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strangersteddierthings · 1 year

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Bad News First, Eddie

Part One 🦇 Part Two🦇Part Three🦇FInal Part

A continuation of Bad News First, Eddie. I am absolutely floored by the responses I received, and I will try my best to tag everyone who asked. I know it's not Eddie's part, but chronologically, Wayne's part felt right.

Of all the things Wayne’s been called, unobservant isn’t one of them. He’s lived in Hawkins his entire life. He knows who is who, what is what, and to keep his head down and believe there’s a cougar in the woods when he’s told.

So, when Nancy Wheeler shows up, asking questions, Wayne has answers. Is willing to give those answers because he remembers when little Will Byers went missing, and how Nancy and her friends had done more to try and find him than the entire police force of Hawkins. Nancy and her friends always seemed to be in the orbit of whatever terrible thing was happening in Hawkins these last few years.

So, foolishly, terribly, he doesn’t intervene. He thought they were like that Scooby Doo cartoon Eddie used to love; kids solving mysteries. If he’d known the true extent of the horror, he wouldn’t have let those kids go it alone. But he didn’t know then.

Still didn’t know the day he pretends to not know who Dustin Henderson is while swapping out Eddie’s missing poster. It’s easier than having to face someone who knows Eddie, someone who had been looking for him but failed to find him.

Until Dustin calls after him. Until Dustin speaks to him. Hands him Eddie’s necklace. Wayne can’t stand anymore, this breaks him. Dustin says he was with him, in the end. Calls Eddie a hero, said people would have loved him had they known him. It’s nothing Wayne doesn’t already know.

Eddie is his hero. He loves Eddie. And if he’d stepped in sooner, chased down these kids and asked just what the fuck was happening, maybe he could have changed the ending of this story.

Hawkins explodes into a hellscape days later and Wayne sets out to find Nancy Wheeler. If Eddie gave his life to protect these kids, then Wayne must strive to do no less.

Nancy’s got a good head on her shoulders, willing to accept any help offered. He can see how she’s survived this long. She gets in in touch with Hopper, who introduces him to Doctor Sam Owens and Lt Colonel Jack Sullivan.

He doesn’t think it’s fair that the fate of the world rests on the shoulders of a fourteen-year-old girl.

It’s Dustin who tells him the whole story, the night before the end. Either Eleven will win tomorrow, or she won’t, but the outcome gets decided then.

“I’m s-so sorry, Mr. M-Munson. We just… just left him there!” Dustin breaks down crying and Wayne reaches out to him, an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. If Wayne sheds a few tears, too, well. Who can blame him?

“Doctor Owens, a word,” Wayne pulls the man aside after the kids have gone to bed. “Dustin said… my boy is just yards away from our trailer. He didn’t even get out of the park. I understand it’s an all hands on deck situation, but can anyone be spared? Can anyone bring my boy back? I’ll go myself if I have to.”

Doctor Owens, a genuinely kind man, Wayne can tell, has tears filling his eyes just at the request. “Mr. Munson, we will do everything in our power to bring your boy home.”

Doctor Owens pays for the headstone. Said it was the least he could do since his team failed. Wayne tries not to be bitter about it.

The graffiti starts up almost immediately. Wayne doesn’t understand why.

He thinks he’s caught someone in the act, grabs roughly at the perpetrator and yanks. The Harrington boy stumbles up and back, a little bit of fear in his eyes but no paint in hand. He’s holding a rag and small container of paint thinner. A quick look between Harrington and the grave, he can see the half-cleaned headstone.

He’s never spoken much with Harrington, but Dustin has nothing bad to say.

“You know my boy?” because he can’t bring himself to say ‘knew’ just yet.

Harrington looks just about as haunted as Wayne feels when he says, so quietly, “Not as well as I would have liked, sir.”

Wayne is observant, but even he can admit it takes longer than he thought to figure out Steve Harrington. That boy had put himself between those kids and danger again, and again, and again, and lived. Eddie did it once and… well, Wayne reckons Steve thinks it should have been him. He won’t say so out loud, but Wayne sees a lot of his younger self in Steve, knows him in much the same way he knows himself.

Steve lives with a guilt he shouldn’t; this was Eddie’s choice. His reckless, dangerous, courageous choice. And they’ve got to learn to live with it. Steve’s parents are absent, and Wayne’s nephew is gone. Without any conscious decision about it, they’ve adopted each other.

Steve wants to know everything about Eddie. Every little story Wayne can come up with. And he, well, he loves that someone wants to know. Wants to remember Eddie with him.

“Bad news. I regret not knowing him sooner,” Steve confesses to him one day as they scrub the headstone clean again.

“Good news. You know him now,” Wayne replies.

“Do I?”

Wayne can’t answer that. Not honestly one way or another. How well can you know someone from secondhand information? Steve spent a total of five days in his nephew’s company but he helps keep his memory alive. “I don’t know. What I do know is that Eddie Munson won’t be forgotten when I die. And that matters.”

He gets in an accident at the plant. He doesn’t remember what happened, not fully, but he knows that Steve never left his side. Demanded his come stay in his big empty house. Easier to move around in, with all the open space.

Wayne wasn’t really attached to his apartment anyway. If he was going to live the rest of his life in a home that had never known Eddie’s presence, it could at least be with someone who had known Eddie’s presence, however briefly.

Wayne wonders if he’s done the right thing sometimes. Indulging Steve’s need to know Eddie. At first, he thought it was fine, because learning about Eddie seemed to alleviate Steve’s guilt. But now.

He’s watching the boy fall in love with a ghost.

Helping it happen, even.

Robin and Steve aren’t nearly as quiet or subtle as they think, and Wayne’s observant. They seem to forget that Wayne’s just old, and not deaf and blind.

Or maybe, they’re comfortable enough that they don’t truly hide from him.

And it hurts his heart to think this (because he’s thinking it about his Eddie, wonderful, loving Eddie) but Steve deserves to love more than a ghost.

And then the kids graduate. Start to go to college. Steve acts fine, but he’s not. Wayne knows. It’s like he’s losing his purpose, but Wayne’s just as broken. Not strong enough to push Steve away. To make Steve go, too.

Honestly, he’s a little afraid that if he tried, then Steve would follow right after Eddie.

So, he doesn't. He decides he needs Steve, and perhaps even more so, Steve needs him.

Then, five years after Eddie’s death, the call happens. It’s about his piece of shit little brother, Wyatt. He’s gotta go, though. Because this is one last strand of Eddie. Eddie’s mother has been gone longer than Eddie, and fuck, Wyatt deserves to know. Wayne doesn’t claim to be a saint; if his brother wasn’t being released, he’d probably never tell him. He’d let him die in that prison believing his son is alive.

He doesn’t even know if Wyatt will care that Eddie’s gone. But he’s got to find out.

Steve drives him to the airport and no matter how many times Wayne says he’s coming back, Steve doesn’t seem to believe him.

But it’s not his shitty little brother waiting to greet him in Tennessee. It’s Eleven.

“Sorry for the lie, Mr. Munson,” she says. “I wanted to tell you as soon as I learned but Doctor Owens said that, this one time, we needed to be right before we could be honest.”

It’s Eddie. It’s Eddie Wyatt Munson, who looks at him shyly, almost as if afraid, from the apartment doorway Eleven takes him to. “Hey Uncle Wayne.”

It’s five fucking years too late but he pulls Eddie in a bone crushing hug. “I love you so much, you little bastard. Don’t you ever, ever do this to me again.”

Wayne learns.

They had found him, barely alive. It was better, they said, to take him away. Let the town cool down while Eddie healed, but he was catatonic for the better part of these last five years.

“Eddie woke up empty,” Eleven says softly, apropos nothing sitting next to Wayne as they watch Eddie discuss next steps with Owens. “He could be told to do things. Drink this. Eat that. His eyes never focused on anything. Doctor Owens called him a shell. I asked what that means. He said that Eddie’s body worked, but his mind did not because Eddie was not in his own mind anymore. But I knew he was in there. I had to get him back.” She reaches a hand out, waving in the general direction of Eddie’s head.

This surprises Wayne. “You brought him back?”

“Memory by memory,” Eleven says, picking at her pants leg. “Even the painful ones. Doctor Owens says every memory shapes who we are, even tough ones.”

Wayne looks at Eleven, a young woman of nineteen now, but remembers how scared and brave she’d been at fourteen. “Words cannot express how thankful I am for you.”

“I did it for you. And maybe a little bit for me.”

Wayne makes a humming noise. Not truly questioning, but an acknowledgment of what she said. If she wants to share her reasons, he won’t stop her. He’s just not going to pry.

“I chose my friend. I chose Max.”

He knows. “You made the right choice.”

“I know. I am not guilty about it,” she frowns as she thinks about her words. “But Dustin is my friend, too, and I knew Eddie was his friend. But I cared more about Max. I had to do all I could to make it right. For you. For Dustin. For me.”

Wayne doesn’t have words, so he just pulls Eleven into a hug. It must convey all he needs because when she pulls back, she beams at him.

Wayne fills Eddie in on what has happened as best he can. It’s such a jarring difference, speaking to Eddie about Steve than it had been speaking to Steve about Eddie. Eddie just looks confused for most of it and doesn’t really ask followup questions, but Wayne understands. Eddie had known Steve for five days and he’s got time to really get to know Steve now. Steve thought all he’d ever have of Eddie is someone else’s memories.

“Just give him a chance, Eddie,” Wayne says.

“Give him a chance? As if I’d waste it,” Eddie breaths out, all wonder and awe and- Well, maybe Wayne isn’t as observant as he had always thought. “He took care of you when I couldn’t. He cares. I don’t think there’s a chance I wouldn’t give him.”

“How long have you had a thing for Steve?”

Eddie stutters over his words, eyes wide and wild. “That’s not- why would you think- when have I ever!?”

“You think I wouldn’t know this about you?” Wayne chuckles and lies, as if he hadn’t just watched all the pieces slot together in this moment.

“So, we’ll be living with Steve Harrington?” Eddie is blushing but he blows past Wayne’s question. “Will he… be okay with me being there?”

Steve’s been loving a ghost, is what Wayne thinks. Steve’s been in love with a ghost and this. This is a ghost story that can have a better ending. But he’s not going to make those declarations for Steve, so what he says is, “yeah. Steve and I had each other when we needed it. Now I need you, so Steve won’t mind at all.”

Eddie smiles to himself, pulling a strand of his hair to hide his face behind.

If he hadn’t just figured it out two minutes ago, that would have been a dead giveaway that his boy might be a little bit in love with Steve.

He calls Steve. Tells him he’s coming home and bringing a guest. Steve says that’s fine, he’ll fix up Robin’s old room into a guest room.

“This isn’t the way to the Harrington house,” Eddie observes from the passenger seat of the rental car Doctor Owens had paid for, to get them from Indianapolis back to Hawkins.

“Steve won’t be there. He comes here when he’s overwhelmed.”

“The cemetery?”

Wayne shrugs, “we both come talk to you. Steve always starts with the bad news, you know. I think you should start with good news. Just this once. Ah. See, there he is.” Wayne points and Eddie’s eyes follow.

Something akin to wonder passes over Eddie’s face and he all but falls out of the car before it’s even stopped.

Wayne thinks he’ll give them five or so minutes before following.

#steddie #wayne munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #my fic #ok i promise next update will be eddie pov #i just wanted eddies part to move past this graveyard meetup #so waynes pov first #also eddies part could end up being the longest and more difficult part

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teencopandthesourwolf · 3 months

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"I'll text Stiles," Scott says, grabbing his backpack. "Then I'm gonna go see Allison.”

When Scott turns back around, Derek's lips are a thin line and they are the only part of him that moves when he asks, through his teeth, "Are you going to talk to her, too?”

Scott just squints. Because—huh?

"Derek, what do you mean, am I going to talk to her, too?” He narrows his eyes even more, suspicious. “Why else would I be going to see Allison, if not to talk to her? I don't just, like, watch her from afar like some creeper, you know."

Scott isn't about to admit that he has, embarrassingly, done just that on occasion. Alright, occasions, plural—but only once or twice! Five or six times, tops. And only ever when he thought Allison was, or could possibly be, in danger. It's not weird, though. It's not! It's noble, okay? It just sounds weird when you say it out loud. Even if he hasn't actually said it out loud. Well, at least not just now anyways; he's said it in front of the mirror a couple times and it turns out your reflection can be pretty hurtful and judgemental which, honestly, is a little upsetting.

Just as Scott realises that Derek must know he just told a lie—half-lie!—the Alpha's face does a thing that Scott has never seen it do before. Ever. The dude looks almost… Human.

And, what the hell?

Derek clears his throat and shifts his weight from one foot to the other and worries at his bottom lip a bit and now Scott is feeling anxious because who is this guy? And what has he done with Derek ‘I Will Never Give A Single Thing Away About Myself Ever Other Than The Fact I Am Eternally Pissed’ Hale? (that's one of Stiles's).

Just the possibility of Derek ‘Emotionally Open and Vulnerable’ Hale is, like—it's just way too much for Scott to handle on a Sunday morning when he's supposed to be at the veterinary surgery in less than fourteen minute's time and has to somehow manage fitting in seeing Allison on the way.

But it seems Scott is also too nosy to just move on from this and let sleeping dogs lie. And both of those things are really annoying because strange old phrases and being overly curious is usually a Stiles thing, not a Scott thing, so Scott really doesn't know what he's supposed to do!

W.W.S.D.

What Would Stiles Do?

"Um, Derek, have you been—"

"Firstly, McCall, following somebody around and watching them from a distance is not creepy if you think that they need to be tailed for their own safety, alright?" Derek starts and—well.

Exactly!

Scott actually genuinely likes Derek, for just a moment, because he knew he'd been right about that! He gives himself an internal high-five and an imaginary congratulatory pat on the back because being kind to yourself is never a bad option. Unfortunately, Scott now also has to admit to himself that it does, in fact, sound weird when you say it out loud. Or, well, think it out loud. Whatever, he knows what he means.

He realises that Derek is still speaking.

"...because Stiles is human and also the biggest danger-magnet in the pack, so it makes sense that one of us should be keeping tabs on him. Thirdly, I—“

“Someone, Derek!” Scott blurts, “I was going to ask if you've been creeping on someone!" he interrupts because—honestly, in the most way possible—what?! The hell?!

Scott is both stunned and annoyed at hearing that Derek has been following Stiles (hiding around dark corners and slinking about the place like a wolf ninja. Scott should know. Shut up.)

Because Stiles! Is Scott's best friend!

And, like, how long has he been doing this? And for what purpose, really? Because Derek's heart just skipped about twelve beats, never mind one, so reason number two was obviously at least a half-lie of his own.

That's when Derek's mouth clacks audibly shut.

Scott just stares. And he knows; there is more going on here than meets the eye.

Then it's obvious that Derek knows that Scott knows and then everybody is knowing and looking and looking and knowing and Scott just—he can't stand it, okay? He needs confirmation. He doesn't necessarily want it, but it's like his mom always says: Life's tough sometimes.

Eventually, he manages to say, "Are you stalking Stiles, Derek?" and hopes to hell he's wrong because he now feels somewhere in between being affronted on his best friend's behalf, totally grossed-out because it's Derek, ugh, and maybe just a little bit amused. Or is it bemused? Possibly confused. Scott is definitely some of those words.

And again, seriously, what the hell?

Has Derek honestly been creeping on Stiles because he's concerned for Stiles's safety? And, if so, why? Like, does Derek even get concerned for humans? Or other wolves for that matter (apart from maybe his own betas which is probably only a biological thing anyway, Scott reckons). Does Derek care about anybody? At all? Dude doesn't even care about himself, Scott doesn't think.

Scott now tries his best to come up with another reason, any other possible reason, that someone might have to follow a person around, but he can't seem to land on—OH, GOD! DOES DEREK HAVE A CRUSH ON STILES? Oh, shit! Oh, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! He can't. But he—nope. No! Because what. The actual. Hell! He just—no. No, no, no. He can't! Can he? Oh, my God, what if he does?! And if it is true... ew! Derek Hale crushing is just gross! And on Stiles?! Just, no. But also, why? And also-also, how the hell did Scott not notice something sooner?!

And another thing: Did Scott somehow wake up this morning having somehow travelled in his sleep to one of those Affirmative Universe places that Stiles is always banging on about?

Man, Scott has, like, so many questions.

Derek still hasn't said anything and is just standing opposite Scott with his stupid arms folded across his stupid chest with his stupid beard in his stupid loft looking really, really stupidly sheepish, and Scott thinks, yep.

Affirmative Universe.

He doesn't know what to do and Stiles isn't here to ask, so he waves a confused (and maybe amused and bemused) arm in the air and says, “Derek, what the hell is going on? Have we travelled to an Affirmative Universe or something, because—”

“Don't you mean Alternative Universe?”

“—you never just, I don't know, don't throw something offensive or at least defensive back at me when I'm talking to you about Stiles. Or, you know, anybody else. Or anything else, come to think of it!”

Derek now looks, for real, actually scared.

And Scott? Well, Scott is now officially terrified.

His phone starts ringing and, as it's already in his hand, he just answers it without looking, eyes still fixed on Derek The Imposter.

“Yooooo, amigo, what's the plan?”

It's Stiles. Of course it's Stiles.

Stiles is on the phone and Derek Hale might-probably-definitely have a crush on him, and Scott may or may not be in an Affirmative Universe but can't know for sure and can no longer speak or think or breathe.

“Uh, Scottie? Scottland? Sir Scott-A-Lot? You there, ol’buddy, ol’pal?”

Derek can obviously hear who is on the other end of the phone. He looks positively constipated, his brows knitting together even tighter than before, tighter than ever before, and his lethal jaw is ticking away like it's being controlled by the World Clock in Berlin that Scott learned about in middle school.

Scott sighs, heavy, like he's seventy years old instead of seventeen.

Derek is now giving his best version of Scott's own speciality Puppy Dog Eyes (something Stiles and Allison always accuse him of), with a definite flavour of please, don't tell…

And Scott wants to cry. Like a baby. Like, throw himself onto the floor and scream and shout and kick his feet in the air.

Instead, he grits his teeth together like the mature person he is, feeling very firmly smooshed between a best friend-shaped rock and a werewolf-scented hard place.

Ugh, his life is just so unfair!

He mouths YOU OWE ME to Derek, and Derek's whole body visibly sags with relief.

Then he takes a deep breath and answers Stiles—who is now chanting ScottieScottieScottieScottieScottieScottieScottie down the phone—with, “Dude, shut up and listen, will you! I think we might have a very real problem with Affirmative Universes!”

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yukipri · 1 month

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I finally got a beta for my fic!! May I introduce: Sabo!

For his first time editing, he deleted my entire chapter and instead wrote:

Wow, he can type with his ass. Skills.

April Fool's (but he really did type that)

Cats tag: #YukiPriASLKittens

#YukiPriASLKittens #cats of tumblr #cat!Sabo #cats #ao3 #tabby cat #orange cat #april fool's #sorta #it's ok i recovered the deleted chapter but i may have screamed a lil when he first sat on my keyboard #i do not have a beta and am not really lookin for one since i think i do alright on my own #this is a casual fun solo project after all ^ ^;#i say lookin' at my 360K and counting fic #also uh sorta wee spoilers i guess?? at least for the pov

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tennessoui · 7 days

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what about some sort of buddy cop, same age, enemies to lovers au where obi-wan is a jedi and anakin is a coruscanti detective and they literally hate each other and have no respect for the other (obi-wan thinks anakin is a waste of the coruscant budget and a jedi wannabe; anakin thinks obi-wan is a pretentious space monk asshole)

(anakin has personally arrested obi-wan for speeding three times, drinking in public spaces 4 times -- the public space was a bar btw -- and indecent public exposure once. that last one was, tbh, fair cause obi-wan had his dick out in an alley way lol)

(obi-wan has literally stalked this asshole coruscanti cop off planet before and arrested him in his capacity as Jedi Knight for not using his turn signal when changing hyperspace lanes (once), for podracing betting (3 times), and for possession of a galacticly banned substance (twice))

it's not that they're obsessed with each other, it's just that something keeps forcing them together in the wildest, most unpredictable situations, and it's annoying as hell because they're completely fed up with each other

then the senate moves to have a new task force stood up to solve a series of Force-related crimes in the Coruscanti underworld. the task force would include a representative from the Jedi Temple and one from the Coruscanti guards, obviously. and really, obi-wan and anakin are the perfect choices! they're both highly intelligent, dedicated, trustworthy, and incorruptible.

if only they'd stop trying to push each other off the 51st story of coruscant and actually put their heads together to solve the crime

#kit's silly lil aus #obikin #buddy cop au #lol i hesitated posting this for like five minutes cause i was like this could be my big bang fic #but no i cant do that to my 1k outline i typed out this weekend #ANYWAY anakin was brought to coruscant by qui-gon a la phantom menace #but was not accepted into the temple #because obi-wan was already qui-gon's padawan and was only 14 and absolutely not ready for the trials #so i guess not same age same age cause obi-wan is roughly 5 years older #but i wanted them way closer in age for this one just because i think the pettiness is much more believable #pov: youre a hot shot jedi knight space monk and this hot shot coruscanti dog #keeps using YOUR Force to find you dick out in alley ways to arrest you #its unFAIR #also i love the image of fastidiously dressed jedi obi-wan faced with wearing civilian clothes off the clock black leather and holey shirt #anakin skywalker #the true question is when do they fuck and why is it like. immediately after they get their new office #like oh we have to have a working relationship? not if i fuck you first

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an-eldritch-peredhel · 1 year

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You are the daughter of an angelic faerie and an elven king. You have grown up inside the only magical safe-haven of an increasingly apocalyptic land outside. You have wanted for nothing, essentially leading the perfect life, suffering and death playing little role beyond the abstract. Your father will never die, and your mother will never leave, but for tradition you are still crown princess and are educated as such. You love to dance and to sing.

You meet some kind of monster inside your mother's borders, a monster not of her or your making. It stumbled across you, dancing in the forest, bloody and travel-worn and weary and wide-eyed as it stares. You are stronger than it, but you run rather than lunge for the kill. You feel pity, more than fear. And something about him makes the part of you that you inherited from your mother sing.

He tries to follow you, for a year and a day. You are stronger, and faster, and stealthier, and you let him see you sometimes anyways. You are not convinced that he is not a monster, but nor are you convinced that he is.

Spring blooms again to the tune of your song, and you let him get closer than before until you run.

But you hear him speak for the first time. He is a speaker, and perhaps to him you are the monster. You do not run, and you do not kill.

He calls you "Tinuviel"

He calls you nightingale- a little songbird, plain and brown, with a lovely voice. They are your mother's creation, but he does not know this.

He calls you daughter of twilight- perhaps for your skin and eyes and hair, but perhaps because that is when he has seen you most.

He calls you singer- creator of the very fabric of the universe, skilled enough to deserve the title.

You are the most beautiful creature the world will ever see, the daughter of an angel and a king. He does not call you beautiful, or angelic, or princess. He calls you a singer, plain and brown, dark and distant as the approaching night.

He is bloody and travel-worn and weary and wide-eyed as you dare to step closer.

He called you nightingale.

You don't know what to call him, but you hope to find out.

#my writing #my headcanons #headcanon #silm fic #lay of leithian #beren and luthien #luthien #luthien tinuviel #beren #eldritch peredhil #second person pov #sorry but the vibes demanded it #big kudos to that one post that went #'luthien probably stopped for beren bc he called her nightingale acknowledging her skill instead of her beauty'#bc that was a big inspiration here #luthien gets a lot of my love but THE RELATIONSHIP IS TWO SIDED #BEREN MAKES HER FEEL LIKE HERSELF AND I WILL NOT STAND FOR SLANDER #also incredible vibes that luthien canonically worries beren is an orc at first afaik #like maybe problematic but. an eldritch demigoddess going 'you look like you're on my parents kill list of monsters. oh well' speaks to me #not pictured is beren trying to pull himself together w/ internal screaming bc 1) that *should not have worked*#he is as smooth as sandpaper. he is a vegan hobo bogman who talks to animals and is traumatized and hasn't showered in months #2) the Creature that is Looking At Him with its head tilted and eyes pinning and stalking closer with fangs and talons out #should be doing much more for his survival instincts and much less for his libido than it is #beren is certifiably Doing His Best and i love him #banged this out in 10 minutes in a daze of blorbo squeezing lets see if people like it lol

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venelona · 6 months

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BSD x DDLC crossover I spent too much time doodling

The gang (both ADA and Port Mafia) got struck with an ability that sucked them into the universe where they attend school and a part of the Literature Club, and all get erased one by one in a time loop

You know who's next

#i imagine POV Atsushi but it doesn't have to be lol #bsd #bungou stray dogs #dazai #chuuya #kunikida #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara #kunikida doppo #bungo stray dogs #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #bsd kunikida #i am tempted to write a oneshot but i wanna finish my current fic first #sadly no one fits monika but we can work on that #ddlc #bsd crossover #ddlc crossover #spoiler alert... dazai doesn't come to the festival

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13eyond13 · 3 months

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love it when a character that's hard to read intuitively for you has like a dedicated fandom interpreter who can just glance at their blank face in a panel and then give you a 3k word essay on their innermost thoughts & desires & fears and neatly tie it back into the themes & whatnot as if it's the most obvious thing in the world

#im talking about griffith btw #guts i feel i get intuitively - maybe because i have some personality traits in common with him #and we get more about his life concretely told to us in canon. so he is a bit easier to pin down as a character and feel attached to for me #but whenever i was reading the manga i just kept wanting more insight about griffith's actions and feelings #like ok yeah its fun to have mysterious antagonists and suspense /tension etc but its also fun to feel like you deeply understand them too #and i felt like that was a bit missing from him for me in canon #so reading about him in analysis and fics is the most fun for me rn #he always felt kinda half unreal to me- which maybe was the point of him - but i wanted a bit more about his childhood or something?#and wished we had more stuff explicitly from his pov in the story to read or explanation about his transformation or wtv #and now he's so much more closed off to me even than he was in the golden age. i keep waiting for him to explain stuff and he does not #ANYWAYS all this rambling to say some people out there are very good at interpreting him and making his like. insecurities #more obvious to me bc i didnt really get that side of him from canon intuitively well #also im really enjoying reading the first few berserk fics ive read #there may not be a ton of them out there but there is def writing talent in the fandom #i'll share some recs once i'm done sifting through most of what's out there to read #also (not to tie everything back to death note but it IS my home fandom after all)#i feel griffith is obvs the more light-like character here and L maybe a bit guts-like? but unlike berserk in death note #light is the one you get to know best and L is the mysterious / unreal one you don't get a lot of concrete insight into #and in the DN fandom I can read the more mysterious character intuitively but had to warm up to the less mysterious one instead #and the mystery of L makes sense to me and doesnt bug me as much due to like - he HAS to hide a lot about himself or else he will die lol #so some similarities there but also some opposite feels as well #berserk spoilers #p

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nburkhardt · 9 months

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This is something that hasn’t left me since I read a fic from fucking glee years ago. It’s haunting me and goes away only to come back and swirl in my head so I’m just gonna write it out.

Saying this now, i remember a lot of season 4 but I’ve blocked out the Stancy parts hahaha so it’s not completely accurate to the show I don’t think. Also a quick heads up, I skip a lot of what happens in the show because it’s taking up too much brain power remembering those things lol (ps: if you see typos, no you don’t)

“I always pictured you, just, wanted to let you know before we head straight into danger”

Something inside of her wants to break and yet all she can do is nod at him and immediately head into that danger. Not wanting to look to closely at it right now, there’s more important things going on right now.

Takes her shotgun and decides she’s ending this once and for all.

It feels like an eternity passes before she finds herself in the hospital. One second she’s ruining her eardrums using the shotgun right next to her face, the next she’s following the emt’s light.

Surprisingly all of them has made it, she doesn’t know how but they have. It’s all she knows, couldn’t hear properly and too out of it to really follow anyone anyway.

“-eler, ms? Hello, Ms. Wheeler? Can you hear me?”

Nancy blinks hard and looks around to find a nurse standing next to her, “oh, sorry. What did you say?”

The nurse smiles softly at her before shaking her head, “I was asking if you wanted to call your parents now? Our generator finally kicked in and we’ve already asked your friends”

That makes her blink again, her ears still somewhat ringing, “yeah- yeah! I’ll, um, do that”

The call with her mom she barely hears, but she knows that they’re on their way. As she hangs up the phone she looks around and doesn’t see any of her friends, it makes her nervous.

“Hey, where are my friends?” She asks the same nurse and catches her surprised look, “did- you already told me didn’t you?”

The nod is enough but the nurse still says, “Yes, two of them got admitted, the other two are in there with them. They didn’t want to be separated so they’re in room 130, just over there”

She knocks once before opening it to find what she expected, Steve in one bed with Robin clinging to him and Eddie on the other with Dustin sitting next to him.

It shouldn’t be surprising but it is.

“Nance! Heyyyyyy, welcome to the party!”

Robin snorts, “don’t mind the Dingus Duo, the doctors gave them some strong medicine for the bites”

She shakes her head, smiling just a little at them. Steve’s mumbling about Robin ruining the party, Dustin’s laughing and Eddie has his eyes closed either falling asleep or already there. She takes a seat on the extra chair, opens her mouth but lost her words. The room is filled with beeping, Steve and Robin whispering and Eddie snoring.

It’s nice, this is nice.

A pleasant change from the chaos they went through just hours ago.

Seeing Jonathan is amazing, he pulls her close and presses a kiss to her forehead. Her arms are wrapped around him and she can’t stop the tears from falling even if it’s a happy moment.

Because it is, actually seeing him in person and not just hearing his voice.

He holds her close and it feels great, it does. But there’s Steve’s words echoing in her head. It makes her hide her face in hopes to cancel them out, she’s with her boyfriend. The boy she loves with all her heart, and yet, yet she’s thinking of the one she broke at sixteen.

Those words swirl, rattle and settles in her head as she helps fix the cabin up. They burn when Jonathan jokes about Steve being in charge, she huffs a laugh but disagrees.

She sees the confusion on Jonathan’s face. That doesn’t surprise her. Instead of continuing, they’re interrupted.

Seeing Joyce and all of the Byers reunite brightens the moment of confusion, seeing Hopper is a massive shock but a welcomed one.

Fixing the cabin is a process, but with the actual adults back, they decide to stop for the day and make their way home.

She watches as Mike clings to El and Will, watches as Joyce holds Hopper’s hand in a death grips. Sees Jonathan hovering and she’s on the outside.

There’s those words making her stay on the outside.

There’s static in her ears, her vision blurry, heart beating fast and she can’t figure out what happened. How did this happen? They were fine, Jonathan promised. She promised.

“I’m really sorry, Nance. I just can’t be in a relationship anymore, I love you. I do, but my family needs me and I, I need them more. You have to understand” he’s holding her close and she can feel his tears fall onto her, “I won’t ask you to wait, you deserve someone who’ll love and focus on you.”

All she can do is nod as tears go down her face.

They share one last kiss before separating for good. He hugs her close and she squeezes her eyes shut.

It’s several hours later, having spent most of the day in a haze. She’s sitting at her desk, trying to get her focus back, when those words from months ago start to swirl back in.

“I always pictured you, just, wanted to let you know before we head straight into danger”

“-just travel across the country, with my family”and “always dreamt this” filters in with it, she doesn’t know what she’s feeling, she shouldn’t be thinking about her first boyfriend like this.

Jonathan just broke up with her, not even a full twenty four hours yet.

But the words are swirling fast and she can feel her stomach flutter suddenly remembering that feeling those emotions Steve used to give her.

It was nice, even if sometimes she had to be away from him. He did treat her like she was his world and it felt like it. Nancy goes to sleep with a plan set in mind.

Tomorrow, she’ll go to Steve’s and hope he still wants that second chance.

Dressed in her best clothes, wearing pretty make-up, she makes her way to the Harrington house.

Seeing Eddie’s van parked outside doesn’t surprise her, not really, what does make her pause is when she walks by a bike and skateboard on the porch.

Seeing that makes her doubt the timing, Eddie there is alright he shouldn’t know the history between her and Steve. She also swears she heard him talking Steve about lost loves and second chances.

The bike can only be owned by Dustin and he definitely knows the history and Max well, since Spring Break, has been particularly living with Steve at this point. Stating a number of times that Steve is her brother, she might not know the story but she’ll be questioning.

But she’s here now and Steve’s words are on fire in her head.

So, she moves ahead determined. She knocks on the door and takes a few deep breaths to get her composure.

The door opens and it’s not Steve answering, it’s Dustin and she blinks. Losing that composure she just gained, it’s quick and she’s quick to get it back with an easy smile. “Hi Dustin, can I come in?”

He’s been hanging out with Eddie too much lately, since he is loose with his posture now and opens the door with an exaggerated smile and waving his arm as he opens the door more.

“Nancy?”

She looks around, sitting on the couch is Max who’s got an eyebrow raise and frown.

“Hi Max, I wanted to speak with Steve. What’re you doing here?”

Both of them shrug and Dustin moves to sit next to Max, “We have plans with Steve and Eddie, we got tired of waiting outside”

“So we broke in”

She rolls her eyes, moves to stand closer to the stairs, “Are they awake? Where is Eddie?”

The two share a look and she can’t figure out what it means, Dustin has a mischievous smile once he’s looking back towards her, “Upstairs”

A little suspicious at the look, but the words in her head has her pushing forward despite the alarm bells ringing that something is up.

Steve’s house has changed since the last time she was here, there’s more life within it and old family portraits are gone, photos of friends in their places instead. There’s a door with a sign saying ‘Dustin’s room’ on it, and she passes an open door that was originally Steve’s. It’s cleared out except for the desk and the plaid wallpaper.

The next room is opened just a bit, she itches closer and pushes the door to see more and her whole body freezes.

There on the bed is not only Steve but Eddie too. From where she’s standing, Eddie’s pressed up against Steve’s back and has an arm around him; keeping him close.

She tears her eyes away from them and immediately regrets it.

On the floor is a mix of Steve’s clothes and Eddie’s, that’s not it though. Sitting directly next to bed is ripped condom packaging and by the trash bin is a poor attempt at throwing away a used condom.

It brings her attention back to the bed, in the short glance away, Steve has moved in his sleep. Instead of facing away; he’s now facing Eddie and nearly on top of the other. She tenses up as Eddie tightens his arms around Steve, then she pulls the door shut before moving quickly down the stairs.

Without acknowledging the two on the couch she makes it to the door, just as she pulls it open the door she’s stopped.

“They’re asleep still? We could tell Steve you stopped by” she can just hear smugness coming from Dustin and Max sniggering.

Shaking her head, she refuses to look back at them, “no, no, it’s fine. Have uh, have a good day!”

“It doesn’t make sense! I, I thought- he” Nancy mumbles to herself, trying to collect her thoughts. She didn’t even bother moving yet, still sitting inside her car mumbling and trying to figure this out.

She could’ve sworn Steve was flirting with her, she knows she was a little during the fight. It felt natural and right. Even though it was wrong, very wrong. But- it was potentially the end of the world, they could’ve died! Everyone involved would understand her lapse of judgment.

Steve had told her, admitted his dream with her in it.

Him and Eddie? Steve likes boys? Since when? Was- was it a lie then? Was she being led on? Maybe even being used?

She’s so in her head, she doesn’t notice anyone walk up and only realizes when her whole body jolts at the knocking on her window. Shaking her head and reaching for her glove box, looking over her eyes widen at Steve standing there.

He’s wearing sweatpants with only a jacket over his bare chest, he looks worried, confused and most importantly; scared.

Taking a breath, she rolls her window down before looking at him, “Steve, hi.”

“Nancy, what are you doing here?”

Frowning, she looks away from him and startles at seeing Eddie standing there by the door also looking scared. Her eyes must be wide, because Steve clears his throat and she immediately looks back at him. “I- I”

Steve sighs, dropping his arms to run a hand over his face and hair, looking away from her, “Nancy, what you saw- you can’t tell anyone. Okay? Please. I don’t understand why you’re here right now and I really don’t want to know rig-” he shakes his head, “just, please don’t tell anyone”

She opens her mouth, but the words get caught. Steve’s look is haunted, even more afraid then a few months ago. Closing her mouth, taking another look at Eddie by the door before focusing her attention back on Steve.

“I won’t. I promise, Steve. I won’t tell anyone, just- maybe we can talk sometime? All of us?”

He clearly wasn’t expecting that, she can tell by his eyes and how he glances behind him, before looking at her again. “I’ll have to talk with Eddie first, but, uh yeah sure.”

Steve gives a weak smile at her that she tries to match, despite her racing thoughts. He steps away from the car and she starts it, nodding her head before driving away. She watches in her rear view mirror as Steve walks over to Eddie and only squeezes his arm before leading him inside.

Imagines that once inside, Steve pulls Eddie close and holds him tight.

Three Days Later

It wasn’t avoiding them, she really wasn’t. She had to collect her thoughts, really figure out what she absolutely wanted in life now.

Which, she still doesn’t know, at least relationship wise.

Thinking back on the last few years and how they’re finally no longer fighting for their lives and the world, she can go for her dream of becoming a journalist. Which is exactly what she realizes, two days into her thinking, that’s what she actually wants in life. Not a relationship with Steve. Not even a relationship with Jonathan at this point, she doesn’t need that right now.

By the third day, she realizes how selfish she was acting and how much she actually scared, maybe even hurt Steve and Eddie.

That’s what brings her back to Steve’s front door with an apology and some cookies. There’s no bikes or skateboards this time around, just Eddie’s van and it’s not first thing in the morning.

Knocking on the door is quick and as she wants gets her composure and tries to relax. It’s not long before the door opens, Steve standing on the other side and her mind flashes back to the night in 83. Shaking her head to get rid of it, smiling she raises her hands up with the plate.

“I bought cookies”

Steve smiles a little and let’s her in, “you didn’t have to, Robs and I had a baking spree last night”

“Yeah and it’s all delicious!” Eddie shouts out, from somewhere.

It does some a little like a bakery in here, she notices. Placing the plate on the table before looking at Steve, “no, my mom insisted I bring them.”

Steve just nods as he closes the door, “It’s fine, we love cookies and if we don’t finish them, Eddie’s friends and Robs is coming over later anyway”

He leads her towards the kitchen and she’s not surprised to find Eddie at the table with paints and figurines, “Elder Wheeler, good afternoon on this fine day”

A laugh bubbles out of her, as she takes a seat across from him and she watches Steve take the seat right next to Eddie. Eddie looks towards him and she gets to see a silent conversation pass between the two, it’s not like the ones she’d see between Steve and Robin or even the ones she’d have with Jonathan.

It ends a second later when Steve looks towards her with a tight smile, “Nancy, I’m sor-”

“No!” She’s a little loud but it makes his mouth snap shut and Eddie to widen his eyes, “sorry, but you don’t have to apologize to me. If anyone should, it’s me. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you guys or to make you uncomfortable. I, I wasn’t thinking straight”

Eddie snorts, “couldn’t imagine how to do that”

It makes both her and Steve break into a smile, she’s quicker at sobering up though, sits straighter and clears her throat before settling her eyes on Steve, “I was being selfish, that’s why I came over the other day. Your words were in my head and I thought, maybe they were telling me that we could have a second chance. But I realized, I don’t want it anymore.”

Steve looks confused, “my words? Wha- my old dream? That thing?”

She nods, “yeah and I didn’t think things through, came here and found you both in bed and, scared you”

“You did” Eddie nods, dropping a hand to Steve’s, “When Dustin and Max mentioned you were in the house and looking for Steve, it really did scare us”

“I know, and I’m truly sorry for doing that to you both.” She looks away from them and sees how tightly Eddie has Steve’s hand in his, “You’re-”

“Relationship,” Steve interrupts her, “our relationship”

She nods, “it’s yours and I shouldn’t have even thought of you the way I was.”

They both nod and it’s quiet for a moment.

“Can, can I ask you?” She doesn’t know how to approach this, this isn’t something she does a lot. This is completely different from anything she’s done before, “You don’t have to tell me anything”

The couple share another long look before looking back at her, “I’m gay, I only like boys.”

“I like both. I especially like Eddie” Steve’s smile is bright and aimed completely at Eddie, “before you ask, we’ve been dating since we got out of the hospital.”

It surprises her, it’s been months.

“Yeah, I was surprised too. Thought Stevie boy was still high off the pain meds, turns out he was completely serious” Eddie laughs, “We haven’t told many people, gotta be careful with this”

She’s not surprised by that and nods, “I understand, I’m just a little confused- if you liked him and why give me hope? Why tell me that dream of yours”

“Nance, we were in the middle of a war,” Steve squeezes Eddie’s hand before letting go and reaching over to take her hand, “I wasn’t lying, I did dream of having a future with you. I thought we weren’t going to come out of it, didn’t think I’d have even a chance of growing up. That dream was from a little lonely boy who loved you with everything, I thought you should know that before something happened to us. But that wasn’t my only dream, and I know that’s not the kind of life you’d want, right?”

Her eyes are watering and nods, “You’re right, it was nice though”

It makes all of them laugh and Nancy feels like she knows him better, “I really am sorry, not just for scaring you. But for what I did back then”

“I’m sorry too”

There’s tears falling from both of them and she can see Eddie wiping away his own eyes.

A laugh bubbles up out of her, then Steve and lastly Eddie. It’s tears and laughter between them now.

Okay, look I’ll be completely serious right now. This wasn’t supposed to be this long, honestly. That’s why it ends the way it does, because it could go on even more. But I’d be repeating myself I think. Also, all of this just for the image of Nancy finding out about Steddie in like the most awkward way possible. (Without it being completely explicit 🤣)

Hope it reads okay, I had some help from the discord babes, @i-less-than-three-you & @strangersteddierthings! Love you both lovelies 💜

Information that isn’t in the fic: Robin and Wayne are the first ones to know about Steddie. Dustin, Max & the CC boys are the only other ones that know (besides Nancy) everyone else doesn’t. Also this takes place over a span of a few months. The very first part is directly after vecna (max isn’t hurt) and jumps to the “two days later” after that. But Jonathan and Nancy break up is about two months later.

TAGLIST! (If you want to be added, let me know!)

@spectrum-spectre @itsfreakingbats @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @bookworm0690 @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @solliesolesito @navnae @grimmfitzz

#Nancy finds out about steddie #steddie #steddie fic #past stancy #Nancy Wheeler POV #nburkhardt writes #pls don’t hate me for how I wrote Nancy this was my first real attempt 🫣#pls know I do love her #Nancy Wheeler #steve x eddie #stranger things fic

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thewolvesof1998 · 5 months

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Fuck it Friday

Here's a little more of my Christmas Fic they don’t know (your name is already mine):

They all pile into the elevator, Bobby and Athena last, as the doors close he whips out his phone to send another text to Buck. Bobby: Doc says Eddie’s going to be fine but he’s staying the night, please call me when you get this. He watches and waits for the three dots to appear but they don’t and it only causes the feeling in the pit of his stomach to widen. He tucks away his phone and grabs Athena’s hand, she immediately squeezes reassuringly and it helps ground him. “How’d you even know we were here?” Bobby hears Chim ask from somewhere behind him. “I-Me and Ravi were having…drinks,” Albert says, Bobby shares a look with his wife, apparently her hunch about that had been right, her smile is a small ‘told you so’ one. “Without the rest of us?” Chim asks outraged and oblivious to the blatant lie. Bobby fights back a smile. “Chim,” Hen says and Bobby can practically see her head shake without turning around, “Maybe there was a reason why they didn’t want us there.” “It is because we’re old? Because I’ll let you know I can still-” -The elevator dings as they arrive on the third floor, interrupting Chimney's rant and reminding them all why they were there.

Previous snippet first snippet

tagging: @wikiangela @wildlife4life @eddiebabygirldiaz @disasterbuckdiaz @spotsandsocks @try-set-me-on-fire @jesuisici33 @bekkachaos @buddierights @spagheddiediaz @911-on-abc @hippolotamus @shitouttabuck @911onabc @exhuastedpigeon @malewifediaz @your-catfish-friend @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @watchyourbuck @king-buckley @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese @daffi-990 @fortheloveofbuddie @steadfastsaturnsrings @mangacat201 @theotherbuckley @hoodie-buck @eowon @rainbow-nerdss @nmcggg @pirrusstuff @evanbegins @giddyupbuck @sammysouffle @smilingbuckley @jamespearce9-1-1 @carrierofthepaperclips @jeeyuns @callmenewbie @thosetwofirefighters @monsterrae1 @princehattric

#first time writing bobby's pov and god it was so hard #I'm gonna need to do major edits so it actually is believably him #also I'm jumping between this and my secret fic which I'm writing smut for so its really weird going from #Bobby turns to take in a frazzled Eddie Diaz standing there hands flat on the top of the desk and hair looking like he’s been running a han #to #Eddie pulls Buck’s track pants down his dick springs free half hard & already leaking god Eddie loves how messy and wet his boyfriend gets.#9-1-1 #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #thewolvesof1998 writes #buddie fic #fic: they don’t know (your name is already mine)#911 #fuck it friday

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blindmagdalena · 2 years

Text

Say It

18+ 5.2k homelander x f!reader, second person (no y/n), possessive behavior, dubious consent, mild torture (not of the reader), canon typical violence, psychological warfare, unhealthy relationship. AO3 link

Homelander finds you in an empty hall with a man he doesn't recognize.

You don’t know the man either, and he doesn’t know who you are. That doesn’t stop him cornering you against a wall to ask your name and tell you about what good money he makes, about how good he’d treat you if you would just let him make use of that pretty mouth of yours.

If he knew who you were, he wouldn’t have done that in Vought Tower, even if the floor is supposedly empty, under construction. You certainly hadn’t thought anyone would be here.

“Well, hey there.” The sound of Homelander’s voice sends a sharp chill down your spine. Anyone else would hear the smile in his voice, but you know better. His jovial tone is a veneer, his smile is thin and stretched too wide. Your heart races. You want to be relieved, but you don’t know what he’s going to do. “What’s goin’ on here?”

“Nothing,” you race to say. The man leaning over you simultaneously stands up straight. His smile looks sincere, maybe even a little awed.

“Wow! Homelander, wow. Big fan!” He says, and you want to shake him. Yell at him to stay away. How does he not see it? Looking at Homelander, you don’t see America’s favorite hero. You see a wild animal without bars, shoulders squared, hands folded behind his back.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Homelander throws right back at you, his stare piercing. He hasn’t even acknowledged the man standing next to you. “Sure didn’t sound like nothing,” he says, and that’s when something begins to click with the man who’d cornered you.

Of course he heard everything. He’s The Homelander, and you belong to him.

“Nothing happened,” you correct yourself. You take solace in the idea that if he truly heard everything, he knows that. He heard your rebuffs. You haven’t done anything wrong.

Looking between you and where Homelander is blocking the hallway exit, the man gives a nervous chuckle. He’s finally picked up on the miasma-thick tension in the air. “Hey, listen, I don’t want to—“

“What were you going to do with it?” Homelander cuts in, the weight of his stare leaving you and landing squarely on the man. This man has no idea that he’s fighting for his life right now.

“What?”

“Her mouth,” Homelander answers, his smile still broad, teeth pearly white and sharp. “Let me guess. You wanna fuck it?”

The man’s own mouth hangs open, and he begins to fumble up a response, but Homelander lifts a finger, and starts closing the distance between them with slow steps, like a stalking tiger. “Ah, ah. C’mon. Let’s be real,” he says, voice low. “You wanted to fuck her mouth, right? I mean, I get it,” he says, voice fading off into a mirthless laugh. “I do it all the time.”

You feel your cheeks turn hot, your stomach churning. Beyond the humiliation, it’s like you aren’t even here. Just a useful object to be discussed.

“I didn’t know,” the man says, lifting his hands placatingly. “I didn’t touch her, I swear to god—“

Homelander takes hold of the man’s head and slams him against the wall so close to you, you feel the sleeve of his jacket brush your arm. You throw your hands over your mouth to muffle your own cry of surprise, pulling away from the wall with stumbling steps backwards.

The man looks delirious. His head is sunken back into the perfectly shaped indentation his skull has just made in the wall. “I don’t give a fuck what you swear to god,” Homelander hisses in his face. “You’re talking to me.”

“Don’t!” You plead, horrified. The sound of his skull cracking against that wall is still echoing in your mind. “Oh my god, please don’t kill him!”

“Oh, relax,” Homelander dismisses, laughing airily. It’s frightening how rapidly he can bounce between these moods, looking at you like you’re the one overreacting. “What’s wrong, were you enjoying yourself? Did you want him to fuck you?” He asks, tone remaining perfectly even, despite the way his jaw sets at the thought. His tone drops again, “Is that why you didn’t break his fucking nose?”

“No,” you answer immediately, mortified. “No, no, I didn’t want—“

“Say it. I want to hear you say it,” Homelander cuts you off, his palm pressed over the man’s mouth, muffling the gradually building sounds of distress. “Say ‘I wanted him to fuck me.‘“

You can hear the wall strain with the pressure Homelander is applying. The skin around where those red leather gloves press in has already begun to darken.

“Stop it!” You’re not above begging, but you know what he’s asking you to do. He’s setting you up for punishment. He will use this to justify whatever he deems necessary to keep you under his thumb. “Homelander, please—“

“Tick tock, tick tock,” he taunts, his smile curled up like a snarl. The man’s screams are dulled behind Homelander’s palm, but they’re loud in your ears. Veins are straining in his neck. His nose is covered, he can’t breathe. You’re not sure if he’s turning purple from that, or because of the building force Homelander is pressing against his face with. Homelander practically sings your name, dragging out each syllable. “You gonna let him die?”

A bone somewhere in the man’s face cracks, and it shatters something inside you.

“I wanted him to fuck me!” You sob, covering your ears, screwing your eyes shut. You don’t want to hear this man die. “I wanted him to fuck me! I wanted him to—“

Gloved hands close over top of yours. It’s not until you feel how steady and unyielding Homelander is that you realize how badly you’re shaking, each sob tearing through you. When you open your eyes, vision bleary through tears, Homelander’s expression is serene. Amused, even. His golden hair is backlit by the fluorescent bulb above, giving him an artificial halo. He’s beautiful, a perfectly manufactured angel.

Homelander gently pries your hands away from your ears. Even when he’s careful with you, his hands feel like thousand pound machines. Resistance is a joke. He makes that clear every day.

With your hands down, you hear now that he’s hushing you, his lips pursed slightly. He brings your hands down to your sides, and then places his hands on your shoulders. Your ears are ringing. The man is limp on the floor, but you can’t bring yourself to look at his face.

“Well…” Homelander begins, thoughtful. “No more wandering around empty floors, hmm? Next time you want some attention, you can just ask, you silly-billy,” he says, giving your shoulders a subtle little shake. His smile isn’t so thin anymore. He looks delighted.

You’re doing everything in your power just to breathe. You hear him purr a soft ’awwww’ as he pulls you in against his chest, the textured fabric of his suit pressed to your cheek. You know he likes you best like this. Tormented, fully at his mercy. He’s made it clear that you’re a plaything, but what’s important is that you’re his plaything.

Homelander strokes your hair. It’s gotten longer. He prefers it that way. His other hand is splayed firm against your lower back, but when you don’t reciprocate the affection, hands hanging limply at your sides, he does take a moment to lift each of your arms, wrapping them around his own middle before he returns his hands to their positions.

“You made a mistake, didn’t you?” He prompts, giving you an opening. You know that it’s a baited trap, but you nod anyway. You even hug him a little tighter, and you feel him lean into you when you do.

“And you’re gonna make it up to me, aren’t you?” He pushes further. You feel like there’s a giant knot in your stomach, balling up and getting heavier with each word he speaks. Your throat is too tight. You just nod again.

“Good,” he says. You can hear his grin. “There’s my good girl.”

Chapter 2

The first thing Homelander tells you to do is take a shower.

“I can still smell him on you,” he says derisively. “Make it snappy. And don’t bother getting dressed.”

This in and of itself isn’t uncommon. Homelander’s not exactly a germaphobe, but he is sensitive. He always wrinkles his nose when you’ve been around cigarette smoke or alcohol too long. You’ve started bathing daily, sometimes twice, just to abate his temper. He’s significantly more pleasant with you when you only smell of your clean vanilla soap and him. Almost kind. Sometimes you can lose yourself in those moments, and forget everything else. You can pretend he really is the hero, and that you’re both in love. Those are the times that you hold onto.

You keep the shower short for your own sake as much as his. You’re beginning to dread what’s waiting for you on the other side of the bathroom door, worrying that every moment you spend away, he’s making it worse. Beyond some incidental bruising, Homelander has never hurt you, he doesn’t need to do that. He even likes to make a point about calling men who beat their women cowardly.

You think that he also likes pretending he’s the hero.

Stepping out of the shower, you wrap a fluffy white towel around yourself. Even now, you swear you can feel the weight of his stare through the walls. He’s never been shy about the fact he watches you through the walls, sometimes through several floors of Vought Tower. It’s left you with a perpetual paranoia, making your every move careful and hyper aware. You brush your teeth for good measure, but otherwise don’t dally long.

When you open the bathroom door, he’s seated on the bed, hands on his knees, his gaze already perfectly at your eye level. You were right, he was watching. His lips spread slowly into a cheshire cat grin, the kind that highlights the lines at the corners of his eyes. He sniffs in a deep breath, and then exhales from his mouth. “That’s better,” he says, lifting a gloved hand to beckon you to him with two curling fingers. “C’mere.” You approach him steadily. The marble floors are cool beneath your feet, a stark contrast to the cozy rug that encircles Homelander’s bed. He stands once you’re within arms reach, putting his gloved hands on your hips to swap places with you, the backs of your legs brushing up against the edge of the bed.

Your hair is still dripping wet from the shower, droplets of water streaking down your arms. Homelander extends his hand out to you, palm facing up, and you already know what to do. You pull the glove off for him, watching briefly the way he flexes his bared fingers before you move to the other side, sliding off that glove as well. You turn around to set the gloves on the nightstand, but before you can turn back to face him, Homelander presses in behind you, bare hands curling around your upper arms.

Homelander blows faintly on your neck to change the trajectory of a drop of water, rolling it down your chest, where it disappears into the towel. You can hear the amusement in his little huff afterwards. You’ve noticed that it’s the little things for him; quiet moments of intimacy, of complete comfort in another person’s body.

You lean back against him, tilting your head out of his way. You feel his nose graze from the shell of your ear to the side of your throat as he breathes you in. “What was his name?” Homelander asks, his voice a low rumble in your ear.

“I don’t know,” you answer, closing your eyes. You hear Homelander sigh like he’s disappointed, and he turns you around to face him. You open your eyes, but the expression you’re met with isn’t what you expected. Homelander’s eyes are half-lidded, pupils dilated, his lips slightly parted. Where you had expected to see impatience or irritation, there is only heat. Homelander gives a thoughtful hum, moving his hands from your arms. He untucks where you have fastened your towel, and peels it away from your body, exposing you properly. The towel falls to the ground in a heap, and his gaze drifts slowly down, evaluating you. You can hear the dry click of his mouth opening as he says, “You really oughta know the names of the guys you’re fuckin’."

Your lips part, words delayed by bewilderment. “I do. I never fucked that man. I’ve never even—” “Sssshhhh.” Homelander lifts a hand and uses his thumb to caress your nipple in slow circles, coaxing it erect. Goosebumps erupt across your chest, all the way down your legs. He brings his opposite hand up to do the same on the other side, watching with rapt attention. He’s always had a fascination with your more involuntary reactions, teasing your body into responding to him. It’s working. You can already feel a faint pulse between your legs. You keep your focus on his face, your lips pressed tightly together.

Homelander cups both breasts, stroking his thumbs along the tops of them, massaging lightly. There’s something almost clinical about it, despite the intimate familiarity, as if he’s examining you. You make a noise before you can stop yourself, a tight little whimper that escapes the back of your throat.

Predatorily, his gaze snaps up sharp to your face. The corner of his mouth twitches in several almost-smiles, like he can’t quite decide, before settling back into a neutral line. He looks back down at your breasts, and his hands move further down, along your ribs. He pauses there, squeezing in a way that makes your breath hitch. The gesture feels like a reminder that he could break you in half if he wanted to. “Alright. Go ahead,” he prompts, smoothing his hands further down your body. They settle on your hips, where his thumbs press in right at your hip bones, anchoring his grip. He looks back up at you, expectant. “Name them.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “You.”

“I said name them ,” he snaps, voice dropping to a near growl. His thumbs dig hard into your hips and you gasp at the sudden pain, grabbing reflexively at his wrists. His grip on you is infuriatingly gentle, and yet the power in just the press of his thumbs is enough to have you keeling into him. “Say it.” “Homelander!” You cry out, pushing down as hard as you can on his wrists. You might as well be trying to pry a steel vice away. “Just you, it’s only you, Homel–” Homelander swallows the word right off your tongue, kissing you with a fervency that steals the air from your lungs. His thumbs ease up and you suck in a breath of relief through your nose, your grip on his wrists becoming less desperate in turn. Finally, you understand fully what he wants from you. He lets go of your hips so that he can grab hold of your face, leaving a dull ache pulsing where his thumbs had dug in.

“You’re the only one,” you manage to say, slipping in each word between the hungry presses of his lips. Your words only spur him on, make his kisses more feverish. He wants assurance, you realize. To be wanted. “The only one I want.” You’re right. Homelander makes a sound like you’ve wounded him, exhaling a sharp breath against your lips through his gritted teeth. There’s a neediness to the way he holds you, his fingers tangling in your wet hair, pressing his forehead to yours. “More.” Your heart is racing. “I want you. I need you,” you tell him, stressing each word. He groans low in the back of his throat and relinquishes his hold on your face, dropping his hands down to hurriedly unclasp his golden belt. He lets the accessory hit the ground with a thud.

“Don’t stop,” he grits out. You hear the harsh hiss of him yank down the zipper of his pants, and then he’s taking hold of your hand, wrapping it firmly around the length of his cock, closing his own hand over top of yours. He sets the pace immediately, practically using your hand to jerk himself off.

“I–I want you,” you fumble, trying to focus on what he wants to hear from you, and not the way you can feel his cock growing harder in your hand. You wrack your brain for something, anything. “No one makes me– makes me feel the way you do.” “No one,” he rasps, his hand coming up to the back of your neck, pulling you in for another bruising kiss. You open easily when he pushes his tongue into your mouth, licking up the fresh mint taste of you. “I’d rip out their fucking spine.”

With every stroke of your hand, you feel more wetness spread from the head of his cock. He’s fully hard now. You yelp when he abruptly pulls your hand away and pushes you back onto the bed, your legs hanging off the edge. You get up on your elbows and try to move yourself backwards, but he snatches hold of your ankle and effortlessly pulls you right back to the edge of the bed, back to him. “Keep talking.” It sounds equal parts like a warning and a plea, like he’s barely keeping himself together. “You want me to fuck you.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you echo without hesitation, wide-eyed and breathless. “I want you to be mine. You be mine, I’ll be yours.” The corners of his mouth twitch, and you see his tongue roll along his top teeth, over those pronounced canines, like the fangs of a wolf. He moves in between your legs and descends over you, kissing you while grabbing hold of both of your legs, hiking them up around his waist. In your addled mind, you wonder for a moment how he’s managing this, before you remember he can fly . He starts kissing your neck, trailing a line down to your collarbone.

“Mine,” he murmurs. “Yours,” you answer. “Yours.” “Mine.” He’s at your chest now, brushing his lips along the swell of your breasts. Almost tentatively, he flicks his tongue out along your nipple, making you jump. His eyes flicker up to yours, devilish, and he holds your stare as he sucks you into his mouth, swirling his tongue in rhythmic patterns. You bring both hands up to grab hold of his hair, exhaling a harsh breath, the heat of his mouth intense. His eyes eventually flutter closed. Between your legs, you feel his cock prod, eventually settling in the crease of your thigh, where he begins to rock back and forth, smearing his precome.

You gasp when he grazes you with his teeth, and reflexively yank his hair. That earns you a sharp look up through his lashes, though his pupils are blown black, and he doesn’t actually seem to mind much. He just nuzzles back in against you, minding his teeth and sucking like you might develop something to yield. You reward his gentleness by pushing your hand through his hair, scratching along his scalp with your nails. He rumbles at that, and you take that as encouragement to keep going, watching as his eyes fall shut. You’re just starting to get sore when he switches breasts, leaving you cold on one side and swallowed by a sudden heat on the other. Meanwhile, two fingers press in between your legs without warning. Your whole body jolts, and you feel him smile against your chest. His index and middle finger are swirling circles on your clit, his hands softer than any you’ve ever known, impervious to scars or calluses.

Homelander uses his middle finger first, breaching you in a smooth, albeit impatient glide all the way down to his knuckle. Even the way he fingers you is needy, thrusting his hand back and forth to open you up as quickly as possible, demanding you make the space for him. He adds a second finger and you start rolling your hips, meeting each thrust of his hand. He makes another pleased noise at that. “Feels good,” you tell him. If he likes when you talk, you're going to talk. “ You feel good inside me.”

His eyes open at that, and he lifts off your breast with a wet noise, withdrawing his fingers. You think for a second that he’s done with that, but instead you watch as he lifts those slick fingers to his lips, and sucks three of them knuckle-deep into his mouth, wetting them generously with his tongue. Your stomach flips at the sight, at the shameless way he laps up the taste of you. You can smell yourself on his fingers, and now on his lips. Homelander pulls his fingers out with an obscene slurp, and immediately returns them to your cunt, pushing all three inside. You moan with it, a chill shocking up your spine. Without thinking, you fist your hand tight in his hair and kiss him hard, wringing a noise from his throat that sounds suspiciously close to a whimper. He reciprocates readily, fucking his tongue into your mouth in time with his fingers pumping in and out of you.

You suck the taste of yourself from his tongue. He curls his fingers and gives you his thumb to grind your clit against. You wonder briefly who taught him to finger like this, but the thought disappears as quickly as it had appeared. He shifts his fingers just right and hits a spot inside you that makes you moan loud against his lips. “There, right there, don’t stop,” you keen, feeling an exquisite pressure building low in your belly, stemming from where his thumb is slipping wetly against your clit. He obeys effortlessly, maintaining the exact same pace without so much as a stutter. He’s relentless, his endurance inhuman. When you meet his stare, the intensity in his eyes borders on terrifying. He’s not even grinding against you anymore, focused wholly on taking you apart, feeling you dissolve around his fingers.

“I’m going to make you come,” he breathes, barely above a whisper. You nod fervently, lips parted on shallow breaths, but that’s not enough for him. “ I’m going to make you come,” he says again, voice sharper now, words pushed through gritted teeth. “You’re going to make me come!” You assure him, remembering yourself through the haze of your steadily building climax. “Homelander, I’m going to– you’re making me come! Homelander! Homelander! ” Your voice crescendos into a scream as your orgasm hits. Your eyes shut, but you snap them back open when you feel a hand on your throat, strong fingers giving a brief squeeze.

“Look at me,” Homelander snarls, teeth bared. “You fucking look at me.” You do. Every breath you take sounds like a whimper, wave after wave of pleasure rolling through you. His fingers feel bigger, heavier inside you, but it’s just the way your cunt tightens around them, quivering. Your hips are still, but he hasn’t stopped moving his fingers. Your pleasure dissolves into sensitivity.

“T-too much,” you tell him, squeezing your knees in on either side of him. That finally snaps him out of it, and his hand stops abruptly. His eyes flicker back and forth between rapid blinks, examining your face. His jaw is tight. You can still feel his hard cock throbbing against your thigh. He withdraws his hand, and you keenly feel the emptiness he leaves in his wake. Homelander takes his hand from your throat and settles it on the bed next to your head. You finally feel his weight sink the mattress down around you as he drops fully from his hover, landing on his shins. He puts his hands on your knees as he sits upright and spreads your legs wide, staring down at his own handiwork. When he glances up at you, his expression is expectant.

Breathing hard, you already know what he wants. You know that he’s not seeking permission, he doesn’t need that. He needs you to want him. Say it. “I want you to fuck me,” you tell him, slipping your hand down between your legs. Spreading two fingers, you open yourself to him. Your heart is thudding wildly in your chest, your body still coming down from the high of your orgasm. His eyes drop to your presentation, and his lips draw back around his teeth like he’s ready to devour you. “Please. Please f–” The ‘please’ must hit him particularly hard. You don’t even get the chance to finish your sentence. You choke on your own words when the fat, slick head of his cock pushes into you with ease. It’s free of friction, but no less a shock, splitting you wide open.

You throw your head back with a breathy cry, grounding yourself by pressing your feet to the bed. He grabs you by the hips, and pulls your lower half slowly into his lap. He enters you now the same way he did with his fingers– a single unrelenting slide until you feel him bottom out. The thatch of hair at his groin presses firmly to yours. He’s girthy, and long enough to touch the deepest parts of you. You try to breathe deeply, but you feel stuffed too full of him to get in a proper breath.

You’re not the only one affected. Homelander’s brows are knitted tightly together, eyes screwed shut, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think him angry. He’s exhaling each breath through his teeth, inhaling through his nose. You can see the strain in his expression, but you know it isn’t from exertion. It’s restraint. He wants to fuck you, not shatter your pelvis. You reach out to gently touch the side of his face, thumb caressing the wrinkles at the corners of his eye. When his eyes open, you’re shocked to see they’re glassy.

He looks stricken, leaning his weight into your palm. His expression is vulnerable enough that he triggers in you an overwhelming urge to comfort him. You hush him softly, thumb delicately stroking the high of his cheek. “It’s okay,” you say, immediately bringing your other hand up to the opposite side of his face, cradling him between your palms. “Good. You’re doing good. Feels so good,” you praise, unsure if you’re helping or hurting his cause. He lets go a frayed breath, pushing into both of your hands now. Luckily for your pelvis, you think it’s helping. He begins to move in earnest, grinding into you with slow, shallow rolls of his hips. Gradually, he begins to build momentum, thrusts becoming longer, deeper. He never takes his eyes off you, instead looking at you like you’re the only thing holding him together.

As Homelander moves, pleasure begins building back up in you. He moves in close to kiss you, and you welcome him. You push your hands up into his hair and cradle him against your lips, coaxing him to move his mouth more freely against yours. You try to ease the tension from him, but you can still hear in his breathing how he’s struggling. “Homelander,” you murmur, nails soothing along his scalp. “That’s it. That’s so good… You fuck me so good. You’re gonna make me come again,” you tell him, voice hitching precariously. He groans against your lips, and suddenly he’s pulling away from you, lifting himself upright, leaving your hands empty.

Taking hold of your legs, Homelander hikes them up over his shoulders. He practically bends you in half when he pushes back close to you, hands falling to the bed on either side of you, just above your shoulders. The position brings him even deeper, and the shift in angle makes you see stars. “Oh, fuck!” You gasp, dropping your hands to twist them up in the bedding below. You know he’s still holding back, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s fucking you better than any purely human man could hope to. The sound of flesh hitting flesh is loud in your ears. The pressure that had begun building back up is suddenly spiking, each snap of his hips like the strike of a match.

Homelander hisses your name like it’s an expletive. He’s unraveling inside you, moving with speed in place of force to keep himself from breaking you. “Touch me,” he says, but all the bite is gone from his bark. He sounds wrecked, desperate for it. You oblige him, bringing your hand back to his face, tangling the other in his disheveled hair. You touch his bottom lip with your thumb, and he surprises you again when he immediately takes it into his mouth, sucking fiercely at it. It makes your stomach flip. You lick your own lips, fixated on the way his are closed around your thumb while his eyes remain focused solely on you. Each thrust punches these breathy little sounds from you. You know in the morning you’ll be battered and sore from your hips to your cervix, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re at his mercy, and for once, he’s at yours. Still sensitive from your first orgasm, you can’t catch your breath. Every grind of his hips hurls you closer to another eruption.

“Yes, yes , fuck yes, fuck me. Make me come on your cock, you’re so good, good boy, fuck me so fucking–” You don’t get the chance to finish the thought. Your mouth falls open on a silent scream, your whole body seizing on an orgasm that hits you harder than any you’ve felt before. Your vision goes to white. Homelander isn’t far behind you. He thrusts a handful more times before he’s lost to the vice-like grip of your orgasm, your cunt milking him for absolutely everything he’s worth. You only vaguely feel him relinquish your thumb and bury his face into the crook of your neck. You’re far more keenly aware of the spill of him inside you, liquid heat that borders on burning. It spreads through you like molten metal, harboring the same heaviness. The two of you stay like that for what could be hours or seconds, you don’t know. Homelander has at least enough thought to lower your legs. He lays himself right back down against you, resting his head on your chest, between your breasts. He’s a solid weight atop you, and each breath feels hard fought.

You feel like you’ve just run a marathon. He moves again, but only to snake his arms around your waist, nuzzling against your breastbone. You muster the energy to move your hand to his face, where you can feel a wet streak down his cheek. Tears?

Shaken, you move your other hand to the back of his head, cradling him against your chest. You stare dazedly at the ceiling, unable to properly process everything that just happened. Embracing him like this, you think you better understand the story of Icarus, and why he was so compelled to fly to the sun, even as it scorched him.

There is an inexplicable feeling that comes along with holding close something that burns so hot.

“I love you,” Homelander murmurs against your skin, words slightly slurred in the hazy afterglow of his pleasure. He doesn’t need to prompt you this time. “I love you, too.”

Chapter 3

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fic #homelander fanfiction #homelander x ofc #the homelander #uhhh hello everyone this is my first homelander fic #and my first published fic in UHHH 7 years??#also only my second time with reader/second person pov #i have an idea for a smutty sequel but lets see how this one does first #enjoy!#my writing #say it verse

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strangersteddierthings · 1 year

Text

Shovel Talk(s) Part 2

Part One 🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four

Nobody in the history of the world has ever referred to Eddie as jubilant but that was certainly the best word for him currently. Eddie has survived the apocalypse (even if barely), been proven innocent for the murders (the Upside Down exploding into Hawkins helped), and he has a boyfriend. It makes Eddie feel like he's floating.

Steve drops him off, walks him up to the porch, and gives him the sweetest kiss goodbye. Eddie doesn't go inside right away because he wants to watch Steve as he leaves and maybe blow him an exaggerated kiss as he drives away.

"Glad that boy finally did something about how pathetic you were being," Wayne says in lieu of a greeting when Eddie finally slips in the front door and into the living room, plopping himself on the other end of the sofa, dragging one of the throw pillows that came with the couch into his lap to clutch onto. Ground him, because he's still floating.

"I was not being pathetic!" Eddie is scandalized.

Wayne lets out a wistful sigh and says, in a poor imitation of Eddie's voice, "when will Steve end my suffering and notice me."

Eddie lunges across the couch with the pillow in hand, whacking Wayne with every word he speaks, while also trying to dodge Wayne trying to grab the pillow from him, "I do not sound like that!"

Wayne tricks him into thinking the pillow is his only goal and before he realizes what's happening, Wayne has him in a headlock, dragging both of them off the couch as he stands, giving Eddie the gentlest noogie of his life. "I think I know how you sound, hearin' you bellyache for the last 13 years. I've had to hear your relentless sighing and bemoaning about Steve for at least six of 'em."

Eddie beats him with the pillow more until Wayne releases the headlock and then they wrestle until his uncle fakes hurt, so Eddie backs down quickly, and Wayne steals the pillow and beats him back onto the couch until Eddie yields.

"That was dirty fighting, old man," Eddie says when he finally stops laughing enough to catch his breath.

"What was it you used to tell me, when I said you were fightin' dirty?" Wayne asks, "Scrappy."

"Oh, is that what you think you are?" Eddie swings at Wayne's knee half-heartedly. Wayne flings himself across the room and into the recliner there like Eddie shoved him. "Oh, you big baby."

"You're awfully callus about bullying your old man," Wayne chuckles and settles into the recliner, popping the leg rest out. "Now, tell me about your boy. He was a gentleman to you?"

Eddie pouts, "Unfortunately, yes. One chaste kiss and then he was off."

"Smart boy."

Eddie narrows his eyes. "What's the supposed to mean?"

"Means I scare him."

"What."

"That a question or a statement, son?" Wayne looks awfully smug over in his chair.

"What do you mean you scare him?"

"Just gave him the good ole father shovel talk. Y'know? Hurt my boy and I'll make you disappear," Wayne says.

"You terrible old man!" Eddie throws his pillow at him but Wayne bats it out of the air. "I'm going to die a virgin and it'll be your fault!"

Wayne just shrugs. "Fine by me."

"You are the worst."

Eddie can't make his leg stop jiggling. He feels sorry for Nancy, who is sharing the bench seat with him because he's sure that it's shaking the whole bench. He's filled with energy and doesn't know what to do with it.

Robin sits across from them, finishing up the last of her milkshake as they wait for the to go order they're going to drop off for Steve, who is stuck at Family Video for another five hours. He was supposed to be here, too, but Keith called him asking him to cover and he'd said yes. Eddie wishes he hadn't. This was Lunch Date Day.

"Are you still upset Steve took an extra shift?" Nancy asks. "Even though you know he's just going to spend the extra money on you?"

Eddie's pouting, voice whiny as he says, "I'd rather he be heeeerrrrrrrre."

"It's disgusting how in love you are," Robin says, shoving the now completely empty milkshake glass away.

Eddie's leg stops shaking because he full on freezes. "Uh."

"Are you afraid of saying the L-word? You are not subtle in showing it," Nancy says, ever the traitor, "but luckily Steve's just as smitten."

"You don't know that," Eddie says, arguing for the sake of arguing. He doesn't believe he likes Steve more than Steve likes him. He's pretty sure they're on an even playing field.

"Yeah, I do. I threatened to shoot him if he hurt you and he didn't even flinch. He'd have taken the bullet for you."

"You did what!?" Robin yelps. She's looking at Nancy like she's grown a second head.

"I didn't even bring a gun with me! Besides, Steve knows I didn't mean it," Nancy says with a wave of her hand, "it was just an obligation thing. You have to threaten your best friend's significant other. The whole conversation was like, 30 seconds tops."

"I'm your best friend!?" Eddie gasps, faking surprise. They have become good friends. She'd taken it upon herself to make sure he did get to graduate with Robin and herself, and they did form a sort of friendship from that. Also, from being the collective third wheel to Steve&Robin, which is enough to make people come together. Neither of them truly thinks of the other as their best friend, but it's fun to joke about their own Capitol with a P Platonic Friendship around Steve and Robin, as they become rather bitchy and defensive about their own friendship.

It's hilarious every time.

"Well, it's you or Argyle, and I don't think Jonathan wants to share his best friend, so...."

"Cold, Wheeler. Cold."

Nancy rolls her eyes and looks over to Robin. "Are you telling me you haven't given Eddie the shovel talk?"

Robin frowns as she thinks before her eyes widen in shock and she gasps, "I think I accidentally gave Steve a shovel talk instead."

Eddie bursts out laughing, "Robin, how the fuck did you end up accidentally giving a shovel talk to your own best friend?"

"I just told him to, like, be careful with you."

"Careful with me?" Eddie asks, a little incredulously. "What the fuck does that mean?"

Robin is going on the defensive, now. Eddie can see that in the way she squares her shoulders before saying, "it was said after your first date! Steve's had a lot of those, and you hadn't. I just- I dunno, wanted him to see the importance of that."

"So, what, you told him you'd shoot him if he hurt me, like Wheeler here?"

"No! I never said I'd hurt him for hurting you. I just said that he should be careful with you because, as your first boyfriend, if, and I did mean if, you don't work out, it's like... he's setting the precedent for how boyfriends should treat you. What you'll put with with, y'know?"

"That's sweet-" Nancy starts but Eddie's speaking over her just a quickly.

"Robin, that's stupid. I'm a fucking adult. If I'm not being treated how I want to be treated, I'll tell Steve," Eddie huffs. "You can trust that I say what I mean."

"Can I?" Robin shoots back. "Just like when you promised to get the fuck outta dodge and instead went on a suicide mission that ended very, very badly for you?"

"That was different, Buckley," Eddie hisses at her, sitting up straight to lean more across the table, trying to get in her face, "there was a lot of shit happening, and no way out that I saw. It's called trauma!"

It seems that a defensive Robin goes straight for the jugular because she hisses back, "No, actually, I think it's called survivors guilt and suicidal ideation. You know what, I should be giving you a shovel talk! 'Cause I don't fully trust you to not hurt Steve, either by lying or running once things get rough. You don't-"

"OKAY!" Nancy shouts, startling both of them into silence with one word. "We are in an, admittedly very empty, diner but still a very public diner, so let's not. Robin, you're not Steve's mom, it's not on you to look out for who is going to hurt him or-"

"You do not get to speak to me about hurting him," Robin points an accusing finger at Nancy. For all the anger she seemed to have for Eddie just now, he can see that it's almost doubled for Nancy. "I wasn't Steve's friend when you hurt him, but don't think I don't know every detail."

He knows this story, too. Had gotten it out of Steve one night, weeks ago now, when they'd been passing a joint back and forth on Eddie's bed. Before Eddie can pipe up, not that he knows what he'd say anyway, the waitress returns with the to go box and the check.

"It's my turn to pay," Nancy says, snatching the check before it touches the table, following hot on the waitress's heels to the register.

"Ugh," Robin flings herself against the back of the bench, both hands coming up to hide her face. From beneath her hiding place, she says, "I'm sorry, Eddie. What I said was unfair, and uncalled for."

"We're cool, Robin," Eddie says, "I forget how much of a buffer for our anxieties Steve is until we all hang out without him. He's able to defuse an argument before it happens."

"Oh, don't word it like that," Robin drops her hands and slides out of the booth, scooping up the to go box in the process," it makes Steve sound like the emotionally mature one."

They all climb into Nancy's car and apologies are said but Eddie feels like the next time Steve can't make it, they'll all bail on the weekly lunch. They're just a bunch of traumatized young adults and Steve is the heart of them, the person that bonds them outside the shit they went through. And maybe they should figure out a better way to deal with this than just pretending it didn't happen but- well, the world just kept moving on and they had to either move with it or get left behind.

It's two weeks after Eddie and Steve accidentally told the Hellfire crew they were a couple, which is why Eddie is not expecting it when Erica and Lucas corner him. He was expecting to be cornered by someone last week.

They'd been taking longer to pack up than usual, and that should have tipped Eddie off that something was up.

"Munson," Erica says in her no-nonsense voice, hands on her hips, face unamused. For sharing no biology with Steve, Eddie finds the resemblance uncanny. "I need you to understand that you might be my Dungeon Master, but Scoops Troop will always trump that, so if you fuck this up with Steve, you will have to answer to me."

Eddie gives a soft grin in response, amused, "no worries, Lady Applejack. I have no plans to fuck this up."

Erica's eyes flick to Lucas, then back to Eddie. "I mean it, Munson. I have it on good authority that sometimes you hurt people and then you don't try to right it. You just move on-"

"Erica, stop it," Lucas says, voice a little panicked.

But Erica continues, because nothing ever seems to phase her, "and Steve and Lucas are alike in that way. So just know that if you hurt Steve like you hurt Lucas-"

"Erica!"

"I will end you. I will ruin your life, Munson-"

"Erica, STOP!" Lucas finally steps forward, yanking on Erica's arm to get her to stop talking. It makes her stumble a bit before rounding on Lucas. "Stop it."

"No!" Erica glares at her brother as she removes his hand from her arm. "Go outside if you don't want to hear it."

They stare each other down and Eddie's not sure what he should be doing. Should he step in? He grew up an only child, is this normal sibling behavior? But he doesn't have to step in because Lucas huffs and storms out of the house, front door clicking softly behind him even though Eddie expected him to slam the door.

"Now, you," Erica whirls around to Eddie, "do you understand what I'm saying?"

Eddie does not. He's fairly certain he's getting a shovel talk from a twelve-year-old and while amusing, he senses there's more to it than just his relationship with Steve. "You're threatening me on Steve's behalf?"

Erica scoffs and rolls her eyes like she thinks Eddie's an idiot. He's starting to think he might be. "Yes, I am but also more. Your relationship has been the hot topic these days, and my brother brought up a good point but he's too nice to say it, so I will. When school starts, if Steve wants to take you to a basketball game, even though they fall on Hellfire night, you postpone the damn game and you go. No matter how much you hate basketball or jocks or- or... other things." She loses steam at the end, eyes flicking to the door.

"What?" Eddie is even more confused, "I don't hate basketball. And if Steve asks, I'm not going to say no, okay? I care about Steve. A lot."

Erica frowns, which contradicts the words that leave her mouth. "Good. That's good. I'd hate to ruin you, Munson."

"Is there... more to it?"

It takes Erica maybe three seconds to decide what she's going to say. Just long enough for her to look at the door, then back to Eddie. "You owe my brother an apology."

"Uh, sure, I'll apologize but for what?"

"Remember the basketball championship and the last session of the Vecna campaign that you wouldn't postpone so Lucas could play? You never apologized," Erica crosses her arms, another move reminiscent of Steve, before continuing, "You didn't apologize, and Lucas thought that it was because he's a jock, and you hate jocks. But now you're dating Steve and he's a jock. So, if you don't hate jocks, Lucas thinks you just hate him."

"What, no, I don't hate Lucas!"

"Then tell him that!" Erica glares at him, "and let this be a little lesson for you. Going forward if you hurt either of my brothers, intentionally or not, you can kiss the tires on your van goodbye."

Eddie tucks his metaphorical tail between his legs and goes outside to apologize, because Lucas deserves to hear it.

Then, once the Sinclairs are gone and Eddie's back in his room, he runs through every conversation he can remember having with Steve. Has he dismissed things Steve liked too easily, too often? Has he said anything offhandedly that could be taken the wrong way without explanation?

Eddie's was an only child and didn't have to grow up worrying about anyone but himself. He made himself an outcast and shunned the 'norm' by choice. Doing so didn't exactly let him learn the social graces of patience and understanding.

It's eye opening, to learn that a decision he made months ago without a second thought has been hurting Lucas this whole time.

Has he ever done that to Steve, and not known it?

Steve's been distant these past few days and no matter how many times Eddie asks, Steve's answer doesn't change. I'm fine he says. I'm fine. Just fine. It's fine.

Except nothing feels fine. And Eddie doesn't understand the sharp change. They've got a date planned for tonight. Neither of them has specifically said it out loud, because it's sappy and stupid, but it marks three full months as official boyfriends. So, they've got a date planned, but Eddie's worried how it might end.

Eddie's been floating these last three months, but he suddenly feels grounded. He can't fix whatever happened if Steve won't tell him what it was! And in the absence of actual answers, Eddie's mind has invented his own.

Steve's realized that Eddie's not good enough for him. Steve's realized that he's actually straight, but thanks for the experimentation. Steve's found someone else and is working on how to break up with Eddie without blowing up their friend group in the process.

And Eddie hates himself for thinking these things. For projecting his own insecurities onto a version of Steve that doesn't exist. Eddie's gotten to know Steve.

Or he thought he had.

But now he's pulling away. And the only person he knows he can talk to about dating Steve is Nancy and he can't do that! He can't just go to Nancy's house and ask 'so when you were dating Steve and it was all going down the drain, was he distant or is that just a me thing?'

Fuck. Fuck!

He runs his hands through his hair and regrets it as his curls tangle around the rings on his hands. He should brush his hair, be getting ready, but he's procrastinating that because he can't decide if he's going all out, making himself look his best to see if it'll bring some life back into Steve's eyes when he looks at him, or if he shouldn't try at all and see if Steve even notices he's wearing the same thing he wore yesterday.

And it's bullshit that he's even thinking about testing Steve. Not two months ago he and Robin had argued in that diner about whether he's talk to Steve about these kind of things or not and now he was kind of proving her right. Except not, because he did try to talk! Steve just didn't answer when he questioned, and you can't really build a conversation from nothing.

Fuck! He should have known this would happen. That he would fall in love and Steve wouldn't love him back because that's always been his lot in life.

Oh.

Oh no.

He's been avoiding thinking it because once it's been thought, once it's solidified in his mind, it's true. And now he's thought it!

He's in love with Steve Harrington.

And isn't it just fuckin' peachy that this realization doesn't accompany happy feelings. He's in love and can't even be happy about it because he's so fucking sure his relationship is ending tonight.

#steddie #my fic #hmmm less happy about this part but its been a goddamn STRUGGLE #i didn't want people to give eddie a shovel talk but Erica does what she wants sooo....#also had to kinda force the scene with robin eddie and nancy in the diner because i wanted nancy to explain her side #considering how many of you were so mad at her and just over here like #oh no #cause the first part was just in steves pov and he cant read minds #anyway #have this and the third part will be out soon

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