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phyrestartr · 7 months

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Simple Things [2] - Miguel O'hara x Male!Reader

# SFW, fluff, comfort, flirting, light angst, male!reader, dad!reader, spider!reader, implied depression, mentions of trauma, mentions of past relationships, mentions of manipulation, old men just doing their best, miguel is a sweetheart and a nerd, multi-part drabble collection

[ 1 ] Smoke Break | [ 2 ] We Change Like the Seasons | [ 3 ] Meet The Kids

Notes: WOW I DID IT?? AN UPDATE AYO!! No promises, but I might try to update this drabble collection every Saturday or smth 🤔 The thought for this was to make it a sorta prelude to establish the reader's relationship with Miguel, and to cement him into the universe a little bit before closing up this sequential collection and delving into shite that's more random and based off rando prompts or smth. Dunno, but we'll see!

--We Change Like the Seasons--

After your candid smoke break with Miguel, the universe apparently thought it'd be funny to throw Mercury into retrograde and absolutely wreak havoc within HQ.

Miguel, the man deciding he was responsible for all, got affected the most: on bad days, comms exploded with barked commands and a plethora of scoffs; on worse days, a twisted frustration would fray his voice and heat his stare; on the worst days, he grit his teeth and flexed his claws whenever anyone so much as thought to come near him. Miguel didn't scare you, though. His temperament paled in comparison to what you'd faced in the military.

But you would hear the whispers sometimes, discussions about your leader going unhinged or feral. You knew how bad people moved, though, and you'd decided too long ago that Miguel was anything but a bad person. Prickly, sure, hot-headed and temperamental at times, too, but he cared. If he didn’t, then he never would have thought of funding and organizing an entire HQ and society for spider-people. He wouldn’t work towards saving everyone’s everything, either. You couldn’t help but appreciate his strong leadership, even if he did lose his temper every now and then.

But still, you ended up keeping your distance for a time. Life had gotten busier, and you couldn’t bring yourself around HQ as often suddenly. You weren’t part of the “elite strike force” that Miguel had going, so it didn’t really matter in the end; you weren’t one of the best, you weren’t special. All you wanted was to help where you could, as much as you could. The important shit could be left to those more ingrained in all of this.

–--

Miguel felt your absence around HQ. It was like noticing the sun setting a little earlier on its way to autumn, the realization that the world would have a little less time in the light each day. A small thing. A simple pleasure one didn’t realize they basked in until too much time had passed since it disappeared.

His mind wandered to the times he saw you before the small talk, the way you always gave little nods in greeting, whether you were passing by or coming for a meeting, and the way you sought out the younger spiders to check on them. And how could he forget about that pie you brought him? He wasn’t used to someone doing something thoughtful for him just because they wanted to. He told people where to go, what anomaly to fetch, but he never expected anyone to be so…you.

"Heeey, Miguel? Head stuck in the clouds?" Lyla asked.

"I–what?" Miguel blinked, suddenly feeling how dry and tired his eyes were from staring blankly at orange screens. "Santa Muerte. How long was I–"

"Liiike ten minutes?" She smiled as Miguel sighed and rubbed at his face, willing the fatigue away. "But you got a special delivery."

Miguel squinted over his shoulder. His expression relaxed when he saw it–a familiar, lone tupperware container. It sat near the very back, where the elevator doors were, hidden somewhere in the shadows. Last time it'd appeared on his centre console. Why so far away this time?

"Thanks, Lyla," Miguel mumbled. He padded to the box and popped the lid open, indulging in the sweet scent of sugar cookies. A pleased purr rumbled in his chest as he peered inside, first spying an incredibly misshapen, large cookie that sat on top. Words in red scrawled across the creamy white layer of frosting, reading something to the effect of, "for Pa's frend Meegull."

Meegull.

His hand rubbed over his mouth. Warmth bloomed in his chest, curling into an emptiness he’d long acknowledged, but refused to fill. Did he have a right to? After everything he’s done–

But those thoughts could be set aside for a moment, carefully and tenderly, acknowledging the state of his own fragility. This moment, this little thing, was a gift from someone else. Time and care spent into forging that spark in his chest for just a moment.

He could see ripples of the past: the messy chaos of the kitchen, smiles shared between father and daughter, a little girl refusing her father’s help and wanting to write the message all on her own.

Miguel had been there too, once. In the sun and the rain, playing goalie for a little sports star, teaching her to dribble and pass and play nice with the other girls on her team. His little one was so like him–competitive, snarky, bright. She burned so bright she turned his heart to ash.

“You okay?” Lyla peeped, peering over Miguel’s shoulder.

Miguel took a deep breath. He nodded. “Yeah. I’m–I’m fine. Just…yeah.”

His confidant nodded. “Yeah. I get it.” Lyla adjusted her sunnies before flickering down to the box and reading the garbled message. “Awe, that’s cute.”

Miguel huffed a laugh and nodded. “Yeah. It is.”

“You think he’ll bring his daughters around?” Was that hope he heard in his little AI’s voice?

“Well, if he does,” Miguel started as he snapped the container closed, “I’ll have to make sure I thank them.”

–-

You laid on your back, one leg crossed over the other. Your wakefulness ebbed and flowed to the rhythm of whatever song buzzed through those old headphones of yours. They were beaten up things, artifacts that should have been replaced three times over already, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it; your girl loaned them to you on base all those years ago, and whenever you picked them up and felt the soft, crackled leather against your fingers, you'd be reminded of easier times, simpler days–a past where you were blissfully unaware.

The memories hurt, sure, but the little bit of peace she brought you soothed your heart, while at the same time breaking it into two jagged parts. You wished she still stood by you, that you might find yourself whole again if she were still there. Maybe your serenity would have lasted, turned into marriage, evolved into something unreal, but that's not what happened.

Sometimes, you'd feel the icy prick of needles when you reached for the decrepit Sonys. They'd pierce all over, from your temples down to your ankles, and they hurt. God, did it ever hurt. Just like whatever they injected you with–whatever she injected you with–that bonded to your DNA, that made you more than human, and less than human.

God. It hurt.

You remembered her so vividly. Behind the veil of black obscuring the vision of closed eyes, you saw her standing there, the spitting image of what your little Isabella would look like when she grew up. Only, you hoped she'd have the good parts of Liliana, leaving behind the frigid woman who lured you into an experiment.

"You're gonna be fine, honey, just trust me. Your DNA's a perfect match. You're the only suitor for the test--you'll be the next Captain America."

Honeyed words, simple lies, sweet nothings–she did everything to trap you, but you would have bent a knee at "please."

"I trust you."

But you really shouldn't have.

Your hand curled tightly around the phone on your chest as you recalled the pain: the acidity eating your eyes, the boiling in your veins, the snapping of rearranging bones. It wasn't normal, not in the grand scheme of Spiderman and how his powers felt when they manifested. But you weren't exactly normal, either, considering you once coexisted with another in your body.

Heat washed up your face. Your eyes slid open slowly, and you stared up at a perfectly clear, azure expanse of sky, blurred through molten, crystalline grief. Christ, why was this happening now? You'd done so well for so long, kept it all together. Why–

The door to the balcony hissed open. You rubbed your face, willing the pear-cut diamonds away, not letting them rest on haggard skin. Losing it in front of somebody wasn’t allowed. You weren’t sure if you could come back from it.

“Good to know I'm not the only one who sleeps on the job," Miguel remarked, voice warm and latent with snark.

You couldn’t help a huff of amusement yourself. "Great minds think alike, hey?" You yawned and sat up, letting your headphones slip down to your neck while you messed with your nest of fluffy hair. "This is the only place I–uh, I…"

You blinked dumbly in the face of a to-go cup held out to you. The roasted scent of fresh coffee wholly distracted you from whatever the hell you were trying to say, but you didn't reach for it. Was it even for you? You wanted it, but–

"This is the part where you take it," Miguel teased, reaching it slightly closer to you.

You grasped it with both hands, feeling a weird, pleasant, happy boom pulse through your chest and down your arms, rushing a dusting of rose to your nose and cheeks while your mind flailed helplessly. What the fuck was this? The hell were you supposed to do with this? Well, drink it, duh, but…

"I, uh…yeah, thanks." You held the drink close and let it warm your cold hands. It felt nice. "But, uh, why–?"

"That's a stupid question." Miguel didn't even look your way. He leaned against the wall, though, and sipped from his own cup.

You were the one left fidgeting this time. You picked at the cardboard sleeve, tearing tiny rips into it before finally letting yourself indulge and take a sip. It was sweet, slightly too sweet, but in a very…well, Miguel kind of way: expected to be bitter, but decidedly the opposite.

"Didn't know how you take it," Miguel grumbled, hints of (oh?) embarrassment in his voice. Hah. Cute.

"Hey, tastes fine to me. Better sweet than bitter, yeah?" You hummed as the tiniest of smiles fought its way to the surface. "'Ppreciate it, Boss. Seriously."

Miguel's shoulders lost their tense edge. "Well. Least I could do, since you keep feeding me."

"That's just my fatherly instinct kicking in; I got a mighty strong urge to take care of any reckless kiddos that run amok. Y’know, the ones who leap before they think, the ones who forget to eat, yadda yadda." You sipped your coffee again and intentionally ignored the indignant look sent your way.

"Good to know you see me as a reckless punk," Miguel huffed.

"Mh. Feel free to call me 'daddy.'"

That got a laugh out of him, just a few breathy beats. "Oh, wow, I think I'll forget you just said that, actually."

"Your loss." You smiled slightly against the rim of your cup as you stared out at Nueva York. "Can’t say daddy is much of a turn-on in bed these days, though. Not when you have little ones," you mumbled to yourself more than to Miguel. But the man had enhanced hearing, so of course he heard.

"You're joking," Miguel said, exasperated.

Your gaze met his and you quirked a brow. "Hm?"

"You really had people call you that in bed?" The distasteful sour expression Miguel wore reminded you so much of your littlest one when she ate something she hated. You had to rush to swallow your coffee before you laughed.

"Yeah. Not my favourite thing, but it happens. Besides, I'm not about to tell them to knock it off in the middle of things." You shrugged and picked at the plastic lid. "Men 'n women 'n everyone in-between think it's sexy to call a guy that these days, y'know?" You shook your head and sighed softly, but still amused.

"These days," Miguel repeated. "How often are you–?"

"A man's gotta eat, Boss." You smiled at him, letting that atrocious playboy slip out to say hello with the sort of smirk you gave him. You almost thought Miguel's ears turned a bit red, but it was probably just from the cold.

"You can't tell me you're not getting any," you half-asked, half-remarked. “A guy like you?”

Miguel cleared his throat and sipped from his cup. "Guess I just haven't found anyone in a while."

"Yeah?" You tilted your head back against the wall as you stared up at the clouds. "Huh. Not even any of the spiders?"

"It's just–what's the point?" He burst. "At the end of this shitshow, all of us are going back to our dimensions, back to our lives and we won't get to–" his breath hitched, "we don't always get what we want."

You dragged yourself up from the ground, being careful not to drop your drink, headphones or phone as you stood by your fellow Spiderman. You ditched your phone in your pocket before clasping a warm, heavy hand on Miguel's unyielding shoulder.

"Miguel," you started, looking at him earnestly while he stared forward, eyes hard, but softening with the murmur of his name, "you can't think like that. Everything ends. It has to."

"Not comforting."

"Hey, hey, I'm not done." You gave him a small, friendly shake and felt his muscles almost relax under your touch. "Listen, if everything lasted forever, nothing would be special, yeah? Life would be meaningless, love wouldn't matter. But you get a chance to have that happiness–"

Memories of roses in her hair came with a gentle gust of peculiar warm wind, so out of place in the playful nip of autumn. If you took a moment, if you closed your eyes and breathed deep, you might've caught the whisper of white jasmine riding the coattails of summer nights long since passed. That was your happy place. Somewhere you wished you could have stayed longer. Somewhere you were glad you could wander back to moments of quiet loneliness.

"--and it'd be a real shame to give up on that."

Maybe it was the vibrato in your voice, or maybe it was the words you spoke resonating with him, but something sparked in whirling carmine irises, painting them a colour so like Dahlia's favourite red roses. You couldn't help but stare. You couldn't stop the thorned buds blooming in your chest, either.

Miguel smiled, then. Light and sweet, with a sweep of those eyes, half-lidded and thoughtful, gazing back to the city. More flowers bloomed.

"And here I thought you were a soldier. Where'd all that come from?" He asked quietly. His brows furrowed, though, worrying over something.

"Eh. Lots of therapy." You pat his shoulder a few gentle times. "But I'm serious, y'know? Good things come to an end. And, y'know, if it really hurts ya, you can just use your fancy gizmo to go visit, yeah? Or, I mean, you can just find someone to fuck."

Miguel gave you a look and the mood shifted away from genuinity back into clownery (thank God). "To fuck?" He balked. You nodded wisely. "You-- I'm too old to be sleeping around."

"Hey, hey, I sleep around. You're never too old." You almost managed a glare at him. "Sometimes I just wanna mess around, get laid, maybe accidentally find The One–"

"Oh, you’re hoping to find 'the one,' huh?" Miguel remarked, definitely believing you. “How’s that going for you?”

You sighed dramatically and leaned into him like your will to live was running out. "Oh, It’s brutal. Lots of trial and error. Such a shame."

"Mmh, I'm sure."

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #atsv imagine #atsv reader insert #male reader insert #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x male reader #miguel x male reader #male!reader #atsv male!reader insert #atsv x reader #atsv x you #miguel x you #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #phyrestartr

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certifiedmattl0ver · 1 month

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NSFW ALPHABET (matt)

lmk if u want me to do one for Chris

A-Aftercare

I feel like Matt would absolutely rail the life out of y/n and then give the sweetest aftercare as if he didn't just rearrange her organs. He would prepare a hot shower, get you water/food, and cover you with kisses.

B-Brat

If you've been a brat all day and he gets fed up with your bullshit he'll either ignore you for the entirety of the next day or treat you like a fucktoy and not give you the deserved aftercare he normally does.

C-Camera

Matt would totally be down to record the sessions you have with each other and save them for later iykwim

D-Deepthroat

I lowkey think that Matt would deepthroat the fuck outta you if he loses control and has a throbbing boner. Or if you've been annoying all day, and he needs to shut you up.

E-Expression

whenever matt is poundin yo shit in missionary, he loves to see the expressions on your face. your eyes rolled back, your mouth hanging wide open, tears rolling down your face, and just looking totally fucked out. of course, you love to see his face too. when he has his eyes closed cuz of the heavenly feeling when he's inside you, or when his mouth hangs agape when he's about to finish.

F-Fingering

Fingering is something Matt does almost all the time you two have sex. It's his way of prepping you. Depending on how he's feeling of course.

G-Greedy

Whenever another guy flirts with you Matt gets pissed tf off. He grabs you, drives you home, and obviously destroys your internal organs. While he's ever so hardly thrusting into you he lets out a low "mine" when he goes in and out.

H-''Hitting''

spanking is something Matt doesn't do often. he only does it when it's most necessary. iykwim

I-Intimate

Whenever Matt isn't pumping a child inside you at full speed, he can be pretty slow and sweet. like in the mornings when he doesn't want to hurt you too much or when he comes home and is tired but still needs you.

J-Jerk off

Whenever Matt's on tour, or just away from you in any way, he jerks off. he jerks it to the spicy pics you send him and the videos he took from times you guys were together.

K-Kink

Kinks Matt would have would definitely be like praise mixed with degradation, light choking, spanking, and whatnot.

L-Love

Matt doesn't just fuck you because of pleasure, but because he genuinely loves you and wants the both of you to feel good.

M-Moans

Matt absolutely LOVES to hear your moans. he could listen to them on repeat. You of course love to hear Matt moan too. matt does try not to be too loud so he can hear you properly. whenever you try to muffle your moans he says ''let me hear those pretty noises of yours baby.''

N-Noise

Noise is 100% you and Matt have to watch out for. matt not wanting his brothers to hear and make fun of him for the rest of his life whenever you two do it at his house, and you do not want any noise complaints from neighbors in your apartment when you guys do it at yours.

O-Oral

the head matt gives you a euphoric experience. his tongue does things to you and you could cum in less than a minute from the way he works it.

P-Pussy Power

Matt loves your pussy. he loves the taste and the smell, and he loves the sounds you make when he gives attention to it. anytime he's inside you it sends him to cloud 9. The way you squeeze around him is just absolutely perfect.

Q-Questions

Matt usually asks you if you're okay with him doing something. he always asks for your consent before he does anything to you.

R-Restraints

bondage isn't really Matt's thing (more Chris's). He'll hold you down with just his hands if you're squirming too much or pin your hands above your head if need be.

S-Sub

matt doesn't sub often but when he does he's all over you. he'll beg, call you mommy, and moan out like a bitch. ''please let me cum mommy please please...''

T-Tits

in my eyes matt's more of a tits guy. he'll mostly have you in missionary so he can look at them bounce while he fucks into you. sometimes he'll give them a little squeeze from time to time.

U-Underwear

When Matt undresses you the one thing you can never seem to find when you two finish is your underwear. If he's REALLY in need of your body he'll rip them off. you've definitely bought over 30 pairs of underwear because they keep disappearing. *RIP* ''matt! I just bought those!'' ''i'll buy you new ones baby I just need you right now''

V-Vibrator

matt isn't very fond of using toys, he'd rather pleasure you by himself. he does use your vibrator from time to time to push you a little further and to see you squirm and beg for him to turn it off when you've had too much.

W-Wet

matt can get you wet with ease. using his words, kissing your neck, etc. he doesn't even have to try. he can make eye contact with you and that would make you wet.

X-Xylophone

a xylophone is known for its colors. red, yellow, and green. you and Matt use the light system instead of safewords. green is go, red is stop, and yellow is slow down.

Z-Zzzzz

After brutally ramming you the two of you would normally fall asleep after aftercare.

AGAGHAHAAH AH

this took so long to make. ERM. ik I didn't use the same alphabet as other writers did but wtv I'm just original what can I say.

I've got finals coming up soon and I CAN NOT fail my second year in university so I may not write for a while

love you lots!!

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #alphabet

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whumpsoda · 8 months

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One Week

This idea makes me so happy :))

cw: cursing, mild depictions of blood, physical violence

———————————————————————

Hero was gone for a week.

You wouldn’t think it, but that was a fairly long time for villain to not have run into his nemesis.

There were multiple schemes that week, all taken care of by groups of small time heroes. Admittedly, they were not his best work, but how could they be at a time like this?

It had just been revealed to the public that villain and hero had been partaking in a secret romantic relationship. Someone had caught them, recorded it, and then sent it out for the world to see. If villain knew the culprit’s identity, they would never see the light of day again.

The night the video was taken though, that was the last night villain had seen hero.

The night had been normal, the two parties meeting up in their usual dark and secluded alleyway. Even in sweats and a hoodie Villain couldn’t help but obsess over hero’s handsome looks. The two hadn’t even been there thirty minutes before they went their separate ways. They couldn’t have known they had an audience!

Villain couldn’t let this ruin his reputation, he had to keep up appearances.

It made sense though that hero hadn’t shown his face afterwards. It looked a lot worse for a hero to be making out in a back alleyway with a villain than it did on the villains part.

It still worried Villain though. He was aware how brutal the organization Hero worked for could be. Hell, Villain had even been in that spot all those years ago. Now he could only hope Hero would come back soon, all fine and well.

But Villain had a feeling. As he stepped farther away from the crushed building, he could sense Hero. He felt their presence.

And there he was. He was sprinting towards the Villain, and sidekick behind him helping evacuate civilians.

As Hero swiftly inched closer, Villain’s throat became dry. What should he say? What could he say? But he didn’t need to say anything, instead a hard punch swept into his abdomen, shooting him violently into a wall.

Villain barely processed that it had been Hero who had done it. This was the first time since they had become a thing that Hero had really punched him.

Sure they fought, but they held back immensely against one another. No more broken ribs or bones since then. Except maybe till now.

Villain spurted and spit out a pile of blood. He pushed himself onto his feet, watching as a large pair strode toward him. It really did feel as if Hero might’ve broken a rib.

Villain gazed upwards and finally got a clear look at Hero’s face. He looked livid, but not like normal. Not in the way that they would slip in smirks and winks when out of the way of cameras. He looked actually furious. “H-Hero-”

“Shut it, fucker.” Another rapid punch landed to his face this time, interrupting his words. A different hand bitterly grappled Villain’s shirt collar, yanking him close to the hero in front of him. Villain’s head lolled downwards, and several more punches landed.

After a pause in the attack, Hero pulled Villain near. “You’re fucking disgusting, y’know that?” The two were so close the warmth of Hero’s breath heated Villain’s throbbing cheeks.

Villain let out staggered breaths, “B-Ba-Baby…?” He could only see the basic form of Hero’s face through clouded vision. At least he thought it was Hero. He didn’t really know anymore.

A sharp kick collided into Villain’s shaking knees, knocking him onto them. He looked up at Hero’s face, his unfocused eyes meeting with fierce ones. Villain could hear the yells of his own henchmen fighting with Hero’s teammates. The usual. Except this part was very much unusual.

And the sounds were not close. There was no one nearby to save him.

A large, rough hand carelessly seized Villain’s face, and forced it upwards. “Don’t you fucking dare, call me that,” spittle splattered onto Villain’s face from above. “All that shit is forever behind me. That’s right. All your scummy ass manipulation is done and over with, and God I wish it ended sooner.”

A deep, raspy chuckle escaped Hero’s upturned lips. “Sure I’m pissed someone caught us,” Hero leaned down, his face inches above Villain’s, and with his other hand grasped a fistful of hair. “But at least it’s made me finally open my eyes.”

Villain was yanked downwards by his hair, releasing a yelp in response. He fell onto his stomach, and a foot slammed into his back.

One.

Two.

Three times. Each time it came down stronger than the last.

Villain wretched up blood after the last kick, hacking and gasping for air. Almost immediately a bulky body rested onto Villain’s back, and calloused hands once again grabbed clumps of his hair.

Villain shrieked as a foot pushed on his neck and firm hands yanked full strength on his long locks. He flailed and squirmed as much as he could, using all his strength to fight the hands in his hair. Boisterous, gleeful laughter was coming from behind, in the same voice that had been whispering loving comments in the dark only a week before.

Soon after, more punches arrived to his back and head. Villain could only weakly kick at his attacker, which wasn’t seeming to do much.

Villain’s vision was foggy, his head was jumbled and dizzy from the repeated strikes.

“Hero?” Villain tilted his head at the familiar voice, just enough so he could see the person before him.

Sidekick.

Sidekick knew about them! She had always known about their relationship, from the very beginning. She would surely help Villain.

She was about ten feet away, and she seemed to be looking at the situation in disbelief. She took a hesitant step toward Villain.

“What are you doing?” She seemed upset. That was good.

“Sidekick,” Villain could practically hear the smile in his lover’s voice. A hand reached out over his head. “Knife please.”

Sidekick’s whole body tensed, she was still taking in the bloody image in front of her. Her face contorted into a look of horror and anger.

“What?” A chuckle in response.

“Don’t look at me like that, I’m not gonna kill ‘im. This guy deserves to rot in prison,” A hand clumsily ruffled Villain’s shaggy hair. Villain didn’t even have enough energy left to pull away. “An’ I just wanna have some fun. Give this little fucker what he deserves for what he did to me.”

Sidekick swallowed, and her hesitancy melted away. “What the hell are you talking about? Last you saw him you two were making out in an alley. No one’s even seen you in a week, not even me!”

“Don’t act like you really think that love shit was real. I mean, maybe you did. I was really fucking out of it.” Hero ran a hand through his own wispy strands. “But none of that shit was real, and I finally realized that. This guy, villain’s in general, are the scum of the fucking Earth, and I see that now.”

Sidekick took a cautious step away.

“Now Sidekick, give me the knife.”

“No fucking way.”

Hero sighed. “C’mon. Knife.” His hand was still held out and waiting.

“Fuck. No.”

Hero steadily began to rise off of his seat on top of Villain. Villain would have easily escaped if he had the ability.

“Fine then. I didn’t think you’d side with this asshole, but so be it.

I’ll just have to do this the hard way.”

#whumpblr #villain whumpee #whump #mind control whump #brainwashing #hero x villain #hero whumpee #mind control #my writing #writing drabble

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cannotgiveafuck · 3 months

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I know there are Marineford fix it fics out there, and with Gear 5 ofc they exist.

But I just can't stop thinking about Nika activating early and yes, Ace gets saved, but the consequences. The absolute horror show that would be witnessed.

Luffy managing to push Ace aside, getting hit in the chest by Akainu's fist instead. And dying. He has to die, and he does because he can't survive that. But the situation, the context - he died to save his brother, to free him. He died in the largest act of recent liberation, and how could Nika not come forth for that? Things were just getting fun, Luffy had freed Ace and they were running and fighting and were so close to freedom.

So now it's Ace holding Luffy in his arms, seeing the hole in his chest and his life gone. And there's the long moments of shock and then denial and then rage.

But then there, in the open cavity of his baby brother's chest, gaped and visible for him to see, horrifically and wonderfully, is Luffy's heart, in tact and beating. And not just a slow, small beat. But erratic and loud. Wild beats, not like a war drum, but the drums of a celebration, thumping louder like there's a rhythm no one else hears but Luffy. Luffy who's dead, but whose heart still pounds. Powerful movements that make his body lurch up and down, up and down.

And Ace must think he's finally fucking snapped, because there's unthinkable colors shining in his brother's chest - an open, bleeding, viscera spewing chest - but the rest of him is draining to white, pure white, cloud white, bright white from his soft curls to his feet that are under him. And everyone witnesses this, stockstill and horrified as the dead, not dead now, maybe still dead, boy literally bounces to his feet. Or maybe it's the ground that bounces under him. No, it's both.

Luffy is bouncing back and forth and the ground ripples around him, sends him back onto his feet where he sways this way and that, a puppet with his strings broke, a body unused to being so light, a life pushed to the edge and over death and around again, coming back. But did he? Did he come back to life? Ace wants to think so, but when Luffy grins wide, too wide, with too many teeth, and his laughter grows, a laugh that's just like Luffy except not - Ace isn't sure. But he wants to be.

Except that hole in Luffy's chest is still there. But he's laughing, as though his own death was the funniest joke he's ever told.

And it is Luffy, but also Nika, because Luffy wasn't ready yet, he would be off. He would be wrong. And when Ace calls his name, the pink, no red, no pink, eyes that look at him don't see him at all. Don't recognize him, or maybe he's trying to, but Luffy-Nika just laughs, another funny thing, and Ace doesn't know if this is better or not. His brother not his brother anymore, alive but not, Luffy but not, a twisted mirror, a bright reflection.

And yeah, okay, the brief fight would be also terrifying, I think. Because there's a lot of people, and Nika-Luffy wouldn't recognize who's who, except those who attack him. Except it's a big ol game to him. He does the wackiest, physics defying shit that makes Admirals want him fuckin dead. Pulls the ground up like a wave, the buildings like blankets, bodies twist in his grasp like rope, the sky something to climb, something to bring down. Because loony toons shit like this, even in OP world is fuckin insane.

And now it's Ace's turn to get his brother outta there. To get him to freedom and escape and maybe get some help, because Luffy is alive but maybe not or maybe not for long. And its sickening to see Luffy connect his insides together again, with his bare hands, to blow into his thumb and see those missing organs and tissue and bones and spine pop up into place like they were just deflated, stretch his skin over to stick together for the time being. And when he sags against Ace's arms, white draining from him tired and sleepy and safe with whoever this man is, Ace is fuckin mess of emotions.

And then Law still comes, ofc. Someone has to properly stitch Luffy together, and be going wtf wtf wtf the entire time he's in surgery and all of Luffy's insides are there. And anyway, Luffy won't remember jackshit about any of it, but the absolute mess of it all is still there.

#one piece #gear 5 #listen. dont look too hard at this as a fix it #i mean. yes. but also. with Horror.#and the government after luffy so much more now #idk idk. i just want the spooky shit #and ace to live. leave me alone

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licensedqueerio · 2 years

Note

OMG OMG could u write an eddie munson x reader where they like each other but are both awkward little shits so robin has to help them out and get them together?? ILY and tysm if u write this !!

So I kind of adjusted this and added Steve into the mix with Robin (and Gareth and Jeff make an appearance in Eddie's corner) but I hope this fulfils your request :)

---

Word count: 2.6k

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Warnings: swearing

Request here

---

“So…how’d it go?” Robin sang nudging your shoulder as she joined you behind the counter, getting on the computer. “Did you finally tell him?”

You groaned and shook your head, burying your head in your hands. “I didn't go,” you mumbled, completely indecipherable as your hands muffled your words.

“In english?” Robin asked, poking your hands repeatedly in an effort to get you to lower them.

“I blew him off,” you cried, ducking down to hide behind the counter, a cloud of misery hanging over your head. This was a common occurrence when Eddie Munson, your crush of two years, was involved. “I blew him off, I couldn’t do it.”

“You…oh god, you’re helpless,” Robin scoffed, patting your head condescendingly. “You, Y/N L/N are totally, undeniably helpless,” she stated. “Steve, guess what Y/N did!” She called. You assumed Steve had returned from organizing the shelves.

“What was it this time?" Steve drawled. He leaned over the other side of the counter to stare down at you. “That bad, huh?” He asked, hair hanging weirdly in front of his face thanks to gravity.

You glared up at him. "Not helping. Either of you."

“They’re about to have you beat on dating fails,” Robin ignored you. “They blew Eddie off. Again. Y'know I don't know who's worse. You, who can't get a date to save your life. Or Y/N, who's got dates but never shows up!"

You whined in pure misery, “you don’t have to keep saying it! I feel terrible as it is!”

“Really, Y/N?” Steve deadpanned. “You cannot keep standing your dates up. You’re going to get a reputation and then you won’t have any dates to blow off.”

“I know,” you groaned, standing up when your legs began to ache. You stared at Steve with a crestfallen expression. “I feel terrible about standing him up, but you don’t understand! He came to my locker to ask if we were still on, and I said yes. Because I planned on going, but then it got quiet and awkward. And he wasn’t saying anything, and I wasn’t saying anything, and it was painful! I didn’t want to do that for actual hours!”

“How do you know it would have been awkward?” Robin chimed in. “You would have been at his place, and might I remind you, high, so I doubt it would have been awkward.”

“Yeah, I realized that. But by then it was too late for me to show up and I didn’t…I couldn’t just…”

“You’re pathetic,” she stated, shaking her head. “He probably thinks you hate him.”

“He definitely thinks you hate him,” Steve replied, pushing off the counter and going towards the back. “You blew the guy off for what? The third time?”

“Shut up,” you said. “I’ll figure out some excuse to tell him.”

“I think you’re running out of family members,” Robin snorted.

You grimaced. The first time you stood Eddie up, you said your cousin died. The time after that, your uncle. You didn’t have either. But you could only cover up your own faults with dead relatives so many times.

“He’s going to end up hating you if you do this a fourth time,” Robin said. “I would have hated you after the first. But Eddie is a softie at heart.”

“I know,” you sighed, a smile forming on your lips. “That’s what I love about him.”

“Gross,” Robin pulled a face. “Go clean the store windows. You can think of your excuse then,” she said, making a shooing motion with her hands. “I have inventory to do.”

You scowled. You hated cleaning the windows. But you dutifully went to complete the task (that felt more like a punishment that you totally deserved.)

---

“They hate me,” Eddie said, aggressively cutting the old strings off his guitar. “They hate me. They hate my guts.”

“Maybe,” Gareth agreed, tapping the snare drum to make sure the tension was nice and tight.

Eddie glared at him.

“What?” Gareth exclaimed, setting his sticks down.

“You weren’t supposed to agree, man,” Jeff shook his head, idly plucking the strings on his guitar.

“What? He got stood up three times. The first time? Fine, life happens. The second time? They get the benefit of the doubt. But three times? They’re not into you, man,” Gareth said, restlessly picking his sticks back up and spinning them between his fingers.

Eddie set down his tool before he lobbed it at poor Gareth’s head. He went about removing all the strings. Honestly, he likely didn't need to do this for another few weeks, but he was stressed, goddammit.

"Maybe something came up," Eddie said, ever hopeful. "Maybe this doesn't mean anything. Maybe they were busy," he said.

"Sure, man," Gareth replied.

"Gareth," Jeff hissed.

"No, let the man speak," Eddie stared at him consideringly. "Gareth, you're honest."

"It's my worst quality," Gareth agreed. "You hate when I'm honest. You threw my own drumsticks at me once."

"Do you think I should give up?" Eddie asked regardless. "Things just get so awkward. I don't know what to do. Or say. I'm speechless when I see them so I don't say anything, and Y/N doesn't say anything, so we're just staring at each other—"

"Gross, dude," Gareth interrupted, lips twisted in disgust. "I don't need to hear about your crush. Thanks."

"I'm about to throw my guitar at your face, Gareth," Eddie threatened.

Gareth raised his sticks threateningly.

"Let's not throw any guitars or drumsticks," Jeff said, holding his hands out to prevent any physical violence. "Gareth. We talked about this. You don't need any more bruises."

Gareth scowled at the scolding and turned back to Eddie, setting his sticks down with an annoyed huff. "I dunno, man. Sounds like they're behaving the same. Only difference is they're scared so they blow you off. I don't know." He held his hands out and shook them. "Now I'm done talking about this while you have a guitar in your hands."

Eddie pondered that for a minute, a very thoughtful expression on his face. It soon turned to hope. "You're not fucking with me, man?"

"I said I was done talking about this," Gareth answered, shaking his hands again for emphasis.

"Gareth!" Jeff hissed with more irritation than the first time.

"Shit, what time is it?" Eddie asked. "Shit!" He stood up, setting his stringless guitar aside. "I'll be back," he said, yanking his jacket and vest back on before hurrying off.

"He's going to them, isn't he?" Gareth asked, rolling his eyes. "Pathetic."

"Like you aren't the same," Jeff replied with a knowing grin. "Let's go. No slacking during practice," he said, clapping his hands together.

---

"Shit!" You loudly swore, staring out of the newly cleaned windows, spotting Eddie's car pull up to the curb. You spin around, diving behind a shelf. "Shit, shit!"

You ran towards the counter, hopping over with grace, albeit clumsy grace, and ducking down in your favorite hiding spot. You did not want to face him today.

"This will be fun," Robin said, dashing forward towards the door.

You peeked over the counter to see what she was doing, screaming, "no!" When she flipped around the closed sign that you just put up. She stood there, in front of the glass door and waved to Eddie. "Robin, you're dead to me," you snapped.

"You'll thank me later," she replied out of the corner of her mouth. She opened the door.

Steve, who stood beside you behind the counter greeted Eddie with a, "what's up?"

"Where's Y/N?" Eddie asked, sounding breathless.

You looked up, making eye contact with Steve, who arched a brow. You shook your head in a panic.

"Hiding," Steve said, looking back up at presumably Eddie.

You swore under your breath and pinched Steve's leg in retaliation. You mentally prepared yourself, armed with your excuse as you popped up.

"I was not hiding," you stated. "Just so we're clear. I wasn't hiding. I don't hide," you said, looking at Eddie, who was smiling.

"Hello to you too, sweetheart," he replied, braced against the counter.

Behind him, Robin dramatically and silently mocked him. You forced yourself to ignore her.

"Hi," you said shortly, staring at him. At his beautiful brown eyes. You loved his eyes, how soft they were. How they twinkled in the light. And how they always displayed his emotions.

"I'm gonna…go rearrange the tapes in the back," Steve excused himself, making a quick escape.

"That's it?" Eddie prompted once he was gone, leaning closer to you.

You looked away, reaching for Steve's tapes piled on the counter and began to rearrange them. "...I'm sorry," you said eventually.

"This is the third time you've ditched me," Eddie stated. "Without even a courtesy phone call!"

You grimaced, looking up at him. "I'm sorry," you repeated. "Really, I'm—I'm so sorry for doing this again."

"Y'know, I'm starting to think you don't like me," Eddie mused, tapping his fingers against the counter. "Gareth said you hate me and I'm starting to believe him."

"I don't hate you!" You quickly exclaimed. "I don't hate you, I swear. I just…it's stupid."

"...hanging out with me is stupid?" Eddie asked.

"No!" You shouted, your nerves worsening. You really didn't want to ruin this before it was even a thing. "No! No, shit—"

"Hey, relax," Eddie said, reaching across the counter to take your hand. His rings cooling the top of your hand where they touched. "Relax."

"I'm sorry," you whined. "I'm just…I didn't expect to see you here, it threw me off I guess," you nervously chuckled.

Eddie nodded. "I wanted to talk to you," he said. Then proceeded to say nothing.

You stared at him awkwardly, and he stared back with his hand still resting on yours.

"Why yes, Eddie!" Robin suddenly exclaimed as she came up behind Eddie. "They would love to join you at your place to hang out." She smiled, tossing an arm around his shoulder.

Your eyes went wide.

"Or wherever you wanna go, they're not picky. Right, Y/N?" Robin asked.

"...right?" You asked, brow furrowed.

"And Eddie's gonna be a real gentleman, aren't you?" Steve chimed in, strolling over and throwing an arm over Eddie's other shoulder.

Eddie quickly let go of your hand and stood up straight. He nodded quickly. "Yeah, man. Totally," he replied.

"Great," Steve and Robin chorused before stepping away.

"Alright. You two have fun," Robin said as she ushered you forward.

You walked around the counter, looking between the three of them.

"Curfew is midnight. Unless you wanna…have some more fun," Steve smirked. "Then call so we know Eddie hasn't murdered you. Got it?" He clapped you on the shoulder and gave a light squeeze.

"Yeah, dad," you said with a sarcastic smile. "Anything else?"

"Have fun, kids," Steve said, pushing Eddie around towards the door. Robin did the same to you.

And then you and Eddie were walking out of Family Video. He opened the door to his van for you, shutting it once you were inside before going around and climbing in the driver's seat.

Metallica began to blare through the speakers as soon as Eddie turned the car on and he scrambled to turn it off.

"So," he said, tapping the steering wheel as he began to drive. "Where to?"

"I don't mind," you replied with a shrug. "We can…go to your place if you want?" You asked.

Eddie nodded, going to fiddle with the radio again. "Do you mind?" He asked.

"No, no way. Go ahead, I love Metallica," you replied honestly. You loved it because he did, in all honesty.

Eddie turned to you with surprise evident in his eyes. He grinned, turning the radio back on but lowering it to an acceptable level. "I didn't know you liked metal," he said.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Munson," you slyly replied.

"Oh yeah, L/N?" Eddie replied in the same tone. "Like what?"

"Like I like metal music," you replied with a laugh.

Eddie joined you in the laughter. And when that died down, it was quiet. Metallica filling the car.

"Why did you blow me off again?" Eddie eventually asked, glancing at you. "If you don't like me, you can just tell me. It won't hurt my feelings. Promise."

"It's not that I don't like you," you sighed. "It's…it's complicated."

"Oh wonderful," Eddie said unenthusiastically.

"Eddie…I do like you. A lot. A lot a lot. I like you so much that I'm at a loss for words when I see you. I get so nervous when I'm around you that words fail me and it just turns awkward. That's why I blow you off, because I'm scared you'll see how awkward I am and you'll hate me," you confessed, picking at your fingers because it gave you something to do with your hands after dropping that bomb.

Eddie suddenly jerked the steering wheel to the side, turning sharply onto the side of the road. He pulled over into the dirt and killed the engine. "I knew it!" He cheered, first bumping the roof of the car. He clapped his hands and turned to face you with a brilliant grin. "I knew it," he repeated.

"Knew it…?" You asked.

"That you liked me. Duh! I knew it. Why didn't you just say that?" He cried dramatically, clutching his chest. "I feel the same way! You didn't have to ditch me!" He exclaimed.

You began to smile at the confession. "You feel the same way?" You asked.

Eddie seized your shoulders, shaking you gently. "Of course I do!" He exclaimed. "Yes, Y/N L/N. I feel the same way. I like you a lot a lot," he parroted. "I like you so much that words fail me—"

"Alright, alright, please don't repeat my cheesy words back to me," you laughed, holding onto his leather clad forearms.

Eddie shut up and stayed grinning at you like a goof. "So…" he trailed off, his hands moving to cup the side of your neck, his thumbs caressing your jaw. "Can I get a kiss now?"

You answered his question by leaning in and kissing him. Once. Twice. And a third time before pulling away. You grinned at his lovesick expression. His puppy dog eyes looking even more adorable. And if it was physically possible for his pupils to form hearts, you had no doubts that that's what they'd currently look like.

You were no better, really.

"If we're gonna do this, then I want to propose a deal," Eddie said suddenly, releasing you to take your hands instead.

"Let's hear it," you replied with an easy smile. You felt so much more at ease now that it was out there and you knew he felt the same. You felt safe.

"No more ditching me," Eddie said with a huff. "Not unless you have a very good reason. And I expect to be repaid for the past three times you left me waiting," he laid out.

"And what kind of repayment do you want?" You asked, trying to control your expression, but you'd never been very good at keeping a poker face.

"I'm sure we could think of something."

You chuckled and pulled him close, capturing his lips in a kiss. You pulled back a bit, "I'm sure we could," you mumbled, lips brushing against his as you spoke.

Eddie's lips curled up into a grin, chasing your lips for another kiss but yo were already sitting up straight.

"Let's get off the side of the road first," you suggested.

"Wonderful idea!" Eddie said, turning the car back on, Metallica once again greeted you as he tore down the road like he was being chased by the police.

#ransomswriting #ask box #reader insert #reader #answered asks #fanfic #stranger things #stranger things season 4 #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #gender neutral reader #gareth stranger things

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tinyvesselhearts · 11 months

Text

(Egon x You) Human after all

(Thing Is: Chapter 11) Based on request for "Reader's possessed, Egon saves you, Hurt/ Comfort".

SFW but hot like my laptop right now.

From the journal alone, Egon is about to learn the following:

One: your father was a curious man. A scientist of sorts. He was fascinated by the concept of cosmic forces. Since he deemed humanity insignificant, only thing that mattered was a giant portal he was building in his barn: a door to humanity’s progress— or, as he called it— Compliance CH2. He used some restored scribbles found in the Marsh chronicles to design the gate. It took him ten years. He built it. It worked.

Two: your dad wasn’t summoning spirits per se. The creatures were alien, of all species. There’s a pattern: every time an alien (one of Yog- Sothoth’s children) was summoned, they would need a host. Like parasites, they needed to infest an organism adjusted to Earth’s conditions. Once they did, they preyed on the organism and slowly regrew it in accordance with their DNA. See, their bodies constitute loose ectoplasmic bonds which leads to another conclusion: while their hivelike minds were powerfully connected, their physical forms were weak. That’s why the PKE meter detected their presence but the proton streams didn’t work.

Three: if love means priority, your dad was shit at it.

---

Egon decides it’s for the best to stay the night at the station. There’s the issue of the mutant guest in the basement and staying within reach if somebody calls. He half expects you to change your mind and dial their number— but time flows, minutes merge into hours and the phone remains painfully quiet.

He dedicates every second to reading your father’s notes. It’s productive, informative. Fascinating, truly— but he soon realizes it doesn’t put his mind at ease. A stray thought keeps reaching to the conflict from a few hours back. He fights it. He tries to. He fails.

There’s a pressure in his chest he’s never felt before. It’s heavy, unrelenting. The cold night air must've pushed some pollen through the city. Allergy always seems to come unannounced. Thankfully, he’s aware of how his body works so— while far- fetched at best— he decides to trust this self- diagnosis and ignore the pain.

He needs to focus. He keeps reading.

~Do you honestly think I’d ever commit to someone who takes interest in ghosts?~

He's almost a hundred and seventy pages in when everything clicks. The hybrid intruder in the basement is an infected specimen, who’s grown into a semi- functioning symbiotic organism. While Egon can think of a person who would be enthralled by giving up their body for research, he doubts any reasoning would push him this far. The infected man has no ID. No records, no publicity— a recluse or a tramp. Regardless, there must be a way of helping him. To save the human and send the alien away…

~Do you honestly think I’d ever commit to someone—~

He’s on his fifth mug of tea and a third chocolate bar when he hears a loud bang downstairs.

Egon stands up. Frowns. Waits a few seconds and listens in.

There’s a muted echo of footsteps, shy and wary, then complete silence for a moment and then…

“…Hello?”

…You’re here.

Egon runs to the stairs. Hooks the rail, swings and dashes down to the garage in long strides. He looks around and there you stand, right beside the car, unsure, agitated, still. Something’s wrong. Something’s terribly off— your coat’s unfastened, pajama shirt peeks from underneath— you’re shivering, trembling, cold. It’s late at night and you didn’t even bother to grab a scarf. You must be in shock or in danger.

He wastes no time— runs the distance and stops right in front of you. You look worried, breaths are shallow and they fill the air as clouds of steam.

“What’s wrong?”

Your eyes are glossy.

“…It’s here”, you whisper, shaky. “It’s with me.”

Egon already knew— he knew the moment he saw you— he just didn’t want to believe it. He should’ve stayed. He shouldn’t have left you unguarded—

The PKE meter in his hand scans you head to toe. The contraption is beeping wildly, condensed spiritual presence detected, unmistakable and progressive. Egon shakes his head— not in denial but disbelief.

“…No. Not you”, he says. “Anyone but you.”

You let out a sob— and a laugh— tilt your head backwards and struggle to hold back tears.

“I hate everything about it. Ah… Why don’t I ever listen to wise people?... I should’ve stayed away from ghosts, the stupid books, this job, the journal—”

“Do not confuse avoiding a problem with solving it. I should’ve never left you on your own. Should’ve been wiser about the dangers, I…” Egon’s brows knit, blood threatens to simmer in his veins. “Stupid. Stupid! How could I—”

He needs to throw something on the ground because, seriously— why did he think leaving you in a vulnerable position was ever a good idea— it’s all his darn fault!— Had he urged you to stay the night here, none of this would’ve happened. He didn’t want overstep but seeing you in this state now is torture. You’re exhausted to the point of crying.

“Come with me”, he says, extending an arm. “I’ll fix it. I know what to do.”

You can’t answer but a step towards him ensues. Your hands are clenched into fists, knuckles white out of fear, pain and determination— but they’re also trembling, which Egon picks up on in an instant. You’re horrified. You’re a hostage in your own body. He takes your hand. Tugs at it and you follow.

Mid- way to the basement, your mouth forms a string of words.

“Ymg' lloig ah mgn'ghft”.

Egon whips his head around. Pulls out a translator from his pocket and it immediately spurts the translation: Your mind is worthy of Him.

Ah, yes. It’s the glorious full- blown takeover stage. That was to be expected.

Egon’s too old for this. He’s seen it all. An imposter is a lowball, truly, he’s dealt with those more times than he cared to count.

“You aren’t staying for long. Don’t get comfortable.”

She is our vessel now.

“Fallacy”, Egon’s tone is casual. “She does not belong to anyone.”

And yet you wish she would.

Egon stares at the translation. His mind is blank.

The pressure in his chest again. It’s there— it’s prominent— his palms are sweaty, air feels hot and an unpleasant cold runs down his spine. How can an Eldritch horror guess… How does it—

Your love for her clouds your judgement.

Oh. Oh.

…Is that what that is?

Eyes wide, arms stiff, Egon glances at you. Your face is distant, entirely unfazed, muscles slack, eyes barely open— but there’s something about your inexplicable awareness that’s almost unsettling. It’s not you. It’s all a trick, he knows but your mouth opens again and a string of freshly translated words appear on the screen.

Good scientists should rely on their brains, not hearts. Yours is worthy of the knowledge we offer.

No, he shouldn’t listen. Staying in place won’t help any.

In a practiced movement Egon leads you by the hand to his lab. He opens it and lets you in, then helps you sit in your chair, in relative distance from any dangerous chemicals. Once sure you’re still, he proceeds to prepare the equipment.

Whatever horror is currently inhabiting your body, it’s suspiciously obedient.

Egon rummages through his desk. There’s a distilled sample of that Class 2 Free- Floating Vapor who attacked you a while back— the one he was pissed about when you got slashed— but now that you’re merged with a similarly complex creature, Egon’s thankful he’s already went through a successful separation process. Ah. Silver linings are always clear in hindsight.

While he’s assembling the set, you keep spilling strings of unintelligible gurgles. He shouldn’t be interested in checking the translations (curiosity killed the cat) but he’s sure he can take it— no temptations could affect him at this point.

Just a peek, you know. Besides, it’s all for research.

The translator shows just one sentence:

You want her. We can make a deal.

“We have strict policies concerning fraternization with paranormal creatures”, Egon replies. “I’m not interested.”

You are. She is human, is she not?

“Not at the moment, no.”

Her mind is here no longer but the body is human. She’s too weak to understand. You aren’t.

His eyes divert from the translator. Your mind is…?

No, you’re still there. It’s all reversable, it surely is— he’s just read all about the procedure, it’s an early stage, it’s not too late. He’ll save you. He can fix this. He has to.

“What is it that you do?” Egon calmly inquires, pulling a wired helmet out of a drawer. “Are you a mind- reader? An empath? How do you collect data?”

What Yog- Sothoth knows, we all know. None of us matter in the grand scheme of things.

The Collective, then. Classic.

Egon switches on the helmet and fuels it up with a luminescent liquid. It pours underneath a plastic egg- shaped shell, sinking bunches of electrodes in the glowing goo. Great: the only thing that’s left is placing the contraption on your head, pushing a few levers and a nice, clear form of the intruder should pop right out. Capturing it would be more problematic (regular traps aren’t adjusted to this level of molecular differences) but he’ll think of something. The priority here is to make sure you’re safe.

He plugs the last wires, ready to go.

You keep talking and right when he’s about to turn to you, he glimpses at the screen.

The burden is light because our sole purpose is to die. See what we see. Have a look.

Ah, crap.

Egon hesitates— and despises himself for it. There’s no way a deal with Eldritch horror could end well— it’s a bait, a classic one, a lure meant to pull new cultists in and spread the extraterrestrial tentacles over humanity— but the possibility of getting to see how they operate first- hand is almost too good to be real.

He’d be the first paranormal researcher to maintain his consciousness throughout the ordeal. He’d witness it, feel it. Describe it in detail. Provide facts. This… Ah, it could be groundbreaking. Revolutionary. His name would ascend to an almost godlike status…

Yes. He’s strong enough. He could take it. Just a peek into the cosmic knowledge and everything changes for the better. The creature is cunning— but so is he.

His mind is set. He turns around, almost prone to sealing his fate— but he looks at you.

Your body is nothing but a physical shell. A wilted form, a stranger. Your face is lax in a way reminiscent of cadavers he’d seen during his coroner years: foggy eyelids struggle to stay up— lips are tilted, brows too low and no— no, despite the body, it is not you. The features are there but they are misplaced, devoid of emotion. They don’t fit. The beauty, the light from within, all gone.

A realization serves as a wake- up call: you’re being abused. All of a sudden, the whole shtick is too revolting to fall for.

He approaches you, scrutinized.

“Puts things into perspective”, he says, easing the helmet onto your head, “but not good enough to risk losing my sanity over. I’ll have to decline.”

He will consume you regardless. Your only choice is whether to accept the knowledge we offer—

“Pleasure to meet you. We’ll end it here.”

The moment he pushes the lever, you lash out at him.

He screams in shock. A familiar hand grabs him by the throat and pushes backwards. A wire rips.

Ah, damn it, no—

Egon smashes against the desk. Your body presses against him. Fingers are clenched around his neck— and it doesn’t hurt but the grip is firm. Piercing stare pins him to place. Your hips and chest press against his, blocking his movement and Egon feels it: every inch of you, every friction. Your breath is warm. You’re so close he could kiss you by merely dipping down his head.

He tells himself that it doesn’t affect him, it’s not you, you’re not yourself, all while seeking something of use on the counter.

He feels a screwdriver with his fingers. That’s a weapon against the body but you’re not responsible for the attack— and the ghost within uses you as a living shield. No use. There must be something else…

Before he has the chance to look, all lights go dark. An unsettling noise invades his ears, horrid chanting of a thousand voices. It’s relentless, intrusive, drilling into his head. His teeth clench but it doesn’t help any: it’s the hallucinations, this is how the Collective operates. He has to act— and act fast…

A sedative. A sedative. The vial, it should be…

Through the fog of erratic stimuli, he reaches a desperate hand into his pocket. There it is: a thin, elegant glass bottle filled with poignant liquid. He curves a thumb. The lid comes off. He presses it to your nose in a swift motion.

He can’t tell which of those are real: the sudden growl, a swirl of lights or hands sliding off of his chest. It’s all mixed with a head- blowing cacophony of screams and the incessant chanting. All Egon knows is this: he keeps clenching his teeth, shoving the chemical right at your face until your tossing about abates.

Your body weakens. Limbs go lax. Knees give in, head falls sideways. Your chest slams against his— and Egon’s still trapped in the cosmic mess— but he catches you, head, back— secures your fall as you slowly ease onto rows of white tiles.

He lays you down.

The exposure to the sedative was short. It wasn’t concentrated either. He has to act fast.

The helmet needs a quick adjustment but Egon knows what he’s doing. Wires plugged, straps fastened, he pushes the abominable lever. There’s a few sparks, a smoke from somewhere and an otherworldly glow of the luminescent goo and— just like that— a massive glob of ectoplasm evaporates from your body.

Egon can’t tell what shape or size it is. It’s unlike anything he’s seen so far. It looks incomprehensible, as if it didn’t have a form: a giant mass of eyes and limbs, a pile of half- physical slime, a stack of unstable tentacles materializing and evaporating in random places. Truly, a marvel in itself. A phenomenon to investigate. It gathers above your head. Escalates. Then disperses and dissolves into thin air.

Everything’s quiet after that.

Egon waits a moment. There’s no chanting. No distortions. His senses come back to reality: shapes, lights and colors he’s familiar with. A minute passes until he’s able to map the place. There’s his desk, the chair and the helmet. Smoke and sparks surround it.

And here, right beside him: it’s you.

You poor, poor thing…

He crouches. Gently lifts your head and arms. Places you on his knee. Waits.

He unties the straps around your head. Unplugs the wires and takes the contraption off. There you are. You’re safe. Your face looks soft and relaxed— no indication of the paranormal. You’re yourself. You’re back, you are. You could wake up any moment…

He hesitates for a split second, then wipes your forehead with one gentle stroke. Skims over your face, checking for wounds. Touches your scalp to make sure you’re not bleeding. His large, warm hand slides down your locks a few times, a thumb softly touches your chin. The movement is attentive, slow and caring— coarse because his palms are rough— but he pours every ounce of his willpower to envelop you (because you’re alive and scared—need to feel safe—have to know you’re being cared for)—

“…Egon?”

His body freezes.

Your eyes are half- lidded, brows knit, fingers hooked at his scrubs— but somehow you manage to offer him a small smile.

And— God Almighty— this is what it’s been all along— he is in love, he’s been in love for a good while now and it’s too late to snap out of it. It’s bad, blatantly obvious, overwhelming. He hasn’t realized the extent of it until he heard it from your own lips, seen it on the screen— and now that he has…

“…Hi”, he sighs, retracting his hand. “You’re back. Splendid.”

There’s a small scar right below your lip. Another on your cheek. Above your brow. An uneven line along your jaw. They’re ordinary, pretty shallow— the kinds every person has so nobody pays attention— except now, he does, because he’s thinking of ways they could’ve been prevented. He wants all of them to disappear. He wants them to heal— to kiss them away, as if sheer wishes ever worked out…

“What is happening?” You whisper trembling, voice shaky.

Egon watches your face: eyes shy away to hide dilated pupils— a forced, dry swallow attempts to calm your nerves. He’s become so good at this, at reading you. The proximity affects you and his heart aches again: the way you try to ignore it but can’t— the way your body’s anxiously shivering— it’s unbelievable how every bit of you that’s usually so outspoken and confident transforms into some startled prey.

It’s intimidating how fragile you are now that he’s close. As if mere step in the wrong direction could shy you away.

He wants to take care of you. Envelop in his adoration. You’ve been hurt, taken hostage and he doesn’t have the willpower to hold back. In a spur of the moment (and hormones, bloody mess—) Egon leans forward.

Foreheads touch. Against all reason, Egon brushes your nose with his.

Your breath catches and his entire body aches to dip down. A shuddered sigh you let out lands on his lips. It carries your scent. It tastes like tea.

He desires this kiss. Aches for it. He’s been denying himself his whole life but this time everything’s different. You seem to want it too. The eyes, the breath, the shiver. He hopes he’s right about it. He hopes it’s not fear, exhaustion or stress that makes you react this way. He hopes it’s him. Ah, he hopes—

A distant echo of your words pops in his mind:

~Do you honestly think I’d ever commit to someone who takes interest in ghosts?~

…He winces.

His eyes squeeze shut. He forces himself to pull back.

“Are you hurt?”

“I don’t know”, you manage. “I’m… it’s hazy.”

“What do you need?”

Your voice is barely a whisper.

“Closure. Egon, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I said yesterday.”

“Ah. Chamomile tea, then?”

“Egon…” Your eyes are set but a smile cracks on your lips. “I’m serious. It’s all my fault. I never meant to hurt you, or walk away, or leave you there. It was shitty of me. You deserve loyalty, respect and appreciation, and I behaved like an entitled brat. Please, forgive me.”

“But there’s nothing to forgive. We’re here now, aren’t we?”

“Does it mean…?”

“…you should stay here for protection.” He says. “Your bed is made. I’d say you’ve dressed for the task.”

He watches you realize you’re in crumpled pajamas, then let out a soft laugh— a stark contrast to the remnants of sadness in your eyes. If he’s great at something, it’s antics and he’ll gladly exploit this talent until you're pure sunshine again.

“Even after yesterday?” You ask.

“Especially after yesterday.”

You look like you want to get up: back straightens, your weight slides off Egon’s lap. But then, just as he thinks that’s it, you hesitantly lean forward and nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

“I should really bring my stuff here for the long run, huh?”

It’s meant as a joke but Egon thinks that yes, indeed you should. Preferably under different circumstances.

Oh, boy. What a day. What a night. What a revelation.

You’re cradled in his arms. He’s read half of the forbidden journal. The boys are coming in a few hours.

Somehow Egon’s got a feeling tomorrow is going to be even wilder.

#ghostbusters #egon spengler #egon spengler x reader #fanfiction #egon spengler x you #ghostbusters fanfiction #egon spengler imagines #harold ramis #self insert #ao3 #hurt/comfort #possession #request #writer #short reads #long reads

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silver-wield · 3 months

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Why would tifa benefit from being pushy? When the pushy girls like jessie, aerith, and perhaps yuffie (trying to kiss cloud) doesn't work on him?

People have a Type. And if anybody cared to notice. Cloud has low self esteem yet not enough women jumping up on him is enough to fix that. Why? Because he wants to impress tifa. He wants to prove himself. Coming from him. Not the girl. He would be happy for tifa to make a move but what cloud wants isn't her jumping onto him. He wants her heart. And that's only something that happens in HW. After he's already far from unwell.

If pushy never worked, why are clotis thinking it should? The irony. Introverts don't need fixing from extroverts. They don't even see the connection of how about aerith learns respect and maturity from tifa instead? Extroverts learning from introverts? See? The hypocrisy and double standards.

Let aerith be on her own. Stop forcing your headcanon that she's the #1 supporter. She's not. She is however, projecting her own fears on two people she just met days ago. Now she's trying to meddle with their lives. What narcissistic behavior is that? Nit everything revolves around her.

now, I heard this is a thing because they are afraid that SE is sacrificing aerith's character for cloti's sake. But in reality, cloti's comfort is being sacrificed for her sake if and only IF the writers want her to be an actual character that develops into someone who wants to do her duty. Aka, development. She fixes her shit. If not, then she's a plot device meant for fan service as she originally is. You guys make your call, no amount of copium will save how badly she is written with a mindset like that. Have higher standards for her. Not like this.

That, and/or she can't exist on her own w/o the toxic drama and forced appreciation for her character.

I hate this bullshit idea that introverts need "bringing out of their shells" by extroverts and then compare us to snails or turtles.

You know what happens when you take them out their shell? They die. So that's a shit analogy. It's not a house, their organs are squished up inside it. It's them.

So what they're saying is introverts should rip themselves to shreds to satisfy extroverts arrogant narcissist desire to be seen as improving somebody who doesn't need it and never asked for it.

Introverts poke their heads out just fine when they want to. We don't need help. Especially not from some immature pink toxic nightmare who just wants to slime over a guy she knows her friend is into and who likes her back. She ain't being extrovert, she's being unrecyclable trash.

#ship war #for the fandom

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picturesofthegoneworlds · 7 months

Text

Preview for Intertwined, chapter 12

The deep navy of the sky blackens and the stars brighten. Imogen struggles to see anything past or in front of the pinpricks of light, deciding it best to try and let her eyes adjust over summoning her own and perhaps drawing attention.

A cicada-like trill resonates from nocturnal insects, and she does her best to keep an ear towards the trapdoor; tracking the absence of bone in plate-metal or chainmail scraping against sodden stone, hoping it maintains.

She also hopes the clouds and the rain don’t return – aware of the hunger for it and the reprieve it had initially brought, aware that she will in time wish for it again. Laudna dancing in the middle of the pathway running between the fields-

The recollection makes her heartbeat dance in turn, blood twisting and crashing through her veins in excitable tides; she sees the visible stutter to her chest through Laudna’s movements on top of it, as if her head were on a platter carried between Imogen's awkward and fumbling hands and her feet had dropped over an unseen step - like the ones she’d tumble down when she had fallen too quickly into a dream and had woken again with a start-

don’t wake her don’t wake her don’t wake her-

Right. Easy. Focus. It’s just like being in the saddle, not exciting your horse from erratic movements. Imogen is confident there, is good at that - at a hold on reins and restraint. Control. Tack and the hands it is passed down from. Inherited. The burn of whisky, the bite of words. Control. The looks, the whispers she couldn’t hear but the thoughts she could. Smile. A tip of the hat and a bow of the head. Control. Two farmers and a butcher. Fingers that twitch. Lightning braiding around muscle and vein. Control. Two men singed and on the floor. Music. Sanctum. Hands and language and learning and being so tired, so ready to give over control. Be freed from it. Watch as her own skin is claimed each morning-

She doesn’t wake up alone any more.

Laudna's hands call darkness and Imogen's summon light.

It’s funny.

They are different, but also the same. A head with more than one voice. How can they even be expected to-

Laudna's head rises and sinks and Imogen is pulled into it.

Grey.

The air feels like it is buzzing, like it is heavy and holds a dulling pressure that pushes down on Imogen's temples and leaves her vision slightly blurry, a looping dull drone emanating from all directions, oppressively empty and void of destination or melody.

She crawls out from a pressure she realises is also physical. Looks down on large and fragile hands that remove splinters of pale brittle material with pointed nails from tattered skirts and fuckin’ shit she allowed herself in.

She wishes to wince; to rub her palm into her forehead and massage the ache. She can’t, realises she is just another passenger in Laudna’s head, does not want to push the boundaries of what it takes to execute influence.

Stench. Rot. A mountain of bodies.

It’s like the pile they had found together in the lower level of the ruins, except these bodies are covered in gore still, some bloated some rotting, some just pale - all mutilated and malnourished, wet with viscera.

Laudna only spares them a glance before her feet carry them onwards.

The architecture is foreign to her – more complex in façade though duller in colour (save for the flecks of organic matter that decorate it as if the capillaries and nerves are growing between the wattle and daub and wood grain), a collision of materials forming overhanging upper-floors and exposed timbers that support but also adorn in banded segments of half-beams and intricately carved arches and stone chimneys all going to heights surpassing the usual one or maybe two story maximum she would see on the farm buildings back in Gelvaan, and many of them are terraced, joined together with narrow cobblestone alleyways dissecting them intermittently. Laudna winds her way through the main road and backstreets with an undistracted certainty, barely looking down at her own feet, aware of where the gutters run, eyes focused on the distance.

(you can read the previous chapters here)

#Imodna #Imogen Temult #Laudna #Critical role #Fanfic #Emma writes #WIP

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skerplesc · 11 months

Text

wanna take a bit to talk about the lingering will fights from the perspective of someone just finishing kh2 without having the context from bbs. (very long post warning)

i personally only was able to play the main games in order after 1.5 + 2.5 was released. the viewpoint that i'm working off of here is that of a person who knows that there is more context, but does not know what that context is.

so let's take it from the top here. you are [PLAYER NAME] and you have just kicked good 'ol Mansex's ass into double nothingness. you boot up your save, it's a kingdom hearts game so obviously there's going to be wild shit, but the info you get is that something is up in disney castle, of all places. adding to that you also know that's where the cornerstone is. you know. the thing that doinked you back into the goddamn '20s. so you decide to check it out. load into the hall of the cornerstone and you find a portal. cool! where does it lead?

fucking nowhere!!! :D

it's worthy of pointing out that everything has gone dead silent, save for an ominous blowing wind a cloud of dust kicks up in front you, and within it resides a man in armor with a keyblade you've never seen before (note that this is before the point in the franchise before you learn that they used to hand the things out like candy). this man starts "talking" to you incredibly slowly, and i say "talking" because he's just making noises like the goddamn Skyrim perk screen.

he starts out by naming two other folks by the names of "Aqua" and "Ven", and for anyone who knows their classical elements this should immediately set off massive red flags because that's the same name scheme that Sora and Co. work off of. at first he thinks he's met you, but then corrects himself, saying "you're not the one i chose". before you have time to question ANY of this shit, he's accusing you of being the Big Man himself, Xehanort and gets his ass up.

what ensues is a world record speedrun in throwing your head to the pavement. hard.

whatever happened here was SERIOUSLY not good, and clearly ended with the result of this guy, at the very least, letting Xehanort get away. the dude that just made you eat a full serving of dirt is AT MOST equal to Xehanort in power, and could very well be weaker than him. you have no idea if this happened in the past, or that portal just took you here. hell, maybe the reason why the cornerstone took you here is because this hasn't even happened yet and you're going to have to stop it. the armor certainly looks more advanced than anything you've seen so far and he's got attacks where his keyblade transforms into a massive cannon like some Iron Man shit.

so, having just experienced that, you get to the grind. you hit level 99. you take care of the Absent Silhouettes. you take care of Mushroom XIII. you take care of Sephiroth. hell, you potentially even take care of the entire Data Organization, and this guy is still probably kicking your ass.

here's where i want to stop talking about the fight itself being and start talking about the music. Rage Awakened, the song that plays in the fight against the man who you will come to know as The Lingering Will, is. fucking. ballin'. maybe the only theme to a fight that i like more is Dismiss, but that's an essay for another day. It obviously captures the typical sense of grandiosity that songs that Yoko Shimomura is known for, but unlike, say, A Fight to the Death (the song that plays in the fight against the mech that Xemnas summons and the subsequent Armored Controller forms), Rage Awakened is sadder. look, i'm not a music guy, i don't know literally anything about musical theory, but all the string instruments used in it almost make it sound like the song itself is crying. I'm also not sure if it's intentional or not (it isn't mentioned in the khwiki article), but to me at least it sounds similar to the motif from Dearly Beloved. i'm not great at making audio comparisons, but take a listen:

and this is why i wanted to bother making this long-winded essay in the first place: it's no deep analysis to get any of this. the design of the game itself, in the aspects of the gameplay, the writing, and the music, convey all of the prior 729 words i have written here without you even really consciously realizing it. it's so meticulously planned and designed to convey the idea that something awful happened, and it happen to a group of friends clearly not unlike your own. you can immediately sympathize with whatever this guy went through without knowing so much as a lick of it. and knowing that it's the product of the very same guy that tried to do the very same shit to your own friend group is the icing on the cake. there's a fantastic sense of solidarity between the different eras. it feels like a lived-in universe with things going on everywhere all the time. you're not alone in the experience you've been through and you're not alone in experiencing the same conviction to protect your friends. tl;dr, kingdom hearts game design good :)

#skerplespost #kingdom hearts #game design #long post #also it's too much to go into here right now but knowing that xehanort and even the foretellers before him went through the very same shit #but each group reacted in their own unique way #really ties everything together #leave it to nomura

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bloodyfeverdreams · 7 months

Text

Day 8, 11, 16, 25, 27- Stricken

In trying to rescue Kaminari from his own dumbassery, Katsuki gets struck by lightning

lightning, burn, pain, guilt, friendship

“Come on, Kachaaan.” Kaminari whined, making this the fiftieth time in ten minutes that he’d gotten complained at. “Please? We won’t bug you about anything ever again.”

“That’s a fucking lie.” Katsuki shouted back, staring up at his idiot that was currently stuck on the roof of the gym. “Bugging me is your favorite thing to do. Wait, no, it’s your second. Getting into dumb shit that can very easily be avoided is your favorite.”

“Heeeyyy!” Kaminari pouted.

“Seriously, Bakugou, can’t you get him down?” Ashido joined in, marking fifty-one. “I promise we’ll make it up to you.”

Katsuki just glared at her. “What am I? A dog for you to play fetch with? It’s not my fault the dumbass flung the damn thing on the roof in the first place, and making the fucking stupid decision to get himself up there without being able to get down.”

“Yeah, but if we get the teachers, then we’re gonna get in trouble.” Ashido said.

“You deserve to get in trouble.” Katsuki snapped.

“Kachaaaaaaan.” Kaminari called again from the roof. Katsuki didn’t even know how he’d gotten himself up there. “Please?”

“Please, bro?” And there was fifty-two from Kirishima, and twin please faces assaulted him. “Since Sero’s still laid up, we can’t ask him. You’re the only one who can blast up there and get him down without issue.”

Katsuki cursed Sero in his head again. Ever since that bastard broke his damn arm, everyone had come whining to him to blast himself up somewhere since he was one of the only ones in their class with that kind of precision in his quirk. Honestly, sometimes it felt like Sero did it on purpose just to get a fucking break from all this bullshit.

Katsuki turned back up to Kaminari, looking down on them from the roof, a third please face staring at him. The dark clouds behind him matched Katsuki’s mood perfectly.

Goddammit, he hated these fucking idiots.

“Give me the rope.”

Three cheers erupted from each of his idiots, and the rope that ponytail had made them was thrust into his hands. “You owe me big time for this. Especially you, dunce face!”

“Okay, Kacchan!” Kaminari chirped, moving into the middle of the roof to give Katsuki space.

Katsuki wrapped the rope around his shoulder, and got into his proper stance. A quick deep breath, and he ignited his quirk, propelling himself into the air. After training so hard to perfect his Howitzer Impact, flying through the air with his quirk was a breeze. He’d only needed one shot to get himself high enough, and his foot went out to step onto the roof.

(ask temi for sound of thunder)

Burnt ozone. Katsuki barely recognized the smell, but it was there. Before Katsuki’s heart could beat once more, fire erupted from his right shoulder, sending an unfathomable agony across each and every one of his nerves, setting them alight with a heat that couldn’t be quenched. Katsuki’s vision whited sharply, unable to hear the scream his body was making, unable to see the horrified looks on his friends’ faces, unable to see the pure light surrounding him like a fallen angel’s hellfire descent. His body went limp and he didn’t even feel it, so consumed with the burning, wretched fury of pain. Freefalling through the air, he felt like he was falling into a black hole. Darkness engulfed him, saving his mind from tumbling into the inferno of pure torment.

White light flashed across his eyelids, and he could feel sparks running up and down his body, causing his muscles to lightly convulse against his will. As he began to wake, his mind sank further and further into static, a white noise like pelting raindrops and indecipherable noises, only cognizant of the blinding pain stemming from his shoulder.

“Wake up, Bakugou, please wake up!”

His throat wasn’t his own, only gasps and groans could pass his lips, so he couldn’t answer his best friend. It took several moments to recognize that it was Kirishima, but he was still talking, still begging him to wake up, and the constantness of Kirishima’s voice allowed him to figure out who was talking. He couldn’t move his arms or legs to move out of the water that was pelting him, with every drop being a sharp knife stabbing into his skin. There was a soft pressure on his cheek, but he couldn’t remember why it was there, the last thing he could remember was Kaminari being stuck on the roof. He suddenly became aware of an intense heat under his skin, starting from his shoulder and going all across his body, burning his body from the inside out. His only thought became the hot, searing pain in his shoulder, and he lost reality once more.

A soothing, icy touch pressed against his shoulder, thin but firm, and with it, the scorching, fiery pain settled into a mere boiling of his blood instead of all-consuming agony. He grasped onto consciousness as best as he could, pulling another low groan from his throat, as if he were trying to scream from the agony but didn’t have enough control over his body to do so. A steady thrum ran through his perception of consciousness, growing stronger with rapid intensity until he felt as if he were a live wire. Crackling energy raced from his shoulder into his limbs, setting his nerves alight with sensation, with an overstimulated feeling to the point where it was as if the very air was tangible, almost crunchy as he moved through it.

Every aspect of him hurt, hurt in a way that he couldn’t describe with mere words. He wanted to ask what happened, what was causing those white sparks to flash across his closed eyelids, but his throat was too busy trying to pull in weak air to his twitching lungs to try and satisfy his boiling blood. He’d been burned before, an explosive quirk meant a lot of burns in training, but this wasn't like anything he’d ever suffered. Sweat poured down his face, and he could feel his muscles still shaking with every second, his heart feeling like it was missing something every three times. He tried to latch onto the voices around him, using them as the only thing keeping him from losing his mind to the violent, blazing torment in his shoulder. The weak, reedy breaths he managed to take did little to ease the pain, to lift the static in his mind to give him control of himself once again.

Several hands came to his body, the soft pressure leaving his cheek, going under his head, his back, his legs. The voices around him were stronger, closer to him, and he felt them lift him into the air. He couldn’t help the exhausted, pained whimper from escaping his traitorous throat as another white flash erupted across his eyelids, each miniscule movement drawing another piece of agony to each individual nerve in the cruciation that had once been his shoulder. Darkness pulled at his closed eyes, as if knowing he was weak, so weak he could barely think coherently, but his will power burned a different kind of fire under his skin to try and stay awake.

Every single second, every movement sent a new agony through him, the electric crackling in his muscles making even breathing hurt. It would be so easy to just stop, to just give up and let darkness take him, but he couldn’t do that. Giving up just wasn’t in his blood, boiling as it was. Water was running down his face, and he wondered if he had the strength to cry, or if it was the water stabbing into him with every droplet. His breath was pulled from his body, leaving him for too long, just making his lungs twitch and convulse even more, each second bringing a new wave of agony to the forefront of his mind.

Katsuki felt himself being placed on something stiff that wasn’t the ground he’d just been on, grass no longer stabbing into his back. But small, wet bullets dug into his skin, and the heat in his blood reached unfathomable levels, and he lost reality again as what he was laying on lurched to life, moving at a speed he couldn’t comprehend. Time slipped through his hands like water from a faucet, but somehow it was as slow as molasses at the same time. Katsuki’s mind couldn’t keep up, and the darkness that had been taunting him since he’d woken up pounced, and he fell sharply into the nothingness that it promised.

“Lightning?!?” Katsuki shouted incredulously. “I was struck by fucking lightning?!?”

Aizawa nodded, and Katsuki reeled from the shock. “From what I can figure out, when you went up in the air to get Kaminari down from the roof, you caught the edge of the thunderstorm that was just starting. Thankfully, you only caught a side flash, a direct one that close to your heart would’ve killed you. You were very, very lucky.”

Katsuki just stared in disbelief at his teacher for a minute, trying to wrap his head around the fact that he’d just been struck by lightning. Unconsciously, his left hand came to his right shoulder, feeling the tender flesh beneath his fingers. When he’d gotten healed by Recovery Girl in the past, he could barely feel any lingering aches in his body once she was done, the only exception being Nabu island and that fight with Nine. He still couldn’t remember what happened and how his arms had gotten so destroyed, but he remembered how it felt after Recovery Girl had healed him. It had felt so odd when the damage was so deep that there was leftover pain, and it felt just as odd now. His hand dropped to his lap, not wanting to prod the still sensitive burn on his shoulder. He’d never been more glad that humans can’t remember pain, he only had flashes of broken memories after the strike and before waking up in the infirmary, and he never wanted to go after those memories. He never thought he’d be happy about forgetting something.

He just nodded at his teacher, understanding what he was saying.

“Recovery Girl has cleared you to head back to the dorms, but you’re still out of classes for a week.” Aizawa said, handing him some folded clothes. He took them, opening his mouth to protest, but Aizawa just held up a hand. “No. Lightning strikes can have several consequences, including paralysis and cardiac arrest. What your body needs now is rest, and you’re going to get it. The only reason that you’re allowed to go back to the dorms is because I know that you wouldn’t get any actual rest staying in here for a week. You need to be careful with yourself. Not many people survive what you just went through. Now get dressed, your classmates are already chomping at the bit to see you again.”

Katsuki frowned at that, he didn’t want to be swarmed with those extras, but he supposed if one of them got struck by lightning and almost died (gods he almost died) he’d want to see that they were okay. Not that he cared, because of course he didn’t, but just because a near death experience meant that he might have to deal with someone new. If one of those extras died, he’d have to deal with a replacement and they might be worse, so best to check to make sure that the extras he was at least used to were still alive.

The skull tee and comfortable leggings that only Kirishima could’ve gotten him, as he was the only one who Katsuki allowed into his always locked room, were a small mercy he appreciated. The hospital clothes he was in now were uncomfortable and ill-fitting, and Katsuki hated being in them. Aizawa patted his leg gently, and then headed out. Katsuki headed to the changing room, ready to be out of these clothes and out of this building. He hated that he was going to be out of class for a week over nothing, but right now, he was looking forward to lying down in his own bed. Katsuki was seriously tired of the beds in the infirmary.

Apparently the lightning strike had also set fire to his clothes, so he’d been given a pathetic hospital tent canvass and gym shorts, and he practically ripped them off. His arm and shoulder were still bandaged even though he’d been healed, but it wasn’t the bandage that caught his eye. It was what was coming out of it. There were a couple new lines of raised pink lines on his skin that hadn’t been there the last time he looked in a mirror. A quick touch had him wincing lightly, as it seemed like the origin of the pain still in his shoulder. Even though he knew he probably shouldn’t take the bandage off, his hands had already started unwinding it, revealing more pink as he went. Several lines of fresh scars decorated his shoulder now, branching out from his shoulder to his collarbone, all leading back to his shoulder. At the joint, there was a mass of them, a small blob of scar where all the branches ran from. This must be where he’d gotten struck, the scars all stemming from here. It was like a tree’s roots spread all over his body.

Katsuki’s breath left him for a moment. Even with the other injuries he’d ever had, including the final exam, there were never any scars left over. Recovery Girl’s quirk didn’t leave scars. This was the first scar he’d ever gotten in his life. His lungs stuttered in his chest, his heart skipped a beat, and then another. Gods… he could’ve died. He almost died. If he had shot himself up in the air just a little bit higher, he would’ve died.

Hastily, he rewrapped the bandages, pushing down the tears building in his eyes. He was fine now, he was fine now. It didn’t matter that he’d almost died, he didn’t. Gods, he almost died. A few tears slipped down his cheeks, and he scrubbed violently at them. Once the bandage was completely rewrapped, looking as if he hadn’t touched it even though his hands had started shaking, he shoved both hands into his eyes. Stop crying, he told himself. He was fine now, that was all that mattered. This pathetic display of emotion was unnecessary, and he didn’t like spending any time on unnecessary emotions. They were useless to him, so he stuffed them down as far as he possibly could, until he couldn’t feel them anymore.

It took another minute for his heaving breaths to steady out again, and he just put his clothes on, as if nothing had happened. He didn’t dare look in the mirror again. He couldn’t risk another bout of those horrible, and completely unnecessary emotions. He didn’t die. That was all that mattered. He just had to keep telling himself that until he believed it.

If his eyes were still red, then Aizawa at least had the good grace not to say anything. Katsuki was thankful for that. They walked in comfortable silence back to the dorms, the route unusually quiet for a Saturday night. Normally, the weekends had lots of people running around.

“Why is it so quiet?” Katsuki asked casually. “Everyone’s always out on the weekends.”

“That’s because it’s monday.” Aizawa sighed, pursing his lips. “You’ve been unconscious for a long time.”

Katsuki’s heart skipped another beat. His throat got a little tight, only able to make a small, affirmative noise, but he just shoved his emotions down again. It was fine. He was more upset about missing the weekend. That was definitely the bigger issue here. He hated missing out on good sparring time, and he liked to get in some good studying before the weekend was out. He distracted himself from the missing time with the thought that at least he’d get in plenty of studying time when he was resting.

The dorms were quieter than expected. Even on school nights, there were still some idiots, usually his idiots, who were making too much noise and staying up too late. But he couldn’t hear his friends laughing and chattering at each other, or even the other extras really. His constant scowl got deeper.

“He’s back!”

Katsuki couldn’t even process the shout before something hard slammed into him. Arms wrapped around his body, squeezing hard. Two arms became four, and then six, with two more lumps crashing into him. Katsuki’s eye twitched. He’d never allowed his friends to hug him before, and now he was completely trapped by Kirishima, Ashido, and Kaminari to where he couldn’t even move his arms. A seventh joined him, and Sero was at his side, squeezing lightly with one arm, as the other was still in a sling.

“Let. go. now.” Katsuki growled, completely overwhelmed by the sudden influx of touch. His skin was still crawling even when they let go. Katsuki just grit his teeth as they all bombarded him with their shouts.

“Are you okay?”

“We’re so sorry.”

“How do you feel?”

“Gods, we’re so sorry!”

Katsuki’s stomach twisted uncomfortably as he looked at his friends’ crying faces. Tears stained Ashido’s cheeks, Kaminari’s too, and Sero and Kirishima’s eyes were both red. While his friends had approached him first, he could feel everyone staring at him, looking him over silently. Dammit, he couldn’t handle this kind of attention.

“Just shut up, all of you!” He snapped. “I’m fine, it’s over. Doesn’t matter. Leave me alone.”

Instead of doing as he asked, Kaminari just attacked him again, hugging him very tightly, sniffling in his ear. “I’m so sorry, Bakugou! You weren’t supposed to get hurt, I’ll never ask you to do something ever again. I’m so sorry.”

Awkwardly, Katsuki patted Kaminari’s back as his electric idiot started sobbing into his good shoulder. He’d never been put in this position before, he had no idea what to do or how to get him to stop.

“It’s fine, pikachu.” Katsuki gritted out. “You can stop now.”

This time, Kaminari listened. He pulled back, still loudly sniffling but not crying on him anymore. That was at least some progress.

“I’m fine, back the fuck off.” Katsuki snarled, still very overwhelmed since his friends hadn’t gotten out of his personal space.

“Oh! I made you something!” Kaminari then exclaimed, running back into the dorms. Katsuki took that moment to get past the porch, and actually head back inside. Kaminari had run to the kitchen, and come back with a plate, covered with tinfoil. It was then thrust into his hands.

Katsuki didn’t know what possessed him to take it, but when he unwrapped the foil, he found misshapen cookies underneath. He couldn’t even tell what kind they were.

“They’re spicy, I put in extra chilly flakes.” Oh gods, these were going to taste horrendous. “And some of your coffee beans too.” Oh gods, these were going to taste horrendous.

But… he couldn’t deny his friend. As much as he was very annoyed and irritated right now with his friends’ actions, there was something in him that wouldn’t let him outwardly throw them away or disparage them. He couldn’t imagine being in Kaminari’s shoes, having someone getting struck by lightning because you did something stupid. Granted, he never did anything stupid (well, maybe not never, but it was very rare) so he’d never end up in Kaminari’s shoes, but… he couldn’t do it. Especially not with Kaminari looking at him so sincerely. In the past, he would’ve called it pity, but he didn’t think it was. He knew now what Kaminari looked like when he was upset, this was a lot closer to when he knew he’d disappointed Katsuki than feeling sorry for him.

“I’m not hungry.” Katsuki said, and he wasn’t. His voice dropped a couple octaves. “I’ll take them up to my room.”

Kaminari brightened a little at that.

“I’m going to bed, now leave me the fuck alone, losers.” Katsuki said, heading to the elevator. His friends followed just a little, wanting to hover over him, but they knew better thankfully, and didn’t follow him into the elevator. His bedroom door was unlocked, and he scowled at it, but he found a new set of keys on his nightstand. His keys had probably caught fire too in his pocket.

Morbid curiosity taunted him, and he took a small bite from one of the cookies. Immediately, he spit it out into the trash, gagging on the terrible taste. That was one of the worst things he’d ever had in his life. He had to figure out how to get rid of these without Kaminari finding out. It was definitely one of the worst foods he’d ever had in his life, but Kaminari wasn’t one of the worst people he’d ever had in his life, and he supposed intention is more important than the outcome.

Katsuki thought about changing into pajamas, but decided that he didn’t care enough to put in the effort, and he just flopped into bed. He took a long deep breath, and closed his eyes, ready to go to sleep. He wasn’t exactly tired, but it was late, and he had his routine to keep.

His breathing became erratic, and he couldn’t stop it. Tears built up behind his eyes and he couldn’t push them down. The hands that he’d placed behind his head as he usually did when he was calming down to sleep slid down to grasp at his own arms.

Now that he was alone in his room, he couldn’t keep his emotions down any longer, and he curled a little into a ball and just started sobbing. He buried his face in his pillow, hiding his face as he cried, the shame of being unable to control himself was smothered by the grief and terror that flooded his mind like a broken dam. He almost died. The slightest change in any movement, and he would’ve died. He hadn’t felt anything like this since Kamino, but he’d been able to smother his feelings better then. He’d had adversaries, he’d had distractions. He’d been terrified for his life, but he refused to let the League see how scared he was. He’d been able to hide it so well he’d even hidden it from himself. But he couldn’t hide this, not when he could still feel the lingering ache in his shoulder, could still feel the raised pink lines now etched into his shoulder, and he couldn’t hide just how terrified that made him.

Gods, he’d almost died.

Katsuki wasn’t sure how long he’d cried, it wasn’t like he timed it, but eventually, he drifted into a sort of half-doze. It was a very light sleep, not deep enough to dream, his mind floating back up to consciousness occasionally but never waking him up fully.

A quiet knock startled him out of it completely.

“Um, Bakugou?” Ah. Kaminari again. He wondered when he was gonna get back to calling him Kacchan. It would feel like a return to normal, even if he didn’t like being called that.

Katsuki got out of bed, scrubbing at his face, trying to erase any sign of tear tracks on his cheeks. He opened the door and raised an eyebrow. “What, pikachu?”

“Um, about the cookies.” Kaminari said, and he saw the uneaten cookies on Katsuki’s nightstand. But before he could answer, say that he’d eat them later, Kaminari continued. “You don’t have to eat them. I know they’re gross. I had a couple left over that didn’t come out right, and we tried them and I think I poisoned Kirishima. so. you don’t have to. You shouldn’t have to get hurt twice because of me.”

The smile that Kaminari tried and failed to make just made Katsuki feel bad for him. Kaminari was always so happy and chipper, even if sometimes he was panicked about it, and seeing him feeling this low made the emotions he was still feeling flare up.

“Next time you feel like making cookies, don’t.” Katsuki grumbled, huffing quietly. Kaminari just shrunk at that, like a heavy weight had been placed on his shoulders. “And ask me for help first.”

Happiness bloomed on Kaminari’s face like a sunflower at dawn.

#whumptober2023 #no.8 #no.11 #no.16 #no.25 #no.27 #all the things that I've done #All the lights off and my hopes destroyed #chasing cars #storm #scars #lightning #lightning strike #pain #the songs are more vibes of the story than anything #god I hope someone sees this

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midnight-fauna · 1 year

Text

can you keep me close? (can you love me most?)

A/N: Inspired by an edit by @bayatommo on TikTok and beta-read by the lovely @horrorbaby666

Pairings: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Chapters: 2/2 (both included in post)

Summary: The one where Steve gets kidnapped by the Russians again, Eddie saves him, and all the hurt/comfort that ensues.

Part One:

“It’s all over, I promise. Their base was destroyed and the majority of them were killed. You’re safe now.”

Doctor Owen’s past words replayed over and over in Steve’s mind, a stabbing reminder of what should’ve been true. Steve had spent more than a year trying to convince himself of it. He’d woken up in a sheen of sweat countless times, whispering to himself that the Russians were gone - that he was free.

Bullshit.

“We know you know about the portals to the other dimension, Steve Harrington,” the Russian in front of him leered in a thick accent, the man the others referred to as Konstantin. “You will give us their precise location or we will kill you and everyone associated with you. Do you understand?”

Steve let out a garbled sob, his own blood coating his throat. Welts from whips were strung across his back, making the slightest movements agonizing. He was sure at least three of his ribs were broken and god, he swore he could feel one of them pierce against his organs with each strangled inhale. He tried to look up at Konstantin, but the relentless pounding in his skull was effectively making him blind in one eye. He knew he’d developed head injuries over the years, but hadn’t dared tell anyone that the headaches were sometimes so intense that he lost his vision and he couldn’t hear out of his left ear.

If he survived this, maybe he’d finally tell someone.

“I told you.” Steve’s head fell forward, his somewhat still-drugged body unable to hold it up any longer. The only thing that kept him from face-planting was the crude rope restraints that tethered him to the splintering chair. “They’re closed. All of them. Vecna’s dead. There’s no-”

Konstantin took the whip in his hands and lashed it across Steve’s forearm, forcing a wrecked scream from his bloodied lips. The tears began to fall harder as waves of raw anguish crashed into Steve.

“You lie!” Konstantin hissed, baring his rotting teeth.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Steve mumbled out in a hopeless beg, dark spots beginning to cloud his remaining sight.

Steve heard the crack of the whip and shot his head up. “Please! Please! It’s true! Fuck, I promise, I’m telling the fucking truth!”

Slowly, Konstantin lowered his weapon and Steve nearly sobbed again from the relief.

“Sir.” Steve tried to turn his head around to see the person coming in behind him, to no avail. He heard the metal door swing open with a shrill creak before slamming shut once again.

The man stepped around Steve, shooting him a look of raw disgust, before turning to Konstantin and murmuring, “We can’t find Munson.”

Oh, thank god.

“Hawkins is a small town,” Konstantin spat. “He is a freak of nature, a black sheep, and yet you still can’t find him? Pathetic, Iosif.”

Iosif stiffened and nodded curtly. “My apologies. We will continue searching.”

“My men are certain this Munson was infected by something in the other dimension. He can surely lead us to what we seek,” Konstantin paused to glare at Steve. “I thought this sorry excuse for a man would be of some help, but it seems not.”

Steve barely registered the insult, everything in his mind focused on Eddie. His name replayed like a chant in Steve’s mind, a solemn prayer as though the thought of Eddie alone could save him from the torture. He begged the universe to keep Eddie safe, to keep him as far away as possible from Steve and all his shit. Eddie wasn’t “infected”. He was just some guy that happened to sell drugs to the wrong girl at the wrong time. He deserved to get away from Hawkins, away from all the bullshit, away from Steve.

Iosif saluted to Konstantin, mumbling something in Russian, before retreating to where he’d come in. A shiver wracked Steve’s marred back as Konstantin’s gaze shifted back to him.

“You will pay for wasting my time,” Konstantin said quietly, as though he was making an off-handed comment rather than directly threatening someone. Steve’s bloodshot eye followed Konstantin, watching him roll over a metal cart. His gaze followed Konstantin’s gloved hands to the instruments he was inspecting. His stomach plummeted.

“Please,” Steve croaked, voice spent from his previous screams. “Please, no. Just kill me. Shit, just- please. No one will care to look for me, I promise. I’ll just disappear and you won’t have to worry about anyone fucking up your shit.”

“I know no one cares enough to search for you, Steve Harrington,” Konstantin whispered, eyes trained on the hook-like tool in his grasp. “That is why I will break you apart limb by limb, taking my time doing so. After all…” Konstantin’s voice trailed off, coming to stand in front of Steve once again.

“No one is coming to save you.”

~~~

Six missed calls.

It’d taken Eddie six missed calls before he’d given in to his panic and sped over to Steve Harrington’s house.

For once in his life, his incessant worrying had actually proved helpful.

At first, he’d just rung the doorbell. After a few failed attempts, he’d resorted to slightly aggressive knocking. When both led to no response, Eddie had given up and picked the lock, letting himself in.

Harrington’s house looked like a fucking crime scene.

The living room was a mess of flung open drawers, knocked-over furniture, and smashed glass. There were books and papers all over the floor, strung about in such a way that it looked like someone had been searching for something.

Jesus Christ, had Steve been robbed?

“Harrington?” Eddie called, trying to stifle the panic in his voice. “Uh, I know I’m not the best when it comes to interior decorating, but this doesn’t really feel like your style.”

Silence.

Eddie shoved his hands in his leather jacket’s pockets, slowly walking through the house. “C’mon, Stevie, I know our friendship has been kinda iffy since the whole Vecna thing, but I just wanted to make sure you-”

Eddie froze. He smelled the blood before he saw it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Steve? Steve?!” Eddie yelled, breaking into a sprint. The wreckage passed from the living room to the adjacent dining room and kitchen. He followed the metallic scent like a dog on a hunt, eventually leading him to what he could only assume was Harrington Sr.’s office.

Shit.

Blood stained the expensive carpet like spilled wine, partially covered by even more scattered documents. Eddie’s nose twitched. That blood wasn’t Steve’s. It was unfamiliar and bitter. Eddie’s eyes trailed across the room, finally landing on a stained bat with nails crudely pointing out of it. There was older blood on it, one similar to the Demobats’. That wasn’t what concerned Eddie, however. What got his attention was the fresh blood on it: the blood that was undoubtedly Steve’s.

It took him three minutes to try not to have an anxiety attack. Seven more minutes to try and figure out what happened. Two more to remember the location trackers he’d discreetly put in each of his friends’ walkie-talkies. Eighteen more to track down Steve’s. Twenty-three more to get to the location.

“What the fuck?” Eddie mumbled to himself as he climbed out of his van, inspecting the scene in front of him. It looked almost like something from the military - a small, lone, dome-like building sat in one of the many plain expanses of outer Hawkins. It appeared abandoned.

Eddie double-checked the coordinates messily written on his wrist. It was supposedly right, but-

“Hey!” a voice shot Eddie from his thoughts. His head snapped up to see a gruff-looking man with a whole-ass rifle strapped to his back approaching Eddie.

“What are you doing here?” the man asked, a strong accent covering his words. Russian, if Eddie had to guess.

“Uh, hey, sorry, man,” Eddie said, lifting his hands up in a show of peace. “I was, uh, trying to get to my grandma’s house and I guess I got really lost, huh?”

“No grandmas live here,” the man deadpanned and if it wasn’t for the circumstances, Eddie might’ve laughed at how seriously the guy said it.

Eddie cleared his throat. “Yeah… I can- I can definitely tell. Listen, I’m like cool with military people, okay? My dad’s one. James Munson? Maybe you know him? He’s not in Hawkins, but-”

“Munson?” The man raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m his kid, so I-”

The man grinned, something unsettling and dangerous. “We haven’t been able to get anything out of Steve Harrington. Konstantin will be pleased to know we got you now.”

Eddie froze.

“You have Steve?” he asked slowly.

“We’ve had him for two days now,” the man said as though he was proud of it. “I’m surprised he’s lasted this long after all Konstantin has put him-”

Eddie lunged at the man, barreling him to the ground with inhuman strength. He felt the familiar sting of fangs unsheathing from his gums and animalistic claws emerging from his fingernails. Sadistic pleasure coursed through him at the horror on the man’s face.

A string of what Eddie could only assume was Russian swears spilled from the man’s mouth. “Konstantin was right. You really are a-”

“Shut the fuck up and tell me where Steve is or I will rip out your throat.” One of Eddie’s hands lifted to wrap around the man’s neck, claws piercing the tender skin. He relished in the pained gasp that it received.

“Inside- inside-” the man spluttered out. “Konstantin has him. Don’t kill me. Please, don’t-”

The man’s sentence was interrupted by the sound of him gargling on his own blood as Eddie quickly clutched his claws shut and pulled, tearing out the Russian’s jugular in one movement.

Carelessly, he threw the body to the side and sprinted for the base’s door. His eyes fell on a screen and he pressed his finger against it. Immediately, the screen flashed red, Russian words appearing on the screen. Beneath the unfamiliar letters was an image of a fingerprint with an “x” over it.

Realization clicked in Eddie’s mind and he walked back to the body, placing one boot on the man’s limp forearm and bending down. He drew a knife from his back pocket and pressed it against the base of the Russian’s index finger. With ease, he pressed down, slicing the digit from its hand, and took it, making his way back to the door.

A press of the finger against the screen and the door opened.

Eddie was immediately met with two armed guards. They jolted to attention, surprise overtaking their faces. Eddie’s eyes trailed down to where blood was splattered on one of the men’s shoes - Steve’s blood.

Something in Eddie snapped.

Finally.

They deserve it, the voice hissed. Eddie took a step forward, fangs bared. They stood by and let Steve suffer. Tear out their hearts. Make them pay.

Eddie barely registered his actions, his mind a whirlwind of white noise. His attention focused on the screeches of agony erupting out of his victims alongside the addicting feeling of his claws and fangs digging into flesh. He slashed and stabbed and bit and fuck, it felt good.

More, the voice pleaded. The only one that makes it out alive is Steve. Everyone else will stay in this prison forever. I want their insides painting the fucking walls.

Eddie obeyed.

~~~

Steve was rapidly falling in and out of consciousness.

“Inject him again,” Konstantin instructed someone. Steve could see the blurry outline of the man’s bloody shoes in front of him, but his voice still sounded distant.

He felt the needle against the back of his neck and he willed his body to jerk away, to fight, to do something. It simply wouldn’t. He didn’t think any of his body could move anymore.

“Sir, any more shots of stimulants after this could result in heart failure,” another far-away voice said.

Konstantin’s shoes disappeared from Steve’s line of vision. “If he dies, then so be it. He’s stopped reacting to anything. He’s no longer entertaining to me.”

“Any news on Munson?” Konstantin asked.

Please say no. Please say no.

“No, sir.”

Thank god.

“You will find him by tomorrow morning or you will experience exactly what this boy has. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, now-”

Konstantin’s voice was cut off by a loud thud. Steve willed himself to look up, but his neck stayed limp. He tried to focus on what was going on - tried to understand why there was screaming and crashing - but his mind was drifting. His eyes lulled. Finally. Fucking finally, he could rest.

“Steve? Stevie?”

Steve barely heard the voice in the thick fog of his own head.

“No, no, Steve. C’mon, Stevie, you gotta wake up.”

Waking up was too hard. Steve just wanted to sleep.

“Focus, Stevie, focus. Look at me, please, look at me. You’re stronger than this. I know you are.”

Steve wasn’t strong. Steve was broken. He was always broken.

“I can’t fucking lose you, okay? You gotta fight for me, okay? You gotta fight to stay alive.”

No one cared about Steve. The voice was just another illusion from the drugs.

“Steve, please. It’s me. It’s Munson. I’m right here. I’m gonna get you out of here, okay? Just stay with me. God, just stay with me.”

… Eddie?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part Two:

Everything fucking hurt.

Steve stirred and instantly a warm hand latched onto his.

“Hey, hey, Stevie. It’s okay.”

Steve’s eyelids fluttered. He knew that voice.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah, yeah, man, it’s me.”

Memories crashed into Steve all at once. His house. Getting attacked in his dad’s office. Waking up in an underground base. The Russians. Konstantin. The whips. The hooks. The knives. Dying.

“No, no, no, Eddie, you’re not supposed to be here,” Steve mumbled out, straining his eyes to open more. “You’re not supposed to be dead. Oh god, did they get you too? I’m so sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry. You’re dead like me and it’s all my-”

“Hey, look at me.” Eddie’s voice was like an anchor to Steve’s ship, grounding him even in the wildest of storms. Physically shaking, he forced his eyes open to stare at Eddie.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve whispered, feeling tears begin to roll down his cheeks. Eddie was painted in a silhouette of golden light shining behind him. His curls were radiant and his beautiful features were so soft. “Oh fuck, you are an angel. You are dead. Oh no, no, no, no-”

Eddie’s free hand lifted from his side to cup the side of Steve’s face. “No, no. Sweetheart, look at me. I’m right here. I’m alive. You’re alive. We’re okay. You’re on a shit ton of painkillers right now so I know everything seems really weird, but I promise I’m alive.”

Steve leaned into the touch, sobs still wracking his broken body. His eyes darted around the room, recognizing it as a hospital before his gaze shot back up to Eddie. “They wouldn’t stop. I begged them to stop, but they wouldn’t. I told them- I told them that the gates were all closed, but they wouldn’t believe me. They wouldn’t stop hurting me. I couldn’t-” Steve’s words slurred together in a mess of incoherent babbles, Eddie’s slow caresses on his back the only thing keeping him from a full-on panic attack.

“I know, Stevie, I know. I’m so sorry, honey. I should’ve realized you were missing sooner. I am so fucking sorry,” Eddie’s voice cracked and in Steve’s blurred vision, he could see similar tears begin to fall down Eddie’s flushed cheeks.

“But… you…” Steve trailed off as he strained to recall the last things he could remember. “You saved me. How did you…?”

“I’ll explain it all later, alright? But you need to rest now. Your body needs time to heal,” Eddie murmured and stood from his chair.

“No!” Steve practically screamed, causing Eddie to jump. Panicking, Steve grabbed tightly onto Eddie’s hand, pulling him back. “Please don’t go. I don’t want to be alone.”

Eddie’s pretty eyes softened and he sat back down only for Steve to tug on him again. “Can you come up here?” Steve asked, gesturing with his chin to the hospital bed. The tiny rational part of his brain that remained begged him to shut up. It was certainly not the time for his stupid boy crush to appear.

Steve shoved the rational part of his brain away.

“You sure? It’s gonna be a tight squeeze and Wayne says I snore like a mammoth,” Eddie said, tone teasing at the end though it was evident he was genuinely concerned.

“‘s okay,” Steve mumbled, forcing himself to scoot over even as his body roared in pain. It was worth it, though, when Eddie got into bed beside him. The warmth radiating off him was more comforting to Steve than any painkiller a doctor could offer him.

He fell back asleep in seconds.

~~~

“Yeah, they think he’s going to make it,” Eddie murmured into the receiver. The cord was taut, the handset pulled far from the actual phone hold on the adjacent wall. He’d refused to leave Steve’s side, regardless of how many times the nurses had told him to do otherwise.

Robin sniffled on the other end of the line. “I can’t believe he had to go through that again, Eddie. Fuck, I thought it was all over. I thought we could go live normal lives for once. I should’ve checked in on him earlier. I’m so fucking stupid.”

“Don’t blame yourself.” Eddie tried to ignore the hypocrisy of his own statement. “He’s going to be okay, Robin, I promise. We both know Steve. He’s strong as hell. He’ll pull through.”

“He better or I’ll… I’ll…” Robin seemed to be searching for a threat, but only more sobs came through the phone. “Is he gonna have to be in a wheelchair or…?”

Eddie looked over at Steve to make sure he was still sleeping soundly before responding, “Doctor thinks he’ll just need a lot of physical therapy for the next few months. He got a lot of head trauma so they’re going to perform a ‘cranial nerve exam’ or whatever when he’s able to sit up on his own. They’ll see if he’s doing alright in that department.”

He heard Robin inhale shakily through the phone. “When can I come see him? Nancy and the kids are worried sick too.”

“I’m not sure yet, but I’ll call you as soon as I do, okay?” Eddie promised.

There was a pause before Robin squeaked out an “okay”.

“Take care of yourself, Robin. You’re like Steve’s… platonic soulmate or something. He’ll want you to be okay too.”

“Thank you. Call soon, okay?” Robin mumbled, barely audible against the phone’s static.

“I will.”

Eddie sighed as the phone hung up, his attention returning to Steve.

“You’re gonna pull through,” Eddie whispered, hand moving to trace circles on Steve’s shoulder. He exhaled shakily as the confession slipped out of him:

“Because I don’t know what I’ll do with myself if you don’t.”

~~~

It was happening again.

Pain struck Steve over and over again like daggers, piercing into him - his old wounds, his new wounds, goddamn everything.

“Eddie!” he screamed, pulling against the invisible restraints that tied him back, keeping him still as the endless torment continued. “Eddie! Robin! Dustin! Fuck, anyone! Please!”

His eyes shut momentarily, stinging with the saltiness of his own tears. When they reopened, there Eddie was.

No.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

Steve yanked on the ties with all his strength, a screech of agony following alongside the sickening crunch of his wrists shattering.

He didn’t even care.

With no regard for his own well-being, Steve forced his limp hands free and stumbled forward, landing in a helpless heap beside Eddie.

Vomit rose in his throat.

Eddie’s lifeless eyes gazed up at him, those beautiful brown irises once so full of life now extinguished. His mouth was ajar in a slight “o”, blood coating his teeth and lips. All across his body were revoltingly deep gashes - bite marks from those damned bats. They’d fucking devoured him, exposing muscle and bone. They’d taken Eddie. They’d taken his Eddie.

“Please, god, no,” Steve whispered, carefully cradling Eddie’s head and moving it so it lay in Steve’s lap. Somehow, his wrists were normal again, but he hardly registered it. His gaze stayed glued to Eddie. “No, no, Eddie. C’mon, Eds, don’t- don’t do this to me.”

His fingers raked through Eddie’s blood-matted hair, his other hand rubbing soothing circles into the cold skin of his cheek. “Wake up. You gotta wake up. I can’t fucking do this without you. I need you, Eddie. I’ve needed you ever since I met you. Please just-”

Slowly, the weight of Eddie’s corpse began to lift and before Steve’s very eyes, his body became more and more opaque. It was as though he were fading.

“No!” Steve screamed, voice echoing in the black abyss. “Eddie!”

“Steve?”

“No, no, no, please, Eddie, please-”

“Steve?”

“I can’t- fuck, I can’t-”

“Steve!”

Steve jolted upright, immediately met with searing pain that tore throughout his body like a strike of lightning. He snapped his head around, tear-blurred eyes barely registering the sterile environment around him. Scrambling, he tried to get up, desperately needing to find Eddie.

“Stevie, hey, I’m right here.”

A warm hand on his back anchored him back to reality.

“Eddie?” Steve turned to see the very man that’d been dead in his arms moments ago sitting beside him. His doe eyes were wide with worry, eyebrows pinched together. His curls were an absolute mess, falling all around him as though he’d just awoken from a nap. A faded band T-shirt hung loosely around his torso, revealing some of his tattoos.

Steve decided Eddie had never looked prettier.

“You were dead,” Steve breathed out, voice ragged. “The demobats got you. I wasn’t fast enough. I couldn’t- I wasn’t- shit, you were dead and it was all my fault and I-”

Eddie, sweet perfect Eddie, immediately reached forward and pulled Steve into a tight hug, holding him closer than anyone had ever bothered to hold Steve before. That realization alone sent Steve into another bout of sobs.

Calloused fingertips traced patterns up and down his back, occasionally coming up to soothingly pet the back of Steve’s head. “It was only a nightmare, sweetheart, I promise,” Eddie murmured, sounding more melodic than any music Steve had heard. “You did save me. I’m here because of you and I’m never abandoning you, got that?”

“Never,” Steve parroted, a feeble attempt at making himself believe Eddie’s words.

Eddie pulled away, leaning back and cradling Steve’s face in his palms. His thumb lifted to brush a stray tear from Steve’s cheek, holding his gaze all the while.

“You couldn’t get rid of me even if you wanted to,” Eddie joked gently, lips twitching upwards into a little smile.

Had they always looked so soft?

“C’mon,” Eddie said, carefully pulling Steve back down to rest in the crook of Eddie’s arm. “I know you don’t want to, but you gotta go back to sleep, a’ight? I’ll be right here the entire time. I swear on Uncle Wayne’s mug collection.”

Quite frankly too tired to protest, Steve nodded and let himself relax into Eddie’s hold. You’re safe, he reminded himself.

You’re always safe with Eds.

~~~

3 p.m. That’s when Eddie had told the shitheads to visit.

And yet, there they were at goddamn 10 a.m., clambering through the small hospital door like dogs racing out of a kennel.

“Steve! We brought-” Dustin announced, barging in like he owned the damn place. He froze mid-step, an honestly terrible idea considering the trainwreck of teenagers that slammed right into the back of him.

“Oh fucking-” was all that Eddie heard before a giant crash resounded in the small room. He lifted himself into a seated position, peering over the bed to find the entire Party in a groaning tangle of limbs on the floor.

“You asshole, why did you stop all of a sudden?” Lucas punched Dustin in the shoulder, immediately getting one of his own from Max. Even in her new blind state, she managed to shoot him a deadly glare that spoke volumes.

Dustin stood up, throwing up an accusatory hand toward Eddie. “I didn’t expect to find my two dads cuddling on a Sunday morning!”

“And I didn’t expect you all for another five hours,” Eddie retorted.

“I tried to stop them.” Nancy appeared from around the corner, carrying several grocery bags in her arms. “Max insisted she’d call her lawyer if I didn’t take them right when they wanted.”

From beside Eddie, Steve shifted, sitting up on his forearms and rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand. “She pulled that one on you too?”

“It’s discrimination against disabled people if they don’t do what me, a disabled person, asks,” Max stated as-a-matter-of-factly as she rose to her feet. El and Lucas immediately rushed to help her, but she swatted them both away.

Mike assisted the younger Byers - Will, if Eddie remembered correctly - in standing up. “I don’t think that’s how that works,” he muttered.

“Well, I don’t care-”

Max was cut off by a shrill screech of raw joy. Robin burst into the room and zipped around the gangle of teenagers, rushing to Steve’s side and latching onto him like a koala bear. “Oh my god, you’re okay,” she whispered, barely loud enough for Eddie to hear despite being mere inches away.

“Robs,” Steve said, the relief audible in his voice. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. I promise.”

Robin straightened up from where she’d been hunched over Steve, hurriedly wiping fresh tears from her cheeks. “If you ever scare me like that again, I’ll… I’ll totally kick your ass,” she mumbled, a choked-up little laugh escaping her.

“Don’t threaten the patient,” Nancy chastised, coming up behind Robin and taking one of her ringed hands in her smaller ones. Her voice was unusually soft and though Eddie still barely knew either of the girls, a sneaking suspicion arose within him about the state of their relationship.

“He’s a dingus.” Robin shot Steve a shaky smile. “I’ll threaten him all I want.”

“Alright, out of the way, out of the way,” Dustin announced, barging in between Robin and the bed. “Steve obviously wants to see his favorite member of the Party now.”

Steve lifted his hands defensively. “Hey, hey. I don’t choose favorites. I love all you guys equally.” Eddie knew that was total bullshit, but he smiled at Steve’s attempt to make all his kiddos feel appreciated.

“Yeah?” Mike piped up from behind Dustin. “What’s my favorite color?”

Steve immediately blanched and Eddie lifted one of his curls to his lips to hide his smile from view. Ol’ Stevie was in for it now.

“Uh…” Steve trailed off. “You know, I think these meds have been messing with my memory, so-”

Mike huffed in disbelief, glaring lightheartedly at Will when he began laughing. During their old D&D sessions, Mike had brought up Will a lot, talking about how Will ran campaigns and made characters. Back then, Eddie had found it annoying for his skills as a DM to be compared with some kid. Seeing them together, though, he was beginning to understand why Mike spoke of him so highly.

“Mike.” Nancy’s tone held warning and, apparently not wanting to get on his sister’s bad side, Mike stopped his pouting. Seemingly content with his response, Nancy turned back to Steve. “We picked you up all your favorite snacks and candies on the way here. Max insisted that hospital food is ‘worse than anything Vecna could do’-”

“It’s true,” Max confirmed.

“- so we decided to bring you these,” Nancy finished, placing the immense amount of bags on the nearby table.

Steve thanked them and Eddie took that as his cue to slip out of the bed. He made his way to the corner of the room and just… observed. It was near fascinating how easily Steve fell back to his old self with his friends - no, family - around. It was so clear that everyone in that room loved him so deeply. It astounded Eddie that Steve couldn’t see that.

Eddie’s mind flashed back to the night he’d rescued Steve. It’d been almost two weeks, but everything was still so vivid. The blood, the screams, the death - all caused by him. The assholes deserved it, sure, but it horrified Eddie. It horrified him how easily he’d killed and how he’d relished in their pain. He still wasn’t sure what the Upside Down had turned him into, what sort of creature he’d become. He hadn’t dared tell anyone. How would they react when they found out their friend could grow fangs and claws that’d sunk into the throats of dozens of humans? How would they react if they’d seen him covered in blood, dripping with the remnants of destruction he’d caused?

His eyes met Steve’s.

How would Steve react if he found out Eddie was a monster?

Eddie shook the thought away, trying to focus his attention on Steve - the way his lovely features lit up whenever one of the kids made a joke, the way he took time to talk to each and every one of them, the way he was so perfectly Steve when surrounded by his family.

Something occurred to Eddie at that moment. For years, he’d been foolishly crushing on “King Steve Harrington”. He was no better than all the fawning girls at Hawkins High. He’d stare at Steve when he wasn’t looking, childishly dreaming of the possibility that maybe one day Steve would notice him. Then, with all the Upside Down shit, being thrown into danger with Steve had only made his crush grow.

It dawned on him that it was no longer a crush.

It dawned on him that, against his will, Eddie had fallen deeply and ridiculously in love with Steve Harrington.

~~~

“C’mon, Stevie, you got this.”

Encouraged by Eddie’s words, Steve bit his lip in concentration as he slowly took step after step, movements assisted by the crunches supporting his armpits. He’d been bedridden for nearly two months and finally, his doctor had allowed him to start working towards walking again.

Steve just hadn’t anticipated how hard it would be.

“You’re doing so good,” Eddie murmured. His hand had found its now-typical place on the small of Steve’s back, providing him some semblance of balance. Though he wouldn’t admit it, Steve didn’t actually need said hand - he could balance himself just fine - but the touch was comforting and it helped in its own way. Eddie’s soft words of praise in his ear were simply an… added bonus.

Slowly, but surely, Steve’s confidence grew, beginning to lurch his crutches farther forward, practically lunging himself along the hospital hallway. “I’m doing it! Fuck yeah, I’m doing it, Eddie! Soon enough, I’ll be shooting hoops again and-”

Maybe he got a little too excited.

Gravity betrayed Steve and he found himself barreling to the cold floor, limbs flailing around uselessly as his crutches clattered against the tile. His body tensed, prepared for the inevitable pain that would come with the resounding bang. It never came, however.

Warm hands wrapped around him, and his face was awkwardly pressed against Eddie’s firm chest. The familiar scent of old weed and Wayne’s favorite detergent engulfed Steve’s senses and god, it was addicting. He stayed there for a few moments too long; if asked, he would’ve insisted it was from the shock of falling over.

“I got you. I got you. It’s okay,” Eddie said softly, carefully lifting Steve back upright and lowering his touch to Steve’s hips, holding him steady. “Bit eager to get out of here, aren’tcha, Harrington?”

Steve hardly registered Eddie’s teasing. He whipped his head behind him, to Eddie, and back again repeatedly. Bewilderment was clear on his features. “You were behind me. How did you- there is no way you moved in front of me that fast.”

His eyes didn’t miss the way Eddie visibly stiffened. “You know me. What I lack in strength, I make up for in dexterity. Most of my points still go to that sweet ol’ charisma though.”

Ignoring Eddie’s obscure D&D references, Steve shook his head. “No, no,” he mumbled, almost to himself. “That- that was like, inhuman. Hell, a lot of things you do can’t be explained. Like, you’ve stayed here with me for the past seven weeks and I don’t think I’ve seen you sleep once. You say it’s because you only sleep when I sleep, but then how is it that whenever I wake up, you’re always already awake?”

“Steve…” Eddie began, a warning tone lacing his voice.

“Not to mention how fast you are when it comes to literally everything,” Steve continued. “I’ll ask you to go grab me something from the vending machine, which I know damn well is two floors down from my room, and you’ll be back in two minutes!”

“Steve.”

“And, look, I know you don’t like talking about it - and that’s okay. I get it, I really do - but how did you save my ass from the Russians? There were dozens of them, Eddie. All armed to the teeth. Don’t get me wrong; I think you’re strong and badass as fuck, but how could you have taken down that many men single-handedly? It’s- it’s impossible! There’s just-”

The hands left Steve’s waist and moved to scoop him up, one under his thighs and the other under his back. To his mortification, Eddie was carrying him bridal-style.

Before Steve could protest, Eddie was zooming - literally zooming - to their hospital room. As soon as he was picked up, Steve was put down again, and placed onto the too-hard mattress of his bed.

“What the hell?” Steve spluttered out.

“Steve.” Eddie’s voice was quiet, but firm, a subtextual demand for Steve’s full attention. “I’m going to answer your questions, alright? I would never lie to you. If what I tell you angers you, upsets you, disgusts you - anything - that’s okay. I get it. I’ll leave and you won’t have to hear from my ass ever again.”

Steve stared at him incredulously. “I’d never-”

“Just…” Eddie inhaled sharply, looking down before bringing his gaze back to Steve’s. “Just listen, okay?”

“... Okay.”

Eddie sat down beside Steve, fiddling with his rings. “I haven’t told anyone this,” he prefaced, momentarily sucking in his bottom lip. “I didn’t know how they’d react. I didn’t know how you’d react. Hell, I still don’t, but I figured you deserve to know.”

Worry seeping into his heart, Steve moved his hands from his lap to intertwine with Eddie’s. He didn’t miss the little smile that it earned.

“After you rescued me from the Upside Down, everything felt… different. Not like ‘wow, I almost just got eaten alive and that took a toll on my body’ different, either,” Eddie tried to joke. “I didn’t really feel hungry anymore. I knew I hadn’t eaten in days, but the hospital food didn’t taste like anything. Even when you and Nance brought me my favorite snacks, they just tasted like… textured air, I guess. I never felt tired either. God, I should’ve felt tired. I got fuckin’ destroyed by those bat bastards, but my body just… didn’t wanna rest. Then there was the whole pain thing. The doctors warned me that when they weaned me off the painkillers, shit would hurt like crazy, but it never really did. There was an ache, of course, but it wasn’t excruciating like they’d predicted it’d be.

“A few weeks after I got discharged, I began getting these… cravings, I guess. They were for meat, which was weird as fuck. I never really liked meat before. My dad was a big meat-lover and I guess I didn’t want to be like him, so I- that… that doesn’t matter. Anyways, I began eating raw steaks and shit obsessively. ‘Did it behind Uncle Wayne’s back because I knew it was weird, but I couldn’t help it. Around that time is when the uh- when the fangs came out.”

He turned to Steve, who only met him with the softest gaze. The prospect of fangs did surprise Steve, but he refused to let that show on his face. He’d support Eddie no matter what.

“Can I see?” Steve asked quietly.

Surprise flitted across Eddie’s face. He swallowed and nodded quickly. "Yeah… yeah, Stevie, of course you can see."

Eddie opened his mouth and Steve watched in awe as four canines extended from Eddie's gums, two on top and two on the bottom. They made a soft shing sound of bone scraping against bone; the fangs came up over Eddie's natural canines, a strange second set of teeth that bracketed his incisors. Steve silently mused that they were more wolf-like than vampire-like. They were large and thick, clearly meant for ripping into flesh rather than just making a slight incision.

For some reason, that thought made a delightful shudder run up Steve's spine.

"These are fucking awesome, holy shit," Steve breathed, reaching up, but faltering. His eyes flickered up to Eddie's, searching them for permission. When Eddie gave him an affirmative dip of his head, Steve let his fingers fall on the natural weapons. He felt Eddie shiver underneath his touch.

"'ey are't tha' coo'," Eddie said with difficulty, jaws still hanging open so Steve could curiously inspect them.

Steve stared at Eddie in disbelief and drew back. "Dude, you're like- a superhero. Like the Wolverine or something!" Realizing what he said, Steve quickly backtracked. "Not that I read that nerdy shit or anything. Dustin just talks about-"

"It's okay to like comics, Steve." Eddie tried to stifle his amusement. "But uh, I'm not a hero. 'Never was and never will be."

"'You serious?" Steve waited, and Eddie's lack of response was answer enough. "You literally saved all of Hawkins. You saved Dustin. Fuck, you saved me."

In more ways than you'll ever know, Steve wanted to add.

Eddie tilted his head back, running a hand through his hair in an anxious habit Steve had learned to recognize. "Heroes don't kill people. They don't tear out throats with their fucking teeth or splay people's goddamn guts across the walls. They don't show up to save people covered in blood." Eddie's voice was rising, anger evident in his tone. Anger towards himself, Steve realized. "Heroes get celebrated. They get love and adoration. If anyone saw my fangs? Hell," - he let out a humorless laugh - "they'd put me down like a goddamn mutt."

"Well, fuck them then," Steve shot out before he could hesitate, "because you are the most fucking selfless and loving human being I have ever met. You've been hurt over and over again by people - your dad, the shithead bullies at school that once included me, and the whole town at one point. They treated you like shit. The world treated you like shit. And what did you do? You just met them with that goddamn beautiful grin. You found love for anyone. You took those scrappy little kids in and cared for them. You spend hours on hours crafting perfect D&D sessions for them. They idolize you. They love you."

Steve saw tears prickling in the corners of Eddie's eyes and it was only then he realized that he, too, was crying. "You offered kindness to Chrissy when she came to you, even though her boyfriend tormented you every single fucking day. She came to you for drugs, but you gave her laughter and compassion. You didn't have to do that, but you did. Because you're you, Eddie. You are so perfectly you and goddamnit, I love you for that."

Eddie's eyes widened a little at Steve's accidental confession, but Steve couldn't give a shit. If Eddie rejected him, so be it. He needed to know how much Steve absolutely adored him.

"And most surprising of all, you offered your care to me," Steve croaked, fighting down the sob that threatened to escape him. "I treated you so fucking badly. I might not have said much directly to you, but I stood by while Tommy H. and the others verbally and sometimes physically hurt you. I let you go through hell. Yet, you still protected me back during all that Vecna shit. You had my back when I never had yours. Then, when all that was over, you invited me over for the occasional weed hangout. You talked to me like I'd been your friend for years. You made me feel so seen."

Steve licked the tears away from his lips and he could've sworn he saw Eddie look down at them. Shakily, he continued, "Eds, I owe my life to you. Not just because you saved me from the demobats or even from those fucking Russian assholes. You saved me from myself. Your jokes pulled me out of the god-awful thoughts constantly in my head, memories of real shitty times. Your smile reminded me that there was still good in this world. I owe it all to you. My everything."

Breath rapid from the extensive ramble, Steve's eyes flickered up to meet Eddie's, searching for something - anything.

"God, I fucking love you," was all Eddie said before he moved his hands to cup Steve's cheeks and his lips met his.

Oh.

Steve stilled into the kiss for a brief moment, surprise overtaking him. Thankfully, his brain kicked back into gear soon enough and he was kissing Eddie back with fervor. He tried to convey every emotion into the touch that his stumbling words couldn't.

It must've worked because the passion of the kiss heightened. All he could feel was Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. The feeling of his lips memorizing Steve's, the scent of old smoke and pine from that cologne he adored, the little whispers of "I love you, I love you, I love you" when they parted for breath - it was everything Steve had hoped for.

Steve was about to break away to speak when Eddie deepened the kiss further. That wasn't what shocked him, however. It was the sudden pin-prick of sharpness against his cheeks.

"Shit," Eddie cursed under his breath, moving back. Steve's eyes fluttered open and he immediately found the culprit of the sensation: large blackened claws had emerged from Eddie's fingernails.

Eddie flushed. "I am so, so sorry. I thought I had control of-"

"You have claws?" Steve exclaimed, mouth agape. "Holy shit, you are Wolverine!"

"I- what?" Eddie paused for a moment and then burst into a fit of laughter.

"Can you do other things? Can you fly? Oh my god, do you have laser eyes?!" Steve asked in a flurry, only causing Eddie to devolve into absolute cackles.

"It's not funny, Eddie; I'm seriously asking!" Steve complained, though his bright smile betrayed his attempts at appearing upset.

"God, Harrington, you…" Eddie wheezed out, finally beginning to catch his breath, "are a riot. I could get used to this."

Steve's smile widened. "So, does this mean I can take you out for a date?" he asked, putting on all his old King Harrington charm.

Shooting him a lopsided grin, Eddie leaned back against the bed, propping his head up in a dramatic fashion. "I don't know, Steve. You haven't truly wooed me yet."

Steve practically pounced on him.

"I'm sure some wooing can be arranged." Steve murmured, delighting in the loving gaze he received.

"As much as I'd love that," - Eddie sat up, propping himself on his elbows and giving Steve a peck on the forehead - "you need to learn how to walk again first. Then, you can take me on that date. 'We got a deal, sweetheart?"

Steve beamed.

"Deal."

#steddie #stranger things #stranger things 4 #steddie fic #fic #fanfiction #the fruity four #hurt/comfort

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camaro-and-smokes · 1 year

Text

Let Me Be the One

Chapter 1: Hysteria (When You're Near)

Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Billy Hargrove, Eddie Munson Tags: Mungrove, First Time, Lot of firsts actually, Friends to Lovers, OR IS IT, Gay Billy Hargrove, Bisexual Eddie Munson, Genderfluid Billy Hargrove, First Time Bottoming, Anal Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Angst, Fluff, Emotional Hurt, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Modern AU, Unrequited Love, Pining

Summary: Billy chuckled at Eddie's enthusiasm. Whatever Eddie got into, he was into it one hundred percent and he wasn't ashamed of it. Which was why Billy had unexpectedly developed a crush on him. Or maybe it was something that would've happened eventually anyway.

Notes: This is my entry for Mungrove Week 2023 @mungroveweek for day 3: Firsts

Chapters: CH 1 [CH 2] / 2

::::::::::

Somewhere in the outskirts of Chicago in mid-2000s...

Billy and Eddie were laying on their backs on the picnic table in the forest, sharing a joint. It had become a habit to hang around in the forest, because no one really went there for picnics anymore once a word got out that someone sold drugs there. Well, the one doing the selling was Eddie, so... They had a quiet place just for the two of them.

Billy took a drag and held the smoke in as he handed the joint to Eddie. Eddie glanced at Billy as he took it. “You’re quiet today.” Billy stared at the sky and the grey clouds that were hanging low. “Yeah... “ he started, then bit his lower lip as he tried to find the right words.

Get your shit together man, he’s your best friend, just ask him he told himself. The words had been so clear to him when he rehearsed them at home. All he had to do was to ask if Eddie wanted to go to a concert with him. One Eddie had wanted to go for months but couldn’t get tickets to. Tickets he had. Simple.

Yeah, if it had been anyone else but Eddie. His best friend. Who he had developed a massive crush on.

He took a deep breath and kept his eyes on the sky. “You got plans on Friday?” “I was thinking of planning a new campaign... Why?” Billy’s heart was thundering in his chest so hard he was afraid it would burst out. “Wanna go see Dio?” Eddie sat up so fast he almost fell from the table and fumbled with the joint, saving it from falling down onto the ground at the last minute. “What?!”

Billy grinned and looked at Eddie. “I got two tickets. Wanna go?” “Wanna go?” Eddie parroted. “Of course I want to!” he said, shaking his open hands in the air. Then he frowned. “How much?” Billy looked at him, confused. “How much what?” “The tickets, how much for them?” “I’m not selling them,” Billy retorted. “Not what I’m asking, Hargrove. The entire tour has been sold out for months. Who did you have to bribe to get them?” Billy smiled slyly. “I bought them the day they came on sale.” Eddie tilted his head as a stunned expression spread across his face. “Dude, seriously?! And you said nothing earlier!” “Well, I thought that if you got money, then I could tell you...” Eddie’s smile vanished, and he looked at Billy like a long-lost puppy. “You thought that I wouldn’t have money for them?” “I don’t know what I thought, okay?” Billy huffed. “I have the tickets. Do you want to go or not?” “Dude, chill. I wanna go. Of course I do.” “Okay. Great.” “Okay.” “It starts at seven. I’ll pick you up at half-past five, so we should make it on time.” A wide grin spread across Eddie’s face, and he jumped up to stand on the table. “I’m going to see fucking Dio! Yes!” he shouted and played a riff in the air with an invisible guitar.

Billy chuckled at Eddie’s enthusiasm. Whatever Eddie got into, he was into it one hundred percent and he wasn’t ashamed of it. Which was why Billy had unexpectedly developed a crush on him. Or maybe it was something that would’ve happened eventually anyway.

Billy had originally sought out Eddie for a few grams of forget-your-shitty-life-for-a-moment, but he’d found someone he actually could forget his shitty life with for a while longer. They originally bonded over listening to Metallica, but when Billy heard one of Eddie’s own songs and Eddie told him he wrote all the lyrics to his songs himself, he learned Eddie was also an avid reader of fantasy and horror literature and loved movies - just like he was. So they started hanging out more often and it didn’t take long until they were spending countless nights just talking or debating over whatever was on their minds at any moment.

Which was why the crush was awkward. They were best friends, doing everything together, sharing the shit in their lives with each other, supporting each other when life kicked them in the head. If Billy confessed to Eddie that he had a crush on him, he was sure it would most likely destroy their friendship. He knew he should just ignore the feeling, but it was so damn hard when he was always around Eddie. Because with him, life was a bit more tolerable.

The worst was that Eddie had never shown interest towards Billy in any other way than just as a friend. He always talked about just chicks, and he’d even gotten on second base with some, maybe even third - but they never talked about that. There was no way Eddie would be interested in Billy, no matter how big of a crush Billy had on him.

When Friday finally arrived, Billy was as antsy as he’d been when he’d had his first date. One that had been with a girl he thought he’d had a crush on. Thinking that if he tried to date a girl, something inside him would click back to place and he would become normal. But it had turned out that Heather wasn’t really interested in him either and that she was faking it as much as Billy. They’d ended up being good friends, though. And Billy didn’t have too many friends, so she was more than a welcomed addition. She also was a convenient help for Billy to appear normal, especially in front of his dad - just like he was for her.

Billy and Eddie had never been into a big concert like Dio’s was, so it was a first one for them both. It should’ve been just a fun night out at a massive concert with his best friend. But Billy couldn’t help but think that it was a date.

And it broke his heart that by the end of the night, even if everything went well, he wouldn’t be able to kiss Eddie nor to touch him the way he so much wanted. So he had to settle for this next best thing. Still, he made sure his hair was on point, wearing the Metallica shirt he’d ordered from a mail-order catalogue, his best cologne on. It wouldn’t hurt to look good anyway.

When Billy got out of the house, he drove until the part of the road that was sided only by trees and pulled over. He opened the glove-box and took out the mascara and the lip-gloss he’d nicked from Walmart a while back. Eddie had caused a mess on another aisle by leaning into a pile of mp3 player boxes, making it all crumble on the floor, allowing Billy time to do what he needed to. The concert would be the first time he would wear make-up in public. He would go out for the first time looking a bit more the way he always had wanted to look like. And he was happy that it was going to happen with Eddie.

He had barely parked his Camaro in front of Eddie’s uncle’s trailer when Eddie was already jumping out from the door. “Eager much?” Billy asked, amused, when Eddie plopped on the passenger’s seat. “It’s fucking Dio, man! Shit, yeah, I’m eager. Lessgo!”

They drove past the city limit, towards the highway that would take them to the city, talking about stupid shit. Until... “I don’t know how I really feel about her,” Eddie said, leaning his elbow to the door and his head to his fist. “I mean, I like her. Sure, she’s fun. And she’s cute. But she’s not that smart, not really. Whenever I try to talk to her about anything deeper, she ends up laughing at me like I said something stupid.” “Hey, the town is small as shit. The girls only need to look good enough to have someone marry them and have kids,” Billy replied. “It’s not like you’ll find anyone smart in there.” Eddie glanced at Billy. “I found you. You’re smart,” he said earnestly. Billy’s stupid heart leaped immediately into conclusions it shouldn’t and he scolded himself internally for it. “Uh, yeah, but, you know, I’m different. I’m a guy.” “I know. But you’re smart. The smartest guy I know - apart from myself, of course,” Eddie said with a smirk. “The only one I can have deep discussions in the early morning hours.” “Sure you’re smart, but you can’t pass Mr. Evans’ physics class,” Billy teased to make the discussion lighter. “Hey, not all smarts are equal!” Eddie said defensively. “You struggle with maths - despite killing it in English. It’s not like I’ll ever need to understand how circuit diagrams work. I will not be an electrician!” Billy glanced at Eddie, amused. “Yeah, yeah, you’re going to be A Rockstar. I know.” “Well, I am going to be that. Fuck school! All I need is to pass that one fucking class and I’m done with the whole studying shit.” He was silent for a while. He looked at Billy and his face softened. “And you’re going to be a writer. I just know it. You have a lot to say.” Billy could feel his cheeks heating. “It’s fucked up that you see through me like that,” he heard himself blurting out. But somehow saying it felt right, too. Though he wondered if that was so easy for Eddie to see what else he might’ve noticed. “I know you’re not like anyone else,” Eddie replied. “You’re one of a kind.” Billy bit his lower lip and could feel a lump swelling in his throat. “Thanks man. Right back at you.” “Shit, look at us. Getting all deep and it’s barely six pm,” Eddie chuckled. Billy barely managed a forced smile. “Sorry, man,” Eddie said suddenly, “for laughing.” He was silent for a long while. “But I mean it. You’re my fucking best friend.” “Same,” Billy replied, his cheeks burning. They both ended up swallowing hard. Billy staring at the road ahead, and Eddie looking out the side window.

They drove the rest of the trip pretty much in silence, listening to Dio sing about rainbow in the dark.

Both of them got excited when they got to the place where the concert was held. Eddie was almost bursting from his seams. Seeing him so excited made Billy happier that he’d been in ages. The tickets hadn’t been cheap, but they were definitely worth every cent. They bought t-shirts and listened to the other bands while waiting for Dio. Billy knew only a few songs from The Scorpions and Eddie got a bit heated about him absolutely having to listen to Deep Purple because apparently Smoke on the Water was a metal anthem. Who knew? But Eddie’s excitement was contagious and when Ronnie James finally took the stage, they both were pumped.

“Fuck! That was epic!” Eddie gasped when they sat back in the Camaro and started the trip back home. “Thanks, man. I’ll pay you back.” “Nah, no need,” Billy said, smiling. “It was a good gig. I gotta borrow some of your LPs tomorrow.” “Oh wow! Not just wanting to copy some of my mp3s?” Eddie asked, amused. “I guess I have to hear the earlier stuff from a record. Old school, you know,” Billy smirked. “Good, you’re finally gaining some healthy respect for the art. Just don’t scratch them.” Billy laughed. “Have I ever?” “No. Nothing I’ve ever burrowed to you has ever been returned in nothing but pristine condition.” Billy smiled. “Yeah, well, I like you. Don’t want to lose that.” Billy froze at the words he heard himself say. “I mean, I don’t want to make you feel bad. Ever.” Shut up you idiot he told himself, you’re just making this worse..

Eddie fidgeted with the chain that was hooked to the links on his jeans and looked at Billy, a smile tucking the corner of his mouth. Billy tried to keep his eyes on the road, but he couldn’t help glancing at Eddie from the corner of his eye. “What?” “Nothing. You just look really nice tonight. You’re wearing that mascara you nicked. It suits you. Brings out your lashes. Not that they really need that. They’re pretty as they are.” Billy had to bite his tongue. He could hear the blood rushing in his veins. “Thanks,” he said breathlessly. “What I said earlier, about you’re not being like the others...” Eddie paused. “Heather... She’s not your girlfriend, not really, is she? She’s just a friend. Right?” Billy swallowed. “What are you getting at?” Eddie looked out the window for a while, then he turned to look back at Billy. “You don’t really like girls. Not like that. I mean, I’m cool with it. It’s part of you, it’s who you are. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Billy could feel tears pooling in his eyes and he couldn’t help sniffling. “Hey, dude, pull over,” Eddie said, concerned. “It’s not safe to drive when you’re emotional. Your old man isn’t expecting you home any time soon, right? And Wayne goes to work early. He said I should be at home only by the time he gets home. Just...pull over. Please.” Billy did as Eddie asked. He couldn’t help but to let out a massive relieved breath.

His secret was out to the one person he wanted to tell for so long, but couldn’t find words how to.

Of course Eddie had already known.

Billy let out ugly sobs, and he could feel the mascara stinging his eyes when it washed away with the tears. Eddie placed a hand on his back, stroking it gently. “I...Ho—how di—did you know?” Billy stuttered when the sobs eased enough to allow him to speak. “I just could see it in you. Though you’re really good at hiding behind the facade you’ve built.” “But you saw through it,” Billy said quietly and glanced at Eddie, ashamed of his teary eyes and the mascara that was surely smudged all over his face. “Yeah. A while back, something changed, and ever since...the feeling just got stronger.” Eddie pulled his hand away and turned in his seat to face Billy. He fidgeted with the chain again, counting the links like a rosary. “Do you like me? I mean...not just as a friend. But more.” Billy squeezed his eyes shut, ready to fight another wave of ashamed tears. But the tears didn’t have time to fall before Eddie cupped Billy’s chin in his hand and leaned in for a kiss.

Billy could feel something warm and fuzzy swell in his chest. He was seen as who he was for the first time and that the one who saw him was Eddie.

And now Eddie was kissing him.

Billy set his palms on Eddie’s cheeks and pulled him in, deepening the kiss. Their position was awkward, the center console forcing a gap between them and the gear stick uncomfortably pushing against Billy’s side, but he didn’t care. Eddie’s lips on his were all he could think of.

Eddie pulled back a while later, and Billy leaned in to chase the lips he’d waited to kiss for so long. He opened his eyes with a sigh, with a sinking, horrified feeling that he’d done something wrong. Eddie looked confused. “I...I, uh,” he started. “I’m sorry.” Billy felt an ice cold chill running up his spine. “Don’t be,” he gasped desperately. “Never be,” he whispered. Eddie smiled a small smile before he pulled Billy into another kiss, this time into a hungry one. They were kissing sloppy passionate kisses, tongues lapping against each other, arms tightly wrapped around each other, hands trying to find a desperate grasp. “Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long, you have no idea,” Billy whispered into Eddie’s mouth. “Yeah, me too.” The words made Billy’s heart sing. Eddie wanted him too. With those three simple words, all the darkness of his life was washed away.

Billy climbed over the center console, trying to fit in to Eddie’s lap. “Fuck this crampy piece of shit,” he said, making Eddie laugh. “Should we get on the backseat?” “Do we fit in there any better?” Eddie asked and kissed Billy. “I guess not,” Billy chuckled. “What if we...” Eddie looked at Billy with his brown doe eyes. “Wayne doesn’t mind you coming over, you know that. We just have to be quiet until he leaves for work. Unless you really want to do anything in here. But...it would be nicer in bed. Don’t you think?” “You won’t change your mind by the time we get there?” Billy asked cautiously. Eddie smiled and shook his head. “No.” “Okay, hang on for twenty minutes. Ten if I step on it.” Eddie smirked. “Better get stepping on it then.”

When they arrived at the trailerpark, they sneaked into the trailer, taking their shoes off already outside. Eddie took Billy’s hand and lead them into his room in the darkness.

When Eddie closed the door behind them, Billy was all over him, curling his fingers into Eddie’s hair, pulling him close and kissing him like it was the last thing he had time left to do in this world. Eddie found the waistband of Billy’s jeans and pushed his hands under it, drawing a silent moan out of Billy as he squeezed Billy’s ass. “Fuck, your jeans are tight,” he let out, making Billy snort. “I better take them off then,” Billy said, pulling away and started to undress. Eddie pulled off his own shirt, revealing his heavily tattooed chest. Billy could never get tired of looking at the intricate details of Eddie’s tattoos. Seeing them now, though, was somehow different, like he saw them for the first time.

Everything was different now.

When they had undressed, they looked at each other and suddenly Billy felt naked. Not as in not-wearing-any-clothes, but seen. Eddie took a step towards Billy, and wrapped his arm around his waist, pulling them against each other.

Billy reached his hand up and traced the lines of the black rose tattoo on Eddie’s chest with his finger. It was on Eddie’s skin because he’d asked Billy what kind of tattoo he should get. Billy had told him to get a rose, just as a joke. When Eddie had showed him the tattoo, he’d almost choked. Not because it was a rose, he had no doubts about that, but because it was drawn as a wreath around the demon that was on Eddie’s left pec. Over his heart.

“You got that for me, didn’t you?” he asked whispering. “Of course I did. You told me to get a rose.” “No, I mean the location.” Eddie smiled shyly and leaned his forehead against Billy’s. “Yeah. You mean that much to me.” Billy blinked fast to keep the tears that pooled in his eyes from falling. Eddie leaned in, peppering Billy’s cheek with tiny pecks, moving towards his mouth. When he brushed his lips gently against Billy’s and finally kissed him, Billy could taste the salt of his own tears on them. "I’m a fucking sap,” Billy whispered. “You’re perfect,” Eddie replied, and kissed Billy again, this time pushing his tongue between Billy’s lips, and Billy let him in.

Eddie moved them against the bed, and Billy sat down, breaking the kiss only for the moment he pulled back further on the bed, reconnecting their mouths when they were both on it. He welcomed Eddie on him by opening his legs and allowing him to settle his hardness against his own, that was already throbbing painfully. “You’re beautiful,” Eddie whispered, and kissed Billy so gently that he could feel the tears prickling in his eyes again. “Even though the mascara is all over?” Billy asked quietly. “Especially because of that,” Eddie smiled, and kissed Billy again. The kisses were now slow and tender, and Billy could feel himself drowning in each one. Even if this would the only time he could feel Eddie’s skin on his, his lips against his, his hardness heavy against his...all of it would be tattooed in his heart for forever.

“Tell me how to do it,” Eddie whispered. “Do what?” “Have sex with you.” “Aren’t we already doing that?” “You know what I mean. That. Billy’s eyes widened. “You want to do that? Not just...” “Well, I thought you wanted that.” Billy was speechless. “I mean...” Eddie continued when Billy said nothing, “I wanna do it. But just if you’re cool with it.” When Billy didn’t reply but just kept staring at Eddie, he asked: “Are you cool with it? Because we don’t have to.” Billy could feel himself blush and a smile forced its way onto his face. “I’m cool with it.” It was Eddie’s turn to blush. “Uh... Do you know how to do it? And before you start laughing, I know what goes where. I just...if it’s that simple, I don’t know that.” “Well, yeah, I know how, but I...” Billy felt suddenly shy and awkward. Eddie was surely far more experienced than he was. “You’ve never done it?” Eddie asked. Billy looked away. “No,” he whispered. “I’ve never...” “It’s okay,” Eddie whispered directly into his ear. “Me neither.” When Billy turned to look back at Eddie, surprised, Eddie looked back at him, smiling. Billy couldn’t help chuckling a little. “I thought you had...” “Nah. Wanted to save myself for someone special.” Billy could feel his whole face burning and he chewed on his lip. “I think it has to be prepped. It hurts otherwise. I tried...you know, with fingers.” “Okay,” Eddie nodded. “Just tell me how.” “Lube. A lot.” “Coming right up,” Eddie said, and leaned up to his nightstand. He rummaged through the drawer for a while allowing Billy to admire his naked body and tattoos.

Billy still couldn’t believe he was here, Eddie between his legs, ready to actually have sex with him. He had hoped for making out at best but instead, they were doing this. It was a dream come true, and Billy was so turned on that he was afraid that he’d come already when Eddie put the first finger in. When Eddie found the lube, he got up and squeezed the lube to his hand generously and laid on his side next to Billy. They kissed again as Eddie let his slick fingers wander down to Billy’s abdomen, brushing gently the trail of curls leading down to his crotch, and stroking the skin around Billy’s cock. Billy could feel the coldness of the lube raising his skin on goosebumps. “Go ahead,” he whispered, and opened his legs wider. Eddie brushed the sensitive area around Billy’s hole with his fingertips and gently pushed his index finger in. He stopped immediately when he saw Billy grimacing. “Don’t stop,” Billy said breathlessly. “I just need a moment.” “We’re not in a rush,” Eddie said, and kissed Billy. He continued pushing his finger further only when he felt him relax around it. “I’m not a girl who you need to sweet-talk to get her to let you fuck her,” Billy sighed. “I’m already here.” “No, you’re not a girl and yes, you’re willing alright. But you deserve to be sugarcoated a bit,” Eddie grinned. “Fuck you,” Billy said, blushing. “Planning on fucking you,” Eddie couldn’t help quipping, making Billy’s blush deepen.

They kissed the whole time Eddie opened Billy slowly. “I’m three fingers in. Do you think it’s enough?” Eddie asked. “Eddie, I haven’t had sex before. I don’t know,” Billy said, ashamed. “Okay, but...” “Let’s try. If it hurts too much, then...” “But I don’t want to hurt you. At all. I want you to like it.” “Eddie,” Billy said, pulling Eddie into yet another kiss, “just get the fucking lube and a rubber before I change my mind.” Eddie reached for the nightstand and rummaged through the drawer again, this time pulling out a condom. He put it on and lubed it. “How do you want it? I mean, I know we can do it in a few ways...” “I want to see your face,” Billy whispered. Eddie leaned on his other arm and positioned himself at Billy’s entrance. “Tell me if it hurts at all, okay?” Billy nodded and winced immediately when Eddie pushed himself in. “Hey, Billy, relax. I just barely got the tip in.” “You’re fucking big then,” Billy said and looked up at the ceiling, gritting his teeth. Eddie looked at Billy, chewing his cheek. “Are you sure you want to try this? Because, honestly, we don’t have to...” Billy was silent for a while, trying to relax. “Yeah. Let’s just get this over with.” “No, Billy. I want you to really like it. I really do.” Billy looked at Eddie and his soft gaze. “Go super slow. Okay?” “Yeah. Wouldn’t dream of anything else,” Eddie whispered, and kissed Billy again, thrusting further and stopping. “You okay still?” Billy closed his eyes tight, furrowing his brow, but after a while he let out the breath he’d been holding, opened his eyes and nodded. Eddie pushed further, bit by bit, again and again stopping and making sure Billy was okay. When he bottomed, he couldn’t help gasping. “Oh god, you’re so tight.” “I’m so fucking full,” Billy replied, still wincing. He wrapped his legs around Eddie and looked at him. “Go slow.”

Eddie was slow. Achingly so. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Billy. I don’t know why I never saw it before,” he whispered as he tentatively picked up the pace a bit. “Still sugarcoating me even though you’re already in,” Billy gasped. “Nah, not coating, just stating facts.” “Fuck you, Muns...” Billy’s sentence was cut short as he grabbed the sheet with both hands, his eyes wide open and his mouth opened into a silent gasp when Eddie brushed against his prostate properly for the first time. Eddie smiled, surprised, and repeated the movement. Billy moaned. “Shh, quiet,” Eddie chuckled. “You’ll wake up Wayne.” “Oh god, please do that again,” Billy begged. Eddie obeyed, thrusting in and pulling back just a little, keeping the friction on the sweet spot that made Billy writhe under him. “Does it still hurt?” “No...Eddie, I’m...I’m coming soon,” Billy gasped. “Yeah, come for me,” Eddie said breathlessly and started thrusting, carefully picking up the pace. It didn’t take many thrusts before Billy could feel the orgasm being released inside him. He wrapped his arms tightly around Eddie, who was now breathing heavily, chasing his own release. They kissed, and that made Billy spill his orgasm between them while groaning in Eddie’s mouth. Eddie followed him a moment later. They were breathing hard, still riding the high, Eddie resting his head on Billy’s shoulder. “Was it good?” Eddie asked. “Better.” “Yeah, for me too,” Eddie whispered into Billy’s ear and gave a peck on his cheek before he pulled out carefully. He helped Billy clean a bit, then he fell back on the bed.

They looked at each other, and Billy turned on his side, tracing a tattoo on Eddie’s ribs with his finger. It was the grim reaper, and Billy had always thought that it was, well, grim. “Why do you have this tattoo?” “The reaper?” “Yeah.” “To remind me I’m not immortal. He could wait behind any corner, and there’s no running away from him. Sooner or later, everyone will meet him face to face. So I want to live my life as full as I can before I meet him.” Eddie stretched his arm above Billy’s head on the pillows. “Come’ere.” Billy snuggled under the arm, his head resting on Eddie’s chest, sighing contently as Eddie wrapped it around his shoulders. “It’s why I’m here with you,” Eddie continued, laying a kiss on Billy’s head. Billy couldn’t believe what had just happened was real. “Was it really your first time?” he whispered. “Uh-huh,” Eddie replied sleepily. “I’m glad it was you and no one else.” “I’m glad you were my first too.”

In the morning, Billy woke up to the sound of something breaking and curses that followed it. The ceiling was lit red by the sun that shined through the red and black curtain that covered the window. He recognised the room immediately. Because the curtain was actually a Dio flag. He’d slept countless nights in this room and passed out on the bed he was laying in at least as many - but never like this.

He turned on his stomach and pressed his face against the pillow to inhale Eddie’s scent. Butterflies filled his stomach, and he couldn’t help chuckling a bit. He’d kissed Eddie. They’d had sex last night. Eddie had wanted him the way he wanted him.

He got up and grimaced immediately when he was reminded of what they’d done the night before. Of course everything would hurt afterwards. He should’ve known that. He pulled his jeans up carefully one leg at a time and headed for the bathroom.

When Eddie heard him coming out of the room, he peeked from the kitchen nook, grinning. “Hey.” Billy could feel his cheeks heating. “Hi,” he replied shyly. “I, uh, made some breakfast.” “You? Made breakfast?” Billy asked slowly, in disbelief. “Just leave it raw rather that burn it, okay? And leave at least one plate intact, please.” “Asshole,” Eddie muttered, but loud enough for Billy to hear that the tone was affectionate. Billy laughed - and winced. It would take some time for him to get used to the soreness, even though the reason was so worth it.

When Billy finally came back to the kitchen, Eddie was already eating. When he saw Billy, he beamed. “I made scrambled eggs. Only one plate was harmed in the process, but unfortunately, all the eggs were butchered in the raid. The ones that were left, I mean.” “You hardly can serve cereal to a bowl for yourself, so I’d say this is an achievement unlocked,” Billy grinned. “Hey!” Eddie retorted mid-chew. “I can still make your eggs vanish in the same place where the other eggs ended up if you’re not careful,” he continued, pointing his fork at Billy. Billy chuckled, lifting his hands in the air in a placative gesture and sat down, grimacing. Eddie looked at him, concerned. “Are you okay?” Billy took the fork meant for him and shoved it into the eggs. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’m just a bit sore, that’s all.” Eddie’s eyes widened. “Oh. Right.” He swallowed the rest of the eggs he’d been chewing. “I never thought of that.” He shuffled the eggs he had left on the plate and whispered: “I’m sorry.” Billy stiffened and raised his gaze to Eddie. “For what?” “Hurting you. I said I didn’t want to do that, and I did.” Billy looked at Eddie with a lopsided grin. “You also made me feel really fucking good. I don’t mind if this is the price.” Eddie blushed and looked down at his plate bashfully. “I’m glad that you liked it. I liked it too.” Billy was floating in the air. “What happens now?” he asked cautiously. “What do you mean?” Eddie asked. Billy looked at his plate. “What are we now?” “We’re best friends, right?” Billy frowned. “Yeah, sure.” “Does that have to change?”

Billy could feel his stomach sink and he lost all his appetite. He tried to find words for his astonishment for a while. “Is that it? Just friends?” he asked, hoping that he sounded less desperate than he felt. “Even though what we did last night?” Eddie stared at his plate and chewed his cheek. “Billy... I liked what we did. But...” He paused and dropped his fork on his plate. “I don’t know how to feel about... about being with a guy. In a relationship.”

Billy stared at his plate. He knew he should feel something, but he just felt numb. Because this was what always happened to him. Life gave him a taste of something good. Made him think he was worth something and then slapped him in the face just like his old man. With vengeance.

Without a word, he got up and headed towards the door. “Billy! Don’t go, please,” Eddie said, and tried to grab Billy’s arm to stop him. ”It’s not that I don’t want to be with you…”

Billy whipped around and shouted: “Don’t!” Seeing Eddie flinch made Billy deflate and he could feel the bitter tears of disappointment in his eyes. “Don’t bother,” he said with a quivering voice and left.

#billy hargrove #eddie munson #mungrove #mungroveweek2023 #pining #fluff #lemons #angst #mungrove fic #suometar writes #let me be the one

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