn well that you knew what this officer was saying was nothing but false due to how the crime scene was framed.

“Yeah,” Ben took a step closer to you and Spencer couldn't even stop himself when he pried through, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards him territorially.

“Bosses order. The rest of you keep looking around to see if anything looks out of place."

Spencer dragged you all the way up the stairs and into the empty hallway on the second floor. You struggled to keep up, complaining pretty vocally that your heels were screwing up your rhythm, especially in comparison to his long and hurried strides. You finally dug the palm of your foot into the ground and yanked your arm away.

"What the hell is your deal!?" You clamored, knowing you had him cornered. He turned, pushing his lips into a straight line and looking at you in complete silence.

“My deal!?" He shot back suddenly, gesturing towards you in an exasperated motion. “You barely know the man and you're willing to walk somewhere with him alone..!”

You scoffed. "Oh please, like coming up here with you is any better."

"You don't run the risk of getting potentially murdered by me." He said, trying to prove his point.

"You sure about that?"

Spencer looked at you and something shifted behind his eyes. Your face was furrowed with nothing but pure anger as you huffed widely. Spencer opened his mouth and closed it once again, hesitating whether to say what he was about to.

"You're being unprofessional." He blankly stated. Your mouth fell agape.

There was that fucking word again— You felt about ready to murder him. There was adrenaline coursing through every nerve of your body at this point.

“What did you say?” You almost whispered.

“I said you’re being unprofessional.” He stated nonchalantly. You gaped at him before tightening your fist and resisting the urge to punch the crap out of that smug look.

“I’m unprofessional?!”

“Yes,”

“That’s because you’re making it hard for me to work with you!”

He rolled your eyes at you and became indignant.

“Stop doing that!” You barked.

“Im not doing anything,”

“You keep treating me like im stupid,” You pointed a finger at him. “Stop acting like you’re so much better than me when you are not.”

Spencer clamped his mouth shut, seeing you blaze with anger. “Ben would be a way better company than you,”

“Why do you keep saying his name like that?”

You huffed. “Like what?”

“Like—“ Spencer stopped, sucking in a sudden breath as if he hasn’t been breathing since he walked up here with you. “Never mind,”

You scoffed. “No come on,”

You took a dangerous step towards Spencer, now only a few inches away from his face. “Say it,”

“Because I think Ben, pissed you off the most when he had his hands on my—“

Spencer quickly grabbed your face in between both his hands and slammed his mouth onto yours. You inhaled visiously through your nose as you melted immediately under his touch.

Everything froze right then and there as he pulled away quicker than he had leaned in. Your face still remained cupped gently in his hands while your grip was tight on both his wrists as you stared at him, mouth low in shock. A shaky breath left his mouth, and fear was pooling around in his eyes.

You could feel your own chest heaving as you looked back and forth at his eyes, still not grasping what had just happened between the two of you. Spencer towered over your small frame, holding you as if you were the most fragile thing in the room. It felt like there was a rope pulling between the two of you and it was right about to break. His thumb grazed your bottom lip and you could practically hear the chord snap.

All the anger drained your body instantly as you caught yourself pulling him onto your mouth with just as much desperation as he had previously done. Your movements were hurried and frantic, as if both of you were scared that at any point this new found standing point would stop disappear and distance would be put between the two of you. The last thing you wanted was for his body to be any farther away from you than it currently was, and not understanding why you suddenly felt that way, angered you even more.

His mouth hungrily moved against yours as his grip on your face tightened. Your hands snaked their way into the back of his soft curls and pulled at them roughly, emitting a groan from his mouth onto yours.

Out of all the times you'd provoked a groan from Spencer Reid, this had been your all time favorite.

In frantic movements, Spencer pushed you against the nearest wall, hearing a rough thud come from behind you but never once disconnecting your lips from his. His hips pushed against your in one rash motion, causing you to whimper softly against his lips, which reached the deepest parts of him

His hands traveled anywhere and everywhere you'd let them. They ran down your waist and stopped at your hips giving them a rough squeeze which only caused you to squirm once again and pull at his hair ever rougher.

Everything was messy and hurried but so unexplainably wonderful.

"Tell me to stop and I will," He muttered over your lips.

"Don't—“ You warned, panting desperately for him to grab you in ways you could have only dreamt about. You needed to feel his hands rake across your body as if he owed it. “Please, don’t”

Spencer’s heart shuddered as he could visibly hear the desperation in your voice. How you were practically begging for this just as much as he had been. How you melted under his touch so effortlessly.

Before Spencer could move any further, a voice cut the two of you off. “Hey, guys!”

You pushed Spencer off yourself with a little more urgency than you had initially intended. You ran your hands through your hair frantically and pushed your skirt down, which had accidentally— not so accidentally— been pushed up. Spencer on the other hand, settled with a simple, subtle gesture of grazing the corner of his lip to remove some of the nude pink lipstick that had smudge a bit onto his face.

He cleared his voice before turning to whoever had called out, but before he could say anything you quickly interjected. “Morgan? JJ? What are you doing here?”

Spencer could’ve allowed himself to smile at the sound of the quiver in your voice and how your body was still distraught by the adrenaline.

Morgan eyed the two of you and it didn’t take any time at all for him to realize what had happened. The shuffled hair, the puffy lips along with all the wrinkled clothes. Not to mention how both of your chests heaved heavily.

“We have an advance on the case but it seems like you two are busy with something…” JJ stated, looking over at Morgan from the side of his eye.

“Or someone,” He added. You tried to find some sort of defense in your favor but came up with none. You didn’t want to even look Spencer in the eye, so you quickly turned and headed for the staircase, when you approached Morgan, he whistled lowly.

“Someone got a piece of genius boy and enjoyed it—“ You smacked the back of his head.

“Hey!” He groaned, looking back at you while you strutted down the stairs, barely being able to keep your balance steady.

i am planing on doing a spicy part two😝

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rainylana · 4 months

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Taste on an Image: New neighbor

Eddie Munson x female reader

a little longer than my usually one of these! just a fluffy blurb! no warnings!

“Why don’t you go say hi instead of standing there gawking.” Wayne shook his head, closing the door to the trailer as he gave his nephew a once over.

Eddie jumped, surprised by his uncle’s appearance. “I’m not gawking.” He swallowed. “I’m observing from afar.”

“Well whatever it is you’re doing is probably freaking her out.” Wayne pointed to you outside in the yard, a few trailers down the road as you hung clothes outside on your line.

“She doesn’t even know I’m here.” Eddie rolled his eyes, leaning against the mailbox. “Geez, she sure is pretty, ain’t she?”

“Yeah.” Wayne gave a gruff nod. “Go talk to her. Be neighborly. God knows no one else around here will be.” He patted his nephews shoulder and went inside, leaving the boy alone with his thoughts.

You’d moved in just a few days ago, gaining the attention of Eddie like bees to honey. You were gorgeous, and by the looks of it, single. He readjusted his jacket and slicked back his hair, wiping his mouth with his sleeve to make sure no absent crumbs were festering on his mouth. Last thing he wanted was to embarrass himself.

Eddie walked down the gravel road, waving awkwardly at the neighbors he past that were halfway drunk for the weekend.

“Hello.” He called out to you, standing near your mailbox.

You spun around, smile on your face that nearly made him fall flat on his back, and took a step forward. “Hi!”

God, he was in love already.

“Hi.” He repeated again, lifting up a hand he wasn’t sure what he was doing with. “Hi, I’m Eddie Munson. We’re neighbors. I live just a few trailers down.” He pointed down the road to his house, blushing as he did so.

“Oh, how nice!” You beamed, setting down your laundry. “I’m y/n.” You quickly walked toward him, extending your hand for him to shake. “Nice to meet you. It’s sweet of you to come introduce yourself. No one has yet. I was starting to think I wasn’t wanted.” You laughed, tucking your hands in your pockets.

Your authenticity of casualness made his nerves settle. “Yeah, well, the people are weary of strangers.” He shook his head. “There’s a lot of kids around here, too, so be careful when you leave. I almost run one over every time I pull out of my driveway.” He chuckled, brown eyes crinkling under the sun.

You laughed and he swore it made his heart swell. Two minutes in and he was already whipped.

“Is it just you?” He asked, peaking over your shoulder and back at your home.

“Just me.” You pursed your lips. “I’m from Chicago. I used to work in the news paper office downtown but decided I needed a change of scenery.” You shrugged your shoulders, the wind barely whistling over your words.

“I run the mechanic shop here in town with my uncle.” Eddie pointed over his shoulder down to his home. “I live with him. Have ever since I was a boy.”

“Well I’d love to meet him sometime!” You smiled. “Maybe you can show me around town later this week? If you don’t mind, of course.”

“I’d be honored to escort you.” He smirked, giving you a wink that made you snicker. “Just give me a day. There’s a great diner that I can sweet talk the waitresses in giving us free desert.”

“You seem like you’re good at sweet talking.” You give him a playful look, crossing your arms.

“Well, I don’t like to brag.” He held out his arms, closing his eyes briefly in a smug look.

You tucked your hair behind your ear, looking back to your clothes line that was blowing in the wind. “I’d invite you in for something to drink but I’m afraid I’m not quiet finished unpacking yet.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He held out a ringed hand. “You need any help? Wayne and I would be happy to assist.”

“No, thank you.” You shook your head politely. “I’ll be finished soon. It’s mostly just my clothes and some decorations. I really don’t have that much.”

He could almost feel his uncle’s eyes searing into the back of his head.

“Well, I just wanted to introduce myself.” He stepped back. “Let us know if you need anything. Oh! And remember,” He pointed to your car. “You’ve got a mechanic for a neighbor if you ever need one.”

He left while he was ahead, feeling confident that he hadn’t embarrassed himself. He smiled the whole walk home, fists clenched in a celebratory manor as he practically skipped inside.

“Well?” Wayne asked, leaning against the fridge.

“What do you mean well?” Eddie snorted. “Like you didn’t stare at us the whole time through the window.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The man hid his smirk behind his mud of coffee.

“She’s nice.” He plopped down on the couch. “She smiles a lot. She’s beautiful. I don’t know, Wayne, this might be the girl of my dreams.” Eddie laughed, shaking his head with pursed lips.

“Uh-huh.” Wayne rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t start planning a wedding yet, son.”

#taste of an image #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things #stranger things season four #joseph quinn #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson fluff

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imsodishy · 5 months

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season 2 canon divergence where instead of just blowing Max off when she doesn’t show at the end of the day Billy does actually go looking for her.

But instead he finds El, fresh off seeing Mike and Max in the gym and nursing that bitter little sting. So when Billy's like, "Hey kid, you seen a loudmouth redhead around?" she lies and says no.

Billy quickly picks up that this kid is pretty odd and he's like, "You good? Where are your parents?"

"Papa's dead. I live with Jim now. He said not to leave the cabin. No one’s supposed to know." says El, and big ol alarm bells go off in Billy’s head.

"Can't belive I'm saying this, but I think we need to go to the police." he says.

"Jim's a police man."

Of course he fucking is. Creepy fucking nowheres-ville, ass-backwards goddamn town. "Okay, what about your mom? Any idea where she is?"

So Billy helps her track her mom down and then goes with her to Chicago to find her sister, because something absolutely fucked is clearly going on, and then he's in on the Hawkins happenings.

They show up at the Byers together and him and Max are like, "What are you doing here?!"

anyway, I think that'd be fun.

#billy and el #billy an max #billy hargrove #dishy writes

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lizardsfromspace · 1 month

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Do you ever get kind of interested in a subject where nothing weird has happened yet but you know something weird is going to happen?

Anyway, Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. It was originally a upscale resort community, and also still is: it's where rich people from Chicago kept their lake houses, and maybe still do. Its heyday was in the early to mid 20th century, where its status as a vacation destination was so set that Hugh Hefner even put the first ever "Playboy Resort" there. I haven't been there myself, so I may be wrong, but it doesn't give me, like, Pigeon Forge or Niagara Falls energy. The list of attractions online seems to be spas and parks and a few theaters.

But Lake Geneva is more famous now for its most famous son, Gary Gygax. Over the course frigid Wisconsin winters, he and several wargaming friends who didn't become famous developed tactical wargaming into the game Dungeons & Dragons in the early 1970s. He also began hosting a small gaming meetup in Lake Geneva, later called Gen Con, which outgrew the town by the late 1970s.

As I understand it, Lake Geneva didn't really embrace its status as the Birthplace of Dungeons and Dragons. When Gygax died, there were fan-funded tributes here and there, and fans created a new convention in his honor called Gary Con where they played games from his time at TSR, but D&D was still a niche hobby and not the thing you define a rich people resort town around.

Then, whoops, shows like Critical Role turned D&D into one of the most popular entertainment properties in the world! Now there's D&D-themed events popping up all over the place. Some of this is normal, like efforts to fund a more prominent memorial for Gary Gygax, and a Dragon Days Fantasy Festival. But some are going further. Because there are now at least two proposals to create immersive, D&D-themed LARP experiences in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, population 8,227

One is a large themed restaurant/bar/wedding venue (?) called the Griffin and Gargoyle, which is supposedly opening in 2024, though all the art is concept art and they're still looking for investors.

The other one is Giantlands, the proposed theme park where the tickets will be NFTs, based on a game no one's heard of developed by the son of Gary Gygax by a company that legally can't call itself TSR anymore, but tried anyway before rebranding as Wonderfilled, and who also tried to make old Gygax games even more racist? I can't even begin to explain this. I think they got dunked on years ago but they were still hyping up its Lake Geneva theme park that's definitely going to exist this week (this is from August 11th)

What's incredible to me here is that they're boasting that their LARP theme park will be from the makers of Evermore Park. Nothing says quality in immersive fantasy roleplaying parks like someone whose main claim to fame is making that other one that failed. Wonder how many real tombstones and haunted dolls they'll buy this time. And this one appears to have fighting arena

I seriously doubt these are the only two pitches. Everyone with too much money and a love for theme parks feels the little voice in their head saying they can do the Star Wars Hotel right. I think what gets me here is, nobody would put anything like this in Lake Geneva otherwise. It's small, it's located in Wisconsin so it'd have to be seasonal, and it's less than two hours away from Wisconsin Dells - an entire town of kitschy roadside attractions - and even closer to Chicago, which is Chicago. Its tourism niche is beaches and homes around a scenic lake. The only reason to place anything there would be to honor Gary Gygax, and uh, I don't think the younger people who got into D&D with 5E really care about him, or even necessarily know who he is. Gary Con and most Gygax-themed events are for old-school gamers, not the Critical Role crowd. And they especially don't care about whatever Giantlands is. Giantlands as a game is so old-school there isn't even a PDF of the book, it's physical only. They want to build a full theme park around a game you can't even buy on DrivethruRPG. Anyway I hope all this open bc it would be funny

#long post #roadside #dnd

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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year

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CH10. Cheque, Please! | The Menu [2.2K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

ONE YEAR LATER

The diner was packed.

Tables were full, the large room a buzz of chatter and music, the speakers playing an old sixties bop. It was a familiar sight, one that happened more often than not since Jim sold the diner. The new owner ripped the place apart, down to its old bones before he put his life savings into it.

New floors, new tables and chairs, artwork on the walls that were signed by Argyle, a photo of the whole staff taken and framed by Jonathan, Jim Hopper at the forefront, a wide smile on his face on the last day before his retirement. The bulbs in the neon sign outside had been replaced so it no longer flickered, the green and blue glow of it now announcing the diner’s new name, proud and bright for everyone to see.

Eddie’s Slice Of Chicago.

“Door! Behind!” You yelled out as you entered the kitchen empty plates piled high in your arms and Jonathan took them from you with practised ease.

Steve was on the grill, still hesitant and not as fast as Argyle, but he was flipping burgers quicker than he had last week. His chef whites were brand new, his name badge shiny and his front of house position taken over by Nancy. Everyone was in new uniforms, freshly pressed and a sage green, aprons still without stains and a pocketful of pens that didn’t run out of ink too quickly. Robin was taking orders, laughing with a family from out of town, letting their toddler grab at her finger as she promised them to return soon with their pizzas and shakes. Dustin was helping Max run a large order to a table of backpackers, a border collie under the table at their feet, getting its ears scratched by the new start, Mike.

There was a sign on the staff notice board, up beside the employee of the month, a piece of ripped paper with the words “SIXTY FOUR DAYS SINCE THE LAST FREEZER BREAKDOWN.” The rest of the space was filled with staff photos, polaroids and prints of the group at a fourth of July picnic, a barbecue at Jim’s in the summer, huddled around the kitchens countertops in the winter, drinking from mugs filled with Argyle’s homemade horchata, the frame that held Billy’s scrawled termination letter, an old napkin that held a small conversation in pen.

It felt more like home than ever. Even when Eddie wasn’t there.

Everyone answered to you in his absence, unofficially in charge when the boss wasn’t here. It had taken some getting used to, hell, you’d even tried to pawn off the responsibility to Nancy, or Steve, anyone who’d been at the grill longer than you had. But Nancy was part time, back at college during the week, taking Robin on dates in the evenings and Steve was too busy being trained as a new prep chef to worry about invoices and deliveries.

So you stepped into the role cautiously, softening to the idea when Eddie kissed you something fierce and told you that there wasn’t anyone else he trusted to do the job. His acceptance letter had come the month after taking over the diner. A thick, white envelope that lay heavy on your doormat because he’d finally moved in, sharing your small apartment with you like he did everything else.

Clothes. Jewellery. Books. Records. Food. Kisses.

Vincennes University offered Eddie the chance to do what he hadn’t been able to before. Refining his craft, learning new skills, working in a state of the art kitchen with equipment he’d come home and gush to you about. The diner was doing well enough that tuition wasn’t a worry anymore and suddenly, the long commute into Indianapolis for classes four days a week seemed worth it. Eddie was passing with flying colours, receiving accolades and opportunities at every given moment and when he came home, exhausted but happy, he came home to you.

Bone tired, he’d slip into the apartment, socked feet padding gently over the floorboards, Tupperware full of something delicious to be stacked in the fridge. He’d find you curled up somewhere, a black cat called Basil in the nook of your bent legs. He’d kiss you sweet, he’d kiss you soft, warming you up to a simmer until you forgot how much you’d missed him that day.

It was all worth it.

“Table eighteen wants extra hash browns and booth six needs two pepperoni’s and the Hawkins special, chefs,” you called to Steve as you slapped the orders onto the bar.

“Got it,” Steve and Argyle called back, one a little more nervously than the other but it was okay, ‘cause Eddie was home soon.

Eddie was home soon.

He’d called from a pay phone outside of the school, voice buzzing with excitement, with pride, and yours mirrored his back. He’d be on the train soon, he’d meet you at the apartment, if you could get away early. So you handed your keys to Nancy and she grinned, knowing there was a cause for celebration waiting at home for you. You drove Eddie’s van back along the road, coming into town on the familiar stretch, passing Wayne’s, the trailer park you both visited every Sunday for dinner.

The apartment door was unlocked, dimly lit in the early fall gloom, already smelling like garlic and tomatoes, like fresh bread and the scent of Eddie cologne that lingered on his jacket that hung in the hallway. Eddie’s records were in the shelves by your books, his guitar hanging from a hook in the tiny office room, his shoes on the bench by the door. He’d transformed your kitchen when he’d moved in, a decision that had been all too easy to make. There were pots and pans hanging from the rack, shiny, sharp knives that he was scared of you using without him there, jars and tubs of ingredients stacked high in the fridge and the pantry. There were fresh herbs in planters on the window sill. The radio always played.

The kitchen always felt like the heart of the home.

That’s where you found Eddie, sweater sleeves rolled up and grinning at you from the stove top, a large spoon in hand as he mixed in some fresh rosemary to the pot of sauce. He greeted you with a glass of wine, the cheap stuff that you liked best, catching you in a kiss before you could bring the cup to your lips.

He kissed you soft, kissed you sweet, humming when you laughed into his mouth, his free hand slipping inside of your shirt to ghost his fingers over your ribs.

“Hi,” you whispered. You’d never tire of this. This warmth, this kind of greeting, this feeling of coming home. “Good day?”

Eddie nodded, stealing another kiss, catching the corner of your mouth. He gazed at you, eyes shining with excitement and you could practically feel the buzz in his bones for what he was about to say.

“I got it.”

You blinked, once, before your smile turned into a grin and it stretched wide. You barely had the common sense to place your wine on the countertop before you launched yourself at the boy, your arms wound round his neck as your crushed your face into his curls. Eddie whooped, a joyful thing as he lifted you off your feet and grinned against your throat.

“You got it,” you whispered back to him, everything in you frilled with awe and pride.

“I got it,” he repeated again. His voice sounded thick.

The internship with Chef Emmelie was something that everyone in Eddie’s class was vying for. Eddie had spent an insane amount of time on his application, using you as his own personal taste tester in both work and home. New recipes were concocted, old dishes were reworked and it had all paid off. Eddie had been hand picked to work alongside one of the country’s greats, assisting in setting up a new restaurant, a fine dining establishment that promised to deliver nothing but the best cuisine to the masses. Eddie would help create the menu, and hopefully, maybe, eventually, take over as head chef.

It was another level of surreal.

“I knew you would,” you mumbled into his neck, pulling back only to crush Eddie’s cheeks in the palms of your hands and give him a kiss that ducked his breath away. His lips tasted salty, but perhaps that was your own tears you could taste. Eddie just held onto you tighter, his stew mix bubbling away without any attention. “Where is it? Have they told you where you’re setting up?”

You’d held Eddie’s hand as he clutched his application letter and promised him that no matter where they sent him, you’d follow. The only thing that tied you to Hawkins, was the boy and Basil was easy enough to smuggle into a cat carrier, once you could catch him. Wayne had squashed any hesitancy from Eddie immediately, waving him off and saying that there would be private jets for each of you once he hit the big time as the new celebrity chef. And of course, there was the diner.

Eddie laughed then, a breathy, disbelieving thing and he finally shuffled to settle you onto the small dining table that sat in the corner of the kitchen. He nudged his way in between your legs, sniffling when Basil appeared to wind around his own ankles and the only sounds were the purring of the cat and the simmering of dinner. You held your breath, brows raised, expectant.

London? Dubai? Paris? Los Angeles?

“They wanna set up in Chicago.”

—————

Going back to the city you left was a lot less daunting with Eddie by your side.

Wayne moved out of the trailer park and into your apartment, something that made leaving a little easier for Eddie. He still owned the diner, and promised to stop by at least a few times a month if scheduling around the new restaurant would allow. He’d found a new manager, a woman from town called Joyce who loved to bake and knew enough about taxes and accounting that she didn’t fuck up order and invoices. She loved the place like Eddie did, promised she’d do it proud.

(She met Jim on Sunday in summer and after she served him her famous cherry cheesecake, one date in the park had turned into three, into five and now they were inseparable. They spent most of their time walking around town, visiting farmers and Jim enjoyed his retirement by helping Joyce create new desserts for the diner.)

Eddie’s internship came with an apartment in the suburbs, a small townhouse that was far enough from the hustle of the city that you felt more at home than before. It was less bright, less loud and Basil had a garden to roam in, a bench beside a vegetable patch he could bathe in the sun from.

It had a pantry and old oak floors, a huge window that looked out onto the street that was lined with cherry trees, and a nook in the living room that you liked to read in. You found a job, pretty easily, a vintage bookstore on the edge of town that smelled like coffee and cinnamon, old pages and older stories. It was owned by an old man who let his dog sleep under the front desk, who brought in pastries for breakfast and made you sweet tea in the summer.

The restaurant opened in the spring. Hit headlines the following day, praising the special on the menu made by newcomer chef, Edward Munson. By the summer, the heat was climbing and so was Eddie’s popularity. He was running the restaurant, got to create a new menu every six weeks and the waitlist was booked out until Christmas. He told you he loved you every time you paid him a visit, on your lunch break, a whisper between a kiss hello and goodbye in the kitchen, coy whistles from his staff that he burned pink at.

And when you both drove back to Hawkins for long weekends and holiday stays, you crammed yourselves and Basil into your old apartment with Wayne, packed his freezer full of food and tried to convince him to take in one (maybe two) of the strays from the trailer park to keep him company.

You spent the Fourth of July with the diner crew, in the backyard of Jim and Joyce’s new home, sharing Polaroids and newspaper clippings of the restaurant, of your new home, Eddie’s menu. Steve was in awe but nothing could beat the look of pride on your boyfriend’s face when Steve told him he’d mastered a French omelette. Argyle was running the kitchen, Nancy had been promoted to assistant manager, part time or not, and Robin had helped Jonathan in running a Sunday morning coffee club, where Hawkins residents got to taste test new bean flavours over a pastry breakfast and some town gossip.

Eddie didn’t scowl much, not anymore.

And when you next bumped into Chrissy, you waved at her from under the tuck of Eddie’s arm, diamond ring glinting on your left hand in the sun. She didn’t have much to say to you, not after that.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fluff

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selfmadesaviour · 2 years

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tag drop.

#fulfilled expectations ; cm #just like home ; cpd #especially heinous ; svu #two equally important parts ; law and order #code red ; grey's #we all do what we can ; the resident #patients over profit ; new amsterdam #rabid dogs are put down ; hannibal #as long as i have you ; season four #i will always find you ; ghost #from now until forever ; stabler teens #not the other shepherd ; new amsterdam #two sides of the same coin ; new amsterdam #a fresh start ; med #something about this town ; chicago #i need to get away ; new york #communication is vital ; gaffney #need a new start ; the rookie

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starkidmunson · 7 months

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glitter & crimson

Realistically, Steve knows the band won’t hang around Chicago forever. He knows they’re out promoting a new album; knows they’ll have to move on and that Eddie has to go with them. It doesn’t stop him from wanting Eddie to stay; to live in the quick familiarity he’s built within Steve’s little found family.

Eddie and Robin seem to have already created their own secret language, all gestures and movement and eye contact Steve picks up on but can’t quite read. He’s already picking on the Party like he’s known them their whole lives; ruffling Dustin’s hair, elbowing Mike, throwing his arm around Will’s shoulders, and giving Lucas little shoves.

It’s easy; so easy to get caught up in how charismatic Eddie is. Steve has a hard time keeping his eyes off him, and Eddie knows. He keeps making comments, throwing winks in Steve’s direction, seeing right through every wall he’s ever built around himself and Steve is caught between being obsessed with it and terrified.

He stops drinking after the one beer, worried he’ll make things weird if he gets anywhere near tipsy, opting to stay as far away from the possibility as he can. If anyone notices, they don’t comment.

Lucas is chatting animatedly with Jeff, Max sitting close by, twisting braids into El’s hair. Dustin, Mike and Will appear to be grilling Gareth and Freak about dungeon and dragon campaigns Eddie used to run. Nancy has her arm looped through Robin’s, but her attention is on the phone in her hands, as Eddie and Robin talk about what touring is like.

“Where else are you going on this tour?” She asks as Steve tunes back into the conversation.

“This isn’t really a tour, we just haven’t been on the road in a while and we just stopped the album, so we lined up a few shows to get our feet wet before we hit the road for real this summer. One more show out in LA on Tuesday, then we’re done until May, for now.” Eddie explains.

“We’re in LA on Thursday!” Robin exclaims, and Steve’s stomach drops because, yeah. LA on Thursday. He trains his eyes on the glass in front of him, not willing to actually look at anyone they’re around.

“We could totally meet up again if you guys are able to swing it?” Freak offers, and Steve forces a little smile onto his face and nods.

“We can figure it out later,” Eddie says after a few beats, and Steve is grateful for how the conversation rolls onto the next topic. When he finally looks back up, though, Eddie’s still looking his way. Steve hits him with what he hopes comes off as a reassuring smile, but it doesn’t seem to pay off the way he hopes.

Once the tab is closed and the staff is tipped well, Steve catches Eddie’s elbow on their way out the door. “I would like to meet up in LA, if you’re interested. I didn’t mean to get weird about it, it’s… I’ve been in my head a bit about that game since it was announced.”

“Oh, hey, no worries. We’re in LA the whole week, then we’re heading home. So no pressure, honest.” Eddie hooks his hand over Steve’s softly.

“Well, we should get in Wednesday, but we could totally do something after the game or even Friday?”

Eddie smiles and nods, patting over Steve’s hand. “Text me about it.”

“I can do that. How much longer are you guys in town for, anyway?” Steve asks.

“Ah, the dreaded question comes,” Eddie’s playful, and it makes Steve’s face heat up. “We’ve got just under another 24 hours in the Windy City before hitting the road again.”

“Oh,” It pulls his chest in a way he wasn’t expecting, in a way that shouldn’t be happening for a rockstar he was adjacently aware of in high school. “Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Harrington,” Eddie’s teasing again, and it does nothing to help the blush on Steve’s face. “You can’t possibly miss me this much when I haven’t even left yet.”

“Shut up,” Steve shoves him away then, crossing his arms over his chest with a pout, only for Eddie to pull him in with an arm around the shoulder.

“We can grab brunch or something? We leave around 8 to avoid rush hour, so I’ll have to be in the bus by 6, or I’d say dinner.”

“Brunch works for me.”

~~~~

The trip back to the hotel doesn’t go as Eddie expects; everyone is silently chatting amongst themselves, nodding and tapping along to the music and not causing a scene. He almost points it out, but elects not to bring unwarranted bullying upon himself instead. The guys had been giving him shit about Steve near constantly, so this was a nice change of pace after the last few days.

There was actually quiet as he made his way back to his room. A hot shower finally restored warmth to his bones the hockey arena had stolen, and he was drying his hair when he heard his phone vibrate with a text notification.

Steve: anything you're craving for brunch tomorrow so I can pick a place?

It’s practically too easy to flirt with Steve; he sets up lines without even seeming to realize. But Eddie still can’t get a real gauge on how Steve feels about the flirting, so he sidesteps the easy pass he could have made about Steve being enough of a meal, in favor of actually answering.

Eddie: French toast?

The next series of texts come before Eddie even moves his hands back to the towel over his hair.

Steve: sick, I’ll pick you up around 10:45

Steve: you mentioned going home, did you mean like, back to Hawkins?

Eddie twists his hair up in the towel, and lays down on the side of the bed he doesn’t sleep on before firing off an answer.

Eddie: nah, I’ve got a place in Nashville and no reason to go back to Hawkins anymore. My uncle moved to Indy, so that’s usually as close as I get.

Steve: any reason you moved to Nashville?

Eddie: are we playing 20 questions?

Steve: sorry.

Eddie bites his lip, and only hesitates for a moment before flipping over onto his belly and hitting the FaceTime button. Steve answers on the second ring, looking embarrassed, but Eddie doesn’t let him get a word in.

“My mom was born and raised in Memphis, but she always told me her favorite city was Nashville. I was there with her a few times when I was little and she’d just, like, light up. And music is so heavily engraved into every inch of the city, it’s hard to not find inspiration everywhere you turn. So. I bought a place in Nashville the minute I had enough saved up, and it’s kind of my home base now.” Eddie explains, watching as Steve’s face softens and he relaxes into his chair listening to Eddie’s answer. “Do I get to ask a question now?”

“I really wasn’t trying to be annoying, “ Steve looks ready to keep going with an apology, but Eddie cuts him off.

“Why do you play hockey?” It stops Steve dead in his tracks, and he genuinely looks confused for a moment. Eddie almost offers to drop the topic, but Steve fumbles his way into an answer.

“My, uh. My dad wanted me to play before I was even born. Because he played. Professionally for a few years when I was growing up, then he went on to coach.” Steve explains, and it sounds a little rehearsed. Eddie’s sure it’s something that comes up often if his father played and coached. “Gotta keep the Harrington legacy alive, I guess.”

There was a bite to Steve’s words that wasn’t lost on Eddie. “You don’t sound too thrilled about it.”

Eddie can see Steve working over how he wants to answer before he shrugs and sighs. “Because it’s all a show for him. The part we don’t talk about is how I got hurt and benched most of my senior season and he cut me off when I didn’t get full rides. Convinced me it was better to not go to college at all, despite the other scholarship offers, than to not get promised a spot on the ice. Convinced me to self-sabotage so I had to fight tooth and fucking nail to get into the league at all.” Steve pauses, then, and lets out a quiet laugh. “Sorry, that’s so unbelievably whiny of me. I love getting to play professionally, and I don’t take the opportunity for granted.”

“Not whiny. Dads can be the fucking worst.” Eddie offers, gently, and is grateful when Steve doesn't press on that particular bruise.

Instead, he takes his turn to ask a different question. “Why music?”

“This is lame, but the answer is once again my mom.” Eddie rolls his eyes at himself, but he smiles. “She was a musician. There were always instruments around and music was always playing and we traveled for her to perform. I knew my whole life I wanted to be a musician like her, but it wasn’t until after she died that I figured out that songwriting… telling stories and painting pictures with words and melodies and making people feel something…” Eddie trails off, lost in the thought.

“I’m sorry you lost her. It sounds like you enjoyed your childhood with her.” Steve offers, hopes it doesn’t sound like a forced nicety, but Eddie smiles and his nerves ease.

“She was a force to be reckoned with. Firing on all cylinders at once, chaos and home bundled into one.” Eddie’s soft a quiet for a moment, and Steve appreciates the silence by taking in how relaxed the other is to be talking about his feelings; it’s a refreshing break from many of his experiences with teammates or opponents who don’t know how to get emotional in a healthy way. Eventually, though, Eddie clears his throat. “Anyway. Back to 20 questions,”

“I wasn’t trying to start a game, really, I just… like talking to you,” Steve admits around a blush, tucking his chin into the collar of his shirt in an effort to hide the shade of his cheeks, but Eddie’s smile says his cover is blown.

“ANYWAY!” He announces louder, then taps at his chin. “Favorite and least favorite teams to play and why, go.”

“I’m not a dog.” Steve laughs but thinks about his answer anyway. “Favorite is probably the Flyers in Philly. Their fans are absolutely brutal, and their mascot is hilariously terrifying.”

“I have seen many a Gritty TikTok, so I completely understand,” Eddie gives him a few beats before he prompts. “Least favorite?”

“The Kings. LA. Billy Hargrove.”

“The…, what the fuck? How many guys from Hawkins are professional hockey players?” Eddie asks, because honestly, how had he not known there was more than Steve?

“He’s technically from LA, which is why he went back, thank God.” Steve mumbles, before dropping his head back against the wall behind him. “But, for whatever it’s worth, there’s me, Billy, and Tommy Hagan in the league.”

“Well isn’t that a fun bunch to surround yourself with,” Eddie muses out loud. Tommy and Billy were two of the biggest assholes Eddie had ever met, and it sounded like Steve wasn’t too fond of the other pair either.

“I actually…” Steve trails off, before trying again. “I was going to invite you guys to come to the LA game, but I’m really not sure it would be a good idea, so I’m… I’m actually going to ask you guys not to come, if that’s not too much of a dick move? I can get you tickets to literally any game you want for the rest of the season, just. I don’t think it’s worth it to get Billy started, and if he’s heard any of the press about us, I’m already going to hear it even if you’re not there.”

“Homophobe extraordinaire still, then?” Eddie guesses, and Steve chokes out a laugh, before covering his mouth and holding up a finger to ask for a moment to compose himself.

“He's… a lot of things.” Is the response Steve opts for, but Eddie can tell there’s more there. Whatever the two of them are doing, it doesn’t feel like Steve is ready to elaborate, so Eddie moves on.

“I think it’s your turn.”

~~~~

Nothing changes after Corroded Coffin leave Chicago, though. Not in the ways Eddie had expected, at least.

Steve still texts him throughout the day, answers his Facetimes whenever he’s available. Eddie makes him the playlist he promised, and Steve gives feedback on which songs he likes and which ones he really doesn’t, after Eddie promises to not take Steve’s opinions personally. Which, to be fair, he tries really hard not to.

The concert in LA comes and goes, and Steve seems to send him every TikTok he comes across from the show. It’s a refreshing break, as every few videos in Eddie’s feed are of him cheering for Steve at the game, or Steve watching from sidestage in Chicago.

A text from Robin eventually confirms their arrival in LA, and Steve and Eddie make plans to meet up after the game. Since Steve had expressed concern about Eddie going, he decides to just watch from the bar they agree to meet at. Televised games make it easier to track the puck, but Eddie decides he likes being there in person better.

Eddie’s sipping absently on his beer and in the time it takes him to look down at a text from Chrissy, several of the people around him react to something. Eddie looks around to make sure someone in the bar hadn’t passed out. When he looks back at the screen, absolute mayhem has broken out on the ice. The refs are trying to separate players from one another, and Eddie’s scanning through the numbers on each Blackhawks jerseys before he finally spots Steve, slightly off to the side from everyone else. The camera pans away from him, zeroing in on the fight, now between a Blackhawks defenseman and none other than Billy Hargrove.

Billy’s helmet and gloves are off, teeth shining with blood as he grins like a psycho and starts to skate in Steve’s direction. One of the refs pulls him back, though, escorting him into the penalty box while another Kings player gathers his helmet, stick and gloves and clears them to the bench.

The camera finally pans back to Steve, who is now sitting with his back against the boards. He’s got a gloved covering the lower half of his face, but his white jersey is covered in blood. A ref and the Blackhawks goalie are kneeling on either side of him as someone else speaks with him. The camera zooms in as the TV crews work to make out what is happening, just in time for Steve to lower his hand and shows off a gnarly gash along the side of his face. He leans forward a little and spits out blood onto the ice, and the TV jumps to the announcers in the booth.

The volume is off, but they show a slow-motion replay of the few moments Eddie’d missed; Steve passes the puck off to another player on his team, just before Billy slams into his side. The impact sends both of them into the boards and down onto the ice. Billy swings his stick around and cracks Steve in the face with the blade heel. Steve reacts, throwing his whole arm into Billy’s face, before a sea of white Blackhawks jerseys sweep in and suddenly Billy’s a few feet away, with players from both teams piled up.

Eddie’s hand hovers over his phone; has no idea what to do in this situation. Texting Steve is useless; it would likely be hours, if not days, before he even thinks about looking at his phone. He doesn’t want to bother anyone, but he’s… well, he’s stressed. Even if Steve isn’t interested in him the way Eddie’s interested in Steve, they’ve still built a weird little friendship and that was an awful lot of blood.

So, Eddie ends up firing off a text to Robin. It’s just a simple 'let me know if there’s anything I can do,' but his phone lights up with a call immediately.

“How bad is it?”

“I’m not back with him yet, but just… meet us at the hospital, if you can?” She asks. While her voice waivers a bit, she’s calmer than Eddie expected her to be.

“I’ll be right there.” He agrees, hangs up and exits the bar before the game even returns from commercial break.

#hockeyplayer!steve harrington #steddie #rockstar!eddie munson #stranger things hockey au #glitter & crimson #sorry this took like 2 weeks #we're going to try to keep the momentum going here #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #platonic stobin #corroded coffin #steddie fanfic #starkidmunson writes #oh i almost forgot #one of the most important tags for this one #anti billy hargrove

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basketonthedoorstepofthefbi · 4 months

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"concrete" - hotch x fem!bau!reader

your crush on your boss is so nearly at its breaking point; based on the request found here

cw: canonical violence, mutual pining, mild miscommunication, not a happy ending but not an unhappy ending lmao sorry luv ya

word count: 1.4k

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You’ve been crushing on your boss for exactly ten months and nine days. You’ve known him for close to a year, but when you think about it, that two month difference in time is just about what it takes to warm up to Aaron Hotchner.

He was a statue when you first met him. Unwavering, stoic, and maybe even a little strict (definitely very strict). He didn’t crack a smile around you until the first case you ever worked with the BAU was wrapped up, and he definitely didn’t make any jokes until much later on. You discovered underneath the stalwart, brick wall you met was the same man, only softer. Like one of those hard-shell candies with a jelly center. He was incredibly kind, patient, observant, and honorable.

And he would do anything for anyone on his team at the drop of a hat.

You also got to see the more playful side of him as you got to know him, as your caseload with the BAU only grew. Sure, he was a stickler for paperwork and procedure, but was he though?

You once saw him take over a report JJ was supposed to finish so she could make it to Henry’s t-ball game. You definitely witnessed him reassuring Penelope that it was okay that she hacked into the Interpol database for info on an UnSub, and when Derek needed help tracking down his cousin in Chicago, Hotch had the whole team pitch in, which was certainly some kind of ethics violation.

Little did you know that Aaron was crushing on you, too. He didn’t word it that way in his head, of course, but the second he watched you stride into the conference room to consult on a case, he knew he was in trouble. He expedited the transfer paperwork himself, even followed Strauss in the elevator on her way out one night to make her sign it.

He grew fond of you quickly, of your insights, your compassion with victims’ families, your quick wit. You always bring homemade cookies or cupcakes for the entire team when it’s someone’s birthday, and you always have a different perspective to offer on cases. He especially loves when you are clearly thinking hard about something, so you cross your ankles - sitting or standing, he’s noticed - and tap your toes against the floor.

Aaron’s ways of showing affection were not lost on you. He brought you coffee on more than one occasion, but he also brought coffee to the rest of the team. He straddles the invisible line between Caring Boss and More Than That so well. You’re not exactly sure what his actions mean.

Like today, for example. The team is in a small town in Kentucky, and you’re deep into a case - a spree, four murders in four days. You have been awake for about twenty straight hours, give or take, and the world around you has turned hazy.

You are combing through a suspect’s letters with Spencer, your eyes growing heavier by the second. Your chin is propped up by your arm, and you finally close your eyes, just for one second of respite. Your arm gives out and your head whacks against the table, a wake-up call no amount of espresso could ever provide.

“Shit, Y/N. Are you okay?” Spencer’s out of his chair in an instant as you lift your head, rubbing the already-formed welt on your forehead.

The spot is tender and red and you’re dizzy, the wheels on your chair not helping matters. Why are there three Reids hovering over you? They meld back into one Reid after you blink a few times, and as you’re nodding to reassure Spencer you’re okay, you hear Hotch walk in. “I heard a thud. What happened?”

The conference room in the police precinct is teeny and already cramped, so Spencer has to move out of the way for Hotch to get to you.

“She smacked her head on the table,” Spencer explains hurriedly. “I’ll get you an ice pack,” he scurries off, likely to ask one of the local officers, leaving you alone with Hotch.

You’re still reeling and a bit disoriented from the contact with the solid oak table. Hotch takes the rolling desk chair beside yours, previously occupied by Spencer, and is hunching to meet your eye line. “You should really go back to the hotel and sleep for a little bit,” he says.

“Nobody else is,” you protest just as Hotch squares up to you to examine the welt on your forehead. You see him visibly grimace, his lips pressing deep into his face.

His thumb is suddenly on your forehead, padding around the bruise. It’s tender, and you know it would hurt if he touched you even a centimeter to the left, but he’s hitting it at just the right spot. You can see the lines on his palm.

“Yeah, well, no one else just concussed themselves,” he points out. You can tell just by looking at him that he’s tired, too. His eyes are heavy, the bags under them puffier than usual.

“If I’m concussed, then I really shouldn’t go to sleep,” you point out, and Hotch’s expression tightens.

“What day is it today?” He asks, retracting his hand and pulling back into his own space.

“Wednesday,” you reply, then your eyes dart to the clock on the wall. 12:17 AM. “Thursday,” you correct.

Hotch releases a pressure-cooker sigh and narrows his eyes at you scrupulously. You lean forward in your chair in a challenge. “I’m fine,” you insist.

“I just wish you’d take care of yourself so I wouldn’t have to.”

This catches you off guard. Your brows furrow and you frown at Hotchner, crossing your arms over your chest. “Excuse me?” you ask, feeling offended. What the hell was that supposed to mean? “You don’t think I take care of myself?”

Hotch’s mouth is hanging open just slightly, and he’s shaking his head. “No, Y/N, that’s not what I-”

“You and I both know you would tell me if my performance was inadequate,” you decide in that moment - maybe it’s the potential concussion, or maybe it’s the exhaustion - to rip into him. “I don’t need a babysitter, Aaron.”

Hotchner shakes his head again. “I know you don’t need a babysitter,” he says calmly. Irritatingly calmly. “I just meant that there are many other things I’d rather be doing…”

Your mouth goes dry. Obnoxiously, with the cadence of a confused basset hound, you say, “huh?”

Aaron’s cheeks are pink now, and he swallows hard. “I’d better go check on Reid and that ice pack,” he murmurs, but before he can roll away, you grab the arm of his chair.

“Aaron,” you breathe out, and suddenly he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the world, like there’s a spotlight shining down on you from the ceiling of a little police precinct in Middle of Nowhere, Kentucky.

His brown eyes are so soft at this moment. His eyebrows have softened from their usual piercing, investigative furrow. He knees press into yours, and you want so badly to bridge that gap between his face and yours. His mouth is hanging open, only slightly, and you watch with bated breath as his tongue juts out - just barely - to moisten his lips.

The door flies open at that moment, and Spencer’s shifting three different ice packs among his hands. “I’ve got gel, I’ve got water-based, and they also had one of those beaded eye masks that people put in the freezer for self-care at home,” he laughs at this, stopping at the head of the table when he realizes he very clearly interrupted something. “Should… should I go?”

You’re rolling back from Hotch, crossing your ankles and shaking your head. “No, you’re fine, Spence,” you say hurriedly and squeakily, just as Hotch clears his throat and rises from his seat. He lingers in the door on his way out. As you’re taking the gel ice pack from Spencer and placing it gingerly against your forehead, your gaze meets Hotch’s.

He’s boring into you with those beautiful molten chocolate eyes, and he purses his lips pensively for one fleeting moment, as if to say, to be continued.

“What was all that about?” Spencer asks as he sits back down. You shake your head.

“Nothing,” you feel concrete tension in your jaw that radiates all the way down to your toes. You grab the next pile of letters and open one. The fact that you have to pretend like nothing just happened, like you didn’t just share an absurd amount of tension with your boss? It feels like your entire body is on pins and needles. “Let’s just keep going.”

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x bau!reader #hotchner x you #hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner imagine

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unabashegirl · 6 months

Text

MASTERLIST

ONE SHOTS

Kings of Leon

Wear something noticeable || Part 2

Equatorial Sun

What are you doing up?

My head is spinning over you

Pax Romana

Harry's grammy performance

You lied to me

Chocolate cake

Golden Boy

Nameless

Meeting her || Part 2 || Part 3

Echo

Camping

my best friend’s dad || part 2

INSTAGRAM BLURBS

Dating hints

Pregnancy

Sadie Sink

Elsa Hosk

Lori Harvey

Pudderfly

Deepika Padukon

Dakota Johnson

Matilda Djerf

Gracie Abrams

Bella Hadid

SERIES

if you want to get ahead and get access to all chapter then check out my patreon!

Summary: Harry is a young billionaire and CEO of his own company. He mostly keeps to himself, he is stern and very meticulous when it comes to business. He also likes to keep his personal life very private for the sake of his newly born son Oliver Styles. It isn't until he meets Y/N Y/L/N that everything changes. She becomes his new nanny after his previous one quits due to personal reasons. She is young, caring, and sweet. Will they ignore their feelings? Will Harry's girlfriend accept their love and leave them? Will she be able to cope with his busy agenda? What about Oliver's mother? Where is she? Who is she?

masterlist

Summary: Harry Styles, the cold and calculating son of a powerful mafia don, must consolidate power after his father's passing. He faces challenges from his unpredictable younger brother, Silas, and navigates a complex world of alliances, ruthless decisions, and family loyalty. Amidst the intrigue, the elegant and alluring Y/N Castellano, the daughter of an Italian mafia boss, attends the funeral and finds herself drawn to Harry. As power dynamics shift and the future remains uncertain, the story explores the dark and dangerous allure of the mafia, the weight of family legacies, and the potential for unexpected connections in a world defined by secrecy and ruthlessness.

masterlist

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is forced to return to the town where she was born for extraordinary reasons. Her father is extremely sick and on the verge of passing away. Alsfield has changed and is far from what she remembers and even though she lived in town until her high school graduation she barely recognizes it. The town hides a big secret from a few individuals that live in it including Y/N. The man who maintains the town's secret and protects it is no other than Harry Styles. Things take a sudden twist when they meet. Numerous things will impede Y/N from returning to San Francisco to her somewhat ordinary life, will she be able to abandon the town that she had successfully escaped the first time? What is the big secret that the townspeople are hiding, and what is Y/N's role in it? Who is Harry? Where does he come from? Had she met him before? And what does he want from her?

masterlist

Summary: Harry is just like any other college student. He is a senior in Chicago University. He keeps to himself except when he is spending time with his closest friends, Sarah and Mitch. His world revolves around his future career, friends, and family. His quiet and routine driven life takes a turn, one weekend when he meets Y/N Y/L/N. She is way too different from him. She spends most of her days surrounded by people who care for superficial and materialistic things. Her parents are never home, and they think that with money everything can be solved. They are both from different worlds yet something that night clicks and Y/N can never again get him off her mind.

masterlist || EXCLUSIVE FOR PATREON SUBSCRIBERS

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diqldrunks · 6 months

Text

DATE ME TO SCARE THEM — R. CAMERON

summary: rafe cameron didn't do girlfriends, or make deals — so why did he agree so quickly to being your fake boyfriend — for the sole purpose of pissing off your parents? (based off the song 18 by anarbor)

a/n: this is very different from the original which got lost when my acc got terminated

cw/tw: none! this is really short but other parts will be much longer!! asks for rafe (in this au and others) are open!! anons are welcome!

word count: 0.8k

DMTST — PART ONE

next part | nav | inbox

rafe masterlist | main masterlist

:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ

you and rafe had been sitting on the beach when you asked him.

it was late summer, and the sun was slowly setting. the two of you had spent the entire day together, and the entire time, rafe couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d done something to upset you.

you had barely said 5 words to him that hadn’t been prompted by a question he asked you; there was an air of awkwardness surrounding the two of you and any interaction you had, and rafe hated it.

he spent ages going over anything and everything he had said, trying to figure it out. he'd eventually decided he'd had enough, and when you were reapplying your lip gloss, he decided to speak up.

"sweets," he asked, using the nickname he began using years ago after he realised the extent of your sweet tooth, "everything good with you? anything going wrong in your little world that i can help out with?"

the two of you had met two years ago, when your parents had dragged you to an overly formal dinner at the country club after you had moved — you were sat across from him and one of his sisters, sarah. together, the three of you tried to tune out the insufferably dull conversations that were happening — with one of ways being rafe and sarah explaining kildare to you, introducing the concept of ‘pogues’ and ‘kooks’ (with sarah later introducing you to some of her kook friends without rafe’s knowledge).

after a couple of these dinners, the three of you became friends — with it soon becoming commonplace for you to spend days and nights at the cameron’s’. you spent mornings in town shopping, afternoons on the boat and evenings at parties. though you met other people your age — both kooks and pogues — and became friendly with them, rafe and sarah were always the ones you were closest to.

over time, sarah became more distant, and your afternoons on the beach as a trio became just you and rafe. your parents weren’t that happy, having voiced their dislike for the boy, but as they worked away for business a lot, they didn’t have a chance to stop it. this month, they were away again, in chicago this time for a series of conferences, but were coming back in a few days.

they had phoned you a few weeks ago, and were clearly excited to be talking to you — one of their business executive friends had a son, and, although they didn’t say it explicitly, they expected you to go on a few dates with him. his name was matthew, and he was coming to outer banks with his father a few days after your parents return.

you were anxious and angry, and for days had been racking your brain for a solution — one that you could make last as long as you matthew went back home. you had eventually came up with a plan — it was risky, and frankly just a terrible idea, but it should work. you just had to get rafe on board.

you looked to rafe, his hair almost glowing gold from the sunlight.

"i need you to be my boyfriend."

the brunette paused, one of his hands frozen in place as it hovered over the cooler from where he was about to grab a second beer.

he was silent for a moment, his eyebrows slightly raised so the ends of his hair began to cover them.

"i'm sorry sweets, i need to what?"

this time your voice was louder than before, but still quiet enough that rafe had to try and block out the sound of the crashing waves to hear you clearly. "i need you to date me for the next two weeks — three at a push."

you take a quick look at rafe before turning you attention back to the hands in your lap as you continue to talk. "it's my parents — they're coming to visit for a few weeks and the last time i spoke to them, they were trying to set me up with one of their business friend’s sons — a guy called matthew-"

rafe ran a hand through his hair. "god sweets, do i really have to get dragged into this? your parents despise me-"

"that’s why this is so perfect rafe. they are setting me up for misery — let’s be real, matthew’s going to be as dull as a rock. i want to throw this stupid idea back in their faces — make sure they won’t do this again."

"you’re gonna use me to piss off your parents, sweets?" rafe smirked, remembering just how much you're parents hated him. "fake date me just so you can scare them?” rafe pauses, pretending to think. god, he was insufferable. “i don't know, seems like an awfully one sided deal..."

you needed rafe to agree, otherwise you risk sitting opposite full matthew at the country club for dinner. "rafe cameron i will literally do anything for you to agree."

rafe smirked. "if you say so sweets."

rafe taglist (lmk if you want to be added!); @izabellaemerson @spiderflunk @kitty-m30w @vincapandora @uraesthete @wickedtactics @harmoneeee24 @starkeybae @fairydvstss @alexiskirkland @devils-blackrose @makaylalovessmut @winterrrnight @clearbolts @slayystuff @neilove @littlemissborntolose @emyslittlebubble @ldrsog @stargrltara @isabelllauer @alexasznisforever @zizuras @sadgirlelenora @djosfuture @leaskisses444

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