#this song got me through church every year | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vanwritesfan-fiction · 6 months

Text

If You Let Me, Part One

A/N: My first Joe fic! This series is based off the song "If You Let Me" by Sinead Harnett, one of my favorite songs. Really excited to post this and I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: angst, kissing, mentions of alcohol and drunkenness

You pulled your coat tighter across your body as you crossed the street toward the church. It had just started to snow, uncharacteristically early for Cincinnati in November, a light dusting of flurries coating the stones as you ran up the steps.

You wish you could say being late to your brother’s wedding rehearsal was out of character for you, but you’d be lying. You had a habit of showing up fashionably (or what your mother would call embarrassingly) late to family events, partially because you couldn’t stand to be around your parents for too long without a drink in your hand, and partially because it meant a decreased chance that you’d run into Joe. He was your brother’s best friend, troublemakers attached at the hip since they could walk, so your mom invited him to every dinner, birthday party, and holiday. Thank goodness his football schedule made it difficult to say yes to any of the invitations, or you probably wouldn’t have seen your family at all this year. It wasn't a surprise that Joe was going to be your brother's best man, but it did mean you'd been dreading this weekend for the past year.

You could admit you were dragging your feet getting ready this morning, but your tardiness today, truly wasn’t your fault. On the 15-minute ride from your apartment to the church downtown, you managed to hit every red light and get stuck behind a freight train. Even on the walk from the parking lot, all of the contents of your purse spilled onto the pavement, and you lost your shoe crossing the street.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was divine intervention.

As you walked into the church, you realized it was karma.

There he stood, leaning against the door that led to the main hall, his phone in his hand. His blonde hair was shorter than the last time you’d seen him, the tan he got from being on the football field six days a week a nice contrast to his bright blue eyes. He looked nervous, uneasy, his left leg jiggling as he looked around the room before glancing back down to his phone as if he was anticipating someone's arrival, and when he made eye contact with you, he looked downright sick to his stomach.

“Hi”, the word came out as a squeak. Joe straightened up, pulling at the sleeve of his tan suit jacket. The bride, your future sister-in-law, Tiffany, insisted that the entire wedding party be in coordinating colors, tan for the groomsmen, teal for the bridesmaids. You were wearing a simple black shift dress that had been hiding in the back of your closet because you turned down your invitation to be part of the wedding party, much to your mother’s chagrin.

“You’re going to be the only member of our family not part of the wedding”, she chastised you over the phone when Tiffany told her you would be enjoying the wedding from the second row of guest seating. “How do you think this is going to make me look in front of my friends?” You realized that it did look odd that you weren’t participating in your only brother’s wedding in some capacity, but you knew the only way you were going to make it through this wedding was by clinging to the bar and staying as far away as you could from Joe Burrow.

“Um, hey.” He cleared his throat as he slipped his phone into his back pocket. You could cut the tension with a dull butter knife, that’s how little regard he had for you now.

The last time the two of you had even been in the same room together was your family’s annual Christmas Eve party, three years ago. You had just broken up with your boyfriend of eight good, long years, the man you thought you were going to marry and have a family with, after he admitted to cheating on you with some random girl he met at a bar, and you were more than drunk off of a few martinis to try to ease the pain. You stumbled, literally, across Joe on the balcony, who had stepped outside to get some fresh air and get away from the terrible Christmas karaoke.

“You are not drunk enough tonight, Mr. Burrow.” You shakily held out the bottle of champagne you had stollen from the kitchen. Joe took the mostly empty bottle from you with a grin, placing it on the ground. “I think you’re drunk enough for the both of us", he grabbed you just as you tripped over your own feet, holding you up with one of his hands, Ok, I gotcha.”

“If you can’t get stupid drunk while your mom inappropriately sings “Santa Baby” to a room of your family and friends, when can you drink?” You gestured back into the house, watching your mother scandalously shaking her hips as the instrumental blared over the speakers. You got your sense of humor and your low alcohol tolerance from her. You gripped the railing of the balcony to steady yourself, accidentally landing atop Joe’s hand. His skin felt hot and smooth, and for the second you made eye contact with him, his gaze falling from your eyes to your lips, you were pretty sure you were willing to do something stupid tonight to forget about your broken heart.

Your relationship with Joe had always been, well, nonexistent. Growing up, he and your brother were a year ahead of you in school, and they mostly wanted nothing to do with you; teenagers could be cruel, so the only time you saw Joe was in passing in the hallway between classes or when he came to your house to hang out. He was always nice to you, but in a “I have to be nice to you or my mom will kill me” kind of way. You were pretty sure he didn’t see you as anything more as an obnoxious little sister.

“So, how’s school going?” Joe quickly pulled his hand away, crossing his arms over his chest. You took a deep breath, feeling yourself quickly sober up. “School is well, school.” You punctuated your sentence with a hiccup. The last thing you wanted to talk about was how terribly you were doing in college, and how your goal of getting into law school next year was quickly becoming a pipe dream. “School, you?”, Joe’s brow furrowed at your question as you slurred your words, “I mean, how’s school going for you?” He nodded, flashing you his perfect, pearly whites. “School’s good, football’s going well. Scouts are telling me I’m probably going first round.” He looked down at the ground, studying his sneakers like they were the most fascinating thing he’d seen all night.

“That’s amazing! Congrats!” You would later blame it on your inebriation, but not thinking, you threw your arms sloppily around Joe’s shoulders, his hands catching you low at the waist. “Uh, I-“, your mouth was dangerously close to his, and you were sure he could smell the vodka on your breath, but when you tried to pull away, he wouldn’t let you go, keeping you tightly pulled into his chest. You let yourself fall into his hold as the two of you brushed noses, Joe gently kissing at your bottom lip to test the waters. You’d be lying if you said the thought never crossed your mind, you had always had a crush on Joe, but it was also a line you thought you’d never cross. Any other night there would have been no question, but tonight, you were hurting, and Joe was your only source of comfort.

You grab his face with both hands, pulling him down to better meet you, your lips pressed together so hard, not a breath could escape. Joe’s large frame towered over yours as you both fought for dominance in the kiss, Joe’s tongue jutting in between your lips. You felt a warmth pool in your stomach as Joe’s hands roamed your body carelessly, eventually moving to cup your ass, gently lifting you and forcing you to stand on your toes to keep up. You were glad the heat from inside the house had fogged up the windows, preventing anyone from seeing the two of you.

“Joe, stop.” You mumbled against his mouth, trying to push him away at the chest, making him eventually break away even though it was the last thing he wanted to do. You saw the puffs of white in the air leaving his mouth as his chest heaved with each breath, his cheeks a rosy pink, lips swollen and red.

“What?” It was more like a plea than a question, his warm hand cupping your cheek as he looked at you. “What’s wrong?” You pressed your forehead against his, his arms still wrapped around you; he didn’t dare to let you go. You played with the necklace around your neck, twisting the diamond stone between your fingers. You were still wearing the necklace that your boyfriend had given you, even though the two of you were broken up. As much as you wish you were, you still weren’t over your relationship, and it wasn’t fair to either of you to lead Joe on.

“We really shouldn’t be doing this. You’re my brother’s best friend.” You closed your eyes, each breath you took in reminding you of just how good Joe smelled. Your head was spinning, and not because of the drinks you’d had all evening.

“I’ve always cared about you. I know we’ve never been here before”, you knew he meant the kiss, “but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want it to happen.” Joe was pouring his heart out to you, and you were still hung up on the guy who cheated. You wanted him, more than anything, but it felt like you were trading one heartbreak for another, whether it came now, or further down the road. There was no way this ended well.

Seeing your wheels turning, Joe leaned in again to lock lips, and you let him kiss you, but he could feel you hesitate. You stepped back, and the look on his face was enough to make your stomach turn. “I’m sorry, Joe. I really am.” You pulled the screen door open with what little strength you had left and left him out on the balcony.

You knew it was inevitable, fate would force you to come face to face with Joe eventually, but you were really wishing it wasn’t going to be today of all days. You knew he’d be here, of course, but you were hoping you’d could sneak in after rehearsals had already started and be out before anyone saw you. You were sure he could hear your heart beating with how quiet it was in the vestibule.

“Joe, I really want to apo-“, you gripped the strap of your handbag, the leather twisting against the skin in your palm. He couldn’t make eye contact with you, or didn’t want to, as he pushed away from the door he was leaning against. “Let’s just get through today”, he edged out, letting out a sharp breath as he began to walk away from you.

“There you are!” Your mother came rushing toward the two of you, the click of her heels echoing through the hall. “Joe, you look so handsome. I was just telling your mother how proud we are of you.” She gently patted his forearm, and Joe gave her a small smile.

“And you, it’s a good thing you’re here, actually.” She immediately began to straighten out your dress and licked her thumb to wipe away mascara that settled in the creases of your under eye. “Thanks, mom, and here I thought I was going to be an inconvenience.” She rolled her eyes, as she always did at one of your quips. “Stop being dramatic, hun. One of the bridesmaids is sick with food poisoning, so we need you to step in for her. Today and during the wedding. Her dress should fit you, might be a little tight.” She sized you up, undoubtedly noticing the couple of pounds you’d put on while studying non-stop for the LSAT. “You’ll walk with Joe actually.”

You could hear the groan rumbling in Joe’s chest from where you stood. “Mom, I don’t think that’s a good idea”, you muttered under your breath, but she immediately waived you off. “God forbid you actually do something to support this family. Is it really too much to ask for you to get your head out of the books for a minute and be a part of the biggest day of your brother’s life?” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose as you felt an oncoming headache. “Of course, mom. I’d be happy to be a bridesmaid.”

“Perfect! Tiffany will be thrilled.” She clapped her hands together, leaving the two of you in her dust as she hustled back to the wedding party.

“Joe, I really think that we should talk.” You were waving your white flag at him, hoping he would let his guard down long enough so you could properly apologize.

“We have nothing to talk about”, he bit back at you, and you staggered, not expecting his harsh tone. “I think it’d be better for the both of us if we keep the talking to a minimum.” He ran his hands through his hair, and for the first time you saw how truly hurt he was by what happened that night, three years ago. He left you standing in the entrance before you could get out another word.

The universe really had a cruel sense of humor.

Tag-List:

@wonderlandiswhereitsatyo

@bernelflo

@wickedfun9

@brrbrina

@zobellagio

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fanfic #joey b #joey burrow #joe burrow fanfiction #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow fic #nfl imagine #nfl fanfic #nfl fanfiction

448 notes · View notes

rentumblsstuff · 3 months

Text

Random Hatchetfield Headcanons

The first time Alice Woodward ever smoked weed was when (after much inner turmoil) she asked Deb to shotgun it with her.

Max has two snaggletoothed incisors which is why people swear to god he has fangs.

Deb also has a snaggletooth which is what inspired the vampire part of Alice’s vampiric sapphic play. Alice also thinks it’s ironic she made a vampire character when Deb is a vegan.

Ruth as a Sophmore hit on Senior Alice a lot. Alice thought it was funny and she and Deb “adopted” her. Max and Steph also put the PANIC in bi panic for Ruth.

Max would find it weirdly hot that Grace wears bathing suits under her clothes because of the idea that he gets to see what her body looks like before even she does.

The hospital is downtown, so Becky Barnes definitely got infected in TGWDLM. Despite never wanting to do it again, Becky climbs the tree as someone calls the HFPD to save Kathy’s cat because she’s still infinitely compassionate even under Pokey’s control. Plus, Pokey knows she wants to get over the trauma associated with climbing trees, so he makes her do it to give her a big number about finally overcoming her past. She accidentally flings the cat as soon as the song starts, which is why in Show Me Your Hands, the cat dies so quickly even though it JUST got called in.

Peter infected Steph who infected Deb who infected Alice in TGWDLM. Pete and Steph would have been Sophomores and Deb and Alice were Seniors, but I always imagine Steph and Deb knowing eachother because MRFC said Steph is in the Smoke Club on Twitter at some point. Assuming Steph’s been a little punk for a while, she’s been in the smoke club since at least Sophomore year, and probably a new inductee the same year as TGWDLM (2018).

Alice and one of her parents (maybe Bill) were also raised in purity culture because we know the Woodwards and the Chastitys go to the same church. The Woodwards probably take it with a grain of salt though (Alice has expressed dislike over Grace’s prudishness)- either that or one of her parents (probably her mom) wasn’t originally from said church and also raised Alice with “this is what you’re learning here, but here’s also what I learned at my church at your age.” Bill was likely the one raised in purity culture because he does NOT LIKE DEB and thinks that if she HAS TO date a girl, she should date someone like Grace Chastity, implying she’s an exemplary teen girl. Ms. Woodward lets Deb sleep over and probably knows she smokes and likes her anyways; three points for Alice’s mom not being the puritanical one.

Ted reads romance novels. He’s a former geek turned sleazeball- you know he reads the smuttiest novels ever and calls them “his research”. He refuses to read any book with the friends to lovers trope because it’s too upsetting to think about. (Side note Time Bastard gave us a definite date that timelines don’t branch/reset before depending on whichever theory you believe because the homeless man is in every timeline, meaning that Jenny’s death is fixed in time and never changes: October 7th 2004, so the timelines change anywhere between October 8th 2004 and 2018.)

In whatever timeline Emma finally gets to have her weed farm, she meets Paul when he tells her he was prescribed that marajamij for his anxiety and he was too scared to try Xanax. She thinks he’s kind of cute for a wet cat of a corporate slave. “Fuck the patriarchy? Yes please.” (Side note Paul seems so uptight and unfuckable like bro gotta be blank down there like a Ken doll and has no discernible kinks from what I remember while Emma is laid back and chill asf and like… normal in comparison so yeah sure Paulkins canonically fucks but does Emma enjoy it?? Like dude even Pete’s more fuckable than him come on.)

Pete and Steph don’t kiss when they admit their feelings for eachother even though one of them would die before ever getting to kiss each other because they both think it’ll only make it that much harder to go through with sacrificing the other. One of the reasons Pete also chooses to be the one to take the bullet because he doesn’t think he even COULD pull the trigger on her. Like it’d be physically impossible for him, in his mind.

TGWDLM was originally meant to be an allegory for the institution brainwashing us. Show Me Your Hands and America’s Great Again: examples of people in power working for and fulfilling the evil wishes of some almighty, otherworldly, inhuman THING (be it aliens, be it those in power). It’s clearly meant to satirize the way that power corrupts and tries to convince you its way is better. Even Hidgens, THE FUCKING TEACHER, tries to teach his student that it will be better for everyone to join in that corruption and give in to the hive mind. This reminds me of how the school system in America tries to paint our history as something glamorous; manifest destiny instead of genocide of the indigenous populations. The people in power convincing those under them that the deaths of countless lives is a good thing and it will pave the way to a better future. Cool motive, still murder. Which is why Emma “Fuck the Patriarchy” Perkins is the last one to be infected. She was incapable of being brainwashed , and even when she was the last one left, she saw that the people watching didn’t care, and the all-consuming threat of corrupted power closes in on her until the very last moment.

The Lords in Black were going to try to convince whoever sacrificed their most treasured something to do more work for them, but Grace required very little convincing. Like Wiggly spoke into her mind like “Gracy-Wace! You forgot my booky-wook! Look in it, see any thing you like? Wanna kill all the pervy-wervys?” And she’s like “holy cow I can kill all the pervy-wervys with this book?” Pete would have needed the most convincing because he’s just lost the only girl who will ever love him (in his mind) and so he’d think these things took away his one chance at true love and NEVER want to deal with them again. Even if they offered him a way to get her back, he’s too smart to know that won’t come without an even bigger price AND too paranoid to think she won’t come back wrong like Max did.

If the Green-Foster family ever did get to move to California and Lex got to be an actress, her interview attitude would be a lot like Reneé Rapp and if she ever got asked about why she’ll openly shit talk people in an interview, she’s like “I used to work retail I learned pretty fast that nothing gets done if you keep your mouth shut.”

171 notes · View notes

zepskies · 1 year

Text

Break Me Down - Part 2

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: Surprise Sunday update! I was able to put the finishing touches on Part 2 a bit early. 😉

Song used in this chapter is “If I Didn’t Care” by The Ink Spots (but more like Amy Adams' version). Song inspiration for this chapter (and the song title) is “All My Livin Time” by Radio Company (Jensen’s band with Steve Carlson).

Word Count: 4,500 Warnings: 18+ only! Willful seduction, kidnapping, SB being himself lol.

Part 2: You Move Me, Baby

This next mission was going to be a bit more…hands on.

It was a gentlemen’s club, styled like a 1920s speakeasy, of all things. If nothing else, Soldier Boy was predictable.

Through a crack in the dressing room door, you didn’t see any gentlemen here. You saw a bunch of skeevy bastards.

For the record, you didn’t like this plan. But as Butcher once again pointed out, Soldier Boy’s less likely to fuckin’ recognize you than any of us.

And you certainly couldn’t (wouldn’t) imagine Butcher in rhinestone nipple tassels.

Right now, you were waiting to be assigned an outfit. Hopefully, you could just blend into the background of whatever performance act the stage manager wanted to slip you into. And you really hoped you wouldn’t have to striptease on stage.

In the meantime, you sat on a stool in a black lace bra, matching panties, and sheer pantyhose, while Annie was helping you with your stage makeup. Years as a pageant child had taught her well. You felt like Sandra Bullock in Miss Congeniality, fending off getting hairspray up her ass.

Sure, you had gone undercover several times, but this was slightly out of your wheelhouse. You bit your lip, forgetting that you were already wearing several coats of scarlet red lipstick.

Annie slapped your hand. “Stop it. You’re smudging my paint job.”

You had Butcher and M.M. to thank for arranging this little detail.

May they both rot in hell, you silently simmered.

“Oh, stop pouting. You look great,” Annie said. You caught the little smirk she was trying to taper down.

Then the manager’s head popped into the dressing room. When he verified that all the young women had at least their underwear on, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

“All right, listen up,” he said in Spanish. You understood just enough to follow what he was saying. “Angelica got food poisoning.”

You grimaced. Angelica was the main act. She had a whole burlesque-style routine with the rest of the women—for which you were meant to step in for one of the girls in the ensemble. Hopefully in the back.

“Daniela, you’re filling in,” said the manager, pointing to a busty brunette.

“What about the second act?” asked another girl. If you remembered right, her name was Raquel. “Dani can’t sing like Angelica to save her fucking life.”

“Excuse me, bitch. I sing better than you,” Daniela snapped back.

The manager rolled his eyes and clapped his hands harshly to end the bickering.

“Okay. Which one of you bitches can actually sing?” he asked, first in Spanish, then in English, you noticed as he glanced at you.

Annie looked at you with raised brows. You glared back at her.

Damn you for telling her about your childhood church choir days. You were sure your religious mother never thought you’d be using those talents like this.

“No,” you said firmly. Annie just smiled and waved the manager over.

That was how the two of them ended up all but pushing you on stage—after Annie had wrangled you into a shimmering red gown over your underwear and pantyhose. It was overlayed with delicate beading in intricate patterns. And it was easily the most beautiful thing you’d ever had on your body.

However, you did take issue with how long the slit was, running all the way up to your hip bone.

Not really ‘20s style, now is it? you thought sourly.

Annie just slapped your ass and guided you forward.

You shot back one last look at her—one that swore you’d have your revenge.

Then the curtain slid open.

Fuck me, you thought nervously. This was really happening!

The lights blinded you for a moment, and you blinked the glare out of your eyes. They soon adjusted as you forced yourself to move towards the microphone at the right-hand side of the stage, close to the live band. The pianist shot you a smile and a wink as he started to play in dulcet tones.

Steeling yourself, you grabbed the microphone with a slight tremor in your hands. You stared out into the crowd as the rest of the band joined in, slow and jazzy.

You’d informed the manager that you really only knew one song by heart.

“Eh, that is too slow,” he’d replied to you in English.

“It’s that, or Dani belts out in her best soprano,” you informed him. He sighed and waved a resigned hand.

“Get her the red one,” he told Raquel. She then handed you the dress on a hanger.

Now, you held the microphone between both hands and started the song your grandmother used to sing to you when you were a kid.

“If I didn’t care, more than words can say,” you began. “If I didn’t care, would I feel this way?”

You took in an unsteady breath. With each note, your voice was getting stronger, more confident.

“If this isn’t love, then why do I thrill? And what makes my head go round and round, while my heart…stands…still…”

As you eased into the rest of the song, you remembered your mission.

You scanned the dark room, rows of men of all ages, women serving drinks and food and their own bodies. You weren’t finding your target.

But this intel was good. The source was the girl you’d replaced in the show, and M.M. had already worked out her safe exit out of the city for a while.

There. You finally saw it.

Or rather, you saw him.

Towards the back, Soldier Boy sat at a large exclusive booth. He had a long joint propped between his fingers, and a working woman from the club already propositioning to service him. Her manicured hand eased down his chest.

He also seemed to have hired men sitting at a table nearby.

Your voice nearly hitched at the sight of him, but you forced yourself to take a calming breath during a musical interlude.

You knew Annie and the rest of the team were here in the club somewhere, to back you up. But Soldier Boy knew Butcher and his team were onto him. the bastard would recognize them. You were the distraction here.

And if he went away with that escort, he could easily disappear upstairs and hop out the window again, gone like a coil of weed smoke.

Somehow, you needed to keep his ass in his seat.

So your voice came back in strong for the final verse.

“If I didn’t care, would it be the same? Would my every prayer begin and end…with just your name?”

You watched Soldier Boy’s gaze drift toward the stage. Your lips curved as you held his eyes for a moment…but then, you coyly slid your gaze away.

Okay, what’s going to grab his attention…

You shifted on the stage, letting the curve of your hip and ass sway to one side. You raised your other foot on the tips of your toes. And the slit running up your leg slid open, revealing your tall silver heels and a smooth leg, all the way up to the inside of your thigh.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t been able to fit your gun holster this time.

“And would I be sure that this is love beyond compare…” Your voice rang out on the high note; at that climactic point, the music reached a crescendo.

You turned your head and looked directly into Soldier Boy’s eyes, and his mouth slid into a grin.

He was watching you.

Good.

“Would all this be true,” you sang, “if I didn’t care for you…”

As the final notes reverberated from the piano, applause and male whoops erupted from the crowd.

You slowly released the microphone, breaking off eye contact with your target.

Then you turned around, trying to hide the nervous tremor in your legs. You pressed a discreet hand to the communicator in your ear after the curtain fell behind you, and you told the team.

“He’s here.”

Annie was no longer backstage.

“Good job, crooner,” M.M. said on the comm.

“Watch him ‘til he’s ready to leave,” Butcher said to everyone.

You agreed and dodged the manager so you could slip to the back room within the dressing room.

You were about to change into your real clothes (and grab your gun), when you were stopped by a Latino man. Though he clearly wasn’t a local or a tourist. He looked ex-military, complete with a crew cut and dark beard.

“Soldier Boy would like to meet you,” he said in lightly accented English. You affected some doe-eyed shock, even though some of your surprise was genuine.

You’d just wanted to keep him watching the show. You hadn’t expected him to take the bait this much.

“Oh, wow…where? Now?” you asked.

“Now,” he confirmed. “Upstairs.”

He couldn’t even pick me up himself? Lazy, you wanted to tsk.

You spied the stage manager over by the doorway. He gave you a stern nod that told you that you had no choice but to accept.

Not that you ever intended to decline. Though of fucking course the manager had known Soldier Boy was here. He was probably a damn regular.

You gave Soldier Boy’s man a charming smile. “Lead the way.”

This wasn’t the plan, exactly. You decided it was even better though. Just infinitely more dangerous.

Even though you had years of training, honing your body and your mind in a fight, you weren’t a supe. You were, in fact, exceedingly breakable.

“Are you crazy, cherie?” Frenchie said on the comm.

You also thought you heard M.M. mutter an, “Aw shit.”

“She don’t got a choice now,” Butcher said. “But it’s a good play to get him alone. Slip her one of them hockey pucks.”

You heard M.M., Annie, Butcher, and Frenchie’s continued twittering back and forth about the change of plan. Meanwhile, you were being escorted upstairs.

Kimiko managed to maneuver into your path from the opposite direction, and she slipped a small disk into your hand as she passed you.

You gave her a grateful wink and discreetly placed the device into your bra while your escort wasn’t looking.

It wasn’t a dose of Novichok, but it was something that might keep Soldier Boy occupied for a moment. You intended to use it if he got too fucking handsy.

You were let into a room on the third floor. With the lavish way it was furnished, complete with a king-sized bed, it almost looked like a hotel room.

Yeah, Hotel California, you thought wryly, as the door shut behind you.

Soldier Boy sat at a table by the far wall, gazing out the window with yet another joint (or perhaps the same one?) and a generous pour of whiskey in his hand.

Even you could admit, he cut an attractive figure. He was dressed in light brown slacks, a matching suit jacket and a white dress shirt with the top buttons left open. A simple ensemble, but well-tailored and suited to the golden tan he’d developed here in South America. His beard was neatly trimmed, his short hair styled back in its familiar sweep on both sides.

Even seated, his posture was casual, yet controlled as his head turned to meet your gaze. A smile started to curve his lips.

Show time, you told yourself.

“You’re new,” he said. You tilted your head, a bit of flirtation in your smile.

“What makes you say that?” you asked.

He gave you an oh please look. With the hand that held his whiskey, he gestured with a curling finger.

“Come ‘ere. Don’t be shy,” he said. It was an order rather than a request, but you hid your instinctive annoyance.

You subtly took in a steadying breath. And you moved farther into the room. You didn’t stop until you were sitting opposite him at the window, crossing your legs beneath the table.

You could tell he’d expected you to take a seat in his lap, but to a degree, you didn’t want to do what he expected. He was likely paying the club well for this time. You didn’t want to make it easy.

You wanted him to be enticed. Invested in this moment.

And distracted, for as long as he let you.

You watched him glance down with interest at your bare leg peeking out. At your strappy silver heel shining along with your dress in the soft lamplight, which casted shadows across his profile.

“Want a drink?” he asked.

You were surprised he was offering you anything. You’d half-expected him to order you onto your knees already. Upon which, he would’ve received the gift currently residing in your bra a bit early.

You didn't want to take any drink you hadn't poured yourself, but you also needed to keep this act going...

"I'm not gonna fucking drug you," he said, reading the look in your eyes. "What would be the fucking point of that?"

Hmph. smart-ass motherfucker, you thought. But you didn't detect a lie.

You quirked your head and took the proffered sip from his glass. You wanted to play it cool, but maybe you also needed a little liquid courage.

“All right, easy on the booze. Get his guard down,” Butcher said in your ear. You resisted the urge to frown.

Could Butcher see you somehow too? Or was he just hearing the ice clinking in the glass as you gulped it down.

“Did you enjoy my performance?” you asked Soldier Boy.

“Still am, doll face,” he said with a smirk. You raised a brow.

“I’m not that new,” you replied, biting indelicately on a dark cherry. Your heeled foot slowly slid against the inside of his thigh.

It was his turn to raise brow. His head tilted with his smirk.

You didn’t know if he was more amused than turned on, but his gaze roamed openly over your legs, the cleavage on display, your dark red lips.

“Are you enjoying your stay in Medellin?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

“Oh, yeah. I’m having a fuckin’ ball,” he said wryly. He dabbed some ash off his blunt with a finger.

There was something off there, and you didn’t miss it.

“You sound bored,” you said. Soldier Boy considered you with a lustful, challenging gaze.

“Maybe. You gonna help me with that, sweetheart?”

A flutter of nerves churned in your belly, but you used it, letting the feeling prickle awareness across your skin.

“Depends,” you said coyly.

Both his brows rose this time, as if he was surprised you were actually pretending to resist him.

“On?”

You subtly leaned forward when you gave him back his glass, allowing him to spy a bit more down your dress. You stared into his deep green eyes, and tried not to get lost yourself. He was an attractive man, but he was also your target. A job you intended to finish.

A smile played at your lips.

“On what excites you,” you replied.

By the way his eyes darkened, his smile curving, you thought he liked that answer.

Then his hand extended toward you, a silent command in his gaze. Steeling yourself, you tried your best to be graceful and sensuous when you took his hand. He playfully jerked you forward, making you fall into his lap.

You waved some dank weed smoke out of your face as you looked down at his amused one.

He was nearly down to the roach on his joint. Meanwhile, his free heavy hand slid up your bare leg, disappearing beneath your dress and making goosebumps spread across your skin. Your breath hitched, though you disguised it with a smile.

“You afraid of me, sweetheart?” he cooed.

Yes, if you were honest with yourself.

There was a false sense of security in his deep voice. You looked down into his eyes, very green and intensely focused on you, despite his air of nonchalance.

“Not really,” you replied. “Only that you might get ash on my dress.”

He chuckled, smoke blowing out his nose. He put out the joint in the ashtray and took another sip of his whiskey, likely to drown out the cotton taste in his mouth. You laid a hand on his chest, fingers spreading between the open buttons, and felt his warm skin.

He glanced up at you with another challenging tilt to his head. What are you gonna do now?

You met that challenge, boldly leaning down to press a kiss against his lips. You held his face, delving your fingers into his soft hair.

Soldier Boy grabbed your hips with a bruising force. It made you wince, instinctively biting into his lower lip. He uttered a pleased sound, guttural in this throat. You braced yourself against the wall behind him for leverage as his chair started to tip back.

Before either of you could fall, he lifted you effortlessly by the waist and pivoted, pinning you against that wall. Your legs wrapped around his waist as his tongue invaded your mouth, devouring you with hot and heavy hands holding you in place.

His fingers pressed into the flesh of your thighs, and you knew you couldn’t easily escape if you needed to.

This is getting out of hand…

He was busy kissing a wet and sloppy line down your neck, his beard scraping against your skin. It actually felt so fucking good to be touched. You hadn’t experienced it in so long, it almost startled you when your heated core pulsed with the friction you were feeling against the hardness in his slacks.

You would never admit it, but it wasn’t an act when you moaned into his ear. Fuck…

But when his hand again slipped under your dress and crept up your inner thigh, alarm bells triggered in your mind as panic started to set in. You panted for breath.

With him seemingly distracted, you reached down into your bra and grabbed the metal disk.

You gasped as Soldier Boy grabbed your wrist, tight as a vice. He looked down at you with a sly grin.

“You were fuckable in black, but red’s my favorite so far,” he said.

Your eyes widened. When the hell did he see me in black?

And then you remembered. You’d worn a black dress at the last club, where you got groped on the dance floor and found Soldier Boy’s latest note…

Had he hung around after all, watching you and the team pick up his clues?

And you realized, he knew exactly who you were.

Soldier Boy glanced down at your lips, then at the tops of your breasts heaving as you caught your breath. His eyes shone with mischief and lust.

“It’s a real shame. You’re probably a good fuck too,” he remarked. It sparked your irate disgust like a wildfire.

Then you smirked. “You can fuck this.”

You activated the disk in your hand and flicked it at him. He instinctively grabbed at his face, releasing you. The device attached to his cheek and electrified enough volts through his body to drop an elephant.

Maybe five. The CIA weapons specialist hadn’t been too sure.

And a star bolt shot Soldier Boy in the chest, shoving him away before he could grab at you.

You jumped back and continued to put several feet of distance between you and Soldier Boy, while Annie and the rest of your team poured into the room. They were poised for a fight, once Soldier Boy ripped the device off his face with a grunt. It probably hadn’t hurt him much, but he looked pissed now.

He rolled the kinks out of his neck and surveyed the room with a slow gait. He spared you a fleeting glance. You were now at the safety of Kimiko’s side, and Frenchie handed you a gun.

“Ah, the Scooby Gang,” Soldier Boy remarked. He nodded at Butcher. “This is how you repay me for taking care of Homelander? My own son.”

“He weren’t your fucking son,” Butcher replied. “I’d reckon you know that best of all.”

Soldier Boy’s lips twitched. Whether at a smile or a frown, you couldn’t tell.

“You found me, remember? So what, you got buyer’s remorse?” he said.

“See, the problem is, supes like you are what we call,” said Butcher, “a menace to fucking society.”

Soldier Boy’s lips pulled down into a frown. He looked a cross between annoyed and impatient.

“I fought for my country. I saved lives—”

“You took just as many as you might’ve saved,” M.M. interrupted. “And not just that building you burnt the fuck up last year.”

Soldier Boy hesitated at that. “You really wanna do this?”

You all really want to die? his eyes said. He got determined silence from all of you. He rolled his shoulders and adjusted his blazer.

“All right,” he shrugged.

Then all hell broke loose. You ducked for cover as Soldier Boy deflected the giant flare gun M.M. shot at him. With his bare hand.

Hired security then poured into the room—you assumed hired by Soldier Boy. And you protected Hughie from getting his neck snapped by shooting a man between the eyes.

You and M.M. continued to fight them off. Meanwhile, Kimiko and Annie tried to give Butcher and Frenchie a chance to get close with the Novichok gas on Soldier Boy.

You took care of three more men before you heard a low buzzing sound. You turned around, and a gasp fell from your lips when you saw Soldier Boy’s chest lighting up.

You knew what came next.

And so did Annie. She poured her all into her next star bolt—which managed to shove Soldier Boy through the window. She and Kimiko flew or otherwise ran out the window to follow him. While Butcher, Frenchie, and M.M. helped you fight off the last of the hired guns.

Finally, you covered Hughie as the five of you left the normal, human way, and ran down the stairs to exit the club. By the time you were able to join Annie and Kimiko, however, Soldier Boy had disappeared.

You glared down the dark, busy streets of Medellin.

Damn it!

You returned to the hotel disappointed and angry beyond fucking belief. Mostly at yourself.

After all the work you did, having to seduce and make out with that bastard, only to discover he’d made you long before you took the stage at the club.

Fucking hell, you thought angrily as you kicked at your suitcase. It sent your clothes tumbling across the dirty carpet, but right now you didn’t give a fuck. Damn cocky bastard.

In the bathroom, you kicked off your heels in relief. You looked yourself over in the mirror and found various cuts and bruises from the fight. Your softly curled hair was a shambles, along with your makeup.

Parts of your dress were torn, along with your pantyhose. Which was probably Soldier Boy’s doing, if you thought about it. You sighed.

You were about to start undressing, but then you heard something. A small sound, like a thump.

Your gun was on the table in the main room. Frowning in suspicion, you left the bathroom cautiously. Before your hand could close around your gun, a gloved hand grabbed your wrist.

You aimed a punch with your free one and caught a man directly in the jaw. He reeled back, but was quick to recover and try to grab you again.

While the guy was strong, you could feel that he wasn’t a supe. A human, you could deal with. He wore a mask over his face, but you could see he had shoulder-length brown hair. He was tall and lean, and one of his boots was strangely larger than the other.

You didn’t have time to focus on it. You redirected his following blow and used his strength against him, flipping him over your shoulder. Unfortunately, he landed on the table that held your poor laptop.

“Aw, shit,” you snapped with a grimace. You searched for your gun in the wreckage.

While you were somewhat distracted, he aimed a kick that caught you in the face, sending you onto your back with a pained cry. You quickly rolled over and got to your feet, just as your attacker threw out fist after fist.

You dodged and shoved away most of them, until he grabbed your arm and managed to crack his elbow into your temple.

You went down and hit your head hard against the bedframe.

And it was lights out.

You slowly, painfully woke up in a moving car.

You were suffering the cottony taste of a gag in your mouth and a musty bag over your head. Your wrists were tied in front of you, and it felt like you were shoved into the backseat. The car was quiet, save for the radio playing Latin pop on low volume.

You never would’ve thought Shakira would be the background track of your kidnapping, but here you were.

The car eventually stopped and you were dragged out, forced onto your feet on a cobblestone driveway. Then into a house.

…Well, this fucking sucks.

The thought rattled through your mind as you were led down a hallway, across a cold expanse of tile floor. You couldn’t see where you were going with this stuffy bag over your head, but you knew it was tile. Your bare feet all but scraped across it as they dragged you.

Whoever held your arms in a vice grip eventually forced you to sit in a rickety wooden chair. They pulled your wrists behind the chair and bound them together with a zip tie.

You felt the slit on your dress sliding open, so you crossed your legs, for whatever good that would do you. At the very least, it would give the impression that you were sitting here casually, and not (figuratively) shitting yourself with fear.

“What the hell is this?” a deep, familiar voice asked.

“A gift.” You knew this voice as well. Neither one instilled you with calm.

Then the bag finally came off your head. The gag did not, however. You knew your red dress was in unfortunate tatters. You knew you were bruised and scratched, and overall worse for wear.

But when your gaze found your kidnapper, you glared up at him with a stubborn tilt to your chin. Antonio, Señor Groping Bastard from the club, was smirking back at you.

What the fuck.

Then you noticed him.

Soldier Boy stared back at you with raised brows, and instant recognition in his eyes. His lips curved into a smirk.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

AN: 😬 So we finally made it to the prologue opener! Was it everything you thought it would be? How did you like her attempt at "undercover?" 🤭

And are you ready for what's coming next?

To keep reading: Part 3

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @pallographsunspot @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @syrma-sensei @muhahaha303 @123passwort @xoxovienna @magnificentnightmarehadi @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @yvonneeeee @fckinel @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @waters-2567 @emily-winchester

533 notes · View notes

yoongiseesawmp3 · 2 years

Text

made for this - wooyoung (m)

part of the church boy series.

summary: you’re volunteering for this year’s vacation bible school, and wooyoung’s little brother just so happens to be in your group. is it wrong of him to use kyungmin as his wing man? eh, who cares. wooyoung is just determined to get you to fall for him before the week is over, and he’ll do whatever it takes.

word count: 10.5k

warnings: light smut!!! afab reader. wooyoung is whipped.

“kyungmin, come here!” you shout, shortly followed by a sigh. he’s not a problem child, per se, but whenever he sees his older brother he goes running.

wooyoung, said older brother, is a vbs volunteer, like yourself. except he’s with the older kids, and you’re stuck with the younger group. you’re still dealing with some criers, some biters, and some brats, while wooyoung’s biggest issue is keeping his one fourth grader off her phone.

his brother, kyungmin, is one of your youngins. he’s sweet, and funny, and smart. all things he shares with his brother, but you’d pick kyungmin over wooyoung any day. wooyoung makes your blood boil only slightly, so you sigh again as you head his way so you can peel kyungmin off his leg.

“come on, bud, we gotta go outside for games,” you say politely, patting kyungmin on his back. you don’t make eye contact with wooyoung, trying to keep this interaction short.

“listen to your leader, kid,” wooyoung encourages, shaking his leg and jostling his brother. “y/n.”

“wooyoung,” you smile curtly. “kyungmin, seriously. i’m not even gonna count i’m just gonna leave you here.”

“no please, take him,” wooyoung begs, and you have to laugh. kyungmin looks up at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes and you tickle him under his chin. his giggle makes you and wooyoung smile, which warms wooyoung’s heart. you have a soft spot for the little one, even if you didn’t want to admit it. it made him happy seeing someone else dote on his brother the same way he does.

“ok,” you sigh. “guess i’ll have to eat your snack if you don’t come with me.”

“no!” kyungmin yelps, detaching himself from wooyoung’s leg finally. “i’ll come with you.”

“great choice,” you smile. “say goodbye to your brother.”

“bye,” kyungmin waves sadly, and you take his free hand and give it a squeeze.

“bye smelly,” wooyoung replies, and kyungmin shouts “hey!” to which wooyoung says, “i wasn’t talking to you, that was for y/n.”

“yeah, y/n stinks!” kyungmin laughs, and you groan. you shoot a glare at wooyoung and he waves sweetly.

“thanks,” you tell him. “that’s gonna be fun to deal with all day.”

“have fun!” wooyoung sing songs, finally following his class to their next station as you usher yours outside.

you really don’t like wooyoung, you think to yourself.

too bad though, because wooyoung really likes you.

your relationship with wooyoung is complicated. well, let’s not call it a relationship, because if he knew you even used that word in relation to him it would make him levitate. no, your, uh, friendship? with wooyoung is kinda weird. you grew up together at the church, but went to different schools and therefore had different friends and different lives. but you saw each other a few times every week for the past 20 or so years, and that constitutes some kind of situation based friendship at least. when you were kids, he’d swap snacks with you when he got animal crackers and you got pretzels. he’d save a seat for you at choir practice, and you’d make sure to find him during worship on youth nights. a couple times you even did joint costumes for the pg halloween parties the youth ministry held, so yeah, you were friends with wooyoung. but had you ever seen him outside of church? no, absolutely not.

that hasn’t stopped wooyoung from utterly falling in love with you, though. he was in denial for a few years, initially thinking his prepubescent feelings for you were just side effects of his changing body. but as he went through high school and now into college and adulthood, he’s realized there’s always been a part of him that hoped you’d be into him too. so far you’ve given him no reason to think you are, especially as of late. when you were younger your friendship was lazy, sure, mostly by proximity than anything else, but now you barely talk to him. it took an act of god for you to end up as kyungmin’s group leader for vbs (not really, wooyoung just learned you could request a certain leader and the kid would pretty much end up there). but it still made his heart leap when he got the email about volunteer assignments and he saw your name paired with his brother’s.

so why does wooyoung get the vibe that you don’t like him anymore? well, earlier this year he broke your best friend’s heart. she went off to another university while you stayed close to home, and she kept telling you about “the most amazing guy” who “might just be the one” and come to find out, it was wooyoung all along. he wasn’t aware that your friend even liked him, he thought they were just really good friends, and wooyoung just happens to be super touchy with the people he’s comfortable around. so what your friend construed as wooyoung being into her was just wooyoung being wooyoung. that went on for about a semester before wooyoung finally broke it to your friend that he had feelings for someone else, and it took you a while to help your friend repair that damage. that’s left a bad taste in your mouth toward wooyoung since, plus he just seems to be more annoying lately, too. you were thrilled to have kyungmin in your group for the week, but it irked you that you’d be around wooyoung so much against your will. everyone outgrows their childhood friends at some point, right? maybe this was your chance to leave mr. elmo laugh behind.

even though this is just the second day of vbs, you’re exhausted when your final kid is picked up at dismissal. well, technically your final kid. kyungmin is still in your care, and he’s excitedly kicking his feet trying to stay still while he waits for his brother to finish up with his group and take him home. your other volunteer already left, so you take a seat next to kyungmin and ask him about the day and what he liked most. he said he liked snack the best, because you traded with him so he could get pretzels and you’d get his animal crackers, just like you used to do with wooyoung. he hears this as he’s walking up, and his heart warms at the sight of you and his lil bro sharing stories and giggling over the day. wooyoung would stop and admire the scene in front of him longer, but you turn just slightly to settle in the chair and see wooyoung from the corner of your eye.

“oh, hey kyungmin, your ride’s here,” you say, nudging your little buddy, and instantly he’s out of his chair and in wooyoung’s arms.

“hi,” kyungmin smiles and wooyoung just laughs.

“where’s your stuff, kid? don’t leave anything behind,” wooyoung warns, and his brother hops down and gathers his goods from the day. wooyoung catches your eye and asks, “how was he?”

“i wanna say he was perfect, but that would just give him a big head,” you joke.

“yeah, and it’s massive already,” wooyoung joins in.

“just like his big bro,” you counter, and wooyoung feigns insult as kyungmin reappears at his side.

“ready!” he shouts, then looks up at his brother. “can we get mcdonald’s on the way home?”

“no, we have food at the house.”

“you sound just like mom,” kyungmin whines, and then he turns to you. “i bet y/n would let me go to mcdonald’s. y/n is more fun than you.”

“that’s true, i am more fun,” you agree, “and i would totally take him to mcdonald’s. you know they have adult happy meals right now?”

“then let’s go,” wooyoung says, catching you off guard.

“what?”

“let’s go to mcdonald’s,” wooyoung says again with a shrug. “my treat. consider it my thanks for holding min’s sticky hands all week.”

you try to protest but kyungmin is so excited you don’t think you can turn the offer down. you quickly grab your things (and one more thing kyungmin almost forgot) and follow wooyoung to his car. he’s got kyungmin on his back, so when you see wooyoung’s beat up hand-me-down car, you walk ahead so you can open the door and help get the little one into his car seat. wooyoung’s heart warms again, and you share a sweet smile as he slides kyungmin into the seat and you get him buckled.

“thanks for coming with us,” wooyoung says as he opens the passenger door for you.

“you said you were paying, so how could i turn it down?” you tease.

“oh, so you only want to spend time with me because i’m buying your lunch? low blow, y/n,” he whistles. “i thought our 20 plus years of friendship meant more to you than this.”

“but how much of that time were we actually friends?” you ask once wooyoung has made it to the driver’s side of the car. “we only ever hung out at church.”

“and you didn’t cherish every moment?” wooyoung asks, shocked.

“you guys are talking too much,” kyungmin pipes up from the backseat. “i want music.”

“hum to yourself, kid, the adults are talking,” wooyoung tells him.

“we can put some music on,” you offer.

“do you keep taking his side because he’s your favorite or is this payback for you still being mad at me?” wooyoung whines.

“both, actually. i’m a multitasker,” you tell him. “you want me to take the aux, or?”

“nothing with cuss words,” he sighs, handing you the cord.

“nothing with cuss words,” you mock as you plug your phone in, frantically turning the volume down just in case. you pick your babysitting playlist, which has plenty of kid-friendly songs from your favorite artists, and wooyoung chuckles when the first song plays.

“you still listen to them?” he asks, noticing the paramore song playing softly through the car.

“uh, yeah,” you reply. “they’re my favorite band, why wouldn’t i still listen to them?”

“they haven’t made an album in years!”

“they have one coming out next year-”

“y/n, turn it up!” that was kyungmin.

“not too loud or i can’t see,” wooyoung says.

“that makes no sense,” you respond, blasting the music only for wooyoung to turn it back down.

“no, seriously, there’s a weird turn to get into the parking lot so i need to focus,” wooyoung says as he checks his mirrors. “mom would kill me twice if i got in an accident with you and kyungmin in the car.”

“wooyoung is no fun, right little man?” you ask, craning your neck back to kyungmin. he nods in agreement and you start to say something else, but wooyoung flooring it to make the turn yoinks you back into your seat, and wooyoung can’t help but laugh at the pathetic sound you let out at the seatbelt holding you in place.

“you good?” he asks calmly, parking quickly so he can get out and help his brother before you have time to hit him for inadvertently choking you.

“you’re lucky your brother is here,” you grumble as you get out.

you all get your food, and kyungmin inhales it faster than you can even open the toy from your big kid meal. once he’s done, you both agree that he can play in the playplace if he washes his hands really good after, and then you’re alone with wooyoung. you pick at your fries for a minute, not realizing how awkward it would be without kyungmin as a buffer. you’re trying to still be mad at wooyoung, just a little bit, but he’s making it really hard. being away from him because of school made you forget how warm he made you feel, and how easy it is to be around him. he makes you want to be his friend, but you have to remind yourself that your actual best friend had her heart broken by the man sitting across from you. the man who’s currently putting fries into his mouth to make him look like a walrus. he gets your attention, hoping to make you laugh, and when you just stare back at him he sighs.

“tough crowd,” he mumbles, eating the fries quickly like that will make you forget that he just made a fool of himself. “so you are still mad at me.”

“just a little.”

“i’ll tell you the same thing i told her: i didn’t know she liked me. if i had, i wouldn’t have acted like that. i didn’t mean to lead her on, i swear,” he explains.

“yeah, but you still really hurt her,” you say. “i guess that’s what i’m still mad at. you’re not really recognizing that she got hurt because of what you did even if you didn’t mean to do it.”

“i really messed up, yeah,” he says. “i really liked being her friend, so i just got comfortable and didn’t think about how that would look. i just like being touchy with my friends.”

“yeah, but she told me you would like, hold her hand and walk her to class? kiss her forehead? like i know you’re a touchy but damn. and the whole time you were interested in someone else?”

“yeah, wonder who that could be,” wooyoung mumbles quietly, sipping his sprite as you go on. he notices that you’re using your hands a lot while you speak, and your elbow is dangerously close to the ketchup on your tray. he carefully pulls it to the middle of the table, and you stop midsentence.

“what are you doing?”

“you were about to dunk your arm in ketchup,” he explains, sneakily taking a fry as he speaks. “nothing else.”

“so not fair,” you reply, stealing a fry from his tray. this leads to a childish fight where one of you might have, maybe, thrown french fries across the table (it wasn’t wooyoung) but the mess was interrupted by a woman walking up to your table.

“um, excuse me,” she starts politely. “are you his parents?” she points toward the playplace, where you see kyungmin on the ground with his lip quivering. you don’t wait to hear what’s wrong from the woman before you’re springing up to help kyungmin, and wooyoung just watches on. he listens intently as the woman tells him kyungmin and her son were playing and min just lost his footing and fell, but it must have knocked the wind out of him because wooyoung sees you helping kyungmin breathe. he politely thanks the woman and joins you in the playplace, kneeling down to be at eye level with his brother.

“are you good, man? you fell pretty hard?” wooyoung asks, and kyungmin nods. “do you wanna go home?”

“yeah,” kyungmin nods, voice still shaky.

“ok, let’s go,” wooyoung says, picking min up easily while you grab his shoes. wooyoung takes him to wash his hands as you go back to the table and eat in silence. they come back as you finish your food, and you watch kyungmin not only eye your last chicken nugget but he seems very interested in the toy from your happy meal as well. you slide them both over to him, assuring him that he can have them, and then you start to clear the trays.

“i’ll go pull the car around,” wooyoung says as you help kyungmin throw away his things. you nod and grab kyungmin’s hand, trailing behind wooyoung. while you wait outside, you try to make kyungmin smile but the best you can get is a little giggle here and there.

“you need to eat lunch with us more,” kyungmin says. “you’re my favorite leader, and wooyoung really likes you too. so i think he had fun just like me.”

“you think so kid?” you ask as you ruffle his hair, and wooyoung pulls the car around. he smiles at you from the front seat as you help kyungmin into the car, his little words bouncing around your head. wooyoung really likes you too.

the next day at vbs is a rough one. you’ve got two kids that keep crying throughout the day (one periodically remembers her mom isn’t right next to her and the other keeps getting scared by his own hiccups) so you’re doing just about as well as you’d expect for this many kids of this age. but it’s a tough day for everyone, it seems. this morning wooyoung was made aware that one of his kids was bullying another older kids, and they made plans to go fight in the bathroom. at church! so on top of wooyoung needing to watch that one kid like a hawk, the rest of the group is afraid of this kid, and they also want to know every minute detail and therefore won’t shut the hell up. wooyoung looks frazzled, to say the least, and he doesn’t even pick on you when you pass by each other in the hallway. he gives a simple nod and waves to kyungmin before yoinking his line into the correct classroom. so you and kyungmin devise a plan.

you’re currently taking your kids to snack time, and that means you get to head to the volunteer snack room, which is perhaps what heaven actually looks like. people from the church donate all kinds of delicious food throughout the week, and it’s some of the best food you’ll eat all year. wooyoung’s group had snack first, which is decidedly the worst time to have snack because all that they set out for the volunteers is granola bars and maybe some fruit. you know that he needs a little pick me up, so you tell kyungmin that you’re going to make an extra plate and sneak it to wooyoung (food can’t leave the room because kids have allergies, lame) but you need kyungmin to fake a stomach ache so you have an excuse to go get wooyoung in the middle of a session.

“so you understand the plan?” you confirm with your mini-conspirator as you walk into the snack room.

“yep,” he says with a nod. “i’ll wait a few minutes-”

“how many exactly?”

“i’ll count to 300,” he informs you, and you do the math quickly.

“five minutes?”

“sure,” he shrugs. “i’ll count to that many and then tell one of the snack leaders i have a tummy ache. and then they’ll take me to you, and we can get my big brother.”

“perfect, kid,” you tell him, a smile on your face at how proud he looks. you lean down so you can whisper in his ear, “i’ll try to sneak a brownie just for you.”

“please!” he shouts out of excitement, and you have to shush him quickly. one of the snack room leaders looks at you funny and you assure her it’s nothing as you ruffle kyungmin’s hair before heading to snack paradise.

they’ve got a good spread today: sandwiches, cheese dip, those meatballs people only make for baby showers, and so many desserts. you try to quickly gather your plate without drawing attention, and just as you sit down there’s a knock at the door. everyone looks in that direction, and you see kyungmin hiding behind one of the snack volunteers. he’s putting on the show of his life, lip quivering, hand on his stomach, everything.

“y/n? sorry to bother you, but your friend here says his stomach hurts and he won’t let any of us help him,” she says sweetly.

“oh buddy,” you coo, heading toward the door then squatting in front of kyungmin. “what’s wrong sweet boy?”

“it’s my tummy,” he says in a shaky voice. “it hurts really bad.”

“like bathroom hurts or hurt hurts?” you ask, hoping kyungmin can continue playing along.

“i don’t know,” he says, and you nod before standing back up. you put your free hand on his shoulder and give it a squeeze.

“is it alright if i head out and find his brother? he may need to go home,” you tell one of the snack room volunteers. he immediately eyes the plate of food in your hands, and kyungmin chooses that exact moment to whine. somebody give this kid an oscar!

“just don’t bring the food around the other kids and you should be fine,” he says, and you thank him quickly. you usher kyungmin down the hall, stopping at the cooler to grab a sprite which you pass to kyungmin, and a coke for yourself.

“maybe this will help settle your stomach, bud,” you say as you walk off, and when you’re far enough down the hall you let out a laugh. kyungmin looks up at you proudly, and you smile back. “dude! you did great! where’d you learn to act like that?”

“wooyoung and i pretend like that sometimes so we don’t have to do things with mom and dad,” kyungmin says easily, and you laugh at the idea of wooyoung using his little brother to get him out of unwanted situations. as you near the big kid’s hallway, you find a quiet spot to deposit your little sidekick and place the food on an abandoned nursery chair.

“i’ll go get wooyoung really quick, you stay right here, ok?” you tell kyungmin, and he nods solemnly, playing his part through till the end. you head around the corner and slow down, peeking past doorways to see if you can spot your target. you finally find him, and lightly knock on the open door. wooyoung immediately catches your eye and you motion for him to come with you, and he’s on his feet in seconds.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, worry evident in his voice. “did he get hurt? is he sick? oh i hope he’s not throwing up, i couldn’t handle that right now-”

his rambling is cut short by the sight in front of him, his brother happily swinging his legs and sipping a sprite with brownie crumbs around his mouth. wooyoung looks at him and back to you, mouth unsure what to ask first.

“we thought you could use a break,” you say with a shrug. “plus today was meatball day and i remember those are your favorite.”

“i could kiss you right now,” wooyoung says, and kyungmin’s little “do it!” in the background makes you both laugh. you make a gagging noise and ignore the way wooyoung is looking at you to continue explaining what snacks you brought, mostly so you can tell him explicitly which are his and which are just for you. kyungmin also fills him in on the whole plan, and wooyoung looks on with a smile as his brother gets excited to let him in on the secret.

“yeah how’s that tummy doing now, min?” you ask once he’s done explaining everything. “we might need to head back.”

“no,” he whines. “a few more minutes?”

“just a couple,” you sigh, and wooyoung laughs. “what was that for?”

“he’s got you wrapped around his finger, you know,” he says matter of factly.

“no,” you scoff. “he’s a kid, i have the power here.”

“oh so you’re telling me you didn’t just cave at him whining once? and he didn’t convince you to come do this for me?”

“no he didn’t, actually.”

“what?”

“it was my idea,” you tell him. “you looked miserable last time i saw you so i wanted to do something nice. y’know, since you bought my lunch yesterday.”

“hm, sure, sure,” wooyoung nods. “kyungmin still has you in his pocket. he could ask you to bring him the moon and you’d do it.”

“wouldn’t you?” you say with a laugh.

“depends on who’s asking.”

“ok, we can go back now,” kyungmin says with finality, like he’s the one that makes decisions around here. which apparently he does, because you stand as soon as he says that. wooyoung catches your eye and he quirks an eyebrow, but you shut him up quickly.

“i was about to say the same thing!” you explain. “he and i are just on the same wavelength. we get each other. he’s my partner in crime.”

“crime is bad, y/n,” kyungmin pipes in.

“yeah, crime is bad, y/n,” wooyoung parrots, and you stick your tongue out at him. “but thanks for breaking the rules for me. i really needed this break.”

“anytime friend,” you tell him, grabbing your trash and beckoning kyungmin to follow you.

later that same day, you and wooyoung find yourselves being volun-told to stay longer and help prepare one of the big group activities for tomorrow, and this is another one of those rare moments nowadays where kyungmin isn’t there to wingman himself into the situation or act as a distraction if things get awkward. he’s spending the night with the oldest jung brother, and he seemed so excited about it that you could tell wooyoung was a little jealous. dare you say it was...cute? no, snap out of it. back to work.

you and wooyoung aren’t the only volunteers staying longer today, but you’re probably the only ones under the age of thirty so you’re sticking close together. because of your young, spry state, they’ve given the two of you the job of laying tape down on the gym floor because you can “get up and down faster than us” so currently you’re secluded in the corner with wooyoung as he opens a new roll of neon colored duct tape.

“so did your day get any easier?” you ask while wooyoung focuses on finding the start of the new roll.

“yeah,” he says, tongue between his teeth and concentration clear on his face. “gimme a second though. no distractions.”

“didn’t know i distracted you.”

he wants to say that you do more than distract him, but he literally bites his tongue to stop himself. instead he lets out an “aha!” and pulls the tape out before handing it to you. you bend down and add it to the mess on the floor, hoping you’re doing this the way the children’s minister explained.

“so my day. yeah, it got better,” wooyoung starts again as he watches you work. “i don’t know what happened while i was with you guys, but it’s like everyone’s attitude in my group just...disappeared.”

“weird,” you say, and wooyoung hums in agreement. “maybe they just needed a break from you as much as you needed a break from them.”

“hey, i’m a lotta fun, y/n,” wooyoung says sternly, finger pointed at you accusingly. “those kids love me.”

“not as much as mine love me though,” you say with a fake pout. “did you see my bestie started crying when her mom said they had to go? she didn’t want to leave her favorite leader.”

“since when is this a competition?” wooyoung laughs. “i’m sure your kids like you enough.”

“oh come on, you used to make everything a competition when we were kids,” you remind him. “we couldn’t even walk down the hallway without you asking me if i wanted to race.”

“that’s because i wanted to show off how fast i was.”

“too bad i never caved and saw it then.”

“we could race tomorrow with our kids,” wooyoung offers, and you laugh.

“yeah, and then neither of us would have an easy day. encouraging these kids to race each other indoors would be asking for trouble.”

“i think it’d be fun,” wooyoung says with a mischievous smile. “i say we just have one day where the kids need to figure it out on their own, lord of the rings style.”

“you mean lord of the flies, you dork?”

“whatever. i didn’t read either of them.”

“of course not.”

“hey, you messed that one up,” wooyoung points out, and you sigh. you move from a crouch to sit completely on the floor, and you start picking away at the strip of tape that doesn’t want to come off the floor.

“can you help me?” you whine, and wooyoung is down at your level in a heartbeat. he joins you in picking at the sides, hoping that you can get enough up to get a grip and yank it all in one go. there’s an unusual moment of silence as you work, but wooyoung has to break it.

“so,” he begins. “i think you being nice to me today proves that you don’t hate me anymore.”

“it may seem that way, yes,” you agree with a nod. “but i’m not all the way there yet.”

“and what’s stopping you?”

“i don’t know,” you sigh. “i guess i just have one more question about the whole thing, and then i’ll be okay.”

“shoot.”

“who was the other girl?”

what?

“huh?” wooyoung asks, so shocked by the question that he pulls the tape up on accident.

“hey, nice,” you grin, pulling at the last couple pieces. “didn’t expect that to shock you so much.”

“why? what do you mean?” he asks incredulously. “the other girl when?”

“the other girl you told my friend you liked all along,” you say. “the one you wouldn’t date her because of?”

“oh, that, right, um. well, i don’t know,” he rambles. “it was just-”

“if you don’t wanna tell me, that’s fine,” you shrug. “i can just keep not liking you until you tell me.”

“hey, at least you’re not saying hate anymore,” he points out.

“baby steps,” you tell him. “who knows, maybe one day i’ll get back to saying the big one.”

“that you like me? how very elementary of you, y/n.”

“no, the real big one. the love word. we loved each other when we were kids, right? we were close enough that we would say that to each other.”

“oh, haha, right,” wooyoung laughs. “probably didn’t know what it meant but yeah, i bet we did.”

little do you know, but wooyoung could still say it now and mean it more than he ever did before.

you kept talking to wooyoung as you worked, and after a while you finished taping up the gym floor. you started warming back up to wooyoung the more time you spent with him, and you forgot how bright his personality is. spending time with him is like sitting outside in the sun, you could do it all day and you definitely feel a difference when you’re done.

making small talk, wooyoung asked what you had planned for when you got home, and you told him all about the exciting world of online grad school. he didn’t even know you were taking classes. so he’s shocked to hear that you’re doing that on top of volunteering and work.

that being said, wooyoung knows you had a late night yesterday. and he knows you’re probably going to be super tired today, and since his older brother is dropping kyungmin off this morning, that means wooyoung has a little extra time to himself. he decides to use it wisely, and sets out early enough to get himself a little treat while he’s at it.

when you come into the church that day, you are exhausted. staying later yesterday meant you had less time to decompress after being around the kids, so you really had to jump right into coursework and it kept you up for a while. you’re mid yawn when you notice wooyoung standing with your other leader and the one kid that always seems to get there super early. it’s not out of the ordinary to see wooyoung mingling, but it’s what’s in his hands that has you confused.

“hey,” you call out, and he turns around with a sunny smile. “whatcha got?”

“breakfast,” he says proudly. “for me, you, and kyungmin.”

“none for your older brother?”

“nah, he’s a big boy, he can get it himself,” wooyoung scoffs. “here, sit.”

you do as he says and sit down, noticing wooyoung doesn’t just have a tray of drinks but there’s a bag of food, too. he hands you a drink that you hesitate to sip, still waking up honestly, and unsure of whether or not you can accept this kindness so early and so unwarranted.

“i couldn’t remember what kind of donuts you like, or if you even like donuts at all, so there’s a couple different ones plus a bagel and cream cheese in there,” wooyoung says, opening the bag and peeking in. “you can take what you want and me and min will have the rest, we can eat anything.”

“thank you,” you say meekly as he goes on.

“and then i got you coffee because you said you had an assignment due last night,” he begins, handing you the warm cardboard cup. “but i only got one because i remembered what you like.”

“latte with oatmilk?” you ask with a smile, and wooyoung nods.

“made them add some cinnamon too, you like that right?”

“love it,” you confirm before taking your first sip, and you sigh at the warmth it brings you. you glance over at wooyoung and he’s just smiling back at you. “thank you, really. this was too nice.”

“thought we could all use a little treat,” wooyoung says, brushing it off like he didn’t just make your entire day better with this gesture. “besides, you need your energy for our race later.”

“very funny.”

“i mean it, my kids are ready-”

“wooyoung! y/n!” a little voice shouts, and you share a look because you know who it belongs to. you wait while wooyoung grabs his little brother up and brings him over to you, waving goodbye to the oldest as he stands by the door to make sure kyungmin found the right people.

“welcome back best buddy,” you tell him, patting the seat next to you. “big bro got you a present.”

“a new car?”

“what? no, you don’t need a car,” wooyoung says sternly. “i got you breakfast.”

as wooyoung explains what he got for kyungmin, you take a moment to appreciate the man in front of you. you’ve always known wooyoung was caring and thoughtful, but you let a little scuffle take away all the good things you used to feel for him, and that’s not fair. you find yourself admiring him for too long, actually, noticing not just how sweet he is with his little brother, but also noticing how handsome his side profile is. wooyoung catches you off guard with a question, and when you ask him to repeat it there’s a blush on his cheeks. he knew what you were doing, but you don’t know that you just got caught.

“i asked how the donut was,” wooyoung repeats himself, and you assure him it was delicious. you watch as he splits one with his brother before heading over to his group area, but not without a final look in your direction and maybe a wink too, just to keep things fun.

you don’t know where this change has come from exactly, but you find yourself daydreaming about wooyoung all morning. your mind might just be clouded by the bribery in the form of the perfect coffee, but you’ve had plenty of time to think back on how sweet wooyoung has been to you all these years. you’re in the middle of the bible story session when it hits you: wooyoung has liked you all along. like, the big one liked you. like, you were probably the girl he rejected your friend for liked you. how could you not know this? he was so obvious. sure he was shy about it, but that doesn’t mean he was slick. the signs were there, you just didn’t notice them until now.

you’re also noticing just how..thrilled? excited? the thought of wooyoung liking you is making you feel. it might have taken all this time for you to admit, but you had a crush on him when you were kids, you just tried to make it go away once you both started getting involved with your friends at school. those childlike feelings are back now, butterflies flapping around in your guts as you make eye contact with wooyoung during a transition. he smiles at you like always, but you panic and look away. that’s not un-normal for you, but it does have wooyoung thinking for a minute that you may not be as warmed up to him as he thought. and you simply can’t have that.

during the next session, you find some time to slip away to the restroom and set up a game plan for yourself. how could you tell wooyoung you know he likes you? how do you tell him you think you might like him too?

all of this is swirling around your head when you crash straight on into a strong chest that steadies you immediately. wooyoung’s signature giggle lets you know your target is closer than you thought, and you look up at him innocently as he looks down with a smile in return.

“hi,” he says simply.

“hi,” you respond, and there’s a beat of silence while you process how close you are and the fact that wooyoung hasn’t let go of you yet. you look up at him and glance down at his lips, deciding in the moment this is what you need to do. you peck him quickly, just to see if you could, and when he looks at you with those big, surprised eyes of his, you lean back in and do it again, but this time you mean it. when you pull away the second time you detangle yourself from wooyoung as he’s left blabbering about what just happened. you give him a quick “bye!” in response, and then you’re gone.

after you kissed wooyoung, you half expected him to tell kyungmin since he’s been so involved in your friendship lately. but the little guy doesn’t say anything or act differently the last two days of vbs, so that’s good. wooyoung does, however. suddenly he’s not bothering you as much. in fact, he’s not bothering you at all, and that’s incredibly out of character. you realize the last two days are going by so slowly because you don’t have wooyoung breaking up the day by asking you a stupid question or blatantly flirting with you, and you miss it. the first day post kiss he was almost business like dropping kyungmin off and picking him up, and that was really weird. the last day was a little better, he at least joked with you this morning, but nothing since. you’re wondering how you can get a chance to talk to him before the day is over, but then you remember you have snack at the same time today. so that means you’ can ambush him on your way to the snack room in hopes that he’ll at least acknowledge you exist again.

when it nears the end of the day and you’re dropping your kids off at their snack area, you step to the side and wait in the hallway so you can see wooyoung coming. when you hear his boisterous voice coming closer, you act like you’re looking for something in the bag they give to each leader, and when wooyoung rounds the corner you look up and stop him.

“hey! do you have any extra bandaids?” you ask him. “i’ve got a kid with a paper cut and i’m fresh out.”

“uh, lemme check,” he says, patting his pockets quickly.

“you don’t have the bag?”

“if we were paired together, would you trust me to keep track of the bag all week?”

“valid point,” you reply. “so i’m guessing you don’t have one?”

“nope, i do,” he says, pulling the ziploc of bandages out of his back pocket. “just one?”

“yeah, i just need it to shut the kid up until his dad comes to get him,” you explain.

“he’s a whiner?” wooyoung asks, and you nod. he hands you the bag and you dip back into the snack room to find the kid (you really did need a bandaid) and you’re back outside in seconds. wooyoung is waiting for you, hands in his pockets and a sheepish smile on his face.

“thanks,” you say, handing him the bag as you start the walk to the volunteer snack room.

“sure,” he says, and you fall into an awkward silence. it’s not a long walk to the snack room, and you want to get something out of him before there’s a bunch of people around so you stop abruptly and wooyoung follows suit.

“sorry, but i have to ask,” you start. “did i kiss you wrong? i mean, wait, sorry. was me kissing you wrong? should i not have done that? because now you’re acting all weird.”

“so you noticed something was up?” wooyoung asks shyly. “sorry about that.”

“it’s ok,” you tell him. “just give me a clue as to whether or not i just messed up by doing that.”

“no, it was good,” he assures you. “very good. nice. it was nice. i liked it.”

“ok, good.”

“i’d like to do it again.”

“right now?” you ask. “the kids could see us, and you know we’d never live that down.”

“no, not now,” he laughs. “but later. eventually. if you want to.”

“definitely,” you nod. “but not at church?”

“not at church,” he confirms. “the lord is watching.”

“that’s pervy of him,” you say, making wooyoung let out an elmo pitched laugh. the sound lights you up, like the sun is shining just on you for that moment. you want to make him laugh a million more times just like that.

“remind me why i like you again?”

at the end of the day, kyungmin begs you to get lunch with him and wooyoung again. he’s sad that after today he’ll go back to not seeing you every day, but you assure him you’ll be around, sending a wink up to wooyoung as you say so.

“actually, i think i’m supposed to babysit you one day this weekend,” you tell kyungmin, and his face lights up.

“really?!”

“yeah, really. your mom asked me about it last night,” you say, and wooyoung looks confused but you don’t notice because kyungmin is literally jumping with glee.

“i can show you all my TOYS and we can watch my favorite MOVIE and can we get pizza? mom lets me get pizza when there’s a babysitter, i swear!”

“calm down, buckoo, we’ll see what happens,” you laugh. “but i’ll see you soon, i promise.”

“ok!” kyungmin shouts happily, and he runs off to say goodbye to his friends, leaving you with wooyoung.

“who knew my little brother would take you from me the weekend i wanted to ask you out,” he says with a smirk, pulling you in for a proper church side hug. he places his lips to your forehead ever so lightly as he whispers, “guess i’ll have to tell you about my undying love for you another time.”

and then he pulls away, waving over his shoulder as he walks off to find his brother. you’re left sputtering, much like wooyoung was the other day after you kissed him, and you have to reset before you remember how to act like a human again.

it doesn’t feel like long before saturday night comes around and you find yourself heading to the jung residence. vbs wore you out so bad that you cancelled plans with friends last night so you could just sleep the week off, and you barely feel rested enough to be around kyungmin for a few hours now, even if he is one of your favorite people.

it’s been ages since you’ve been to their house, too, so it feels a little weird walking up the path to their front door. it seems oddly quiet, but you pay no mind as you reach for the doorbell and...wooyoung? answers the door.

“what?” you ask, surprised. “sorry, where’s your mom? she said you were all going to a wedding tonight and...” you trail off, thinking back to what ms. jung really said. “the wedding is next weekend, isn’t it?”

“no, really?” wooyoung asks in fake shock. “that would explain why my family went to the beach for the weekend.”

“really?” you ask, and wooyoung nods. “why didn’t you go?”

“i wanted to see your face when you realized you had the weekends wrong.”

“no, seriously,” you laugh as you push his arm, and he shrugs.

“i needed to rest, honestly,” he says. “and spending most of the weekend in the car with my family is not my idea of rest. laying in my bed for 12 hours straight is, however.”

“that sounds nice,” you say wistfully, thinking about how warm your bed was before you had to leave to come here.

“it is,” wooyoung agrees. “wanna try it for yourself?”

“are you inviting me up to your room, jung wooyoung?” you ask in disbelief, and wooyoung simply quirks an eyebrow before disappearing into the house, giving you no choice but to follow him and close the door behind you.

the last time you were here, kyungmin was much younger, and wooyoung was still off at school, so his room was converted into min’s vacation home. seeing it in wooyoung’s style was a stark difference, but it made you smile to see this detail of his life. you note the movie posters plastered on the wall, laughing at the childish posters they’re obviously covering up.

“was that your toy story poster or kyungmin’s?” you tease.

“hey, that was a great franchise,” he scolds, finger pointing at you and hand on hip accordingly. “stop standing there so awkward, come inside.”

“sorry,” you laugh nervously. “what should we do?”

“wanna watch a movie?”

“how bout toy story?”

“okay, never mind, you can leave,” wooyoung says as he pushes you toward the door, and you push back. you both lose your footing, and you tumble into his chest, but thankfully wooyoung catches you. you brace yourself on his chest and look up at him with a smile.

“hi.”

“hi,” he smiles back. “deja vu.”

“yeah,” you laugh, holding his gaze for a moment before glancing down to his mouth. this time though, wooyoung makes the first move, cupping your cheek and bringing your lips to his. it’s tentative at first, but the more you lean into it the more you enjoy it. you catch wooyoung smiling into the kiss before you pull back to take a breath. you share a look with wooyoung before you both dive back in, this kiss different from the others. this one is hungry, wooyoung’s gripping your face with both hands, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he doesn’t keep you right here in his grasp. he licks at your lip, and you let him in, moaning softly when his tongue explores your mouth. you pull back briefly and ask, “still wanna watch that movie?”

“hell no,” he growls into your mouth, and then he separates from you for a moment, staring deep into your eyes. “let me make love to you.”

“wooyoung, i-”

“please,” he begs. “i’ve loved you for so long i don’t think i could put it into words. let me show you how i feel. please.”

“ok,” you nod, pecking his lips sweetly before connecting your forehead to his. “but when you’re ready i’d really like to hear about this whole you loving me thing. i’ll do my best to explain me loving you, too.”

“it’s a date,” he says with a smile that reaches his eyes, and it’s like the warmth radiating from that smile transfers to you through every spot where your bodies are connected. wooyoung is your little piece of sunshine here on earth, and he’s about to show you why you should never let him go.

he starts with a tender kiss, cupping the back of your head to angle you just right so he can pick up where he left off. his other hand slides down your arm and settles on your waist, giving it a squeeze before backing you up to his bed. the back of your knees hit the mattress and he helps you lay down gently, asking you to crawl up the bed while he takes off his shirt. when he settles above you, your hands graze his abdomen and he giggles as he leans in for another kiss.

“tickles,” he whispers, and you pull your hands from his waist to wrap around his neck as you deepen the kiss. wooyoung’s hands slide under your shirt, tracing lines over your hips and you gasp when they travel further and trace lines over your stomach. wooyoung pulls back to tug at your shirt and you nod, helping him slide it off your arms. he helps you out of your bra next, gluing his eyes to your chest and how delicate you look beneath him.

“i’m up here,” you tease, and wooyoung tears his eyes from your tits for a second to roll his eyes at you.

“yeah, but i’ve seen your face like a million times,” he scoffs. “let me look at your boobs a little bit more.”

“how romantic.”

“shut up,” he mumbles into your chest, kissing from your collarbone and further down. he stops to place a kiss around each breast, sucking on your nipples to get them hard before he continues down. he’s kissing across your stomach and you hope he can’t feel the butterflies in there threatening to break out. he keeps going, and you know where he’s going to end up. after placing a final kiss under your belly button, he looks up at you and you tell him to keep going. he’s barely done anything and you’re already breathless. he kisses along the waistband of your panties, and instead of taking them off like you expected, he continues down to place kisses over your covered core, drawing out whimpers from you the more he focuses on your pussy without making actual contact.

“wooyoung don’t tease,” you whine, and he shakes his head.

“nope, gotta take it slow or it won’t be right,” he tells you. he places one more kiss on your clothed clit before pulling your panties to the side. he ghosts his finger over your folds before rubbing lightly at your clit, and you gasp at the contact. he lets his hand go further, finding your entrance where he collects some of your arousal before finding your clit again. he looks up as you let out another breathless gasp and asks, “you doin okay up there?”

“mhm,” you squeak out. “want more though.”

“greedy baby,” he smirks, replacing his hand with his lips as he kisses at your nub. his hand trails back down and strokes into you softly, and your hips keen at the feeling. he pumps his finger a few times before adding another, mumbling against your pussy that you’re doing so well. he starts curling his fingers inside you, tearing a moan from deep within your chest. you realize you’re closer than you’d like to admit, because you don’t want him to stop. at the same time, you think you might die if wooyoung doesn’t make you come soon.

“faster please,” you whine, bucking your hips again to get a little more friction. wooyoung takes the hint and picks up the pace, pumping into you faster and lapping at your clit in a way that has your legs shaking. he keeps going, and just when you’re about to warn him of your release he adds a third finger, stretching you so well that you come with a silent scream, his name squeaking out at the end as he watches in awe.

“you’re beautiful,” he whispers, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you come down.

“come up here and say that to my face,” you challenge him, and he wastes no time climbing back up the bed and trapping your lips in another kiss. you moan at the taste of yourself on his lips, his tongue venturing past your lips in a heated kiss. he pulls away for a moment to whisper again.

“you’re beautiful,” he says, holding eye contact with you long enough for you to get shy from the attention. it’s like he’s looking straight into your soul and you’re a little afraid of what he might find in there.

“what happened to you making love to me?” you ask, breaking him out of his concentrated gaze. you watch as he snaps out of it in real time, and he gets up quickly to rid himself of his pants and his boxers. you didn’t notice how hard he was before now, but it must have been painful. his tip is so red, and the veins are so prominent that you catch yourself staring only to be interrupted by wooyoung’s own hand pumping himself a few times for relief. “hey, let me do that.”

“no, need to find a condom,” he says through gritted teeth. “need to be inside you like right now.”

“we don’t need one,” you tell him, and he stands completely still. his eyes find yours and he quirks an eyebrow.

“we don’t need one?”

“no,” you almost whine. “i’m clean. i trust you. i’ve got protection. please just have sex with me.”

“i love you so much,” wooyoung says in one breath, basically pouncing back on top of you to reconnect your lips. he mumbles in between rushed kisses “i’m clean too, by the way,” and you just nod and urge him to get to it.

you both watch as wooyoung pulls back and guides his tip to your core, rubbing against your clit so deliciously it has you moaning pathetically, begging him to fuck you already. he slides between your lips a few times before guiding himself to your dripping entrance, and he slides in with ease. he bottoms out completely before letting out a moan of his own, and he stills for a moment so you can adjust. you take a moment and nod, reaching down to squeeze his hip to let him know he can continue. he pulls back with a shaky breath and bottoms out once again, trying his best to hit your innermost wall with each thrust, it seems. he’s so deep, and he settles so that he’s holding himself above you in the perfect position to connect with your g-spot every time he pumps in. he spends plenty of time thrusting all the way in and pulling out as much as he can, but you’re clenching around him so well there’s no way he’s going to last. he pumps in one more time before he stills, making sure to take deep breaths to calm himself down.

“are you okay?” you ask, worried at his sudden change. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing’s wrong baby,” he assures you. “you’re just so warm. and tight. don’t think i can take it much longer.”

“come whenever you’re ready,” you tell him. “i wanna feel you.”

“you’re literally perfect, did you know that?” he asks before ducking down to bury his head in your neck. he lazily kisses at your skin as he fucks back into you, his thrusts a little shorter and sloppier but still perfect. you wrap a leg around his waist to keep him from going too far, and you grab for one of his hands to reconnect with your clit as you warn him that you’re close.

“i’m almost there,” you gasp, hips rising to chase every touch. “wanna come with you.”

“okay, shit. warn me before you do, i’ll pull out-”

“no.”

“no?”

“i said i wanna feel you,” you say sternly, pulling his chin up to look in his eyes. “give me everything you’ve got baby.”

“really?” he asks, hips picking up speed again until he’s fucking you so fast that you’re practically bouncing on his cock. “that’s so hot, y/n. gonna give you everything. gonna start a family with you one day, gonna come, fuck-”

“wooyoung, i’m coming,” you whine as he picks up speed rubbing your clit and his hips give you one final thrust that sends you over the edge. it feels like every ounce of you is on fire, and the warmth radiating off wooyoung and shooting into your core heightens your senses so you feel everything ten times more. wooyoung pumps into you slowly, riding out the end of his release. he’s pushing his come back into you as it falls out, and he groans at the sight, getting turned on again.

“how soon can you do that again?” he asks sheepishly, and you shake your head. he falls to your side as he waits for your response.

“gimme a few,” you reply. “you took my breath away.”

“okay,” he says, propping his head up on your shoulder. “i’ll be here.”

you lay still for a moment, eyes closed and focused on regulating your breathing. it’s in this silence that something wooyoung says passes through your mind again, and you decide you should address it now.

“wooyoung?”

“yeah?”

“did you say you wanna make a family with me?”

“oh.”

“yeah.”

“i didn’t think you’d remember that,” he says shyly, and you laugh at the blush gracing his cheeks.

“it just happened!” you shriek. “what, you thought your dick was so good i’d completely block out what you were saying?”

“a little?”

“so obviously you’ve thought about this a lot,” you say, getting back on topic. “about us?”

“yep.”

“and what will our kids be named?”

“i dunno.”

“yes you do,” you insist, rolling onto your side to look at him directly. “tell me.”

“later,” he says, pecking your lips sweetly. “i think there was mention of a round two?”

due to no fault of your own, you ended up spending the night at wooyoung’s house. you were honestly so tired you didn’t want to leave anyway, so when he offered to make you breakfast in the morning you couldn’t pass it up.

spending the night also gave you a chance to be intimate with wooyoung in another way. after the promised second round (and maybe a third in the shower) he helped you get ready for bed, offering up his comfiest clothes and insisting on helping you get dressed and into bed. he wrapped you up in the covers just to mess them up as he wormed his way under the blankets right next to you, immediately wrapping himself around you and burying his head in your chest. you absentmindedly played with his hair as you talked quietly, and the topic of feelings came up again.

you already knew how wooyoung felt, so it was really your turn to grab the mic, but wooyoung being ever the gentleman assured you he didn’t need a love confession just because you had slept together. he was okay with waiting for you to process as long as you’d agree to be with him while that happened.

you easily fell asleep, tired and at peace in wooyoung’s arms, but when you woke up the next day to an empty bed you panicked. almost as if he knew you were awake, wooyoung poked his head into the room a few minutes later and reminded you of the meal he promised you, asking how you wanted your coffee. he scoffed when you didn’t say cold and straight black (like him) but he still took extra care to make it just right for you. it takes you another minute to get the will to get out of bed, but when you make it downstairs to the kitchen you’re left speechless.

“you did all this for me?” you ask quietly, noticing the pancakes, eggs, sausage and the assortment of cereal boxes wooyoung laid out in case you wanted something really sweet. there was a bowl of fresh strawberries, your carefully crafted coffee, and a beautiful vase of flowers too.

“i was hungry too,” wooyoung shrugs. “so i thought i’d do it right.”

“you’re so concerned with doing things right around me,” you start, “you know you don’t need to do all of this to impress me.”

“but i want to,” he pouts. “i’m tinkerbell, i live off of attention.”

“that explains so much.”

“just shut up and eat.”

you do just that, forgetting that wooyoung is probably one of the best cooks you know. maybe he is tinkerbell because he did something magic to those pancakes.

“what did you put in these to make them so good?” you ask, pointing to your plate.

“love,” he replies with a dreamy sigh and you laugh, but wooyoung was being serious.

“oh come on, tell me,” you whine. “cinnamon? vanilla?”

“not everyone knows this but love is in fact cinnamon flavored,” wooyoung says matter of factly.

“you’re annoying.”

“you like it though, admit it!” he says, pushing your shoulder. “you wouldn’t have been my friend for so long if i annoyed you that bad, and you definitely wouldn’t be dating me if i annoyed you so much.”

“wait, so are we dating?” you ask, and he nods in confirmation. “we haven’t had a real date though.”

“um? i took you to mcdonald’s.”

“yeah, with your little brother,” you laugh. “that’s not a real date. that’s like a trial run.”

“for when we have kids.”

“sure, but that’s not a real date,” you say again. “you need to plan something.”

“why do i need to plan it?!”

“because i kissed you first, so it’s your move, jung.”

“that doesn’t make sense.”

“too bad,” you say as you pop a strawberry in your mouth. “think of something good, my little chef.”

wooyoung falls silent as he thinks about what he could plan, and this gives you a chance to look at the clock.

“oh shit, i need to go home,” you say quickly. “i have to meet my friends for lunch.”

“and leave me here all alone?” wooyoung pouts, and you kiss him to make it go away.

“yep, sorry sweets. it’ll give you more time to plan the perfect date,” you say with a wink as you head to the stairs to grab your things from wooyoung’s room.

“hey!” wooyoung calls out as you’re collecting your clothes (but conveniently keeping the hoodie he let you borrow). wooyoung appears at the door and leans against the frame as he continues. “you know what i just thought about?”

“hm?”

“kyungmin is gonna be so thrilled we’re finally together,” he says, and you smile.

“he sure put in work to get us here, didn’t he?”

“yeah, that little rascal,” wooyoung shakes his head. you stop, making sure you have everything before you walk to the door and put your hand on wooyoung’s cheek. he leans into your touch and you smile, giving him one last kiss.

“i’ll see you later?” you ask, and he nods.

“can we do what we did here but at your place?” wooyoung asks hopefully, and you pretend to think about it.

“if you tell me what you put in the pancakes, then yes.”

“it was brown sugar,” he says quickly, pulling you closer to him by your hips. “so i’ll see you tonight?”

“sure,” you laugh, kissing him one last time. “see you later, love.”

#ateez #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez imagine #ateez one shot #wooyoung #jung wooyoung #wooyoung smut #jung wooyoung smut #wooyoung fluff #jung wooyoung fluff #wooyoung fic #wooyoung fanfic #wooyoung x reader

1K notes · View notes

call-sign-shark · 1 year

Text

Heaven In Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary: Beaten with guilt and shame after losing his temper again, Arthur's aimless wandering leads him to church. There she is and, after diving into her heavenly eyes, he is convinced God has sent him His sweetest angel to save his bastard soul.

Words: 2.6k

TW: Blood, a bit of angst, slight blasphemy and bad use of holy water, reckless x caretaker Inspired by the prompt "Where does it hurt? - Everywhere" by @the-three-whumpeteers

Notes:

✞ Timeline: between seasons 2 and 3

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here). Heaven’s voice and song is linked, all you have to do is click on the lyrics.

NEXT CHAPTER || Masterlist

The stumbling tall silhouette of Arthur Shelby was crossing through the thick haunting mist of Birmingham. As unwelcoming the town was during the day, it was nothing compared to night time. When sun faded behind the horizon, chased by the pale glowing face of the moon, the whole city turned into a cut-throat area. Arthur brought the neck of the bottle he was holding to his chapped lips and gulped down a mouthful of pure Irish whisky. The fire trail the beverage left behind it as it went down his throat reminded him he was alive — he could still feel something, even though it was the alcohol’s burning. An animal growl escaped from his lips when the bottle left them only for him to lean his back against one of the church’s gigantic concrete walls. A loud raven’s croak torn the silent veil of the night, making him swears. The gravel in his voice answered to the dull bird, which was watching him from a tree with his tiny and beady eyes.

« Fooking bird, laughing at me like the rest of ‘em eh? »

The raven — which was rather large for a bird — tilted its head to the side and kept staring at the drunk man with a cunning interest. Its black eyes, shining under the moonlight, seemed filled with both a wise glare and a mocking sparkle. Soon, Arthur’s curiosity for the raven’s unusual behavior turned into a senseless anger when he understood why the bird was focusing on him, his explosive rage strengthened by the incredible amount of alcohol he had drunk a bit earlier.

« It’s the damn blood is it? Stop lookin’ at me like I’m — I’m some kind of monster, or a beast or I don’t fookin’ know what else! Go to Hell! »

The bottle flew towards the raven but it did not flicker, as if it knew Arthur was not in the shape of being quick nor particularly precise with aiming. As the glass smashed into the ground, Arthur hit the wall behind him with the back of his head and let out a frustrated scream. No more cocaine, no more auto destructive behavior nor suicide attempts for two years straight, and tonight he fucked it all up. He was convinced he could get better, and God knows he tried his best to do so. Got sober from every poison he used to take, got a religious wife that was trying to turn the wolf in him into a sheep… Hell, he even brought her flowers every damn day. But then came troubles, taking the shape of his little brother, Thomas Shelby.

He asked him to do the dirty job — again.

With his calloused hands, he took another man’s life. At first Arthur thought he would not be that disturbed at the idea of killing someone, after all he had done that almost his entire life. Just one last time, he told himself, just one last time and I’ll go back to my little peaceful life with me wife.

Yet, the guilt and the shame that struck him after bashing the lad’s head against the edge of a sink until his face became a pile of squishy flesh soon became too much to handle.

As the last spurt of blood spattered his face, Arthur’s clouded mind became suddenly crystal clear: it would never stop. After that epiphany, the older Shelby brother contemplated how everyone he deeply loved tended to use him. For Thomas and the rest of the family he was a mad dog, the combat brute whose only times he could enjoy life without a muzzle were when he had to rip someone’s throat apart. For his father, he had been nothing else than a poor naive hound that would have done anything to receive his respect. As for Linda, her love was a cruel mirage he wanted to believe with all his heart — but the illusion had vanished in smoke. Whether she considered him as her personal test subject for Christian brainwashing or as a tool to get what she wants, Arthur could not tell. What he could tell though was that he knew she did not really loved him. She wanted to mould him at her will, but he was no lamb. He was a wolf, a beaten and lonely wolf, but still one. And there was no love for rabid wolves, only a bullet through the brain to cure the madness.

As his skull buzzed with macabre thoughts, whose unpleasant noise reminded him of a furious beehive, a bewitching voice pulled him out of his auto-destructive spiraling. Standing at attention and listening carefully, he came to realize that someone was singing inside the church. Arthur’s eyelids fell on his steel blue eyes and the back of his head gently rested against the cold wall behind him, the same wall he had been previously smashing it with. A sighed escaped from his liquored lips as the angelic and hypnotizing voice, slightly muffled by the church’s heavy wooden doors, plunged him into a soft but oh-so-warm haze.

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold…

Lulled by the sad melody carried away with Birmingham’s cold night breeze, the swarm of raging hornets in Arthur’s brain stopped crashing against the bony walls of his skull. Another sigh — one of relief this time, for the unbearable noisy thoughts and violent buzzing had vanished. His trembling fingers, numbed by the blows he had hit his target with one hour ago and still covered with half-dried blood, slid along his temples and slicked his hair back. The utter and feral anger he had felt was reduced to void, for even his old heart had slowed its pace down in his ribcage.

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold…

The tune, embedded with melancholy, soothed his troubled mind and to be honest, he could barely believe it. When that switch in his brain flipped, God knew he was not in control anymore - even dear Linda, who still managed to hush down some of his tantrums, could not tame the beast inside when it broke free a bit more fiercely than usual. Yet, this voice did so. This stranger, faceless and nameless ghost of the night, brought him back to sanity with the sole power of her voice. The words she was singing, with her a juvenile and enchanting tone, were wrapping his heart. Arthur sniffed and fought hard against the dawning tears that were forming delicate crystal beads at the corner of his closed eyes.

If he had been the jolly sailor bold, he would have thrown himself out of the boat to join the siren that was singing.

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold.

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold…

She repeated, sadder than she previously sang.

Her song sipped through his heart and filled the cracks with molten gold. Arthur’s lips stretched in an almost invisible grin without even realizing it — By her voice, he was convinced she could repair the damaged creatures like him and make them even more beautiful than they were before they had been dragged through the trenches’ mud and shit. He had barely came to his senses, almost miraculously sobered up, when silent fell again in the church. Arthur reopened his eyes, and shook his head - Had he dreamt? Had it been the whiskey singing to him? No, he could not be that crazy right? Not quite sure if he was starting to hear voices and see things, Shelby decided that he had to found out who had been singing to his very own soul. He wanted to see her, the girl who soothed his foul heart and his twisted mind. He wanted to know, no, he HAD to know, even though his whole being was fragile like a flickering candle flame caught in a hurricane and would probably shatter in million of pieces if she turned out to be an illusion.

Gathering all his remaining strength, Arthur grabbed the handle and opened the church’s door.

[…]

A shiver ran down your delicate spine at the loud silence that floated in the gigantic and empty church. The peculiar sweet yet strong scent of myrrh, wood and frankincense filled your lungs with its holy fragrance. The vibrations of the last word you sang was still echoing in the room, swirling to the high and sculpted ceiling, from which marble angels were watching over you. If someone would have told you two years ago that the only place you would find comfort would be a church, you would not have believe it. You had never been particularly fervent about religion, but you did believe in higher forces whether they were good or bad. More than a matter of faith, the church itself was an old friend of yours. A gargantuan friend of stone, holy titan always welcoming you even in the darkest moments of your life. What you liked the most were these lonely moments at night, during which you could light up dozen of candles and sing your sorrow to the status and colorful stained-glass windows. No gossip from the parish, no believers swarming like ants within these mighty walls. There were just you, the candle lights and the soothing silence. For a few hours, you could finally find peace.

Brushing the varnished wood of the altar with your thin fingers and painted-red nails, you let your mind drift and, suddenly, the world around you vanished. You sunk so deep in the abyss of your thoughts that you did not hear the creaking sound of the heavy door opening, nor the footsteps that followed. All you could heard were the « Burn witch, burn! » that hundred of villagers screamed at you in the woeful remembrance of your past. And in spite of your immaculate porcelain skin, you bore the scars of their words deep in your soul.

[…]

Arthur made a few steps before freezing, his body refusing to come closer as if the aura around the creature that was standing back to him , right in front of the altar lightened up with dozen and dozen of small dancing flames, was too sanctified to be violated. Bathed in the soft and warm orange hue of candles, the long white hair of the woman fell down the small of her back like an ivory waterfall. Right above her the pale glow of the full moon coming through the stained-glass window formed a luminous halo around her head.

His breathing stopped, choking in his throat at such a divine vision. The gangster opened his mouth to speak but no words managed to come out. He had never been good with words anyway. Instead he moistened his lips and swallowed, his mouth dry. The white-haired girl had started to hum the same song she had been singing a bit earlier, not aware of his presence — and he did not dare to disturbing her as if he feared God’s punishment. He took another step, the wooden floor creaking under his sole.

This time the angel — because he was convinced it was one — jumped and turned around, an expression of utter surprise veiling her sweet face. Her fox eyes, adorned with two iris so fair it reminded him of aquamarine stones, scrutinized his slightest movements. She remained petrified for what felt eternity for her but, regarding him, time had stopped for good. Arthur finally inhaled sharply, coming back to life.

All those endless nights of crying, all those endless nights of praying in vain for something or someone to save him, and here you were… His salvation.

He had asked God to send him, the most desperate sinner of all, His most beautiful Angel and He had done so.

She was not just pretty. She was otherworldly and vaguely threatening. Almost ethereal in her short white dress whose cut let her naked back for the world to see.

« I waited for ya. » He whispered.

She blinked, her full and juicy lips opening with surprise.

He stuttered, looking down and decided it was better for you if he stopped talking. The gravel in his hoarse voice, as strong as it was, sounded indescribably frail. As if this tall and slightly threatening man could shatter at your single touch. Now he felt stupid, clumsy with words contrary to Tommy and his naturally eloquent and charismatic speech. In addition to the unpleasant impression of being a fool, Arthur’s own whisky-scented breath and the strong metallic smell of blood reminded him of his horrific appearance. Overcoming the awe you infused in him, panic started to kick.

You frowned, and all of sudden he did not look that impressive anymore. Swept away by the wind, your face relaxed and wrapped itself with a calm, almost placid expression. You exhaled through your nose and walked towards the gangster, who had brought his bloody hands to each side of his head and was now pulling his own hair in a desperate attempt to not lose track.

« Where does it hurt? » You asked with a quiet and soothing tone, for you were concerned about all the blood he was covered with.

Arthur raised his gaze toward the petite white-haired doll who had just pressed one of her cold little hands on his. Your ice against his fire made his legs weak and his heart missed a beat. How his breathing calmed down at your touch was a mystery, but it did. Not quite comprehending why you did not seem scared of him, he stuttered again, all flustered.

« Shhh, shhhh. Everything’s okay, take a deep breath and answer with all the time you need. » Your hand gently tightened its grip, willing to show him you were there and you were not going anywhere until he feels better.

« Where does it hurt? »

« Ev-Everywhere love. It hurts everywhere. »

His hands, his face, his body, his brain, his soul, his damn tortured soul… It all ached too much, and too constantly for him to bear anymore. E-ve-ry-where, that was all he could say because pain was all he could feel.

Without answering, you pulled him to the altar and invited him to sit on the marble stairs. The strong and fierce gangster followed you without the single physical resistance and gave in between your hands, as a rag doll. All he did was looking at you with his charming but oh-so-exhausted blue eyes as you tore the fabric of your dress near your thighs and soaked it in holy water.

« Let me wash away the blood. » Your voice echoed in the vastness of the church, enticing and haunting at the same time — enough to send a pleasant shiver down his spine. You had barely finished your sentence when you started rubbing the wet cloth against his hollow cheek to clean his pale skin from the dark red blood. Once again, he could not help watching you during the whole ordeal all the while enjoying the fresh sensation of the holy water cleansing the dirt of his soul. Not minding his stare filled with fascination, you focused on your task, brows slightly furrowed and fingers blessing him with the softest and most caring touch someone had given him.

« Yer an Angel. I swear you are eh. »

You quickly glanced at him, a sparkle of amusement shining in your cunning celeste blue eyes, before looking back at what you were doing. The weight of his gaze brought fire to your cheeks, for he looked at you like he had just realized what love was.

He looked at you, and to his greatest surprise, found Heaven in your eyes.

I'm super new in the Peaky Blinders fandom, so please bear with me... Especially since English is not my native language. To be honest I am kind of scared to post it so any comment, review, reblog or constructive criticism is welcome. Also, I'll be more than happy to meet people in the Peaky Blinders fandom! In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed some Arthur and Heaven. Still don’t know if I’ll write a full series or snipets of these two love birds.

Tags: @areyenotfondofmelobster

#Arthur shelby #Arthur shelby x reader #Peaky blinders #Peaky blinders x reader #Arthur shelby x oc #arthur shelby x ofc #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fluff #Arthur shelby imagine #Thomas Shelby #Tommy shelby #Arthur Shelby x Heaven #Heaven Shelby #Arthur Shelby fluff

426 notes · View notes

unfinishedslurs · 1 year

Text

prophetic nightmares of the dead (steddie)

Eddie’s been dreaming of dying.

It started his first round of senior year, some kind of prophetic fuck-up from his brain. No one knows except Wayne. Wayne gets it, kinda, from his time in ‘Nam. Knows how vivid nightmares can get, knows all the tricks to waking up and remembering you’re alive.

“It’s that damn music,” he mutters to make Eddie laugh through tears, after Eddie’s woken him up again with his shrieking and stumbling out of his room. “Or that game. Your imagination is vivid enough without you feeding it, boy.”

“You’re right,” Eddie responds unsteadily. “No more of that devil shit for me. I’m going on the straight and narrow. From now on it’ll be…fucking church hymns and songs about the Lord.”

Wayne hums in absent agreement, still rubbing Eddie’s back. The glass of cold water sits heavy in his hands. He takes a drink.

It was practically routine.

He got better at waking up silently, at not running to his uncle after the fourth, seventh, twentieth nightmare in a row. Avoided sleeping at all, showed up to school with bags under his eyes and cranky as all hell. His grades dropped lower than ever, Wayne got more and more concerned, and Eddie kept dying every night.

The Queen of Hawkins High wasn’t the person he was expecting to understand his predicament.

“Do you ever feel like you’re losing your mind?”

“Um, you know, just... on a daily basis.” He smiles, tries to make her laugh. Every day until I get out of this damned town.

Slowly, he wheedles it out of her.

“I keep having these dreams,” she admits. “Nightmares. Every night, for years. It’s always…it’s always the same.”

A chill goes down his spine.

“I’m sorry, I sound crazy.”

“No, no, no,” he scrambles to reassure her. “Keep going, it’s okay. Safe space, right? It’s just me, you, and the trees here.”

She nods, unsteady. “There’s…a monster. And he…he’s after me. And when he catches me, I always…the dream always ends with me…” She raises a trembling hand to her eyes, not bothering to wipe away her tears. Almost like she’s checking if they’re still there.

His blood runs cold.

“Dying,” he whispers. Chrissy lets out a sob. “Every night, since ‘83, you’ve dreamed of dying.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because it’s me, too, Chrissy.” He jumps up, pacing in circles. “I…every single night, since that Byers kid went missing. It’s not the same as yours but this is…this is fucking crazy, what are the odds—oof!”

Chrissy has barreled into his chest, clinging to him with her arms around his neck. He can feel the collar of his t-shirt getting damp.

“Uh,” he stammers as she sniffles into his shirt. His hands hover around her, not sure what to do until he settles them around her back. “There, there?” He tries to soothe. It’s not very soothing, with the way his voice shakes. “It’s okay.”

“Something’s wrong with me,” she gasps. “It’s following me. I keep seeing things when I’m awake, my mother and a clock and a monster—“

“Shit,” he says, a sinking feeling in his chest. He’s not exactly superstitious, but he has a feeling there’s more to this than dreams. “Hey, listen, Chrissy, you’re gonna be okay. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

She just shakes her head, burrows in closer like she can worm into his skin if she tries hard enough. He’s never been hugged like this in his life, and he has no idea what to do with the scared teenager in his arms.

“Here, hold on,” he says, and carefully removes her arms from his neck. She wipes her eyes, looking away.

“I’m sorry, I just…”

“No, no, it’s cool,” he says. “Promise. I just wanted to give you this.”

Fumbling, he drapes his leather jacket over her shoulders. Her cheerleading jacket can’t be very warm, especially combined with the skirt she’s wearing.

She pulls it tight around herself, even though it probably sticks like weed and cigarettes and Eddie’s BO. He’s a little too preoccupied to be embarrassed about that right now, though.

The bell rings, signaling the end of class. Chrissy startles like a scared rabbit, dread coloring her whole face, and Eddie makes a decision.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

Looks like Hellfire’s getting postponed after all.

They make a stop at Family Video, partially to rent a movie or two, but mainly because Henderson never shuts up about Steve fucking Harrington so now Eddie knows exactly where he works. Why the little rich boy is working a dead end job with Keith as his manager is a mystery, but it’s not one he’s interested in uncovering. Hopefully he’s on shift today.

All of Eddie’s shit luck must have worked to make the stars align, because there he is at the counter, in all his ex-kingly glory. He doesn’t look up as the bell rings, apparently focused on whatever he has in hand.

“Welcome to Family Video,” he calls, chewing on a pen. “Let me know if you need help finding anything.”

“Is that Blue Jeans?” Eddie asks, walking up to the counter as Chrissy goes to look through the shelves. Harrington jumps, slamming the magazine shut.

“Hi, what can I get you—Munson?”

“Harrington,” he grins, reveling in the frown he gets in response. Harrington meets his eyes for one startled second before his gaze travels down to his Hellfire shirt, over his vest and bare forearms, and taking in the belt and ripped jeans. Eddie smiles wider. He oh so loves intimidating the jocks and moral majority of this town.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” Harrington finally asks, eyes jumping back up to meet his gaze.

“That’s actually why I’m here, I need you to pass on a message for me. We’re skipping, and—“

“We?”

“Hey Eddie,” Chrissy says, appearing behind him. She lays three movies on the counter. “I picked some out, I hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘course,” he says as Harrington’s eyebrows jut up. Chrissy is still wearing his jacket, and he realizes exactly what this looks like. Shit, is Harrington friends with Carver? They probably have some jock bro code that’s totally going to end in Eddie getting beat up, shit—

“Hey Chrissy,” Harrington says agreeably. “Finally dump Carver?”

She blinks, startled at the insinuation. Her cheeks flush. “Oh, no—“

“It’s not like that,” Eddie breaks in, laughing to cover up the panic he feels. Trying to walk the delicate line between not a queer and not stealing a jock’s girlfriend. “Chrissy here just needs some company.”

Harrington nods, clearly not believing them.

“Seriously,” he presses. “I mean, can you really see a girl like her with a guy like me?”

Chrissy frowns, but Harrington looks him up and down again.

“I mean, yeah,” he says. “But it’s really none of my business, I don’t get paid to care who dates who.”

Eddie blinks. It almost sounds like Harrington was calling him hot or something.

Before he can figure out what Harrington actually meant, he starts scanning the tapes. He pauses on the last one, brow furrowing, before he looks between Eddie and Chrissy with understanding in his eyes. Eddie doesn’t know why the sudden change of heart.

“Rocky Horror Picture Show?”

Shit.

He has to clear his throat. “You have that here?”

They don’t. They shouldn’t. It’s not exactly small town video store material. Eddie had to go to Indianapolis to find it again, he knows damn well it’s not at Family Video in fucking Hawkins.

But the cover stares up at him anyway.

“I found it on one of the shelves,” Chrissy says. “It looked like it doesn’t get checked out a whole lot. Is it any good?”

Eddie braces himself for the slurs. For the bored retail worker to disappear and the Bible thumping, red blooded American to come out. It’s not Chrissy’s fault, she didn’t know any better, but if Harrington knows this movie and now he knows that Eddie knows this movie, there’s some bruises in his near future.

“It’s pretty good,” Harrington says easily. Eddie blinks his eyes open to see him smiling warmly at Chrissy, handing her the tapes. “For a, ah, certain type of people.

Well color him surprised. This is an interesting turn of events.

“I own it,” Eddie blurts out without meaning to. Harrington’s eyes snap to him, widening at the confession. “It’s, uh, hard to find, I had to go out of town for it. That’s why I was surprised.”

“Oh, I guess we don’t need to rent it, then,” Chrissy says, completely unaware of the staring contest that’s happening between him and Harrington.

Harrington looks away first. “Right,” he coughs, and goes to cancel it. Chrissy pulls cash out of her pocket.

“Oh, Chrissy, you don’t need to—“

“Don’t be dumb,” she says. “I picked the movies, I’m paying for them.”

He shrugs, unable to fight the logic in that. He’s not exactly in the mood to spend money right now, anyways, since he’s definitely giving her a discount on the drugs after this.

“What was it you needed me to do?” Harrington asks as he prints the receipt.

“What?”

“You said you had a message.”

“Right,” Eddie says. He completely forgot about that. “You’re going to the game tonight, right?”

“How did you know that?”

“Sinclair said you go to all his games.”

“He talks about me?”

“Dude, those kids never shut the fuck up about you,” Eddie says. “Makes me want to pull my hair out.”

“It’s mutual,” Harrington snorts, looking a bit touched. “Henderson already phoned me to ask to join the campaign, man, I’m not filling in—“

“He asked you?”

“Yeah? Wait, if this isn’t about that, then what is it?”

“Tell Henderson he got his wish,” Eddie says, putting his hands in his pockets. “I’m postponing the campaign.”

“Wait, really? Lucas is going to lose his mind, he was gonna be so bummed if he missed your nerd game—wait, why are you telling me?”

“‘Cause we’re ditching, Harrington, catch up.” Sinclair was excited for the end of his campaign? It makes him feel a little bit guilty, somewhere deep in his nonexistent soul. Oh, well. He’s postponing now.

“I’m going to wait in the car,” Chrissy says, and takes the tapes and Eddie’s keys with her.

“I see what this is,” Harrington says, leaning closer to Eddie and pillowing his chin on his hand. “You got them all riled up, and now you want them to shoot the messenger.”

“You caught me.” He grabs his chest, pretending to be shot. Then he leans forward with a grin. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

“Maybe I won’t tell them, make them wait for the entire time for you to show up. Henderson’ll do it, you know. Then who’ll be in trouble?”

Eddie laughs without meaning to. He doesn’t believe for a second that Harrington will do it, which surprises him. But it seems like Harrington is full of surprises this afternoon.

“So she really hasn’t broken up with him yet?”

“Huh?”

Harrington nods behind him, to where Chrissy is in the van. It seems like she’s playing music, nodding along with a small smile.

“I told you, man, we’re not—“

“That’s not what I meant, it’s just…” he grimaces. “She’s way too good for him. And she’s never seemed…you know. Happy.”

“Really? I’d have thought you and Carver would get along, you know, jock bonding or something.”

“The only jock I’m friends with these days is Sinclair, and he’s as much of a nerd as the rest of ‘em. Anyways, even if I was still on the team, it’s like…I dunno. He sounds like a preacher.”

“The devil knows scripture, too?”

“Something like that.” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. How’d you two end up hanging out anyway?”

“Oh, you know,” Eddie says lightly. “Shared visions, strange dreams, things like that.”

He waits for Harrington to laugh it off, to roll his eyes and go back to his girly magazine. It doesn’t happen. If anything, Harrington grows sharp, gets a cutting edge Eddie’s never seen on him before. Not even for the time he spent as king, looking for peasants to push around.

“Visions? Did you see any weird dust, or animals? People acting weird? Or anything else like that?”

“What?” Eddie blinks, startled. “No? They’re just nightmares, dude.”

Actually, his dreams do involve weird looking animals. A bunch of ugly bats, with teeth that hurt. Whoever said you can’t feel pain in dreams was a fucking liar.

They’re not just nightmares, Eddie knows. At least, not for Chrissy. Not if she’s outright hallucinating. There’s something wrong with both of them, and Eddie’s of half a mind to just drive them both down to Pennhurst and get it over with. But that’s their business, and he’ll be damned if he tells King Steve Chrissy’s secrets. Even if he doesn’t seem that bad, now, out of the fluorescent lights of their school.

“Right, right, of course.” He laughs, dragging a hand down his face. “Sorry, I’m just…on edge, I guess. Didn’t get a lot of sleep.”

“I know the feeling.”

“Right,” he says again. “Well, have a good day, I guess. Tell Chrissy her tapes are due back in five days. And, uh, thank you for choosing Family Video.”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Eddie says, feeling equally unsteady after the weird turn their conversation has taken. He heads for the door, only pausing when Harrington calls out.

“Oh, and, uh, Eddie?”

“What?” He pauses, one hand on the door.

“If anything…weird happens, let me know, all right?”

He has no idea what that means. “Don’t worry, Harrington,” he says, throwing a smile over his shoulder. “I live weird.”

When he gets back in the van, Chrissy studies him closely.

“What?”

“What did you and Steve have to talk about? I didn't know you were friends.”

“We’re not,” he snorts. “Me, friends with the King? Can you imagine? Nah, we share custody of some of the freshmen in Hellfire.”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I feel like…” she trails off, biting her lip raw.

“Like what?” He encourages.

“You called me a queen. Does that mean we can’t be friends?”

“Uh…” Eddie says, stumbling a bit. He does want to be friends with Chrissy. Even without the fact that they’re probably going to end up at the same cell in the nuthouse, she’s sweet and quiet in a way that makes him want to ask if anyone’s ever told her she can be loud. Her eyes are big and sad, but he can see a smile glancing along the edges of her mouth when he looks at her. She’s clever, he’ll give her that. He’s been caught hook, line, and sinker. “No, I’d— I’d like that. To be friends with you.”

Her smile feels brighter than the sun.

“Then what’s so weird about being friends with Steve?” She asks, glancing towards the Family Video window. Harrington looks like he’s back to reading his magazine, but glances up like he can feel them watching him. Eddie looks away and starts the van.

“Well, for one thing, you’re not one of the assholes who called me names and pushed me and my friends around.”

Harrington’s not either, really. Too busy standing around and being self obsessed to bother. His friends did all the pushing around for him. Wouldn’t do to get his hands dirtied with the freak. The familiar bitterness rises in his chest, and he tries to push it down. Looks at Chrissy out of the corner of his eye as he pulls out of his parking spot.

Her smile has faded, and he could kick himself. “Jason is, though,” she says quietly.

“How long have you guys been dating, anyway?” He asks, eager to change the subject. He pulls out of the lot, all too ready to leave the video store and the man who resides in it behind.

“Three years.”

Eddie chokes, not expecting that answer in the least. “Three years?”

“We got together when we were fifteen,” she says, a grimace pulling at her mouth when he glances at her. Shit, maybe Harrington was right and there is trouble in paradise.

“How do you stand him?”

“He loves me,” she says. It’s not an answer.

“Yeah, but Chrissy, he’s like, a major dick.”

“He loves me,” she repeats. “He wants to go to college together. He wants to live in Hawkins, and have a pretty white wedding, and a job that pays and a wife that’s pretty and sweet and doesn’t have nightmares about dying every night. A wife that’s not crazy. And she’ll have his kids, all two and a half of them, and she’ll always smile and stay at home and never do anything with her life because she gave up all her dreams for him—“

He pulls onto the side of the road. “Jesus,” he breathes, twisting in his seat. “Chrissy. That’s not love.”

“He’s safe.” She looks at him imploringly, eyes wet. “I just have to make it until summer. He can have his pretty little girlfriend, his pretty little life. He can have whatever he wants. I just have to make it to summer.”

He swallows back bile. “What’s summer?”

She looks down. “I got an early admission. University of Chicago. I have scholarships. I’ll pack everything, and run away there, and I’ll never have to see him or my mom or anyone else in this fucking place ever again.”

“I used to hate Steve,” she whispers. “Even if he was nice to me, I used to…just wish he didn’t exist.”

“Shit, Chris, so did I. He was an asshole.”

She shakes her head. “No, because it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t because of that. I was just…jealous.”

“Of Harrington? I think everyone’s been jealous of him at some point.”

Her face screws up. “You don’t get it,” she says. “I didn’t want his house, or his money, or his car, I just wanted…”

“Him?”

“No!” She pulls her hair in front of face, looking at him desperately. “I wanted to be him, because he was…”

He really doesn’t know where this is going. “Because he was…?”

“Nancy,” she breathes with a sigh. “He had Nancy Wheeler, and she was pretty, and smart, and I…I wanted it to be me.”

Oh. Oh. Holy shit, Chrissy Cunningham is coming out to him on his ratty couch. He’s safe, she’d said about Jason, and he’d thought she was talking about all the other ways he was convenient, but… there’s safety in a shield. Easier to hide behind a boyfriend then have people asking questions you can’t answer. He’ll eat his shoes if Jason knows, but at least he’s good for something.

She’s turning pale. “I’m—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—I don’t know why I thought—“

“Woah, woah, woah,” he says, grasping her hand as she tries to flee. “Chrissy, I—Chrissy, wait. Me too, okay?”

She freezes. “You too?”

“Yeah, Chris, me too.”

“Like you had a crush on Nancy too?”

The look he gives her speaks volumes.

“Oh.” She settles back down on the couch, her too-thin wrist trembling in his grip. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He asks, just to make sure.

“Okay,” she says.

“Good.” He sighs, lets go of her hand to run his fingers through his hair. “So, Wheeler, huh?”

A flush blooms across her face.

Steve breaks the surface again, looking panicked, before being dragged back under.

Immediately it’s chaos.

“Steve?” Nancy calls, looking over the side of the boat frantically. “Steve?”

Robin jumps in.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Eddie says, as something determined flashes over Nancy’s face. “Let’s think about this—“

She takes a deep breath and dives in after her.

“Shit!” He looks at Chrissy, eyes wide with dread. “We’re not going in there, are we?”

Sounds echo from the shore. Shit, the police.

They’ll probably die if they go down there. But if the cops find them, they’ll take Chrissy’s Walkman, and then she’ll definitely die.

He sees the same resolve settle over her face.

“This is crazy,” he mutters. “This is crazy! Dammit, dammit, dammit!”

She takes his hand. “On three?”

He lets out a hysterical laugh, gripping her hand tightly.

Chrissy counts to three.

They jump.

He spits blood. It dribbles down his chin, and Eddie follows it down, down, watches a few drops land on that glorious chest and thanks every god there is that he’s too scared for the frankly impressive boner that wants to form.

Chrissy elbows him.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“You’re drooling,” she whispers.

“Can you blame me?” He hisses back. “Look at him! That was some fucking Ozzy shit right there!”

She gives him a look.

He toes one of the dead bats by his foot. Ugly little fucker, with sharp teeth. It’s almost familiar.

He doesn’t get too far with that train of thought.

“Sense of humor still intact, that’s good.” She chuckles nervously. Then she shakes him.

“Ow, Rob!”

“You have to stop doing shit like this! ‘Hur, dur, I’m Steve, I’m going to go into the highly dangerous portal and get eaten by bats because I’m stupid—“

“I don’t sound like that!” He bats her hands away from his torso. “Also, you seem to be forgetting the part where I was dragged against my will.”

“You can’t take any more concussions, Steve!”

“No concussion,” he says, and takes her hands in his. She pauses to breathe. They look like they’re in their own little world, and something bitter twinges in Eddie’s chest. “No rabies, no concussion, I’m okay.”

“You’re definitely not,” Nancy says as she moves in to wrap his injuries. He grunts in pain.

“I’m fine,” he insists, and Eddie snorts. He gets a scathing look in return.

“We are not fine,” Eddie says. “We’re in some sort of hell dimension, shit, I…” he turns in a circle, finally taking in the world they’re in. Everything is grey and barren. Red lightning cracks across the sky.

It looks exactly like his dream.

He lets out a nervous laugh. “What the fuck,” he says. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck—“

“Eddie?” Chrissy grabs his hand, and he turns to her with wide eyes.

“Chrissy, it’s just like my dream. This world, those weird fucking creatures, it’s exactly like…”

She turns pale.

“Dream?” Nancy asks, sharp. “What dream?”

“It’s crazy,” Eddie says weakly. He’s starting to believe it less and less.

“It’s both of us.” Chrissy straightens, raising her chin. “It’s always the same thing. For me, it’s a monster. He takes my eyes, snaps my limbs.” Mercifully, none of them point out the similarities with the recent killings, although all three of them straighten. “For Eddie, it’s…”

“Bats,” he says. “Ugly fucking bats, with sharp teeth. Everything is grey and desolate, and there’s this kid—“

The other three exchange what can only be described as a look.

“I’m crazy,” Eddie pleads, trembling. Please, for the love of God, please tell me I’m crazy. Stick me in the loony bin, tie me up and leave me on the front steps of Pennhurst. Please.

“You’re not crazy,” Nancy confirms. It feels like a death sentence.

“So, what’s the story there?” Eddie asks, tripping over a rock. “How’d you figure out the whole ‘Prophetic Nightmares mean death’ thing, anyway?”

Steve furrows his brow. “You’re taking this surprisingly well.”

“I’m not.” Eddie lets out a laugh. “Trust me, I’m not at all. But I think some part of me had always known, you know? Like, it was too real to be just my imagination.”

Steve nods. “As far as we can tell, it’s only people who die from the Upside-Down,” he tells Eddie. “Has to be directly from it, no second-hand murder or anything.”

“Great.”

“Yeah.” He grimaces. “And it can change, you know? You might be having nightmares one night, and then you do something significant enough to change your…fate or whatever, and they’re gone. Or maybe something happens, and you start having them. It’s not always set in stone, you know?”

“Well, good,” Eddie breathes. There’s a chance they get out of this. “That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know all this? Like, do people just come up to you and tell you their nightmares? Do you go around asking everyone in Hawkins what they dream about?”

“As far as we can tell, it started with Barb.”

“Barb?”

“Yeah, uh, Barbara Holland?”

“The one who died from the chemical leak?”

There’s a heavy silence, where Steve looks at Nancy. There’s regret in his eyes.

“She had a nightmare, the night Will disappeared. Told Nancy a monster took her, something with no face and lots of teeth. Nancy told her to lay off the horror movies.”

Something sinks in his stomach.

“That night, they came over to my house, you know? We were messing around, being stupid, and Barb cut herself. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal, we told her to go home and went inside. The next day, she was missing.”

“Shit,” Eddie breathes. “The chemical leak?”

“Bullshit,” Steve confirms.

“Shit.”

Steve blinks, eyes jumping back up to his. “What?” He asks, sounding breathless. Poor guy. Those bites must hurt like hell. “Sorry, I didn’t hear that.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie says, even though his mood sours a bit at the idea of Steve not listening to him. “I was just saying, you and Wheeler looked pretty cozy. I think you’ve got a chance.”

Steve stares at him. “…what?”

“Christ, Harrington, your ex-girlfriend! Nancy Wheeler, who leapt after you without a second thought and was giving you eyes the whole time she was patching you up. I’m telling you to win her back.” Sorry, Chrissy. She'd told him she was over that particular crush, though, so he figures it's fair game.

“Nancy? You want me to date Nancy again?” He asks, as if the idea is so far out of the realm of possibility that it’s baffling.

“Do you not?”

“Not really.”

“Why?” Eddie asks, because if there’s anything he’s learning about himself these days it’s that he’s a bit of a masochist. “Isn’t she the perfect girl for you?”

She is. They fit so well, Eddie could see it from space. Nancy Wheeler, with her determination and fearlessness, guns in her room and fire in her heart. Steve Harrington, the hero, the protector, standing at her side where he belongs. It’s so storybook it practically writes itself.

But Steve’s shaking his head. “We weren’t…good together,” he says haltingly, as if he’s debating on whether to even tell Eddie this. “I wanted to ignore it all. I was scared of what I’d seen, scared of the government guys whose NDA’s I signed, just…scared. I wanted to pretend like it never happened, like everything was normal. Nancy couldn’t do that. She lost Barb, and I…told her to forget. I told her to just put out the story the Feds were selling, because I was a coward. Barb’s parents sold their house to hire an investigator for a girl we knew was dead, and god, Nancy’s face…”

Eddie doesn’t know if he wants to hear this. He looks back up at the girls walking ahead. Nancy looks as fiercely determined as usual, but for the first time, he wonders what’s behind it.

“I hurt her, and she hurt me,” Steve continues. “I…shit, I really thought she loved me, you know? I thought we would get married, have kids, the whole nine yards. Realizing it was all…well, bullshit, that was almost worse than any concussion I’ve had, but I don't blame her. I wasn’t what she needed.”

“And now? I mean, you’re clearly a different guy than you were back then,” Eddie says, because he’s kind of nosy at heart. Steve’s being all introspective and shit, just giving up all this information for free, and he wants to know more. It’s not at all because something in him turns smug when faced with the fact that the world’s most fated couple aren’t fated at all. Are actually kind of terrible together, if Steve’s to be believed.

“It’d just be the same thing all over again. I’ll always love her, but we want different things. Different priorities and stuff. I wouldn’t be able to keep up, and she’s not going to slow down for me.”

It doesn’t mean he has a chance. Eddie’s got, like, negative chances with Steve Harrington. Still, the little peacock in him preens.

“What does she need, then?”

Steve’s face is almost wistful. “She needs someone like Jonathan. He’s got…drive, or whatever. He’s someone you know you can trust to do what needs to be done. The two of them made sure the stuff about the chemical leak was published, you know that? Nancy needed closure, and Jonathan made it happen. He’s cool like that. And he’s good to have in a fight, too. Throws a mean punch.” He smiles wryly at that, touching his temple like he’s lost in a memory. “He’s passionate, and caring, and he’s so stressed all the time, but he still manages to be, like, soothing. And he’s got those eyes, you know? They’re big and sad and like, wet all the time. He always looks like he’s about to cry, but it works for him. He’s just…he’s good at making people feel safe.”

Eddie barely processes the words, too busy staring at Steve in confusion, jealousy churning in his gut. Which is to be expected, given that he’s been pushing said jealousy down for this entire conversation, but he doesn’t know how they went from Steve’s relationship with Nancy to how pretty Jonathan Byers’s eyes are.

He’s good at making people feel safe. God, he had it all wrong. In the wake of finding out they’d lived through three world-ending apocalypses, that might be the greatest confession of love he’s ever heard. And it’s from King Steve, about a boy that humbled him so bad he drop-kicked his crown straight across the country.

Steve catches him staring and shuts his mouth with a click. Everything has a washed, gray tinge to it, but he swears his cheeks flush.

“I’m rambling,” he laughs, looking slightly panicked. “I was just trying to say that Nancy and I don’t fit together. Not like that. I don’t really know if we ever did.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, “I’m starting to see why.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he squeaks. Well, in for a penny, out for a pond, right? He’s already in hell, might as well try and sus Harrington out while he’s at it. “Just…Byers? Really?”

“I don’t—“

“Didn’t he kick your ass?”

“Not you too!” Steve groans. “I already got the third degree from Robin. I was asking for that beatdown. Shit, some of the stuff I said was so nasty it makes me want to take a shower when I think of it.”

His eyebrows fly up at how easily he’d given up denial. “Gotta say, I didn’t think he’d be King Steve’s type.”

“He—I—he’s not—“ he stammers. Never mind, then. Denial still firmly in place.

At least until Steve lets out a sigh. “I don’t know why I’m trying to deny it. I can see that hanky in your pocket.”

Eddie’s eyes widen innocently. “Oh, this?” He asks, tugging it a bit for emphasis. It stays firmly in place, because he’ll be damned if he doesn’t pin it. He learned after the first three he lost to miscellaneous chaos.

“Don’t play dumb, that’s my job,” Steve complains. “Shit, I can’t believe I said all that. That’s fucking embarrassing.”

“I mean, I just tried to get you to win back your ex-girlfriend when you’re in love with her boyfriend,” Eddie says mildly. “I feel like we’re both embarrassed here.”

Steve’s flush would be visible from outer space. “I’m not in love with him.”

“Who are you trying to convince here?”

“I’m not!” He protests. “Like, yeah, I used to be, but I’ve moved on. Firmly moved on. I love him in the same way I love Nancy, you know? Like, she’s the first person I ever loved, and he made me realize that I like both. They’re always going to be part of me. But I’m not in love with him anymore.”

Eddie’s heart takes off without his permission.

“Don’t tell Lucas,” she pleads.

“I won’t,” Steve promises.

Max hesitates.

“You don’t have to tell me if—“

“I’ve been having Nightmares.”

Eddie sucks in a breath.

“What?” Steve sounds…shit, there’s not a way to describe how broken Steve’s voice is with just those four words.

“Ever since Billy died,” Max says. “I can’t…it’s Vecna. I know it is. He gets me.”

“Max, why wouldn’t you tell us? We could have—“

“I thought it would be easier,” she tells him, voice cracking. “If I just pulled away, I thought maybe it would hurt less when I finally go. And I think—I think I wanted to—“

She cuts off with a sob, and Eddie’s heart fucking shatters.

“Max,” Steve says helplessly.

“I’m sorry,” she cries. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, and I’m sorry I haven’t been here, and I’m sorry for thinking I wanted to die but Steve I don’t, I don’t, I’m not ready to go. I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to, Steve, I don’t know what to do—“

Steve pulls her into his chest. She curls her fingers into his shirt, and he meets Eddie’s eyes over her head. Eddie sees tears streaking down his face before he ducks his head back down.

“I’m here, Max,” Steve promises. “We’re gonna figure this out, okay? I’ll do everything I can to fix this. You just keep that Walkman on.”

She nods into his shoulder, still crying. It’s violent, her sobs shaking her entire body. She looks smaller every time Eddie sees her, like she’s retreating into herself, and now she looks tiny. Looks all her fifteen years, clinging to the only adult in the vicinity she trusts like he’s her lifeline. And Eddie sees the resolve settle on Steve’s face, knows without a doubt that he’s going to do something stupid.

“Yes, we do,” Max says quietly. Even from here, Eddie can see her trembling.

“No,” Steve says. “No, no, no, no, no.”

She’s got a whole plan though. Outlines it with steel in her voice, confident enough that everyone nods along. If Eddie didn’t know better, he’d believe in it too.

Steve looks damn near apocalyptic. “Max,” he says through gritted teeth, “can I talk to you in the other room?”

Lucas stands up with her, but Steve stops him with a look. Still, he doesn’t sit back down until Max puts a hand on his arm.

“It’s just Steve,” she tells him quietly. “We just need a minute.”

No one says anything as they close the door to Max’s room behind them. A deafening click of the latch in the silence.

As soon as the door is closed, Dustin and Erica have their ears pressed to the wood. Chrissy isn’t far behind.

“Guys,” Nancy hisses, even as she creeps closer, “really?”

“This should be a private conversation,” Robin whispers, wringing her hands as Lucas tiptoes across the room to join them. “Like, you know how Steve gets about you munchkins, obviously he wouldn’t take this well. Honestly, I’m not taking this well, and I’m not your guy's babysitter-slash-big brother-slash-dad. But it’s the best plan we’ve got, unless we want to just let Vecna-slash-Henry-slash-One to give up and find his fourth victim somewhere else and we wouldn’t know who it was and then he really will open the gates and kill everyone we know—“

She’s shushed by four different people.

Eddie gives in, crossing the room as silently as he can to join their little eavesdropping party. Robin follows him.

“—said you weren’t ready,” Steve is snapping, voice barely muffled through the door. Thank God for shitty trailer soundproofing. “I told you all you had to do was keep the goddamn Walkman on, and that’s what you’re going to do! We’ll find another way.”

“There is no other way, Steve!” There’s a light thump that Eddie thinks might be the stomping of a foot. “It’s our only shot at winning this. It has to be me.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“What are we gonna do? Wait for him to target someone else? Wait for them to die, because I was too selfish? Because I’m a fucking coward?”

“Yes!” Steve hisses, clear as day. Their little group of eavesdroppers look at each other with wide eyes. “Fuck, Max, if that’s what it fucking takes to keep you alive. He’ll find another target—“

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“I’m not letting you die on my watch, Mayfield. I’m not letting you die, period.”

Max sounds close to pulling her hair out. “You’re not letting me do jack shit. I know the risks. I’m willing to do what it takes.”

Eddie’s heart twists. Jesus, she’s a fucking kid. He’s with Steve, on this one.

“Well I’m not,” Steve replies harshly. “And if those guys out there knew, they wouldn’t be so gung-ho about it either. You know damn well if you told them you were having Nightmares—“

Dustin loses his balance, and falls on the floor with a thud that seems to echo in the sudden silence that follows. Everyone freezes.

When Steve opens the door, he’s glowering. Eddie can’t help but notice the tears in his eyes.

“Seriously?” He demands.

“You’re having Nightmares?” Lucas asks Max, heartbroken.

Max’s face is thundering. “That was a private conversation.”

“If you wanted privacy, maybe you should have better soundproofing,” Dustin snarks. “We could have heard you from the living room.”

“Sorry for assuming we didn’t have to ask after closing the goddamn door,” Steve growls.

Max pushes past them all, heading straight for the back door.

“Max, wait—“

“Max!”

“Hold on—“

Steve starts after her, stopping them all in their tracks with a glare when they try to follow. He doesn’t say anything, just lets out a derisive huff before slamming the door shut behind him.

They stand there, crowded in the tiny hallway, frozen.

“I think we may have fudged that one up,” Robin says quietly. No one disagrees with her.

By the time they come back inside, everyone else is scavenging for apology food. Max is wiping her eyes, and Steve’s hands shake like he needs a cigarette.

“I’m the bait,” Steve announces. No preamble, no room for debate, just laying it down and expecting everyone to go along with it.

Obviously, he was hoping for too much given the kids they hang out with.

“Will that even work?” Erica scrunches her nose.

“Yes.”

“Wanna elaborate on that?” Robin asks quietly, moving into his space. He gives her a look, but lets her close the distance between them until she’s taking his arm and dragging him to the couch. He sits obediently, and Max immediately moves to the side Robin’s not on, leaving a bit of distance between them like she wants to be close but is scared to touch.

“Nope.”

“How do we even know if it’ll work?” Dustin asks. “You can’t just decide Vecna will go for you instead, that’s not how it works. That’s not how any of this works.”

“He’s right, Steve,” Nancy says apologetically. She backtracks at Steve’s deadly look. “Obviously, we won’t use Max anymore if she’s having Nightmares, but we have no way of knowing if Henry will come for you.”

“I could do it,” Chrissy offers quietly. Bile floods Eddie’s mouth, and he swallows it back with his protests. “He might still come for me, since I was cursed.”

“You’re not cursed anymore,” Steve reminds her. “You don’t even need the Walkman. Plus, he wants someone El knows. We don’t know that he’d come for you.”

“We don’t know that he’d come for you, either,” Lucas says.

“He will.”

“He will,” Max affirms quietly. When Eddie looks at her, she’s staring at her own hands.

“How do you know?” Erica asks.

“Because I had my first vision while we were outside,” Steve says.

That shuts them up.

They’re distracted by Robin standing up abruptly enough to knock over her chair, yelling something incomprehensible at Steve about his “stupid box,” and where he can shove it, whatever that means, and storming off. Steve stays sitting exactly where he is, head down, looking defeated.

Eddie and Dustin exchange startled glances.

Chrissy creeps up to Steve cautiously. “Are you going to go after her?”

He shakes his head. When he raises it, Eddie notices his eyes are rimmed red. “You should,” he mumbles. “You’d probably help more than I would, right now.”

She nods and slips away. Eddie sends Dustin in the Sinclair’s direction, and plops down in Robin’s empty seat.

“She not doing too hot with all this?”

Steve grimaces. “I told her where my will is.”

“Ah,” Eddie says, genuinely at a loss for words. “Well, fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“You not leave her anything?” It’s a shit joke, one that he kicks himself for making, but he laughs. It’s hoarse and cold and all too fake, but it’s a laugh.

“Like, almost everything I have. To be divided as she sees fit.”

“Making her do all that? No wonder she’s pissed.”

Steve’s snort is real this time.

#prophetic nightmares of the dead au #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #steddie #how does chrissy survive vecna? i was going to figure that out #i think my original plan for this was some robin/chrissy as well or maybe nancy/chrissy/robin #btw that jancy speech that steve gave? biased as FUCK #when they got together steve convinced himself it was inevitable bc they're obviously made for each other #in reality they have reached granola bar levels of falling apart #eddie who has outsider pov to the whole thing and can see nancy twitch every time someone mentions her bf is like hmm. doesn't sound right #but i don't know enough about either of them to dispute it #steve gets vecna-ed

575 notes · View notes

soscarlett1twas · 8 days

Text

Midnight Church Bells

↳ Andrew and his brother sneak out. ↳ 2k words / also available on ao3! ↳ This fic is literally a year old lmao?? I was sorting through docs and found this finished draft, so I polished it a bit and here we are. Please forgive past me if the prose is... how we say 'shit'.

The holidays always snuck up on Andrew the same - sudden and unwelcome, but inevitable. This year, he’d been too invested in his studies, and, surprisingly, his own love life to notice much of withering leaves or decorations, but when he turned on the radio and heard those familiar jingles, he groaned in recognition.

Really, it was none of those things (despite how much he did tire of those songs) that bittered Christmas for him. It was the fact that once the break started, his family would come calling. And despite all protests, his parents would never let him stay at college during the advent.

“It’s time for the Lord.” His mother’s voice lifted through the phone he propped up on his dashboard. “And family,” she added after a moment. He resisted the urge to slam his head against the steering wheel, instead opting for biting his tongue. The one time his parents didn’t want him studying.

Her saying that added to the sting of the season. And family. It seemed that this was the only time of year where that was on her mind.

Which all led him to the same spot he was every December 24th: Sitting on his childhood bed, with whatever book he was currently reading in his hands, and classical music playing from his phone.

Reclining into his pillow, Andrew lifted his glasses off and put them on the bedside table, a thumb folding the wings as the other worked as a bookmark.

Yet he didn’t close his eyes. For one of those brief moments in life, he wasn’t thinking, or sleeping, or doing really anything at all. He was just there, in a limbo between sleep and consciousness, hoping that if he purposely derived himself the next day wouldn’t come as quickly.

And he stayed like that for 5 minutes. Or maybe it was 10, or maybe no time passed at all. But eventually he gave in to rest. No matter what, the morning would come and he’d rather not fall asleep during the already tedious sermons in church. So he set an alarm, put his book on the nightstand, and laid down.

He closed his eyes, and it was like he could hear the ringing already.

Maybe he did.

A soft patter-ing rang just outside his door, the familiar sound of footsteps on carpet blotting the silence. And just as he was about to roll over, Andrew heard his door creak open, and the silhouette of a man leaned into the room.

“Want to go on a walk?” He whispered, twinged with a sense of boredom.

Andrew didn’t even need to turn to know who was asking. “Give me a moment,” he sighed, and motioned to push himself off the bed.

—

“How did you know I was awake?” Andrew asked, still pulling his overcoat over his arms.

“Your light was on, I saw it through your door.” His brother responded, turning off their driveway onto the sidewalk. He was slightly ahead of Andrew, but slowed a bit so that they were walking together.

A cloud of mist formed from his breath as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, pulling the coat closer to himself to save some of his last remaining body heat. A near-midnight flit wasn’t what he had planned, but he’d prefer it than trying to sleep. Besides, this may be the only quality time he could spend with his twin during the break. God knows the time they’ve spent at college has already distanced them enough.

“So,” he huffed, searching for a topic of conversation. “How have you been?”

“Fine. Uni’s been beating my ass though - we spent practically the entire week leading up to the holidays in the lab, just sweating over our assignments. Jesus, I’m not even a Biochem major but Chemistry is just not letting up.”

It had been years since he was in a lab, but with the track he was on, he got the stress with ‘crunch time’. “I understand. I’ve recently had to rush a project for my Literary Theory course.”

“What do you even do in that class?” He questioned, half serious, half mocking.

“Analyze texts, find out how the culture of the author influenced their works.” He could go on: Literary Theory was one of his favorite classes, no matter how rigorous the course was, but he knew his brother wouldn’t care to hear the details.

Winding down their street, the two carried on talking about academia with a partial interest, not fully understanding either’s field of study but trying to be supportive anyways. Soughing wind bent branches to a static beat as they approached the neighborhood's egress. By and by they were talking about the more social aspects of their schooling: Andrew’s literature club, the parties either rarely attended, his brother’s friends.

“How has your roommate been?” Andrew asked, kicking a rock under his shoe and watching it roll along the concrete.

“Good.” He sighed out a laugh. “He’s great, actually.”

Andrew glanced over to his brother, and if the slight warmth in his voice wasn’t enough, the red on his cheeks told him everything he needed to know. He chuckled too, and gave a soft nudge on his shoulder, making them both smile.

In a weird way, they never needed to tell eachother about any of this stuff. Equal parts the awkwardness that surrounded telling your sibling, your twin of all people, who you were interested in and an unspoken alliance against their parents had kept them from ever openly speaking it. But Andrew knew his brother was into guys ever since they were teens, he just didn’t know if his brother had caught on to his own preferences yet.

The stone made a sharp sound as it drifted over to his brother, who promptly kicked it back to Andrew with the inside of his shoe.

“Helios, right?”

His brother hummed in response.

His mind trailed to the man at his college, the one who he had desperately wanted to introduce to him, and found himself grinning at the mere thought. God, he hoped Isaac would like his brother.

He opened his mouth, then shut it quickly. What would he even say? He trusted his brother, but to come out was something entirely different, and with Christmas just around the corner? No, he’d wait. Right after, though, he’d tell him. Andrew silently swore it to himself.

“Honestly, I prefer the dorms to the house.”

That snapped Andrew out of his thinking. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He stopped abruptly, and threw his arms out in exasperation. “Isn’t it suffocating to you too?”

Everytime he was in his room, Andrew could only remember the sleepless nights he spent hunched over and studying. The dining table was a barrage of moments he spent silent as his parents and brother fought. The living room was a danger zone, as he never wanted to catch his parents when they were disappointed in his brother, or worse, him. The whole house could burn down and the only memories that would go with it were the most futile. Worse was, even without flames, Andrew felt like he wadded through smoke every time he was in those walls.

He silently nodded his head. His brother just stared at him, as if he wanted voice confirmation. But how can one speak up against the pyre when its fumes had already scorched his vocal cords?

After a moment, his brother kept walking, and Andrew followed. “I contemplated not coming back this winter.” He muttered.

“As did I.” Andrew responded, suddenly getting his voice back.

“What could you possibly be avoiding?”

A million and one answers filled his head, but none escaped him - no matter what he said, not a single one would measure up to his brother's reasons. So why even bother trying to compare?

His twin huffed as he turned away, suddenly gaining some distance on Andrew, and he let him keep it.

For a while, the only sound they made was their shoes against concrete sidewalks and the crunch as they occasionally had to step into snow. Andrew brought his hands up to his face, cupping them to breathe and warm himself up. Normally he kept gloves in his pockets, just in case. But, of course, he just had to forget them tonight. His fingers combed through his hair, forcing him to look straight ahead at his brother's back. Again, he bit his tongue. But wasn’t that what had gotten him into this situation, unintentionally pushing his brother away by not talking? He didn’t understand it, but only continuing the cycle wasn’t going to help anything.

So he opened his mouth, just in time to slam right into his brother.

He stumbled, but his brother didn’t flinch. Or even look at Andrew. His eyes remained trained to the tree line, frozen in place.

Regaining his footing, Andrew tried again. “Dar-“

“Stop.” He whispered.

“No, D-“

“Shut up, Andrew, just listen.”

So he did.

For a few seconds, he didn’t hear anything. His eyes fell where his brother’s were focused, though without his glasses, the details were fuzzy.

Then, a distant chime hit his ear.

More followed.

A symphony of church bells rang, each peal like a glimmer in the air.

Andrew knew they rang the bells at midnight every Christmas Eve, though he couldn’t remember the last time he had heard them. During mass, he could imagine it would be unbearable. But from here? The sound was quite pleasant.

As the bells continued, the twins stood there, listening to it all. Andrew was the first to tear his eyes away from the church he couldn’t see, glancing over at his brother through the corner of his eye. It was the first good look he had gotten at him in a long time.

Andrew hadn’t realized how short a decade was. Though in context of anything else, the last ten years of his life had dawdled. But with his brother? It was like the blink of an eye. One moment they were running and laughing, a mirror image of one another - even the Christmas’ were tolerable. Fun, even. The next, blooming into adulthood - mimics of who they used to be.

In fact, the longer he looked at him, Andrew realized just how much his brother had changed. His hair had definitely grown, locked into a short ponytail that hung low with swooping bangs, and he made the full switch to contacts some time ago. He even got taller, and next to Andrew, he was a lofty inch or two higher. Though that could also be accredited to the boots he wore. (Ashamed to say, Andrew didn’t remember when or how he got them. They certainly weren’t a gift from their parents, but did his brother even have a job to afford them?) He was more muscular, which wasn’t saying much compared to Andrew, but he was certainly leaner. The man never made a mention of continuing his secondary school athletics, but maybe he did as an extracurricular? Again, Andrew was straining to remember specifics. Though, he supposed any reason to play was now null, as originally it was a brilliant excuse to come home late without his parents accusing him of deviancy.

But he wasn’t too alien to him. There was something still familiar to him, like flecks of gold shining through, no matter how small. After all, they began to sneak out when they were fourteen and are still doing it now. There must be something that still connected them.

Right?

Just as he had that thought, he missed his brother's pass, and the pebble went flying into a curb.

They walked in silence for a while longer, bells fading to the wind. Eventually they found themselves back on their driveway, and their silence became deafening as they lightened their footsteps. God knows what their parents would do if they found out they had been out so late.

They followed one another up the stairs, crossed the same hallway, and went to rooms adjoining. There was a time they shared one, but that was before they had moved.

Andrew slipped open his door, the knob turning slowly as to mute itself. As he slipped in, he turned half-way to see his brother doing the same.

His brother looked up, catching his gaze.

Andrew saw himself in the reflection of his eyes. They were bitter, burning with… not rage. But a violent form of disappointment.

Andrew was the center of it. And he could smell the smoke wafting.

#MARSTON TWINS I'VE MISSED YOU #this was the first fic I ever wrote for this fandom!!#finally saw the light of day (escaped google docs)#also yes this lines up with the underground ravens theory because of course it freaking does #sakuverse #zsakuva #andrew marston #zsakuva andrew #marston twins #“twin” marston #they kick rocks

53 notes · View notes

xhoneygirlxx · 10 months

Text

Woman

Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

summary: all the phases of your relationship with Eddie. Based off of the song 'Woman' by Mumford and Sons.

warnings: reader and Eddie are both in their 20's. talks of bad upbringings, bad relationships, reader gets cheated on. swearing, fluff, angst, smut. 18+ MINORS DNI. if there are any grammar errors, no there's not :) the ending feels rushed so lets not talk about it.

a/n: hi guys i'm honey and this is the first time I've written something since I was 15. I'm not new to this fandom but this page is, so I hope to write more things over time. Please be kind to me or else I'll cry.

The golden rays of the sun filter in from the open window, cascading a pretty glow into the bedroom. A gentle breeze flits through the room, carrying the songs from the birds in the trees. Eddie’s not too sure what time it is, how long he’s been awake, or if he even fell asleep, all he knows is he’s been staring at you. He knows how creepy it might be to do so, he just can’t help it. How beautiful you look shimmering in the morning sunlight like some sort of religious being, a true picture of a goddess laid beside him - his own personal Aphrodite. He marvels at you like you’re a painting on the ceiling of the Sistine chapel. His eyes trace over your features, soaking them all up so he can remember you like this for the rest of his life. Everything about you is perfect, a statue carved from marble by Michelangelo himself.

He’s intoxicated by the scent of you, the vanilla soap you used the night before when you took a shower after work, filling his nose with every breath he takes. His fingertips slowly drag along your skin as he maps out the slope of your body. His touch is featherlight, too worried that his calloused fingerprints will ruin the softness of your skin. He always wonders how you manage to be so soft all year round, albeit knowing you always moisturize, he likes to think it’s all you and not some expensive ass lotion.

Your hair is a bit messy from being tossed and turned on all night, and yet it has never looked so perfect to him, he would never mention it to you knowing you’d scoff in disagreement. Every once and a while, your eyebrows pull together or your lips twitch. He likes to think you’re dreaming of him.

Eddie is one hundred percent sure that if it wasn’t for the steady rise and fall of your chest and the soft snores falling from your lips anchoring him to the bed, he'd ascend into the clouds above. Eddie Munson is not a religious man, but he thanks whatever God is up above for sending an angel like you to him. He never understood the people who hand out pamphlets about religions, devoting their whole being for their God, but now he does because he’d do it for you. The poor son of a bitch would build churches and museums in your honor, scream from rooftops, move mountains, and ultimately sacrifice himself for you. Even if it’s sacrilegious to pray to a statue of you, he’d do it every day and night, asking for salvation. No, he wasn’t a religious person but for you, he would be.

From the time Eddie was born, the cards that were dealt to him were just unfair. His mom and dad never loved each other, always screaming and fighting every day creating a war zone instead of a household. After his mom left and his dad was shipped off to prison, his Uncle Wayne took him in. Although he and the older man loved one another, they never really said it, only ever showing it by doing little things for each other. Every father’s day he’d save up money from doing odd jobs around the trailer park to get Wayne a new mug. Wayne always picked up new patches for Eddie to sew on to his clothes or guitar strings anytime he had the extra cash. It was unspoken but they knew they loved one another like father and son.

When he got to high school, girls never looked his way and if they did they never wanted to keep him. Doing whatever they could for a deal on some bud and leaving. It became a routine for the metalhead, he’d get off, they’d get cheaper weed, and they’d go their separate ways. Eddie knew he was disposable and that was fine with him. Hell he was used to it by now, his parents didn’t want him, the girls at school and the hideout didn’t want him either, but he had Wayne and his friends. That's all he needed. Until he met you.

It was a shitty September day, the kind of shitty where it’s nothing but gray clouds and no hint of the sun. Leaves had started to die away, slowly falling one by one just to be picked up and whirled around by the wind. The chill of the air started to colder by the time Eddie had left work. If the weather wasn’t miserable enough, the customers he’d dealt with definitely were. One by one they crept into the shop, complaining about popped tires and arguing over wait times. Also, it didn't help that the garage was getting colder with the changing weather. No matter how many layers he wore, it never subdued the throbbing pains in his back and knees. Yeah he had a pretty shitty day but it wasn’t something a new book and a cold one would fix. When he approached the small bookstore on Main Street, he could feel the relief wash over him. Making his way over to the new release section, he picked up what he had been looking for.

He was busy reading the back cover of the book to notice you walking down the aisle. To be fair, you should have been paying more attention to where you were going, but the books in your hands had your attention, stopping you from seeing the cute man that you were close to coming in contact with. With a loud thud, your bodies collide causing you to drop the books you’d been holding. Eddie immediately bent down, picking up what had been dropped, too busy apologizing for being in the way to even see who he was speaking to. Then he heard your voice, so saccharine and smooth it knocked his breath from his chest. Finally moving his gaze to you, he was blinded by the light you had brought in. To this day he jokes about it, telling you how you’re the personification of the sun on a cloudy day. He’s sure he made a fool out of himself with the way he tripped over his words and blushed too hard any time you spoke. It didn’t matter though, because you’d giggle and he’d redden more and more. That day Eddie left the bookstore with his new book and your number clutched in his palm.

September 20th, 1987, that was your first date and that date would be seared into Eddie’s brain for the rest of his life. He called you earlier that week asking if you’d want to get coffee, and you were quick to agree. Never being on time for anything in life, Eddie made sure to arrive twenty minutes before you planned on meeting. To say he was nervous would be an overstatement, he was a god forsaken mess. Knees shaking with every passing second, palms sweating from pure anxiety. Ever the gentleman, he ordered you a coffee, something the barista had whipped up after he told them he didn’t know what you liked. Taking a seat near the window, he instantly regretted guessing your order. God what if she doesn’t like it? What even was it? Cinnamon, caramel, peanut? Oh Jesus, you were probably allergic to nuts. Good going Munson, you just killed your date, he thought to himself.

Before he could throw the drink away, the bell above the door chimed. When he looked up, he swore the gates of heaven opened up. The pretty white dress you wore swayed with the small breeze that followed behind you. You’d look heaven sent. When your eyes met his, you lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree, a big smile etched on your face to prove it. You were so pretty and it made his heart beat out of his chest. He’s sure he looked like a total goof, like a giant puppy excited to see their owner coming home. All the thoughts he had in his brain, the opening line he had thought up to say to you, had all been thrown out the window.

By the time you had made it to him, he had been standing up. Before you could reach for a hug or handshake, his arm shot out with the cup of coffee he had bought you, the same one he was about to throw away twenty seconds ago.

“I um, I got you a coffee.” His cheeks turned pink as he handed you the cup. Then all the thoughts of your possible nut allergy came back. “It’s cinnamon caramel peanut or something. If you don’t like it I can get you a new one.” You laughed and he didn’t care if it was at him or with him, because he would do anything to hear it again.

“It’s perfect, thank you.” You smiled again. “It’s a cinnamon dolce latte, by the way.” He tilted his head in confusion, wondering how on earth you knew that. When you turned your cup to show the black sharpie, he dipped his head in pure embarrassment but then you giggled again and he didn’t feel as bad.

The two of you sat in the corner by the window for what felt like hours, talking about anything and everything. Eddie told you about his job at Frank’s garage, about his friends and uncle Wayne. The metalhead turned bashful when he mentioned his D&D group, but he was quickly relieved when you told him how cool you thought it was, always wanting to play yourself as a kid but your brother never wanted to teach you how. He told you about his sweetheart and his band, how he used to think he’d be a rockstar one day. With every little detail he told about himself, you looked at him with such adoration and it made his heart squeeze.

He sat and listened as you told your story about packing up your car and leaving your old life behind. You needed a new start you told him, one where you could truly be happy. Once you’d gotten here, you found a cozy little house on Biel Street. Apparently the man who sold it to you, is the nephew of the woman who runs the floral shop in town. Within a week you’d gotten the job. It was definitely a change up from your old life, switching out pencil skirts and kitten heels for your office job to jeans and sneakers for your new laid back one. City life was definitely different from the small town you’d chosen but it’s what you needed.

You’d recently ended a two year relationship with your shitty ex and even if it didn’t seem rational at the time, you quit your job and moved on. He didn’t push much on the topic of your ex and neither did you but you made sure to reassure him that you were over the whole situation. Eddie learned that you had a brother living in Chicago and your parents had long moved to Florida after they retired. The metal head made sure to make mental notes of every single thing you told him. How you won’t talk in the morning until you have a sip of coffee, how you like to annotate your books even if it’s frowned upon by others, and that you hope to get a cat one day.

He walked you to your car that night, even though it was twelve feet away from his own. The look in your eyes was the same way he felt, neither of you wanted to leave. Trying to drag out the minutes as long as you could, you leaned against your car door fiddling with the sleeves of your cream colored sweater.

“I had a really good time Eddie,” sincerity dripping from your words. You looked so stunning standing there, highlighted by the moon and glow of the street lights.

“I did too,” blush creeping up from his neck to his cheeks, “I hope I’m not being too forward, but would you like to go out again sometime?” He hoped you didn’t hear the nervousness in his words.

“Yeah,” you said sweetly, “I’d really like that.” You beamed up at him and he was a goner.

That night, you kissed him.

No drug could give him the same high the way your lips on his did. On the drive home, his cheeks ached from how much he grinned. When he got into bed that night, he stared up at the ceiling forcing his brain to play out the events over and over again.

“She kissed me.”

The heat coming from the Harrington’s fire pit wraps the backyard in a blanket of warmth, beating off the nipping bite of the mid October breeze. The sky above is clear of any clouds to hide the small twinkle of the stars, the moon hanging high above the backyard. The leaves fall from the trees in red, orange, and brown piles. You and Eddie had been seeing each other almost every other day since that first date. It had been a month to be exact, not like Eddie was counting the days or anything.

For the past couple of weeks, you had been the discussion of every conversation he had with his friends. They wanted to know when they’d get to meet you, if you guys were officially dating, what you were like. Honestly, he kicked himself the first time he brought you up because he knew there would be thousands of questions to follow. Eddie knew that it was because they cared for him, wanting to make sure that whoever he had been seeing had their seal of approval.

So when Steve mentioned having a bonfire last weekend, he knew it was a secret ploy to meet you. You talked about wanting to meet his friends, yet he was terrified at the idea of you meeting the gaggle of idiots. Dustin would probably bring up some embarrassing memories, like how he shot coke out of his nose at lunch that one time. It made his head spin with every embarrassing thing that he’s ever done in his life, all the things that would pop in his head at random times that made him full body cringe.

The minute he brought it up to you though, you jumped up and down excited that you’d finally get to meet them. He knew he couldn’t say no to you, especially when you had that look of giddiness. Eyes big with elation, infectious smile, clapping your hands together, kind of excitement. God, he could never say no to you.

Now you’re here and you can’t be any happier. Eddie stands across from you, separated by the dancing flames of the fire. He’s standing with a beer in his hand, the story that Robin and Steve are telling becomes background noise. He’s honed in on you, on the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. Max and El are talking to you about something he can’t hear, whatever it is you’re drinking it right up. Butterflies dance in his stomach at the sight of you. You’re enjoying the people that Eddie enjoys, and it fills him with so much pride. His favorite people are getting along, all in the same space. If his nine year old self could see this backyard right now, he’d be blown away. Everyone here cares for him, and he cares for them, something that he never thought he would have.

“It’s kind of creepy to stare ya know,” Steve’s voice cuts through Eddie’s internal monologue. The long haired man takes a swig of his beer trying to pretend like he didn’t just get caught like a child with their hand in the cookie jar.

“I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about man,” he mutters out. Avoiding any eye contact with the people in front of him, taking interest in the sight of his scuffed up reeboks.

“Oh man, Munson’s got it bad,” Robin butts in. Heat from embarrassment creeps up Eddie’s face. He hopes no one notices, ready to blame it on the warmth of the fire beside them.

“Guys stop it,” Nancy chimes in, “I think it’s sweet.” The brunette sends him a small smile. The metal head sends her one back in a small thank you.

“Never thought I’d see Eddie Munson have heart eyes over a girl,” Robin mumbles over her red solo cup. Dustin nods in agreement.

“Yeah it’s kind of gross, to be honest.”

“Shut it, Henderson,” Eddie hissed, “besides, there’s nothing wrong with having heart eyes for my girl.”

He looks over the group and he’s met with silence and wide eyed stares. Raising an eyebrow, he turns to see what’s caused everyone to suddenly shut the hell up. When he turns his body, he goes rigid with the sight of you. When did you get over here, you were just talking to the girls on the side of the fire. He wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole. He just called you his girl and you weren’t even boyfriend/girlfriend yet, at least you never officially talked about it. He can’t read you and it’s scaring the ever living shit out of him.

After what feels like an eternity, he sees it. The way your eyes glitter, how you're biting on your lower lip fighting off the impending grin that’s due to break out on your face. Your arms wrap around his body, and you snuggle into him. His heart starts to beat again, this time it feels like it’s beating too fast.

It doesn’t take long for the group to move on to another conversation, slowly forgetting the awkward pause that just happened. Eddie’s mind races, scrambling to find the words to say. It doesn’t matter because you’re speaking before he can.

“I like that,” your voice is soft when you say it, yet he can still hear it. He glances down at you and you’re already craning your neck to meet his brown eyes.

“Yeah? And what’s that?” He’s surprised how cool he’s being for someone who just embarrassed himself in front of a whole group of people.

“Being your girl.”

After making it official, Eddie pondered the thought of you meeting Wayne. He knew it needed to happen, he just didn’t know how to go about it. This was all new to Eddie, he never had a girlfriend so he never had to worry about this kind of thing. So for the past week he practiced how to go about asking you, reassuring you it was okay to say no if you thought it was too much too soon. He had the perfect plan, he’d ask you when you were having movie night at your place, casually bring it up over dinner, and go from there. It was a good plan, but Eddie is an idiot and he can’t help but fumble when he’s around you. His palms were sweating and his knee bounced at an obnoxious rate, if you noticed you never mentioned it. He doesn’t even realize he said anything until your chewing stopped, going completely wide-eyed. The first thing he thinks of doing is running, bolting for your front door leaving you in the dust, but then you kiss him. All the anxiety leaves his body the minute it happens.

At first he thought it would be simple, invite his uncle over next weekend and order take out for the three of you. Then you scoffed, telling him you would die before you would have his uncle eating take out when you had a perfectly good stove. That whole week, you’d call him after work asking what his uncle liked and disliked, if he had any allergies or personal preferences. Out of the pair of you, you were more enthusiastic about the whole thing, and it made his worry subside. However, your enthusiasm slowly became overthinking every small detail.

Music blasted on your radio, loud enough he could hear from behind your front door. When you failed to answer the knocking after a minute or two, he let himself in. That’s when he found you standing on tiptoes, feather duster in hand, reaching for the picture frames on the mantle hanging above your tv. Your hair was pulled up into a bun, frizzy and damp from sweat. Your shirt sleeves were rolled up to your elbows and one of the legs of your sweatpants had been awkwardly pulled up higher on your calf than the other. Your usually clean apartment looked even more sterile now, walls looked brighter, and the air smelled even more clean than before. When you had called him earlier to ask if he was still staying the night, you mentioned that you had taken the day off to have a personal day. He thought maybe you’d relax or go shopping, he did not imagine you taking the day off to sit and clean every square inch of your house.

Leaning on the door frame, he took this time to quietly admire you. The way you sang the words of whatever Madonna song was playing, how your hips swing to the music, how you wipe your brow every once and a while when a sweat bead drips down. He can’t help but feel giddy when he watches you, heart growing bigger and bigger, like the grinch, with every second that passes. He wants to pinch himself sometimes because he is so lucky that he has you. You’re so fucking beautiful and you chose him, even though you could have anyone you wanted, you still chose him.

You jump almost ten feet in the air like some cartoon the minute you notice his presence. It makes him laugh and you clutch your heart trying to catch your breath.

“Babe, what the hell? You gave me a heart attack,” you walk over to your stereo, turning it down to an acceptable level. You set your duster down on your coffee table and make your way over to him. Rolling down your sleeves and trying to push down all the frizziness of your hair, he takes notice that you're shy, like he’s not supposed to see you like this.

“Sorry baby, I knocked but you had that god awful music playing,” there’s no real malice behind his statement. He makes his way over to you, making sure to take his shoes off first. He pulls you into a hug, relishing the way his face fits in your neck. “Hi baby,” his voice vibrates off of your skin. You're the first to pull away and he misses your warmth.

“As much as I want to hug you, I’m a disgusting mess,” you complain.

“Ex-cuuuse me, ma’am, but you are no such thing,” he gasps, placing a palm over his heart acting as if you wounded him. His little act pulls a snort from you and it makes him beam.

“What’s all this anyway,” he questions, “Don’t tell me you did all this work when you took the day off.”

You shrug your shoulders, trying your hardest not to look too bashful, “I wanted to clean for Sunday. Ya know, make a good first impression on your uncle.” His chest swells with pride at the thought of you doing all this just because you’re meeting his uncle.

“My sweet girl,” he coos, “You didn’t have to do all this. Your house is already spotless as it is.” Your face rests in his palms, your shoulders dropping with ease at the action.

“I just want it to be perfect,” you whisper and he melts. If he was being honest, he could cry over the whole thing. No one, especially a girl, has ever done something so thoughtful for him. The last time a girl has ever done anything relatively nice for him, was in sixth grade when Stacey Leannski gave him a pencil when he forgot his.

He grins, shaking his wild curls, “Babe, I can assure you that Wayne is going to love you, washed walls or not. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to curl up on that lovely couch of yours and watch Grease for the millionth time,” He jokes, you roll your eyes swatting at him. You agree, but only after you take a quick shower to rid yourself of the sweat and grime of the day. He accepts, telling you he’d order pizza while he waits.

Now showered and pizza devoured, the empty box sitting on your table to prove it, you two sit in the glow of the television in front of you. You’re sitting side by side, head resting on his shoulder, your attention on the movie. He feels overwhelmed by you, you're taking over all of his senses and he’s not sure how to handle it. The scent of whatever you used in the shower floods his nose, the heat of your body burning into his side, the softness of your bare legs on his, it’s all too much and he feels like he’s going to explode.

Eddie isn’t a virgin, far from it, so he knows what it’s like to burn with that desire, leaving your house after heavy makeout sessions, foot to the floorboard racing to get home to take care of the situation in his pants. Albeit not having sex yet, which he was one hundred percent fine with, he definitely felt aroused by you. Christ, you were the face of all his fantasies when he was in the comfort of his own home, hands down his pants, your name falling from his lips in quiet chants. This wasn’t that feeling at all, this was something completely different and it terrifies him.

He’s shaken from his train of thoughts when he notices the weight of your head on his shoulder is gone. He turns his attention to you, you’re all bright smiles watching Frankie Avalon serenade Frenchie. His eyes fall to your lips as you mouth the words, plump and pretty enough for him to kiss you. The illumination from the tv falls around in a halo like way, hair still damp from your shower, your shirt two sizes too big, you look ethereal like this. For a second the world goes quiet, time seems to pause, it feels like it’s just the two of you, and that’s all that matters to him at this very moment. That familiar ache returns, this time it’s stronger. The beat of his heart is erratic, the sound muffled in his ears like there's big clumps of cotton in them. His breath hitches, and his eyes bug out with realization. This isn’t an overwhelming feeling of arousal, oh no, that’s not what this is.

This feeling is you, picking and carving away at his heart, hollowing out a spot for yourself. This is you pouring yourself into his veins, circulating yourself through his bloodstream. This is you squeezing the air out of his lungs, sucking it right out of him for yourself. This feeling is you branding yourself on his soul, leaving your mark on him for the rest of his natural born life.

That night, he didn't get any sleep. He’s too busy with the feeling of your body pressed to him, the warmth of you seeping into his skin. Even with the heaviness of his eyes he can’t seem to shut off his mind, too busy thinking about how in love he is with you. He’s not sure when he’ll tell you this, but he hopes when he does, you feel the same way.

Eddie was going to jump into the nearest traffic if he had to spend one more second in the grocery store. The lights were starting to get too bright, the music a little too loud, and he swears it wasn’t as packed in the store when you got here - which was like an hour ago, but who’s counting. He wanted to say something, he really did, but when he gazes over at you he can’t bring himself to burst your bubble. Your bottom lip sits between your teeth while you hold two different cans of vegetables in your hand, eyes bouncing back and forth between the two labels. You looked so adorable standing there, it almost makes him forget about wasting his whole Sunday morning there. Almost.

“Baby,” he coos, “Just pick one, yeah? I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Ringed hands wrap around your waist, pulling you into him as he rests his head on top of your own. You sigh, pulling your body away from his, too soon for his liking.

“I know you said your uncle doesn’t like green beans but I’ve never made a stew with peas before. I mean I know you can use both, I just, I don’t know,” you ramble, pouting your bottom lip out and it takes everything in not to kiss you stupid.

“Wayne is a grown man, he can pick around them,” Eddie reassures you. He spots the look of hesitation on your face. Before you can argue your next point to him, he wraps his arms around your waist once again. “I promise you, he will love it no matter what. Now stop worrying that pretty little head of yours and let's get a show on the road, I have a hot date to get to,” He bops your nose and you blush. “There she is,” he says, “There’s my girl.”

“Okay but,” you put more emphasis on the last word, “If he hates it, I’m blaming you,” You playfully scowl at him. Placing the can into the cart, Eddie grins at you in victory, “That’s okay babe, I can handle the old man for ya.” You roll your eyes at him and he pretends like he doesn’t see the small crack of a smile growing on your face.

Eddie was right, like he knew he would be, Wayne loved your cooking and even better, he loved you. Wasn’t so shocking to be honest, you’re a wonderful person and everyone you meet instantly falls in love with you because of it.

The air of the night is a lot cooler than before, the sky much darker now that the sun had been replaced with the moon. The store bag filled with leftovers you packed for Wayne, rustled in the wind. The two men make their way to the truck, even though Wayne told his nephew multiple times he did not need to be walked out, the younger man ignored him and followed him out anyway. Not much is said between the two, Eddie overthinking what he would say to Wayne. Obviously he knew he needed to thank him, not only for coming, but for not embarrassing him.

“I just wanted to uh, thank you. Ya know, for coming over and stuff. Really ‘ppreciate it.” He fidgets with his rings. Eddie’s not sure why he’s so awkward saying a simple thank you, this was the man who raised him for heaven’s sake.

“ ‘re welcome kid,” Wayne gruffs out. Reaching for the handle on his truck, he places the bag of food on the bench inside. There’s another small pause as he reaches into the pocket of his old scuffed up carhartt jacket, pulling out his pack of reds.

“You love ‘er don’t cha?” He lights the cigarette that sits between his lips, taking a long drag and letting out a small cloud of smoke. The question makes Eddie’s eye’s bulge out of his head. He’s a blubbering mess, tripping over his own words not knowing what to say. His cheeks burn harder when his uncle chuckles.

“I taught ya well son,” Wayne slapped his hand on his shoulder, “treat her right, ya hear? She’s too good of a girl, don’t wanna see you breakin’ her heart.” Eddie nodded dumbly to Wayne's words.

While Eddie makes his way back into your home, he mulls over what the hell just happened, he just got the shovel talk from his own uncle. When he opens the door, he’s met with the sight of you. You’re standing at the sink, that adorable little dress you wear moving with you has you sway back and forth, humming a tune. His uncle's words ring out in his head. There was no way he would ever break your heart, he knows he never could.

The colder weather of winter makes its way across Hawkins, leaving trails of snow in its path. As cold seeps into your home, so does Eddie’s things. His shampoo bottles, deodorant, some of his clothes residing in the space in your drawers and closet that you’d left for him. He hadn’t officially moved in, it just seemed easier if he left some clothes over when he’d stay the night.

Your limbs tangle beneath the fortress of blankets that lay on top of you. Hushed voices and quiet laughter fill the room, like two small children sharing secrets at a sleepover. Eddie savors the feeling of your fingertips tracing lines onto his skin.

“Did I ever tell you the full story of why I moved?” You keep your attention to the tattoo that sits on his chest. He answers with a shake of his head, muttering no. Eddie knew the story you told him was a half assed attempt at pushing the subject away and he was never going to push you for the real reason, knowing one day you would do it when you were comfortable enough.

You take a deep breath, readying yourself for what is to come. “Well, as you know I have an older brother. My parents, they were really big with supporting him, ya know? Like they were always going to his baseball games, pouring all the attention on him.” You force yourself not to meet Eddie’s gaze, opting to trace random things on his exposed chest.

“He’s the golden child, the apple of their eyes, and then there’s me. I wasn’t anything special, just kinda there. Anyway, they were never really worried about me because as they said, I always had the option of marrying rich,” a dry laugh escapes your throat, “While my brother, he had something going for him. He was a star baseball player, and they knew he’d make it big. But then he got injured and couldn’t play anymore.”

“When my brother decided to work for an engineering company in Chicago, my parents felt like there was nothing left for them to do, so they retired and packed their shit. They just left me there, and it hurt for a while, I mean I was out of school by that point but still. The idea of them not wanting to stay for me, that shit fucked with me.”

Before he knows it, the light blue pillow case that sits under your head is now stained dark blue with your tears. Eddie’s seen you cry before, just last week you cried while watching The Breakfast Club, but this was not the same thing. Fat, heavy tear drops, rolling down your face, snot leaking from your nose, kind of crying. The sight itself makes his own chest constrict and all he wants to do is wrap you up in the biggest hug.

“I ended up getting a really good job at this company in the city. I was so proud of myself too, I was making a lot of money, and I had my own place. I ended up meeting Paul, my ex, at the bar one night. He was charming, handsome, and dressed well, so I thought he was safe. It was good for a while, really it was but looking back it was so bad, Eds. Like you wouldn’t believe the shit I put up with, but yeah I found out he was using some of the money I had hidden to buy his girlfriend gifts. That was only part of it but that was the straw that broke the camel's back, I guess. Anyway, I found out when I found him fucking her in his bed and the next day, I packed my shit and left. God, I guess you do end up like your parents after all, huh?”

When your eyes meet, the flood you had been holding back finally breaks. Without a second thought, he’s holding onto you as you sob into his neck. You never told him the full story on Paul, but what you did tell him, he wanted to find the guy and beat the piss out of him. The idea of someone, let alone your own parents treating you the way they did breaks his heart. He wishes he could take the pain away from you, he’d carry the weight of it on his own back if he had to.

Eddie’s not sure what to say or if you even want him to say anything, so he doesn’t. His hand pets the top of your head, soothing you, like a mother does to her baby. A flashback pops into his own head, him as a child in his bed, crying because his parents fought again. The memory of his mom coming in and rocking him, the way he’s doing now, easing his tears with a slow song. So he does the same for you.

Slowly, the vice grip you had on him eases up, and your sobs reduce to small hiccups. He doesn’t stop until he hears your breath even out. When he’s sure you're sleeping, he takes a second to appreciate you, for bearing your soul to him, removing the barriers that blocked him out. He vows to himself that night, that he will protect you from anything and everything for as long as you both live.

The glow of the Christmas tree lights reflect off of the living room window. Outside, small flurries rain down, coating the ground in layers of white. The scent of hot chocolate and cinnamon fill the small living room. It looked like an elf had thrown up everything jolly in your home, littering every square inch in something holiday themed.

Eddie wasn’t a big holiday kind of guy, never really having a reason to go all out for them when it was just him and Wayne. He thought you were going to have an aneurysm when he told you, with the way your face twisted up. You were quick to tell him that you’d be more than happy to have him over to celebrate, have his uncle join in the morning, and then meet up at Steve’s to have dinner with the group. Eddie wasn’t too thrilled on the idea, not because he didn’t want to spend it with you, but because he knew he wouldn’t be able to afford a bunch of gifts. Albeit you reassured him that you didn’t want anything, he couldn’t help but feel like you were lying to make him feel better. It wasn’t until he realized that you were not doing this just for him but you were doing it for both of the lost childhood you had, he agreed.

The two of you sit across from each other by the tree. Small boxes and bags hid underneath the fake branches, sitting pretty in the light of the colorful bulbs that hang. The uneasy feeling settles in his stomach when he looks at them. The amount of gifts that sit with your name doesn’t hold a candle to all the things that sit underneath for him. It was decided that you’d pick gifts out for each other and open them at the same time. Doubt fills his brain, but it’s quickly shut off when he sees you with the box he placed in your hands. You shake the small box back and forth, tongue poking out in concentration trying to figure out what could be underneath the paper.

Over the next few minutes boxes and bags are passed back and forth, paper ripped to shreds, and piled of gifts surround the both of you.

Beside you sit your pile of opened presents. The Cure’s ‘Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me’ album, a pack of colorful fuzzy socks, your favorite candy, a new mug with a black cat painted on it, Fannie Flags novel ‘Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe’, along with highlighters and new pens for annotating.

Eddie’s pile isn’t as neat as yours, all haphazardly thrown next to him with care. A pack of new socks because he never seems to have one's without holes, a pair of new work boots, a new Metallica band shirt, a sketchbook and pencils for his D&D doodles, a bottle of Calvin Klein’s ‘Obsession for Men’, Anthrax ‘Among the Living’ album, and a pack of guitar picks.

“These are perfect, thank you baby.” A dimpled smile appears on Eddie’s cheeks. Leaning over to reach you, placing a chaste kiss on your lips.

“You’re welcome. I love everything you got me. I promise not to finish my book too fast.” You joke. There’s a sense of pride written on your face. He’s not sure why he was so nervous for this, when he’d get to see you like this, truly like a kid on Christmas morning.

He can’t relish in the feeling too long, when he sees you grabbing a hidden present from under the tree. You hand him the small box, the red ribbon mocking him from where it sits in his hands.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t have to get me anything else, I thought we said-” before he can finish, you tut his response away, waving your hands for him to stop. “Shush, it’s nothing big I promise. Now open it.” He can’t refuse when you look at him like that, cheshire grin shining brightly at him.

He pulls the ribbon off, letting it slowly fall to the floor. Opening the box, he’s met with a golden shine. A key sitting in a bed of tissue paper, confusion is written on his face when he pulls it from its place, the box falling to the floor with a small thump. When he looks up at you, the once confident look you had is now replaced with a meek expression.

“I just thought, ya know since you’re here all the time it’d make sense for you to have your own. I just want you to have it in case I’m not here or something.” Your statement trails off. Before you know it, he’s tackling you in a hug. Wet sloppy kisses are placed on your face and you swat at him, giggling telling him to stop.

“This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever given me, you know that?” He’s hovering over you. You beam up at him, wrapping your finger around one of his curls.

“You say that, but you still haven’t gotten your last gift.” You tease and he sits up, letting you up from your position on the floor.

Standing up, you hold your hand out to him. As you pull him along to your room, his heart is in his throat. He burns with embarrassment, feeling like an asshole because you’ve gone above and beyond for him and he has nothing for you in return. When you make it to your room, you gently push him on the edge of your bed, making him sit down. You nudge your way in between his legs, craning your neck down to meet his eyes. Before he knows it, the giant sleep shirt you were wearing is now on the floor, leaving you in the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

You stand there, red lace hugging your body, every curve he’s dreamed of seeing, are now in arms reach. He’s sure he looks like an idiot, drool falling from his mouth, Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat. You were such a sight to see, standing there, shy as can be, looking like a wet dream.

“You can touch me, Eds.” It takes him a minute to realize what you just said to him. He slowly lets his hand reach out from you, tracing the intricate detailing the lingerie that sits on your body.

Standing to full height, he kisses you, so soft and slow. When you reach your hand down to brush over the front of his groin, it picks up a notch. Gnashing teeth and tongue, he feels like a feral animal and if he doesn’t do something soon, he’s going to bust in his pants like a teenager. He takes his time laying you down on the bed, too scared that you might break if he goes any faster. The clothes he wears are starting to become too suffocating, constricting his every movement. His clothes are off in a flash, sitting next to yours on the hardwood floor.

Eddie thinks he’s lost his goddamn mind, he must be having a realistic wet dream or something, because there is no way on earth this is happening. He’s waited for this moment for the past two months, imagining every single detail, but nothing would prepare him for the real thing. He’s hovering above, looking down at his perfect girl, wrapped in the prettiest dainty ribbon of sorts. Eyes going crazy trying to get every single detail memorized, scars, birthmarks, dimples - he wants to learn it by heart.

“ You‘re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” He doesn’t just say it because you’re half naked underneath him. He says it because you are the most beautiful woman he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting. No playboy model, no random hook up, no groupie could hold a candle to the beauty you have.

“You’re the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen,” You look up at him through your lashes, puffy red lips stretched into that Colgate smile he loves so much.

He wants to hold those words with him for the rest of his life, lock them away for safekeeping. You have no idea what you do to him, how much you mean to him. You’ve dug your way into his life, flipping it completely upside down, and unlocking a side to him he never knew he had.

“I’m so fucking in love with you, sweetheart.” It’s out there, piercing the air like bullets from a starting pistol. Eddie’s the most vulnerable he’s ever been, giving you his heart on a silver platter. You’ve got him in the palm of your hand, able to crush his soul at any moment.

Reaching your hand up, you cup his cheek, rubbing your thumb along his cheek. He’s bracing himself for rejection, ready to tuck tail and run, but it never comes.

“Good, because I’m so fucking in love with you, Eddie Munson.” His eyes search your face, waiting to hear you tell him it was all a joke. He doesn’t, instead he sees you, just as vulnerable as him. Just two scared people of being hurt, letting their guard down, opening up themselves in the most raw way.

“You’ll still love me in the morning?”

“Always.”

For the first time in his life, he makes love - hands cradled together, foreheads touching, sweet nothings being shared. He doesn’t even notice when he starts crying, not until you wipe away the tears staining his cheek. He would be embarrassed but this is you, the girl who’s stolen his heart and invaded his whole life. When it’s over, you hold him, whispering sweet praises to the metal head.

When the morning light peaks through your curtains, you’re still there, holding onto him like you did when you fell asleep. You didn’t leave, didn’t regret the words that were shared between the two of you. Your promise rings in his head - always.

The bitter cold of March couldn’t beat the icy atmosphere in the car. No matter how many times Eddie called your name you refused to answer, turning your body more and more towards the window. Eddie knew something happened, he just didn’t know what. The night started off fine, meeting with friends to get food and drinks, big laughs and stories passed back and forth at the table. At some point something happened and you weren’t laughing anymore. Your big smile and bright eyes are replaced with a look he’s never seen before. He tried to get you to talk, begging you to just say something, only to be met with a scoff and crossed arms.

Pulling up to your house, you didn’t even wait for him to shut off the car to exit the car, slamming the door hard enough to make Eddie flinch in his seat. He wanted to puke, he hated this, he hated that he didn’t know what was making you so angry and he hated that he didn’t know how to fix it. Releasing a big puff of air, he follows you inside where he’s met with more slamming doors.

He doesn’t want to bombard you, so he decides to wait in the kitchen, where he starts to pace back and forth. He feels like he’s eight years old again after the first time he’d ever gotten in trouble at school, sitting outside the principal’s office in one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs, watching the clock go by as he waits to be called back. Although he’d get used to the feeling over time, he would never forget that first time, the way it felt when his stomach knotted up, shaky hands and trembling legs.

He hears the familiar click of the bathroom door open and he freezes, your figure ascends down the hallway, shuffling your feet along the wooden floors. Your hair you spent hours on styling to perfection is now thrown into a bun, your mascara now leaving black streaks on your face from crying, the outfit you took forever to pick out is now replaced with a pair of sweatpants and an old shirt.

Eddie watches as you reach for a glass from your cabinet, filling it with water from your faucet. At that moment he thinks it’s better if he keeps distance by staying in his corner of the kitchen, not wanting to approach you and scare you off. Screaming and yelling, that’s what he’s used to, standing in the middle of the battle front, dodging bullets left and right. Hurtful words being spat, so sharp and full of toxins, ready to leave scars after all the dust settles.

Silence, that was the real killer. It was the calm before the storm, the thickness in the air that made it harder and harder to breathe. It’d sneak up behind you, wrapping its hands around your throat, and slowly squeezing the oxygen out of your lungs. It was the uneasy feeling you get right before you head into the woods at night. It was able to sweep the rug out from under you, pulling you further and further into the darkness to no point of return.

He wants to say the right thing to you, he wants to mend the damage that’s been done, wrap you up in bandages and make it all better. He wants to pull you into shelter from the storm going on inside your brain, to hold on to you for dear life so that you don’t get sucked up in the twister of your thoughts. It’s written all over your face, the hurt, the anger, it’s all there for him to read - like a clue being left behind for him to find. There’s a war starting up inside of you, he can see the smoke signals from here, calling out for help. He wants to break in and stop it from happening, but he can’t - the brick wall that he worked endlessly at to break, is now back up again. This time it’s harder to tear down.

Although he’s never been the first in the firing line, Eddie’s armed and ready for the first hit. It feels like one of those western movies his uncle Wayne used to watch - two cowboys, guns drawn, ready to fire any second. The biggest showdown known to man is happening right here, in the small yellow kitchen of your home. There would be no shoot out this time, no knife-like words to leave damage, no wounds to heal. This time, you’re the first to put your gun down, wave your white flag in surrender.

You don’t tell him you hate him, you don’t tell him to get out and to never come back, you simply hug him. It throws him for a loop, the ticking time bomb that stood before him, defusing itself right before his very eyes. The rain that clouded over him is now washed out by the chirps of the birds, sun pushing its way to be seen once again. There is no fight to be won anymore, there is no mass destruction left in the wake of battle, left to be cleaned for another day.

He can feel the shaking of your body, vibrating with the cries you muffle in his shirt. The situation might be over, but you are still wounded from before, begging for some kind of mercy.

“Baby, you gotta tell me what’s wrong. Tell me how to fix it.” He can smell the hair spray that sits on your hair, from where his nose rests. His big hand soothing you, rubbing over the cotton shirt that drapes your back. He means the words he says to you, he wants you to let him in again.

Your answer is hard to understand, obscured by the fabric of his shirt where you’ve shoved your face to hide.

“Sweetheart, you gotta speak up so I can hear you,” He coos at you. His sweet tone coaxes you out from your hiding spot. Pulling your face from the comfort of his chest, you peer up at him.

“Please don’t leave me.” It sounds so dejecting when it falls from your lips, like you're begging him with everything in you. It breaks his heart to see you like this.

There’s some parts of your brain that Eddie hasn’t explored yet. The darkest corners of your mind, so dark you’d need a flashlight, decorated in dust and cobwebs. All the secrets you’ve yet to reveal to him, filed away, locked behind a door - the key thrown somewhere for him to find. Eddie knows there’s parts of you that you don’t want him to see, too scared he’d criticize you the way people before him did. That was the thing though, he never would, no matter how scary or fucked up you thought you were.

“Honey, I’m not going to leave you, okay? S’just - I need you to tell me what’s going on, tell me what happened.” He’s pleading with you, trying to pull it out of you. Whether it gets him any further or not, it doesn’t matter, he just wants you to see he’s trying, trying for you.

“Will you still love me in the morning?” You’re retreating, going back behind that big brick wall. As much as Eddie wants to scream and shout for you to stop hiding, he knows that the storm within is at bay, at least for now. So he lets you retreat, lets you rest knowing he’ll be back hammering, no matter how long it takes.

“Always,” It’s hushed, quiet like the small flurries that fall outside of the window. Plump lips meeting the top of your head. Eddie knows he’s not getting any more out of you, both too winded and tired from the events tonight.

Cracks and fractures left behind from the people before him, it’s going to take time, he reminds himself. So many times you had told him it was best if he runs away, there’s too much damage and he deserves someone better. He thinks you’re wrong, you are someone better, you just can’t see it. You don’t see what he sees, the girl he fell in love with, he wishes you could because you’re the best thing that’s ever graced this fucked up planet. He’d plant you in front of the world’s biggest mirror if he had to, but he knows that you’d still only see half of what he does. So for now, he’ll keep reminding you until he’s blue in the face. Always.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things au #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x female reader

305 notes · View notes

humanpurposes · 11 months

Text

Just for a Moment, part i

Tom Bennett has a habit of climbing through her bedroom window whenever he's in trouble // Main Masterlist

Tom Bennett x OFC

Warnings: 18+, mentions of war and death, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut

Words: 3800

A/n: Me? Starting another series to avoid updating ongoing fics? No wayyyy. This is going to be a 4 part mini series and their song is When the Sun Hits by Slowdive, just so you know. Also available to read on AO3.

Tom Bennett had always had a talent for getting under people’s skin.

Kitty knew it when they were kids, when they’d run around the streets of Longsight and the alleyways behind Slade Grove. He would rile anyone up, regardless if they were older or bigger than him. He didn’t even do it for a reason, he just liked to get a raise out of people.

He used to tease her too, for all sorts of stupid reasons, because she was a year younger than him, because her mother used to dress her in shirts and shorts that used to belong to her older brothers, because when they’d buy bags of Yorkshire mix from the shop, she would only eat the red ones. Every Sunday after Church, they’d sit in the park or on the front step of the Bennetts’ house, and Tom would pick out every sweet he knew she liked, and keep the rest for himself.

When Tom was eleven he moved to the big school, where Kitty’s brothers all went, Eddie, Art and Stevie. Eddie was a prefect. He used to come home with all sorts of stories of Tom Bennett, ‘from over the road’. Tom talked back to his teachers, disrupted assemblies, picked fights with other kids, every offence Kitty’s mind could imagine.

It only got worse when his mam died.

Thursday 12th July, 1928

Kitty had never been to a funeral before. She had a new dress and a black overcoat for the occasion. It was cold in the church graveyard, overcast and windy. Mam had held her hand so tightly she wondered if she’d ever get it back.

The Bennetts stood together, on the other side of the grave. Lois’ hair was braided into a messy plait that stuck out on one side, the ribbon at the end tied into a knot rather than a bow. She was trying to hold her father’s shoulder as he cried, but she couldn’t quite reach. Tom stood a little further away from his father. His hair was messy, his knees scabbed and bruised, his shirt skewed and the buttons done in the wrong places.

Kitty kept her eyes on him, all through the service, the burial and the wake back at number 27. Tom didn’t cry once.

That night, when she should have been asleep, she lay awake in her bed, listening to her brothers whispering and in the next room as they always did. Sometimes she felt sad to be left out of their antics, but tonight she was glad to be on her own, in her little box room at the front of the house.

Until she heard a tapping on the window.

She froze between her sheets. Was it too late for it to have been a bird?

And then it came again, tap, tap, tap.

With a determined little huff, she rose from the bed, smoothed her hands down the front of her nightgown and drew back the curtains.

“Tom?” she whispered.

He grinned when he saw her, perched on the windowsill behind the glass.

Kitty raised the window and before she could invite him in he was crawling through it.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

Tom shrugged and went to sit on the edge of her bed. He glanced around the room, at the little shelf of books, dolls and small wooden animals, the black overcoat hung on the back of the door and the drawings stuck to the wardrobe. He’d been in the Wheelans’ kitchen before, but he’d never been allowed upstairs.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said, far too loudly for Kitty’s liking.

She pressed a firm finger against his lips. She held her breath, waiting for one of the lads to notice, but they kept on chatting– whatever it was teenage boys chatted about.

“Keep your voice down,” she said.

Tom smiled against her finger and made a cross over his heart.

She sat beside him, swaying her legs while she tried to think of something to say.

Tom reached for a book on her bedside table and flicked through the pages. When he was bored of that, he grabbed her teddy. He tossed it about in his hands and ran his hands over the ancient and matted fur. It had been Eddie’s, back in the day. Every single one of her brothers had owned it before her.

“I don’t like seeing my dad cry,” Tom said.

Kitty frowned. “Why not?”

“I just don’t like it. He’s always been a bit…”

Dad had often mentioned the case of Douglas Bennett. They had fought in the same regiment in 1914. When Micheal Wheelan came back from war, he returned as a self-proclaimed hero. His boys loved to hear his stories and take turns wearing his medals. Douglas Bennett had returned to Manchester a far more troubled kind of man.

“And with mum he–” but he stopped himself with an irritated grunt. “Can I stay here?”

“What?”

“Not forever, I just… can I sit here, just for a moment?”

Kitty took the teddy from him and placed her hand firmly in his. “That’s what we’re doing, isn’t it?”

From then on, Tom made quite a habit of appearing at the window and hiding in her room whenever he was in trouble.

Saturday 2nd September, 1939

Being up and out before the boys are awake is a strange feeling, it’s the only time the house is so quiet.

It’s just before dawn. The sky is a hazy shade of dark blue but an orange glow is starting to appear over the rooftops. Mr Gregory wants her in the shop early to help with a delivery.

Something draws her eyes from her black leather shoes on the pavement, up to the end of the street. A figure makes his way down Slade Grove. She recognises the sway of his shoulders and the end of a lit cigarette in his mouth.

“Alright, pretty Kitty?” Tom says when they’re in earshot of each other, taking the cigarette between his fingers. “What are you doing up so late?”

“It’s early,” she says. He’s in a jacket and slacks, and he has a dazed sort of look in his eyes. She can guess where he’s been but it doesn’t stop her from asking. “What have you been up to?”

“Don’t give me that look,” he says, taking another drag. He tilts his chin up and exhales the smoke above their heads through pouted lips. “Just been down the pub, nothing scandalous.”

A likely story. She’s seen the police knocking on their front door twice in four weeks.

“How’s your job in the shop going?” he asks.

It was supposed to be temporary, a little money to make ends meet after dad got laid off from the factory. Six months later and she’s still there.

“Grand,” she says.

“Can you do me mates rates on a packet of Marlboros?”

“Yeah, if you promise to actually buy them.”

He clutches his chest and his face lights up in an ironic expression. “Of course, what sort of man do you take me for?”

The sort who used to sell cigarettes in the schoolyard— God knows how he got his hands on them in the first place. At that age he could talk himself out of anything. That’s what makes Tom Bennett every parent’s worst nightmare, he’s a troublemaker with pretty blue eyes and an infectiously charming smile.

“I should get going,” she says, taking another step until Tom moves in front of her. Her eyes meet with the collar of his jacket and the hollow of his throat. She can smell the musk of the pub on him, the cigarette smoke and the faded scent of his aftershave.

She looks up to his face and his expression has changed, not quite smiling but amused, smug and somewhat severe.

“What?” she says impatiently.

“Nothing,” he says, unphased, “have a good shift.”

The morning drags on at a gruelling pace. Mr Gregory’s getting on a bit now so Kitty has to do a lot of the heavy lifting, piling boxes into the storage room round the back, going through the stock in the shop, filling the shelves, flattening the boxes and bringing them to the bins outside. It feels like hours of work, but when she looks at the clock it’s not even 9. Eight hours until closing. Mr and Mrs Gregory live above the shop, so at least she gets a steady supply of tea, toast and bits of carrot cake.

By the afternoon she feels her eyes start to close. The morning rush is over now and business will dwindle for the rest of the day. She tries to stay awake, fanning herself with her blouse and nibbling on little mouthfuls of cake.

The bell above the door rings. She straightens her spine and smooths down her apron, ready to put on her best customer service voice, only for Tom Bennett to swagger in through the door.

He’s changed his clothes and donned a blue jacket instead of the earthy green she had seen him in earlier.

“Did you get enough sleep?” Kitty asks at the heavy look under his eyes.

He grins it off. “Packet of Marlboros please, Miss Wheelan.”

She fetches them from the cabinet behind the counter and places the packet in front of him. His aftershave smells a little stronger now. “Anything else?”

He drums his fingers against the counter, looking around innocently at the array of chocolate bars and the jars of sweets behind her.

“I’ll have a bag of Yorkshire mix,” he says.

She takes the jar down from the shelf. She can hear him breathing steadily through his nose as she scoops the sweets into a paper bag. When she turns back around he’s watching her.

“Nine pence,” she says, swallowing down a nervous feeling in her throat.

Tom counts through some change from his pocket and drops the coins into her hands, a sixpence and a thruppence. His fingertips brush over her palms and his knuckles are scabbed over. She dreads to think why.

“Nice one,” he says once she puts the payment through the till. “What do you make of this stuff going on in Poland then?” he says, popping a pear drop into his mouth.

She’s only been reading the headlines of the papers when she stocks them in the shop every morning, or hearing snippets from dad’s radio.

“Since when did you start taking an interest in foreign affairs?” she asks.

He reaches into the bag and pulls out a raspberry. “Been reading the news, haven’t I?” he says, holding it out for her.

She hesitates for a moment before she takes it. She lets the sugar melt over her tongue. It tastes like summer afternoons after school and weekends in the park, tearing at the grass and watching the boys play football because they’d never let her join in.

“That’s where Harry is, isn’t it?” she says, “Lois must be worried.

Tom tuts and tucks the bag into his pocket. “Posh boys can talk their way out of anything,” he says. “Speaking of, I met Madge’s new man last night.”

“At the pub?”

“Yeah. Right ponce in’t he?”

She purses her lips in irritation. She hates it when he does this, poking fun at others until he feels better about himself. “He’s training to be a barrister.”

“Like I said.”

She shrugs. “I suppose there are worse jobs to have.”

“Is that what you’ll do then? Find some rich boy with a big house and stick up his arse?”

It’s not quite the future she has planned out for herself. Her friend Madge is a secretary in Manchester. There are all sorts of exams she had to pass, but it could be doable. Mam’s always tried to put her off it though. “Parents need their girls,” she says.

“I don't think I’m likely to find any of those in Longsight. Maybe I should ask Lois for advice?” she says, trying not to smile.

“Steady there, Kitty, I didn’t mean to get you all excited,” he says, leaning into the counter. His voice is lower all of a sudden, it sends an odd, jittery feeling though her chest and stomach.

He winks at her before he turns and leaves. The bell rings and the shop is quiet again.

Her feet feel heavy when she walks through the front door. Her bed calls her name but she’s unbearably thirsty. Saturdays are half days and the boys are already home from the factory. Mam’s started on dinner and the others are around the kitchen table.

Dad waves a blue leaflet at her. “One of Douglas Bennett’s pacifist… things,” he says.

“Do you really think there’ll be a war, dad?” Kitty says, shrugging off her coat.

“If there is, it won’t be long,” he says with a determined nod, “no one wants another war.”

Eddie and Art hum in agreement. The oldest of the four Wheelan siblings, they were born before dad went away to war. Their faces are older and more stern, like they can still remember a time when they didn’t have their father around. They still call Stevie and Kitty “the babies,” which she thinks must make them feel more important.

Stevie’s in good spirits though. “Ran into Lois and Connie on the bus, and Connie personally invited me to their gig tonight!” he says brightly.

“Come off it,” Art grumbles, “she was just being friendly.”

“Kitty!” Stevie sings, waltzing over to her. He takes her coat from her hands and twirls her around the kitchen, to mam’s despair. “Come to the Fiddler’s Bow with me tonight, please.”

“So you can ditch me for Connie once their set’s done?”

“There’ll be other people there,” Stevie says, turning her around to face their brothers, “or ask one of these grumpy bastards to join us.”

“Stephen Wheelan!” their mother chides.

Eddie and Art share a pointed look and shake their heads, already backing away towards the front room.

In the end she decides she’ll just have to brave it. After eating, she changes into a flowy, white blouse and an emerald green skirt, pinning her hair up so it won’t go everywhere as she moves. She hides a tube of lipstick inside her purse. Mam and dad would rather die than let her leave the house with makeup. She only owns a lipstick because Lois Bennett had given her one.

Stevie brushes up well, in a white shirt and freshly shined leather shoes, his hair slicked back with wax. They run into each other on the landing and race downstairs.

Mam gives them the usual instructions. Home by 11 o'clock and not a minute later. One drink each. No smoking. No noise when they get in.

Stevie’s already pulling a packet of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket when they’re halfway through the front door.

And Kitty’s breath hitches when, for the third time that day, she sees Tom Bennett. He’s hovering in the doorway, putting empty milk bottles out. When he notices them, he smiles. “Off somewhere nice?” he says.

“Fiddler’s Bow,” Stevie calls back, “to see Lois and Connie play.”

“She’s down there already,” Tom says, his eyes flickering to Kitty for only a moment, “left half an hour ago.”

He’s in a white t-shirt now, that’s just a little too tight against his torso.

“Why don’t you join us?” Kitty says without thinking it through. “Stevie’s going for Connie, I’ll need a partner once he ditches me.”

Tom looks down at the pavement. His lips are thin and his hands fidget by his side. “I’ve um… got something else on tonight, ‘m sorry.”

Her heart sinks. Any lighthearted hope she had about enjoying the evening dissolves right in front of her. Right, of course, because why would he actually want to spend more than a few moments with her?

“Movin’ on,” Stevie says, steering Kitty down the road with a brief farewell to Tom. “He’s no good, you know that?” he whispers in her ear. “Eddie says he nicks scrap metal from the yard, sells it to all sorts dodgy fuckers.”

“Yeah, I know,” she breathes. Her chest feels tight and suddenly she feels like she wants to cry.

Stevie has a good time at the gig. Lois and Connie are first in the lineup and once their set is over, Stevie makes a point of cheering the loudest. The four of them spend the rest of the night dancing.

When Stevie and Connie disappear outside for a smoke, Kitty drags Lois to the bar, to catch their breath and down glasses of tonic water. Lois drones on about her Harry issue, but having three older brothers who presume every word they say is profound and worthy of note, Kitty knows where to hum and nod without really listening.

They walk Connie home first before the three of them make their way to Slade Grove. The houses are quiet now, save for a few lights in the windows, creeping through drawn curtains. Two policemen are standing outside number 27.

“Have you seen your brother?” one of them calls to Lois when she reaches the door.

“No,” Lois says, “but if you see him before I do, will you tell him he’s in trouble?”

Kitty meets Stevie’s eyes and he raises his brows.

“Piss off,” she grumbles.

Mam and dad have gone to bed, but Eddie and Art are playing cards in the front room— or they should be. Eddie is standing by the window, peering through the curtains.

“Who are they after?” Eddie asks.

“Who do you think?” Kitty mutters, but she doesn’t stay to hear another rant about ‘troublesome Tom Bennett’, and slips her shoes off before she makes her way upstairs.

It can’t be said Tom doesn’t make an impression on the people he meets. Mam and dad still have a soft spot for him, though less so since he’s started getting into trouble with the police, and the lads seem to outright despise him.

She’d be lying if she said he didn’t find him irritating, to a certain degree. Maybe it’s because he’s cocky, maybe it’s because he used to be surprisingly sweet, or maybe it’s because nothing seems to phase him, but something about Tom Bennett makes her restless.

She wipes off her lipstick, takes out the pins in her hair and changes into her nightgown. Her eyes feel heavy, but tomorrow is Sunday, which means the shop will be closed and she can have a whole day of ‘freedom’, so long as that includes helping with the laundry and the dinner.

Dad’s snores are evident and the boys are still distracted downstairs, they’ve even put the radio on by the sound of it.

She’s about to turn off the light when she hears three taps on the window.

He knows it’s unlocked. The window slides up and Tom squeezes through it, slipping his boots off so he doesn’t make too much noise when he plants his feet on the floor. He goes straight to the bed, making himself comfortable over the throw with his hands under his head.

“Lois says the police have been round,” he says quietly.

She looks down at her hands, nervously playing with the fabric of her nightgown. “I saw.”

He turns his head to where she stands. The lamp hits his face like sunlight, catching the sharp features of his face, the point of his nose and the curve of his lips.

She nudges him closer to the wall, making some space for herself beside him. Her body rests against his. He smells like smoke and fresh air.

“What did you do this time?” she asks.

He doesn’t give her an answer. In a way she thinks she’d rather not know.

His arm falls around her and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. Nights with him are often like this, quiet, just two people existing in the same space.

He turns on his side to face her. “Can I stay the night?”

“Tom,” she whispers, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Please, or I’ll have to sleep on a couch in the pub.”

“Are you mad? can you imagine what Eddie’ll do if he sees you walking out my bedroom in the morning?”

“Kitty,” he hums. He brings his hand to her face, gently stroking his thumb over her cheek. His eyes are wide and pleading. “Please.”

It’s in moments like this when she hates Tom the most, when her heart thrums in her chest and she wants nothing more than to lose herself in the feeling of his skin against hers. When their heads are so close together, all she sees are two blue eyes.

Each time she thinks she wants to close the distance between them, something stops her.

Neither of them ever dare to move closer than this.

She reaches to turn off the light and turns back to Tom. Her head falls into his chest and her arm settles around his waist. She falls asleep to the pulse of his heartbeat, the sound of his breath and the warmth of his body.

And by the time the sun shines in through the window, he’s gone.

Sunday 3rd September, 1939

She appears in the kitchen just after 11 o’clock. Her body feels heavy and her eyes are still tired. She shouldn’t have gone back to sleep after she woke up the first time.

Dad’s fiddling with the radio, Art’s pouring tea into six cups, and Eddie and mam are listening to Steive’s retelling of the previous night. He seems incredibly proud of himself, despite the fact the closest he came to kissing Connie was lighting her cigarette.

She helps Art with the tea. They all like it the same way. Strong, with one sugar and a little dash of milk.

It might almost be a perfect morning, if dad were listening to something more uplifting than the news.

“How about some music?” she says as she hands him his cup, but he doesn’t take it. His eyes are fixed on the radio, and his hands are shaking.

“Dad…”

Art appears over her shoulder and turns up the volume. “Quiet,” he says, and the others fall silent.

A voice speaks through the crackles in the transmission, “consequently, this country is at war with Germany.”

Kitty looks at the faces around her, Eddie and Art glaring furiously, Stevie’s wide eyes and his lips fallen like a child’s, mam and dad’s haunted sorrow.

The transmission ends and she wishes it didn’t, it would save her from the grave silence in the house.

She decides to make herself busy. She washes out an empty milk bottle and goes to leave it by the door.

When she opens the door the two policemen are back, only now they’re walking out of the Bennetts’ house.

Her heart sinks. They have Tom in handcuffs.

His eyes meet hers across the road. He doesn’t make a fuss, or try to protest. He hangs his head as they walk him down the street.

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince (comment to be added)

Series taglist: (comment to be added)

#my fics #tom bennett #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fanfic #world on fire #wof #world on fire bbc #world on fire season 2 #world on fire fanfiction #tom bennett x ofc #tom bennett x female reader #tom bennett x y/n #tom bennet x reader #ewan mitchell #tom bennett smut

274 notes · View notes

omegalomania · 1 year

Text

fall out boy live performances i think about Often

the reunion show medley. how many goats do i have to sacrifice for you guys to do this one again.

disloyal order of water buffaloes, specifically the version that opens with the piano and the rest of the band comes crashing in at the second verse. my GOD man what do i have to do to make you do this version again

death valley live. thats all.

the time they did their stayin out all night remix live with wiz khalifa

the thriller aol sessions version is so good that i thought it was the studio version with mild reinstrumentation at first lol

the medley they did in 2015 where they mashed up all their hits and even managed to sneak in the uma thurman riffs at the end

can i link the entirety of the knights of columbus set? i'm gonna do that. go watch it. it's glorious.

i feel like not enough people talked about how good church sounded live. i actually kinda like it a little better than the studio version. patrick drops down an octave for some bits of the final chorus and i always love hearing his chest voice.

obviously i have to link one of the few times they've played headfirst slide into cooperstown on a bad bet live. they did (coffee's for closers) at this show too and i think about it always.

they didnt do where did the party go live that often because it is MERCILESSLY heard to sing live but my GOD. when they did it. my god.

that one performance of the kids aren't alright where pete screams alongside patrick for the entire last part of the chorus ruined me in ways i have difficulty articulating.

the way way early version of sugar we're goin down they played live in 2004 before they changed all the verses

anytime they'd do just one yesterday live and patrick would do the bridge and kill it every time

the acoustic version of sophomore slump or comeback of the year they did for a private show in 2007. (they did this acoustic again in 2013 and i love that version too)

that one time they segued seamlessly from the chorus of alone together to my songs know what you did in the dark

MISS MISSING YOU LIVE YOU ARE EVERYTHING TO ME

any of those rare rare times they would do yule shoot your eye out live

when they did patron saints of liars and fakes at one of the reunion shows. don't touch me.

the acoustic session of tttyg songs (grenade jumper, chicago is so two years ago, saturday) they did that's on the my heart will always be the b side to my tongue dvd. they are so so so SO small!!!!!

save rock and roll live is like. so important to me personally it never fails to bring me to my knees. but specifically the time they did it for the mda telethon in 2014. joes backing vocals come through sO clearly and its SOOOOO AAAAAA

also the time they did save rock and roll live for vevo. BIG ouchie.

okay also the time they dedicated save rock and roll to bowie after he passed because pete gets VERY VISIBLY EMOTIONAL OVER THIS and i can't handle it.

we don't take hits we write them literally Only exists in live format so i have to give a special mention to that. what i would give for a studio version though...

it's hard for me to pick a favorite moment of the time they played wrigley field during mania tour. i was lucky enough to catch a livestream of most of the show and it was frankly magic. someathing has to be said for the energy in the way the show began...and for the way it ended.

im incapable of not bringing up the immortals acoustic version they did during boys of zummer. i cant NOT. joe and patrick sound sO GOOD TOGETHER VOCALLY, OKAY

i'm like a lawyer with the way i'm always trying to get you off, acoustic sessions.....im okay.

remember when they opened some of the monumentour shows with THIS IS THE TAKE OVER, THE MOTHERFUCKING BREAK'S OVER cause. i do.

if youve never seen the stripped-down piano version of young and menace and only heard the studio instrumental i beseech you to watch the live version. i will never forget hearing this live. the whole stadium got so, so quiet in what i could only describe as reverence.

you know that one text post that talks about patrick getting all emotional during a performance of what a catch, donnie and then just sniffs a little and says "i'm a loss for words...which is a good thing i have a microphone, right? so i can keep talking." well this is that exact performance.

#fall out boy #*making poasts #this started off as me hunting down more live performances to rip for my work ipod #i have most of these already. not all though.#anyway it turned into a list of me having big emotions. unsurprisingly.

509 notes · View notes

where-are-the-spooky-gays-2 · 20 days

Note

I actually have discovered I lack the motivation for a new fic so here's various blurbs for Punk Remus corrupting Christian Virgil that I like. Insert Blasphemy and Sacrilegious Activities tags here. And there are a few suggestive ones because it's Remus I don't know how else to form it. Basically I'm sorry in advance :3

- Virgil got that purity culture BS from his parents about like being a virgin before marriage. So like. Extra virgin. Remus changes these things. No details because I want to still be welcomed on this blog 🙏

- They actually meet in a church bathroom (it's really awkward Virgil walks out of a stall to wash his hands and Remus is just sitting in the window smoking) (he doesn't want to be there) (went with his parents and then ditched) (this is only like 50% of the time of me thinking about it tho) (didn't go outside bc they thought it was funny to smoke in church) (made a holy shit joke to Virgil. That was his first sentence. If you shit in a church is it holy shit) (somehow it fucking works) (romance is not dead, fellas, its hidden in the shit jokes)

- the first not Christian song Virgil years is Welcome To The Black Parade by MCR. That's why it's really special to him. Inspired the emo.

- I feel like no matter what Remus' bedroom is covered wall to wall in just. Whatever he wants. Pride flags, tapestries, posters, signs he's stolen, random shit he's thumb-tacked onto the wall, LEDs and fairy lights and lamps. There is no open wall space. This is all a bit overwhelming for Virgil at first (remember: sad beige baby) but he comes to love it and all the things he can look at

- every hickey Virgil gets pre-moving in with Remus is hidden underneath a shirt. Remus leaves ONE above his collarbones and Virgil literally has to tell his parents it was a bruise from how he slept. Remus gets HELLA scolded for that

- Virgil does smoke a cigarette with Remus. He does not like it. They also shotgun a cigarette. He has mixed feelings on that. Virgil does the devil's lettuce with Remus. He enjoys this. A lot.

- Virgil's first time drunk on something other than communion wine (half joking) is with Remus. They skip town thrice over in order to go to a bar where Virgil won't be known and tattled on. Remus is surprisingly very protective and good to him. Takes him home, takes off his shoes and coat, tucks him in, puts a trash can next to him for tomorrow.

- A lot of late night drives through the parks. I mean, it's late, Virgil doesn't have a curfew. They drive through the parks and find a cozy corner to talk where nobody will see or hear them. Maybe they smooch a little. A lot.

- SO many religious conversations. So many. Just. So many. Remus wants the communion wine and the little crackers. Virgil has to explain he cannot have the wine and crackers. Remus calls him wine and a cracker. Then asks if eating the wine and cracker is cannibalism. Then talks about cannibalism.

- my favorite one: Virgil asks Remus to come with him to church one time. Just once. Maybe Virgil is having a hard time (not religiously like externally) and wants to go for comfort but can't stand the thought of leaving Remus. So this like total punk walks into a church and sits with Virgil and... knows all of it? The prayers, the statements, the right times for everything. Virgils shocked. They leave the church later and he's like ???. Remus answers "what? Didn't think I was a church kid? Don't I look like a pastor's kid?" Haha yeah plot twist I love this.

- virgils parents want to meet his "new little friend." Remus can't hide all of the punkness but it tries. Virgil is surprised when he shows up with a clean mouth (swearing + brushed his teeth), long sleeves to hide the tattoos, plastic (mostly invisible) piercings to try and hide the ones he can, hair tied back in a respectable position (is a mullet ever respectable? /j /lh) It doesn't make them 100% like him but he tries and he may succeed a little.

There are definitely more but I also have a habit of sending in asks at 1am and it is 12:52 am and I need eep. I looooooove corruption fics where it's totally cool. Like yeah there's some concern but still that's the good shit. Also hi 🐸 anon (or anyone else) if you read this and any of these inspire you, take em :3

— 👑

V A L I D but I fucking L O V E A L L of this!!! Ree W O U L D make a holy shit joke in a church and of course it works on Vee manz is dorksexual XD /light hearted Poor Ree has to get scolded by his boyf for the hickey wear turtlenecks then Emo XD I seriously L O V E their bond and how carefree they are with each other and the fact that the chaotic Punk at least tries to put an effort to look presentable around Vee's parents to make a good impression is really sweet <3 (Also I'm O B S E S S E D with that plot twist of course Ree would know the church like the back of his hand but Vee's confusion makes it more hilarious XD)

#also no need to apologize i'm literally not bothered by suggestive stuff (i'm 21 i've heard worse XD /light hearted)#dukexiety #remus sanders #virgil sanders #ts remus #ts virgil #sanders sides #thomas sanders #asks #answers #👑 anon #not a countdown #religion mention

27 notes · View notes

sunnycanvas · 10 months

Text

Tantalizing Love

Baldwin iv x fem!reader

I was wandering lonely in the sky,

Had no connection, no matter what, with those who fly

It was the middle of night in Jerusalem. A new year's eve to be exact. You drank beer from the can as you watched fireworks in the sky from the bridge

You sighed exhausted. You walked alone on the bridge heading towards your hotel. This place hasn't had peace for generations you thought. From history till today this place place hasn't known peace. Just when this country is in peace for few generations. It faces war again

Since the day I learnt to flap my wings,

I've been listening to a melody that the cold wind sings.

You never understood your attachment to this place. You remember talking to your friends and family where there was a discussion on which place to visit

"Jerusalem" you replied

Confused they would look at you

"For historical reasons of course" you reasoned

"Since, when did you start loving history so much" one of your friends asked

Not knowing the answer yourself you stood there quietly in the middle of busy street tightening your hold on your bag

Your other friend noticing your discomfort said

"People change, so do their interest" your friend said trying to defend you

"Kingdom of heaven" you replied

Now this got attention of both of your friends who looked at you confused. "I remember watching Kingdom of heaven in television long time ago. Ever since I have been fascinated by this place" your friends nodded understandingly. "I knew you weren't type of academic" your friend who originally questioned you replied smugly. You scoffed hearing his response and your other friend laughed.

Same response came from your family

"You want to go to Jerusalem after your graduation?" They questioned

"Yes" you replied confidently

"But why?" asked one of your family member.

"Because I want to" you replied confidently determined. They seemed confused but thankfully they didn't inquire further. However none of your friends or family wanted to visit Jerusalem. "It's okay" you thought, you could live here alone.

As you walked streets of Jerusalem you watched the sky filled with fireworks

"People seem happy despite their difficult life" you thought. You wondered how Baldwin iv would have felt if he saw his country today. You remember after watching the movie you ended up reading story of Baldwin iv and realised that historically there was much more story and different one shown in movie. You always thought that once you enter Jerusalem your obsession with this place would end.

I pushed too hard to rise up high,

A bullet hit me, I broke down, Oh sigh! ! !

Alas, it worsened. You started having dreams of man every day who seemed blind. He also had missing nose and obvious disfigurement in face. These dreams became more frequent. The more you visited historical sites in the country of Israel . Each time you would see more vivid images and more scenarios. Are these memories you thought?

Tomorrow you went and visited the church of holy sepulchre. There you stood watching the place. Suddenly you had a strong headache and more scenarios came

The thirst of my throat, the tinge of my tongue,

Relieved by the rain, reminds me the song that was sung

"Baudouin" you said with tears running from your eyes. "I don't want to leave you. I don't fear your condition please let me stay not as a lover but atleast as a subject who takes care of her king". You cried as you nearly fell on the floor but Baldwin iv caught you.

"Hush now, you need to leave" people have started to notice our affair and they are not pleased since I am the king and you are maid. Also I have taken vow of chastity. You know right leprosy is thought to be transmitted through sexual intercourse as well as disfavour from God". "It's dangerous for not only for me but you as well to be in relationship with me. If people came to know that you were in relationship with Leper then you be marginalized as well. You wouldn't be able to get married as you always wanted" he reasoned

"I don't care, I don't want anyone else but you". You sobbed. Baldwin iv looked upset and he hugged you. "For once I wanted to be selfish" he said. "I thought we were careful" you cried in his chest. "It seems we weren't careful enough" Baldwin iv sighed. "We need to seperate and it's for the best for both of us" Baldwin iv said in pain. "Please don't make it anymore difficult for me"

Then landscape got disturbed, with my hue & cry,

I decided to break down, but then you passed by

You left the palace as soon as rumours spread. Your name was not ever recorded in history as people believed that the Leper king having a lover was just a rumour.Just like that you disappeared in history. You soon lost touch with your king and died of broken heart. King Baldwin iv never knew, the only people who knew about your affair kept your affair secret told the king that you had found someone else and married that you live a well settled life. Baldwin iv was happy with slight jealousy. He knew this was for the best and you deserve a better life and not be dragged down with leper. Baldwin iv never knew and people who knew about truth carried it with them to grave

Even though Baldwin iv is no longer remembered as king disfavoured by God. He remains hugely unknown in the west. Just like you he hugely remains unknown today but unlike you he is still remembered by some people. You staggered when you recalled your memories and began to cry. You wished things could have ended differently

Looking at you & feeling your glow,

Just as in movies, and the motion was slow

"Ma, Cherie" you heard. You turned around and saw a man who had very bright eyes, an aquiline nose and blond hair. He had ruddy face and moderate height.

Wondering why you picked me up, and in this life can I ever deny?

How your words housed my mind, straight through my heart, Bullseye! ! !

Baudouin, you thought. Realising you recognised him. He smiled and said. "I missed you Ma Cherie, it's been 900 years"

Have no enough expressions, my words are in dearth,

With you by my side dear, I'm the happiest man on Earth.

-Reincarnation Love Poem by Sawan Dhyani

#baldwin iv #baldwin iv imagine #baldwin iv x reader #kingdom of heaven #kingdom of heaven 2005 #kingdom of heaven fanfic #kingdom of heaven fanfiction

122 notes · View notes

two-red-lungs · 2 years

Text

I’ll See You (In My Dreams)

Eddie x Fem!Reader Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Eddie Munson has been declared dead for five months. Five agonizing, numb months. And nobody seems to care. (Angst with happy ending)

Song Inspiration: x

The weather had turned. Oppressive summer cicadas fading to a whisper, then a deathly silence, replaced with the rasp of autumn leaves and a brilliant Hawkins forest filled with fire-orange foliage and a chill creeping into the west wind.

Not a lot of Jack-o-lanterns out this year. Not with all the ruin. Houses were still being repaired. People had left: a lot of people. A tiny, cursed town made even emptier.

But you had stayed. God help you, you had stayed.

You slammed the door to your car, rounding the front in the leaf-strewn parking lot, exhaling smoke from your cigarette. Dustin clambered out of the passenger seat and straightened his lapel.

“You ready, kid?” You asked him.

He nodded, tight lipped. You gave him a pat on the shoulder over his jacket, crushed the cigarette butt under your heel, and followed him into the Hawkins church graveyard.

The earthquake hadn’t touched it. Thank god for small mercies. The little quaint rows of dark graves, lichen-dusted and overgrown, were in disturbed. You wove through the rows. It was quiet. Crows called from the forest. Most of the headstones were old, but there were quite a few fresh ones. Too many.

You were only here for one.

A small one. Simple grey granite. Simple engraving. Everything else has been too expensive: too far out of Wayne’s budget.

Christ. Just seeing it made your heart seize.

There were no flowers on Eddie Munson’s grave. They kept getting stolen. People muttering about how he didn’t deserve them. You couldn’t muster the strength, the fire to hate them anymore.

“Can I, uh.” You said tightly to the open air. To Dustin, standing behind you. “Can I have a moment? Alone?”

He swallowed and ducked his head. “Yeah. Sure. Of course.” He ambled back, away towards the church. Giving you space.

You breathed. Inhale, exhale. That’s what the therapist had said to do, anyway. Just breathe. She made it sound so easy. But nowadays your chest felt so tight, all the fucking time. “Edward Munson”, the headstone read. “1966-1986″. The engraving of a cherub angel right below it: wings spread, hands cupping its face, eyes shut. “Gone, but never forgotten.”

An empty grave. They never recovered his body. Too dangerous.

“...Hi.” God, your voice was so shaky. Ruined from the chain-smoking, now. “Uh, Eds. Hey. I, um. Miss you. Hope wherever you are,” you paused to look around at the weak, dappled autumn light coming through the dying forest, “it’s better than this place. Somewhere with sun. And free booze. And lots of, uh, babes in bikinis running around, because you’d probably be into that.” You smiled for a half-second. It faded fast.

“Wayne’s okay. He’s still working. Gotta keep the lights on, and stuff. I’ve been spending more time with him. Keeping him company, you know? I cook him dinner a lot. We watch movies. Sometimes we sit out on the porch and smoke. He... uh, he doesn’t like to talk about you. I think it hurts him too much. And fuck, who could blame him for that?”

Great. Fuck. Here comes the tears. A knot in your throat, heat in your eyes, blurring your vision.

“...Hey, do you, um. Do you remember our best date? December, when we got snowed-in at my place? And we tried to dig your van out of the snowbank with fucking.... plastic toy shovels because I didn’t have a real one,” You were grinning again, looking at the grass between your feet, tears damp on your lashes, “And you were just so frustrated you threw yours into the neighbor’s yard? And then we just looked at each-other and burst out laughing? God. That was so fun. And then you, uh. Then you kissed me.

“...God. God. Fucking jesus christ sonovabitch motherfucker I fucking-” you choked. “I miss you. I fucking miss you. So much, every fucking day. Sometimes I feel like I wake up with a fucking hole in my chest, like someone has punched straight through me, Eddie, and I don’t know what to fucking do I miss you so much.”

You wiped your face. Wet, hot water on cold skin. “Ugh. I’m a mess. And I’m a smoker, now, too. I found a... a pack, you left in my room, and it all sort of spiraled from there. I keep finding you, do you know that? It’s like you’re everywhere I look. Your favorite music playing on my cassette mix. Your laugh coming from someone else. Your shirts hanging in my closet. Sometimes, I swear, I fall asleep at night and think I can still smell your stupid hair product on my fucking pillow. I miss you. I miss you.”

The headstone was silent and unresponsive. An autumn breeze ruffled the weeds.

“Our anniversary is coming up. October 30th. Basically Halloween. First date we ever went on: the corn maze. You scared the shit out of me, jumping out of the maze wall like that. The look on your face when I punched you was... god, it was priceless. It was perfect.” More tears. Fucking tears. You were so tired of tears: tired of how they wrung you out like wet rag every night. “What we had... was perfect. Some real, actual fairytale shit. The knight and the princess. It was good. God, Eddie, it was so good.

“And you know what the worst part of it was?” You turned your face up to the sky, at that clear, unrelenting blue. “I think I fell in love with you. Right at the end. Right when the daffodils were starting to bloom in the spring. You looked at me, in the van, and I just realized... I realized I was in fucking love with you. And I never got to say the words out loud.”

You let yourself have your moment. You let yourself cry. Standing there, cold and tired and sleep-deprived and reeking like burnt tobacco, in front of the grave everyone else reviled.

It passed. It left you hollow.

You pulled your jacket tighter. “At least I have my dreams, right? I see you there. Like every night: you’re just standing there smiling at me. I loved that smile so much, Eddie-bear. Big megawatt smile. Mister Sunshine.” You fumbled for another cigarette, lighting it and taking a drag. “I, uh. I gotta go. Dustin needs a ride home, and I need to go clean the trailer for Wayne before he gets back from work. But I’ll come back. I’ll always come back. I promise.”

Another breeze. Shifting grass stalks. The crow on the distant tree branch squawked and took flight, a blot of black against cerulean blue.

You looked over your shoulder towards the stone church, catching Dustin’s eye and jerking your head to call him over. He tromped over the patches of weeds. “I’m done. You can... you can say what you need to.”

He paled. “I’m okay. I just wanted to visit.”

You bumped his shoulder with yours. “It’s nice of you. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”

He went even paler. His throat bobbed. “Yeah.”

“Let’s get you home.”

Dustin waved goodbye to the car in his driveway, dodged his mother’s doting kisses in the living room, and hauled the phone and extended cord into his room, firmly shutting the door and sitting down heavily on his bed. He took a moment to run a hand through his mass of curls and blow air between his lips before reaching for the dial and punching the number in. A number he knew by heart: he didn’t dare write it down.

A ringing line. A click. Silence.

“...It’s Dustin. Dustin Henderson. I need to speak to him.”

The agent’s voice was gruff on the other end of the line. “Kid, you can’t keep calling this number. It’s for emergencies.”

“I know. I know.” Dustin wetted his lips and crossed his legs on the mattress. “Can I just... for a few minutes? Please? I’ll make it fast.”

The agent sighed, low and tired. There was shuffling on the other end of the line, the sound of movement. “It’s the Henderson kid. You have five minutes.” The agent said faintly.

The phone readjusted.

“You know, every time this thing rings I think the world is ending a second goddamn time.”

“Eddie.” Dustin breathed, grinning at his bedroom wall.

“Hey, pipsqueak.”

“Man, it’s good to hear your voice.”

“Yeah, well...” There was a grunt, and a shuffle: Eddie, moving away from his designated agent, taking the phone with him. “The whole point of this witness protection shit is that you don’t, right?”

“How are you holding up?”

A dry, derisive laugh. “Well, considering I’m in the middle of goddamn nowhere, being babysat by some big asshole with a gun, eating microwave soup for lunch every day, with an entire state still wanting me for murder and everyone else thinking I’m a worm-filled corpse, not too bad.”

“...I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

Eddie heaved a sigh. Dustin could see him in his mind’s eye, a hand running down his face like he always did when he was exasperated. “It’s fine, man, it’s fine. I appreciate it, actually. Nice to talk to someone who doesn’t communicate almost exclusively in grunts. I’ve got, like, crazy cabin fever.”

“Have they told you how much longer you need to stay there?”

“No, man. They have not. I’m guessing until the fucking... satanic panic shit dies down and people stop writing articles on ‘Edward Munson, the devil of Indiana’.”

Dustin could hear the strain in the young man’s voice. It was a heavy burden to bear. Eddie was all alone, now. The world had abandoned him. And everyone save for Dustin and a handful of agents that had retrieved him and revived him even knew he was alive. It was for his protection, they told him. There was no way to clear his name, not really. Not ever. He’d always have this staining his name. All he could do now was start again.

“I’m really, really sorry, Eddie.”

“I know. I know you are.” The line was silent for a moment. “So why’d you call, man? Did you really miss your dear old DM that much?”

“Are you alone right now?”

“Yeah. Mr. Impassive just stepped out for a cigarette. What’s up?”

“She visited your grave again today.”

A muffled swear followed by several more, and a long, drawn-out beat of silence. “She did? God. Christ. Fuck.”

“She visits like, every three days. Ever since your uncle had the headstone installed.”

“Fuck. Fuck.” Another pause. Again, Dustin knew so clearly that Eddie was probably hanging his head right now, probably running a hand through his even longer hair. “I really fucking miss her, man.” His voice wobbled.

“I know.”

“That’s my girl. And she thinks I’m dead.”

“She doesn’t have to.” Before Eddie could say anything, Dustin launched forward. “Eddie, I think I should tell her.”

“What? Are you insane?” Eddie hissed.

“Just- just hear me out, okay? Isn’t this the same girl who kept your relationship secret from everyone for months? And nobody suspected a thing? The same girl who you dealt to for like, three whole years, and not even her friends knew she smoked? If anyone can keep a secret, it’s her.”

“I know that, man, she’s- goddamn perfect. Henderson, you can’t tell her. Do you even- fuck, do you know how much danger that would put her in? Hawkins thinks I’m a serial killer.”

“Eddie, she needs to know. It’s wrecking her. She’s even stopped going to college.”

A throaty noise of pain escaped Munson over the phone. “I know. I know. I just... fuck. I want her to know, so bad. Jesus Christ, you think I don’t want her to know? I’d cut off my own arm just to see her again. But it’s too risky. And the government goons would be pissed.”

Dustin pulled out his trump card. “Eddie... she said she was in love with you.”

Silence. Utter silence.

“At the church today. I had to stand there and listen to her say she loved you, that she still loves you, and that she never got to tell you. And I had to just... act sad, like I thought you were dead too. I don’t know how much longer I can lie to her.”

“...She said she loves me?”

“Yeah, man.”

The quiet was deafening. It went on for so long Dustin was wondering if the call had disconnected.

“Do it.” Eddie’s voice was tight.

“What?”

“Do it. Tell her.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. But, Dustin, man... do it gentle, okay?” Eddie’s voice had taken on a soft, wounded tone. A hurt Dustin hadn’t heard before. “Do it so fucking gentle. And tell her... tell her I love her. Tell her I love the shit out of her. That I have since the shovels.”

“...The shovels?”

“She’ll know what I mean.”

They chatted for a few more minutes. Somber and low: about Wayne, about Hawkins repairs, about Steve and Nancy and Garette and the rest of his band-mates. And then the agent stepped back in from his smoke break and commandeered the phone, severing their connection with a click. Dustin was left alone, holding the plastic phone to his ear, staring out the window and watching the sun track across the neighborhood outside.

He ran a hand down his face. A habit he’d picked up in school from the metal-head. One more night, he promised himself. He’d tell her tomorrow. Shatter her entire world, re-open her wounds, flip reality on its head.

But tonight, she could still have her dreams.

#I Have Emotions about edward munson #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #stranger things s4 #throws myself dramatically on a couch like a starlet from the 20s

674 notes · View notes