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confessedlyfannish · 7 months

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DP x DC Writing Prompt #5

Damian does not glance back at Bruce when he knocks on the door. Instead they both wait in silence.

After a moment, the door opens.

"Hello," Jasmine, Jazz, Fenton greets politely, unsurprised to find the Waynes on her doorstep. Damian's expression grows ever darker at this revelation.

"Hello Ms. Fenton, are your parents home?" Bruce asks, placing a firm hand on Damian's shoulder, to ground as much as to restrain. To his credit he does not shake it off.

"No, they're out of town for a conference," the eighteen year-old says, opening the door wider. "But I think you'd better come in."

Bruce would normally decline, but Ms. Fenton is a legal adult and he has already, even unknowingly, waited 16 years. Damian makes the choice for him, striding past the threshold.

"Please take a seat," Jazz says as she leads them to the living room. She ignores Damian's swinging head as he takes in the home. It is deceptively large, a 90s style house filled with modern furniture. The walls are bright, with purple and green accents that would normally feel garish but somehow work. The stairs leading to the second floor are lined with family photos that Bruce yearns to take a closer look at. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?"

"No, that's alright, thank you," Bruce says, taking a seat on the long plush couch. A men's windbreaker lies haphazardly thrown across one of the arms. A closed container of Oreo cookies sit on the coffee table next to a physics textbook open to chapter 16, half covered in highlighter and filled with sticky notes. There's a child's painting framed next to the tv, a handprint made to look like a thanksgiving turkey in bright blue.

For the home of experimental scientists, it is cozy and well lived-in.

Damian repeatedly glances at the stairs through the doorway.

Bruce clears his throat. "We were hoping to--"

"I've texted--oh, I'm sorry," Jazz says, having spoken at the same time. Bruce gestures for her to go on.

"I've contacted Danny, he should be here soon. He was out with some friends." Jazz explains. As she hadn't pulled out a phone in their presence, Bruce can only deduce they have some sort of camera at their front door. This also explains Ms. Fenton's complete lack of surprise at their appearance.

"So you know who we are." Damian says, the first words he's spoken since they arrived at the house and the longest sentence he's spoken since they arrived in Amity Park.

"I do," Jazz says, calm in the face of Damian's clearly simmering anger. Bruce trusts him not to attack Ms. Fenton, but he still watches him carefully.

"He told you about me," Damian says. It is the same question, but it is also not.

"He did," Jazz says.

Damian swallows. "I see," he grits out.

Jazz's neutrality slips and her face softens in sympathy. "Damian," she starts hesitantly, but before she can say anything else the front door opens.

A moment later Bruce's son walks through the doorway, and Damian is on him.

This is what Bruce hoped to prevent, but despite his numerous checks of Damian's luggage his son has still managed to smuggle a small dagger, which he now produces and swings in a calculated arc at Daniel Fenton's jugular.

Danny dodges cleanly, and dodges every swipe thereafter in a manner that speaks to continued practice long after his time at the League. Damian is a perfect product of his training, but it is up against Danny his flaws come to light. He is just as good as he always was, but Danny is better.

In a matter of seconds Damian grows frustrated and sloppy in his attacks, completely atypical for him. Danny takes Damian out at the knees and pins him down with one arm, pressing his face into the carpet.

"Calm down," he orders. His voice is deeper than Damian's at sixteen to his twelve, the accent that still traces Damian's words completely gone from his speech. Damian growls and thrusts his head back into Danny's face, meeting it with a sharp thunk. He rolls up as Danny recoils, putting distance between them. Danny glares at him from several steps away, hand to his forehead. Damian tosses the dagger into his other hand as he charges, and to Bruce's surprise Danny does nothing more than turn his face to the side, allowing Damian to draw a sharp line down his cheek.

Damian stops dead in his tracks.

"Are you done?" Danny asks, blood beginning to pool at the seam of the cut.

Damian's expression is stricken, eyes stuck on the blood starting to drip down his brother's face.

"I said, are you done, Damian?" Danny asks. His voice is cold.

Damian hears him this time, and he flushes red. "I--you--"

Danny sighs. He looks at Jazz, whose expression is back to carefully controlled.

"Are you alright?" he asks her. She nods.

"You left me," Damian accuses, standing there holding his bloody dagger limply.

Danny turns back to him, raising an eyebrow.

"You left me," Damian repeats louder, rapidly blinking.

"Yes. I did." Danny provides no excuse nor any explanation. His stance is unyielding.

Damian's eyes bounce wildly, shifting to Jazz and Danny slides smoothly in front of her, protectively. He looks at Damian warily, not as if he is his brother, but as if he is a danger. Damian flinches.

Hope is the last to die, Bruce thinks, watching as that last bit of hope Damian had is extinguished, the knowledge working its way through every inch of his body like ice in his veins. His eyes darken. He turns and runs from the room, the front door slamming shut not a moment later.

Jazz stands up, pulling a few tissues from the box on the coffee table. She presses them to Danny's face, cupping his cheek until he holds it himself. "I'm going to go get the first aid kit," she says gently. It is a thinly veiled excuse to leave them alone, and Bruce is grateful for it as she heads for the stairs.

They both wait until her footsteps have faded, taking each other in. Bruce looks at his mother's eyes and the sharp turn of Talia's nose. Damian's everything, four years older.

"You shouldn't have come here," Danny says, throwing himself on the armchair Jazz has just vacated.

"You know who I am," Bruce says carefully.

Danny glares. "I've kept your secret. She nor my parents know."

"I know," Bruce says. "That's not what I meant. You know who I am. And who I pretend to be. So you know I am familiar with masks."

"And?" Danny asks, looking vaguely bored.

"And so I can recognize when someone is wearing one. Damian will too, once he's calmed down."

Danny's expression sharpens. "No, he won't. Because you are going to go to back to whatever bed and breakfast you're staying in, pack up, hop in your private jet and fly him back to Gotham immediately before the League realizes you've gone. If they haven't already," he mutters.

"This is about the League then," Bruce says. "Do you not believe I can protect you?"

"I don't need your protection," Danny snaps, and watches Bruce actively extrapolate with a dawning resignation. "So this is the World's Greatest Detective at work," he says, slumping bonelessly into his chair, the first teenager-y thing he's done.

"Damian's in danger from the League," Bruce says. Danny glares from his slump. It's almost cute. "And as long as the League doesn't know about you, he's safe."

"Draw your own conclusions," Danny says, baring his teeth. Damian often makes the same face. "As long as you leave."

"I can protect him. I can protect you both," Bruce says. "Let me help you."

Danny closes his eyes. He centers his breathing in an exercise someone has clearly walked him through in the past. Bruce would bet money on the adoptive sister waiting patiently upstairs.

"Mr. Wayne. You are not my father," he says. "My trust in you extends to the point that I left Damian in your care, but that is where it ends. And that was when it was sanctioned by the League. By coming here you have endangered those sanctions."

Bruce disregards the sting, doubling down on his analysis. Talia had left Damian with Bruce well after Danny had left the League. But Danny speaks as if the decision had been his.

Or perhaps, Bruce realizes, it is not that Danny decided upon it, but that Danny allowed it to continue.

Bruce takes a second to review what Oracle had gone over with him before they left for Amity. Daniel Fenton had by all accounts, since leaving the League, lived a fairly normal life. His adoptive parents were eccentric scientists dabbling in the occult but their findings that bordered pseudoscience circulated a very niche community of like-minded eccentrics. The bulk of their income came from alternative energy, a more viable source of study that they'd veered harder into in the past year or so, a government contract with the EPA currently in the works. This had in part funded a vacation to an all-inclusive resort the family had taken that past summer.

Danny received average grades in school, above average in science and mathematics, declining sharply in his freshman year and sophomore year before evening out around the second semester. He had gotten into fights repeatedly with one student in particular, suspended for two weeks following an incident that resulted in a the student receiving a black eye. Teachers reported him to be highly intelligent but distracted and removed. They had recommended he be evaluated for an attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder. He had no social media. He had missed multiple picture days. The ones he had attended he was sneezing, or a blur of movement, even going so far as to fall off his stool, legs flailing. Bruce had drank up every last one as Barbara had waited patiently.

A normal life. A family vacation to Bermuda. Average grades.

His freshman year, distracted and removed. The same year Damian had arrived at Bruce's home. Masks upon masks.

"You have informants within the League," Bruce says. Danny, to his credit, has no discernible tell. But there is no other explanation. "What will you do, if they find out you are alive?"

"That is none of your concern," Danny says, but he might as well be saying whatever I have to.

He never stopped practicing, after all.

"If they go after Damian, it is my concern."

"And that is why you need to take Damian back to Gotham before they do." Danny says. "I will take care of it."

Damian had barely spoken since he had realized Danyal was alive. But Bruce had seen the reverence in his eyes as he looked at the file.

"الوريث الصحيح" he had murmured. The rightful heir.

"You are proposing going after the entirety of the League with no backup," Bruce says. "Even if you think they won't kill you, you won't win either."

"Maybe they will," Danny says lightly. "Kill me. That would also work."

Bruce inhales sharply. "Danny," he starts.

"Go home, Mr. Wayne," Danny says, pushing himself up with one hand. The other still clutches the wad of tissue to his cheek, partially soaked with blood. "Go take care of your son."

"I'll go," Bruce says, "I'll take him to the Watchtower. And then I'll come back."

"Mr. Wayne-"

"I should've come for you," Bruce interrupts. "Sixteen years ago. I should've come for you."

Danny's brow furrows. "You had no idea I existed."

"But if I had. I would've come. I never would've left you there. And now that I know, I am not leaving you now."

For the first time Bruce watches Danny be completely caught off guard. He openly gapes at Bruce.

"You would've died," Danny lands on, voice thin. "They would've killed you."

"Unlike you, I would've brought backup." Bruce says, mimicking Danny's lightness.

He's lying. Sixteen years ago he would've thrown himself at the League to save his newborn son without a plan, without a thought beyond rescuing his baby.

Danny barks out a laugh. "You would've laid siege to Nanda Parbat with The Big Blue Boy Scout?" he looks wistful. "That would've been rad."

Bruce sees his opening. "Danny," he stands, eye to eye with his son. "Let me help you."

Danny evaluates him. "The Batman," he says softly. "I didn't want you to come, then. I didn't need one more person I had to prove myself to. All I wanted was to live amongst the stars, in the quiet of the cosmos."

"You want to be an astronaut," Bruce says. At Danny's cocked head, he says without shame, "I read your essay on personal heroes. You wrote about Edward White. Ad Astra Per Aspera."

Danny smiles slightly, sadly. "It is a rough road."

"You can be whatever you want to be," Bruce says. "I won't stand in your way."

"Even if I want to be Danny Fenton?" he asks.

"Even then."

Danny sighs. "I don't need your help Bruce," he says. "No," he says as Bruce opens his mouth. He pulls the wad of tissues away from his cheek. Underneath the splotches of dried blood the gash in his face has cleanly knit itself together, a faint white line now all that remains.

"I don't need your help," he says clearly. He holds a palm forward, and a green fire grows from its center, until the flames are licking delicately up his fingers.

"I know The Batman does not kill. But I am not a Robin. I am something else entirely," Danny says, his eyes reflecting the green of the flames. Or not, as he looks up at Bruce, his eyes green all on their own. They are sad. This is why he stayed away, Bruce realizes. Not out of fear. Danny is not afraid. Danny is tired.

But for his brother, Danny will wake up.

"And If the League takes one step towards Damian, I will raze them to the ground."

#Danny I AM RETIRED FROM MURDER Fenton #the informants are ghosts #the thing about deductive reasoning is sometimes you deduct incorrectly #particularly when you don't know about the ghosts #danyal al ghul #damian wayne #danny phantom #batman #dp x dc au #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #dp x dc prompt #bruce wayne #this is an au where damian doesn't get blown up and lose most of his vital organs #like bruce still isn't a super responsible parent but no nine year olds blow up so that's something #danny: he only blew up once so he can stay with you #batman: he did get speared straight through but we fixed it #danny: he wHAT #i wrote this instead of eating dinner #because drafts are for the mentally healthy #tbh i don't think his name would be danyal al ghul in this one #he's trying really hard to stay under the radar I don't think he would choose essentially a homonym

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zoe-oneesama · 7 months

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They almost had her, all on their own, yoooooou-!

Episode 48 Part 13 First < Previous > Next Season 1, Season 2, Season 3, Season 4, Season 5 Ep 41, Ep 42, Ep 43, Ep 44 Ep 45, Ep 46, Ep 47

Ko-fi | Patreon

#wasted all their effort unbelievable #wait I wrote her that way-#scarlet lady #scarlet lady au #scarlet lady comic #frightningale #clara #clara nightingale #episode 48 part 13

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stevebabey · 4 months

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have sum steddie! maybe modern!au, no upside down!au & a meet cute <3

Steve sits in the booth, his foot tapping away mindlessly under the table, with half a mind to abandon the table entirely.

In fact, the only reason he hadn’t yet was because of the $20 he was hanging out for at the end. And the bragging rights, of course.

Robin had set him up on this blind date, plied him with all the promises in the world that he would enjoy it — said she’d spent a decent amount of time hunting for the right first gay date for Steve.

She also conceded that if he, for whatever reason, didn’t enjoy it, she would cough up 20 whole bucks for his wasted time. But he had to actually see the date through for the prize to be claimed.

And the bragging rights were so that Robin — with her uppity, healthy, and happy relationship that Steve was only a little bit envious of — could ease onto the breaks when it came to Steve’s love life.

So it was looking a little bleak at the moment, so what? Every stallion or… lion or whatever had their moments, right? Moments where their mane is a little uncouth and food is low and…. Where was he going with this?

The point was, that Robin got into one relationship and suddenly decided she was fit to become a high and mighty matchmaker. Never mind that Steve had reminded her numerous times that he had dated a lot more than she had.

So, for 20 bucks and the right to stick his tongue out at his best friend when she tried to meddle, Steve could stick one night out.

Besides, she was right about one thing. They weren’t in Hawkins anymore — and San Francisco had a hell of a larger dating pool than his hometown.

Still, that didn’t make people anymore for prompt for dates though, apparently. Steve’s foot taps incessantly under the table, his knee bouncing up and down in his nerves. He runs a hand through his hair and checks his watch again.

7 o’clock, Harvey’s Diner, a cute little Italian place that Steve had begun to frequent since they moved to the city, and a date with a dude called Daniel whom Steve had no idea what he looked like.

This was his Friday night plans.

His watch reads 7:12pm and Steve sighs, his fingers beginning to fiddle with the strap of his watch just for something to do. Great. He had gotten all dressed up for this? To be stood up? How was this any better than his usual Friday night plans that Robin claimed were so pathe—

“Hi.”

Someone sits down in the booth across from Steve, landing with a thump loud enough to give him a fright.

Steve’s head whips up from its focus on fiddling with his watch and— woah. Steve blinks once, twice, and feels his jaw unhinge a little, his lips parting an inch as he gazes at the stranger across from him.

Holy shit, this dude was hot.

He’s got curls for days, dark chocolate ringlets all messy and unkept spilling over his shoulders— long and probably perfect for burying your hands into. Steve flushes a little at the unexpected thought.

He has beautiful brown eyes, widened with a smudge of eyeliner and framed with long lashes. Steve thinks he can spy a smattering of freckles across his forehead. His nose is long and his lips are plush and pink and holy shit, this dude was pretty.

“Oh— hi.” Steve manages to remember his manners. Only after he fully checked this dude out, of course.

God, couldn’t Robin have given him a better warning than just ‘he’s probably your type’? Couldn’t she have warned him that this dude was ‘do-a-double-take-on-the-street type hot?’ What the fuck Robin?

The man across from him grins, wicked and alluring all at once, and shucks off his heavy leather jacket. His eyes do a once-over on Steve, taking his time to check him out— which is great because Steve is stuck on all the glorious tattoos that have just been revealed. So much skin shown in his roughly chopped muscle-tee, swirling ink all down his arms. This dude is hot.

Silently, Steve curses Robin and the 20 dollars that is totally slipping away from him. Why did she have to be right all the time?

“Been waiting long?” The man, Daniel, asks as he makes himself comfortable across the table. He pushes his hair back with both hands, using one hand to gather it into a ponytail, holding it up to air out his neck and Steve now realises he is slightly puffed.

He must’ve run part of the way here, to avoid being later than he was. Steve can’t help but be slightly endeared by that fact.

The man grins again, “Promise I was trying to be on time but, you know how the subway is.”

Steve huffs out a laugh, any annoyance at being kept waiting melting away at his date’s sincerity.

“Not too long,” Steve admits, smiling to ease Daniel’s apparent concern. Across the table, Daniel slumps a little and releases his hair, his curls pooling back around his shoulders. Steve watches, entranced.

“Well, that’s good,” Daniel smiles, eyes bright like he really means it, and his hand darts out to steal the drinks menu from the edge of the table. He looks back over to Steve, a furrow in his brows. “You didn’t order anything?”

“I thought I should wait,” Steve says with a shrug. No point paying for food if your date never shows up.

Daniel looks up from the menu through his lashes and smiles, placing his elbow on the table and dropping his chin in the palm of his hand. “Aw, you’re sweet.”

Steve is a little embarrassed by how easily the compliment makes him blush, feeling his cheeks glow lightly. Across the table, Daniel seems to revel in it, drinking in the way Steve’s face filled with colour with a cheeky smile. His eyes flick back down to the menu.

“You know,” Daniel begins, keeping his eyes on the menu, scanning it with a hum. “Chrissy said you were good looking but I think she seriously undersold you.”

He takes his eyes off the menu to trail up Steve’s body, his gaze heavy. Steve feels a delighted zing go up his spine, feels the way he preens at Daniel’s attraction. Steve opens his mouth to respond, more than ready to return the flirt when—

“Can I get you two started with anything?”

The waitress interrupts. She’s poised with her notepad, standing at the edge of the booth. Daniel perks up and nods.

“Can I get a chocolate milkshake please?” He asks with a polite smile. Steve laughs lightly at his selection and Daniel’s gaze cuts from the waitress to Steve.

“What? Not a milkshake man?”

Steve tries to contain his grin, all too endeared by the man before him. He shakes his head and raises his hand in defense. “Nothing against milkshakes just… for dinner?”

Daniel gasps theatrically and his head snaps back to the waitress. “This man has never had the delight of a Harvey’s milkshake with his dinner. Please bring us two chocolate milkshakes!”

Steve watches as the waitress dutifully writes down the order and turns on her heel, heading for the kitchen. He turns back to his date and gapes, taken aback by the forwardness.

“Did you just order for me?”

“Did you just diss milkshakes?”

Steve scoffs, but even then he can’t stop his lips from curling up into a smile. He can’t believe it but he’s genuinely glad he waited this date out. It's not at all like he was expecting. Even Robin's short description of this dude pales in comparison to the real thing. Steve nudges his foot forward into Daniel’s shin lightly.

“I did not diss milkshakes,” Steve argues, his smile widening at how Daniel’s eyes dart to the table before back up at Steve with a grin.

“Uh huh,” Daniel nods, his voice sarcastic and 100% unbelieving of Steve’s insistence. “Just wait, okay? You’ll be changing your tune soon enough. Harvey’s milkshakes are class. I’ve had a thousand of my best ideas in here, sipping on a chocolate milkshake.”

Steve grins and leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. Under the table, he feels Daniel’s boot nudge against his leg gently— and he laughs to himself. This has gotta be the most teenage way of flirting and he’s fucking loving it.

“You know,” Steve begins hesitantly, letting his forearms lean up against the table. “You’re not quite what I expected, Daniel.”

Across the table, Daniel scrunches up his face, his expression one of pure befuddlement. He puts his hands flat on the table and leans forward.

“Wait, you think my name is Daniel?”

Steve splutters for a moment because even though the answer is duh, yes, it’s become increasingly apparent that the man across from him is not who he was expecting. But if he’s not Daniel, who is he?

Suddenly, the door chimes and someone else is entering the diner. It’s a man dressed like Steve — on the preppy side with hair that must’ve taken at least an hour. He scans the booth and spots Steve’s booth, wandering over, his eyes fixed on the man across from Steve.

“Hey, are you Eddie?” He asks confidently, ignoring Steve’s presence on the other side of the booth.

The man — Eddie — freezes as he glances up at the newcomer and then back down to Steve ahead of him. Steve deflates a little inside as he realises abruptly what’s happened— a mix-up of wrong dates that was completely warranted because this dude dresses exactly like Steve. Steve doesn't stare too long to see if he's any hotter.

Instead, he tries to give Eddie the all-clear with his eyes. He smiles polite as he can and gives a little nod to let him know it was alright to abandon him for the date he was supposed to go on. Not to get stuck with Steve.

Eddie clears his throat and smiles, not cheeky like he had with Steve, but stiff and polite. “Ah sorry man, I think you’ve got the wrong guy. My name's Daniel.”

Huh? Steve takes his eyes off the table to steal a glimpse at Eddie (is his name even Eddie?) and something inside him burns hotly when the man glances across at Steve and winks.

The man standing by the booth wavers for a moment, glancing between them in the booth as Steve schools his expression to neutral. After a moment of silence, there's a half-assed apology as the man retreats, heading back out the door he had just come through. The door chimes again on his way out.

Steve straightens up and peers over his shoulder, watching the door slowly swing shut. He turns back to the man across the booth and squints at him. The waitress returns briefly, dropping two large chocolate shakes onto the table, topped with a mountain of cream. She murmurs something about coming back to take their order in a moment.

"Wait, so who are you?" Steve asks, gently sliding his shake closer to him. "Daniel or Eddie?"

His date —well, his new date— has already begun taking a big long sip from his own milkshake, so enamored with it that when he pulls away there's a dot of cream on the end of his nose. He swallows with a satisfied ah and grins across the table at Steve, not noticing the dairy on his face.

"I'm whoever gets me talking with you a little bit longer."

Steve grins, an endeared roll of his eye at the blatant flirting but he can't deny how it makes his chest warm. He grabs one of the napkins and reaches forward, adoring how Eddie goes cross-eyed as he watches Steve smudge away the cream on his nose. He laughs sheepishly, giving his nose a little wipe with his own hand.

"I'm Eddie." He says, finally introducing himself. He doesn't offer his hand, just gives Steve a little nudge under the table and a grin over his milkshake. "And I think you just saved me from a terrible date."

Steve laughs, giving a little shake of his head. He finally goes in for a sip of his own milkshake— and it's just as heavenly as Eddie had promised, glorious chocolate dancing over his taste buds.

Steve groans quietly, eyes bright when he glances at the other man over his glass, entirely amused by how wide-eyed Eddie has become. He releases the straw and sits back, more invested in this date than he has been in... years. Stallion's got its mojo back. Or lion. Whatever.

"I'm Steve," He responds, giving a little nudge back under the table and a grin of his own. "And I think you saved me from being stood up."

#what..... is this????#i haven't really written modern au for them #and i wrote it in about 2 hours so hopefully its like. not terrible #wahoo !#i luv a little meet cute #meet cute #steddie #ruby writes steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie blurb #ummmm i haven't posted in literal eons ive forgotten all my tags oh well #enjoy ?

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lepitorus · 6 months

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here's some diagrams of my springbonnie/springtrap design because people seem to like it a lot! : D

#my art #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #springtrap #william afton #spring bonnie #yellow rabbit #hi esther i'm gonna steal your fnaf au naming conventions and tag this as #lepverse #zero idea if the notes i wrote on these are visible/readable but that's just how it is sometimes #long post #sorta #sorry!

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ryssbelle · 27 days

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Brozone reunion concepts for this little thing based on this ask

As stated in the ask idk fully how this moment would go, this concept was mostly building off the premise presented within the ask :D

Bonus:

#my art #trolls #dreamworks trolls #trolls 3 #trolls au #n2 au #trolls john dory #trolls clay #trolls poppy #trolls branch #trolls bruce #trolls floyd #brozone #look at them so silly #in the original script i had accidentally wrote John calling Bruce by his preferred name and i was like #he dont know it yet smh #and had to change it back to spruce #which is where the line 'its bruce but imma let it slide'#comes from #i dont think John in the movie and within this purposefully misnames him #i think its just like a force of habit #and its just harder for him to realize hes saying it wrong until hes corrected #cuz you see he doesnt really get mad when corrected he just gets confused the first time #and then just keeps forgetting after #which i think also was from his mindset of #'im the oldest im not allowed to change' so its like #his brains blocking out the change of spruce to bruce #this is unrelated to the comic as a whole it was just the on the spot thoughts i had while typing #but yeah #itd be a touching reunion for sure!

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aziraphale-is-a-cat · 7 months

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DPXDC Watch Out, He Bites

Danny did his best to be the best big brother possible, he helped his little brother learn and train to be the best, even if he knew what it meant. He protected Damian through thick and thin, and as he stared down at the corpse of his grandfather's enforcer in the sand he knew he'd just signed his own death warrant.

Danny had seen it coming for a while, even as the oldest son he'd never been what grandfather had expected of him, too soft and moral. He suspected that was why mother had Damian in the first place, to replace him as heir- and he never held it against his little brother. But stepping in the way of Grandfather's punishment for Damian would not go unnoticed, this would be the last way he would protect his little brother for a very long time.

Daniel turned to Damian, tears coming to his eyes as he wipes the blood and viscera off his hands and out from under his nails. "I can't stay." He saw his little brother's hands ball up as he started to shake. "I'm sorry, if you ever need a place to hide, then come find me."

Years later, Damian struggles to find purpose after the death of his father, and rather than be Robin to Dick's Batman he goes on a cross country road trip to find his big brother who would do anything to protect him.

But when Bruce comes back from being stuck in the time stream, Damian introduces him to his eldest son. They get along fine at first, but then some goon tries to kidnap Damian Wayne for the ransom money, and Danny gets there first.

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qcomicsy · 1 year

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Batfamily time travel encounter but it's just a nice timeline.

Jason Todd: So who got to be Batman and fucked up everything because they got evil?

26 year old Damian Wayne: Nobody??? What the fuck?

Steph: So you telling us... There's no evil Batman? No one died?

Duke: Or got evil?

Dick: Or went rogue?

Steph: Or like I don't know- Like- There's like no ass to us to kick? To I don't know- fix up the time line?? No one to *gestures cutting a throat*

Jason: Not even Tim?

Tim: Okay fuck you-

Jason: sOMEONE HAD TO ASK-

26 year old Damian: No. No. No. No. And absolutely not. No one is going to kill Timothy, he's the best at what he does.

Tim, whispering: ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵘᶜᵏ

#nicefuture!Au #batfam #batfamily shenaningans #batfamily #damian wayne #future!damian au #damian al ghul #timothy drake #jason todd #stephanie brown #duke thomas #dick grayson #tim drake #idk why i wroted his full government name lmao 😭😭

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solarmorrigan · 3 months

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I'm late, I'm sorry, but here's the full fic from this WIP post yesterday!

[CW: bullying, references to canon racism and violence, mentions of recreational drug use]

Steve makes it to the bathroom down the hall from the shop classroom—the one that’s far from the cafeteria and always empty during lunch, where people really only come to smoke, anyway—before he completely loses his shit.

“Son of a bitch!” He’s almost screaming as he hauls off and punches the wall of one of the bathroom stalls, putting every ounce of anger and frustration and humiliation into it, hitting it so hard that the whole construction rattles.

“Motherfucker,” he hisses, shaking his hand out, because it had hurt, and then he winds up to do it again, to make it hurt more, because at least he’s in control of that much, at least it’s anything but what he’s feeling right now.

“That’s a good way to break your hand, y’know,” a voice comes from the doorway, startling Steve into pivoting and aiming his fist at whoever is coming after him now.

He stops short when he sees nobody but Eddie goddamn Munson standing there, cringing into a startled flinch to protect his head as Steve nearly swings at him.

“Jesus shit,” Steve barks, dropping his fist and stepping back, shaky with adrenaline. “You walk like a fucking ghost, Munson.”

Munson peeks out of his defensive crouch before straightening up and sending a meaningful glance at the stall wall. “Somehow, I don’t think you would’ve heard me even if I was making all the noise in the world.”

Steve shrugs, his shoulders staying up near his ears in a defensive slouch. He can feel something dropping out of his hair and down the side of his face, and he feels the humiliation all over again as he tries to swipe it away.

“What do you want?” he asks, beyond caring if he sounds rude; he thinks he’s entitled, considering.

This time, Munson shrugs, a rolling, casual thing that belies the sharp look in his eyes. “Came to see if you were okay, I guess.”

Steve snorts. Is he okay?

Like, in the grand scheme of things, the answer is a really shaky “maybe.” But lately? It’s more of a resounding “no, not fucking really.”

Aside from everything else – aside from the nightmares, aside from the headaches, aside from the fact he’d had to drop basketball after his concussion, aside from having no real friends or allies at school now that he and Nancy aren’t together – aside from all that, there’s Billy fucking Hargrove.

Hargrove, who had taken all of a month to start pushing Steve’s buttons again. Who had taken less than a few days after that to realize that Steve wasn’t going to push back.

And then he’d started looking for the boundary line, pushing and pushing, shoulder-checking Steve in the hall, tripping him in the single class they share, knocking shit out of his hands, shoving him when his back is turned, all the while spitting names and insults, until it had culminated into today’s fiasco: dumping a carton of chocolate milk over the top of Steve’s head in the middle of the cafeteria with a deeply unconvincing “oops.”

It had gone dead silent, every eye in the room on Steve’s red face and Hargrove’s triumphant grin, while Steve had only been able to stand there, shaking with startled rage as milk had sluiced out of his hair and seeped into his collar and down the back of his shirt, knowing that he couldn’t retaliate.

He couldn’t.

He’d marched out of the cafeteria, shame and anger growing as voices had bloomed up behind him, already gossiping and speculating.

So, no, actually, he’s not really okay.

But instead of saying any of this to Munson, he just scoffs and turns away, looking towards the sinks.

“Wouldn’t have expected you to care,” he says, injecting as much lazy indifference into his voice as he can, trying to armor up the way he used to. “The number of speeches you’ve given about how much me and my group suck, I’d have figured you’d be the first to say I deserved it.”

Munson doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Steve doesn’t look back to see if the barb landed. He doesn’t really care, he just wants the guy to go away so Steve can finish his meltdown and clean up in peace.

“Not your group anymore, though,” Munson finally says.

Steve shrugs, pulling a wad of paper towels from the dispenser; might as well move on to cleanup if Munson isn’t going to fuck off. He guesses his little breakdown can wait until he gets home.

“Hasn’t been for over a year, now, right?” Munson goes on. Steve says nothing, using a dry paper towel to try to blot up the mess. “And whatever you were like then, you’re… less like that now. Like, anyone paying attention can see you’re kinda trying something new this year.”

Steve ignores the way that makes something catch in his throat. “Thanks for the endorsement,” he drawls. “I’ll put it on my college apps: Not as much of an asshole as I used to be.”

“It’s a start,” Munson says, and Steve glances up in time to see him shrug in the mirror.

“I guess,” Steve mutters.

“And, uh – hey, I grabbed your stuff,” Munson says, holding up the binder and notebooks that Steve’s attention had glossed over until now. “Some of it’s kinda… milky, sorry.”

Steve blinks. “Uh. Thank you,” he says, stunned for a moment into sincerity.

Munson shrugs again, putting Steve’s stuff up on the narrow shelf on the wall that no one ever uses to hold things because it’s probably never been cleaned. Not like Steve’s stuff is clean now, anyway.

Steve turns back to the sink, wetting a few of the paper towels and waiting to see if Munson is going to leave now.

“What I can’t figure out–” nope, apparently he’s staying, “–is why you’re in here punching the wall, instead of out there, punching Hargrove.”

At least that makes more sense; he’s here out of curiosity, not concern.

“I mean, most people would’ve hit him for that,” Munson goes on. “I would’ve.”

But Steve’s already shaking his head before Munson’s finished speaking. “Not worth it,” he says firmly.

“What, afraid of a little suspension?” Munson asks, almost teasing. “Pretty sure the school would let their golden boy off with a slap on the wrist.”

“Not anybody’s golden boy anymore,” Steve snaps, scrubbing a wet paper towel through his hair in a vain attempt to get some of the rapidly-drying milk out. “I dropped basketball, remember? Didn’t even go in for swimming this year.”

“Oh, yeah,” Munson says, like he’d genuinely forgotten. “Sorry, not really into the whole… sports scene. Like, at all.”

Steve shrugs. “Whatever. Not important. I don’t give a shit about being suspended. I don’t even care if he hits me back. Not like I need another knock to the head at this point, but – whatever.” Steve shakes his head. “It’s just that he could– there are other things he could do.”

In the mirror, Munson’s eyebrows go up. “What, does he have blackmail on you or some shit?”

Steve raises his brows right back. “If he did, do you really think I’d tell you?”

Munson tips his head to the side. “Yeah, okay, fair enough.”

“Anyway, he doesn’t have blackmail, he has… leverage, I guess.” Steve lets out a harsh sigh and gives up on his hair for now, wetting a paper towel to try to get some of the milk off his face and neck, instead.

“…are you allowed to tell me what that is?” Munson asks after a moment.

And for a moment, Steve thinks about it. The only people in school who really know are Nancy and Jonathan, and he’s asked them to follow his lead in just – not talking about it. He hasn’t told anybody any version of what happened in the Byers’ house, or why Billy seems to have made him his personal stress ball. But who the hell would Munson tell? All his nerdy friends in his game club?

(No, no, that’s not fair. Steve doesn’t even know those people, and he’s trying not to be that guy anymore. He doesn’t have to be nice, but he shouldn’t be unkind.)

(The point stands, though – who would Munson even tell?)

“Do you know why Hargrove beat my face in back in November?” Steve finally asks, avoiding Munson’s eyes in the mirror by focusing very hard on getting the tacky milk off his hairline.

“Well, I’ve heard most of the rumors by now, I think. Heard Hargrove’s version of events, as has pretty much everyone, I’m sure. Haven’t heard yours, though,” Munson says, his voice tilting up in interest. “I just figured it was because he hated you.”

Steve lets out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, you’re not wrong. But also…” He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “There are these kids I babysit. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Munson presses.

“Well, most of the time it feels like they’re just ordering me around like a bunch of entitled shitheads. But I make sure they get where they’re going without, like, disappearing, and that they don’t have so much unsupervised time that they manage to get themselves killed,” Steve admits.

“Uh huh,” Munson says; he sounds… a little confused, but not disbelieving. “And you ended up with this gig, how?”

“It’s Nancy’s little brother, and his little nerd friends,” Steve says (he’s allowed to call them nerds because he knows them, and it’s true. And besides, it’s affectionate).

“Aaand you’re still doing it now? Even though you and Wheeler aren’t…”

Steve shrugs. “They grew on me. But that’s– that’s not the point. One of the kids is, uh. Hargrove’s stepsister. And the night me and Hargrove got into it, I guess she wasn’t supposed to be out.”

“Ah,” Munson says.

“Yeah.” Steve sighs, giving up on the milk as a bad job; he probably should’ve run off to the gym showers instead of a shitty bathroom. He turns and leans back against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the floor near Munson’s scuffed sneakers. “So he came looking for her.”

“So… Not that I’m advocating handing over children to pieces of shit like him, but – like, wouldn’t it have been the technically correct thing to do, to send her home with what is legally a family member?” Munson asks.

Steve passes a hand over his face. “She was terrified,” he says quietly, feeling a little like he’s betraying Max’s trust by saying it out loud, by saying it to a stranger. “She was terrified of what he would do if he found her there, where she wasn’t supposed to be. Terrified of what he would do to one of the other kids if he caught them together, since he’d specifically warned her to stay away from him.”

“What’s wrong with this other kid?” Munson asks, brows furrowed.

“Nothing,” Steve bites out. “He’s smart, and he’s brave, and he’s, like, slightly less of an asshole than some of the others, but what Hargrove cared about is that he’s black.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Munson snaps, and Steve’s hackles raise, ready to defend his kid all over again if he has to, but before he can get anything else out, Munson goes on. “We already knew he was a racist piece of shit, but – a fucking kid?”

Steve subsides. “Yeah. A fucking kid. So I told them all to stay inside and I went out to try to head him off. Or at least keep him out of the house. Which, obviously, I failed at.” He lets out a derisive little laugh, aimed solely at himself. “He knocked me on my ass, knocked the wind out of me, got past me– and by the time I was able to get up, he was already– he was inside, and he had that kid by the collar, up against the wall– one of my fucking kids–” Steve breaks off, the same rage and terror from that night choking up in his throat again. After the day he’s had, his emotions are all too close to the surface, too near to bubbling out, and he rubs at his nose, trying to stave off the angry, exhausted tears he can feel pricking at the corners of his eyes. “So I decked him.”

“Good!” Munson exclaims, and for a moment Steve actually manages a real smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “Then he hit me back, which, like, obviously. I was expecting him to, but– I mean, I might’ve actually won that fight if the fucker hadn’t hit me in the head with a plate.”

The expression that crosses Munson’s face is almost comically shocked. “What?”

“Yeah,” Steve says again, running a hand over his jaw, thumbing almost unconsciously at the still-fading scar where the porcelain had sliced him open. “I’m a little fuzzy on shit after that. Like, I remember being on the floor, and him kneeling over me, and hitting me, and hitting me, and then– I dunno, nothing.”

Distantly, Steve realizes that the expression on Munson’s face has turned from ‘comically shocked’ to ‘mildly horrified,’ but he’s a little too lost in the blurry memory of that night to do much about it.

“Holy shit, how are you not dead?” Munson blurts out.

He looks like he immediately regrets asking, but Steve finds he’s actually grateful for the question. He’s glad to move the conversation along.

“Max.” He smirks over at Eddie. “Hargrove’s stepsister. I guess she, uh– threatened him with a baseball bat? Saved my ass.”

That’s a deep over-simplification, but Steve can’t think of a way to explain the presence of heavy sedatives in the Byers’ house, and, anyway, she had threatened him with a baseball bat. The kids had all taken great joy in reenacting the way Max had nearly neutered Hargrove with the nailbat, actually; it’s almost like Steve had been there (and conscious).

“Holy shit,” Munson says, and whichever part he’s referring to, Steve is inclined to agree.

“Yep. So I was out fucking cold at the time, but the kids all insist that she got him to agree to leave her and her friends alone, but…” Steve shakes his head. “Hargrove is a fucking psychopath. I don’t trust him to keep that promise. So, at least if he’s focused on me, he might leave her alone. But if I hit back…”

“You think he’ll retaliate by going after one of your kids,” Munson says, only a hint of teasing in his words at the end.

“I know he will,” Steve says; Hargrove had implied as much more than once. He crosses his arms back over his chest. “And they are my kids.”

Munson throws his hands up, as if in surrender, but he’s definitely smiling now.

“I’m serious,” Steve insists, close to smiling himself. “They think I’m stuck with them, but they’re the ones stuck with me.”

“Lucky them,” Munson says, and– what?

“What?” Steve asks.

“Look, you’re either a better actor than, like, everyone in the drama club, or you at least seriously believe what you told me, which is more than I can say for Hargrove and whatever shit he came up with about the two of you getting into it over… what, his car was better than yours? He’s better at laundry ball? I don’t fucking remember, and it doesn’t really matter, because it was clearly and pathetically fabricated,” Munson says with an authoritative nod. “You, at the very least, really give a shit about those kids. So, yeah. Lucky them.”

“Well,” Steve scrambles for a moment, trying to cover the way he actually feels like he might start fucking blushing, “if I’d known all I had to do to change your mind about me was tell you about a fight I lost, I’d have done it ages ago.”

And now Munson’s back to smirking at him. “Seeking my esteem that badly, Harrington?”

“What? No. I mean – not– not specifically yours, it’s just… like, there’s not really an easy or fast way to make up for being kind of a dick for the last… while.” Steve runs his hand through his hair, stopping with a grimace when he remembers the drying milk. “You just have to keep not being a dick and hope people give you a chance. So, like, compared to that, convincing you was easy.”

“And all you had to do was get a severe concussion first,” Munson drawls.

Steve rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say it was severe.”

“You got hit with a plate,” Munson deadpans, and Steve can’t quite help the resulting flinch, at which Munson almost immediately softens. “Sorry.”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

Mouth screwed to the side, Munson eyes Steve for a moment, glancing over his shirt and up to his face before gesturing at him. “You want some help with that?”

Steve blinks at him. “What?”

“Your whole… hair situation. You could bend ov– like, you could lean over the sink and I could, uh. Try to rinse it for you. Or whatever,” Munson offers, awkward but apparently sincere.

It sounds like a stupid as hell way to try to rinse his hair. The sinks are small, and not exactly high off the ground; Steve would have better luck just going to the locker room and showering it all out. His soap is there, too, and an extra shirt.

On the other hand, Steve really doesn’t feel like leaving the bathroom yet. He’s pretty sure lunch is going to end soon, and encountering everyone during passing period sounds like a nightmare. In here, with Munson, it’s quiet. It feels almost safe.

“Yeah, sure,” Steve finally says, and Munson looks nearly shocked that he’s accepted.

Credit to him, though: he doesn’t back out. He just slides his jacket off, tosses it up over the wall of one of the bathroom stalls, rolls up his sleeves, and gestures for Steve to lean over the sink.

“Hot or cold?” he asks, going for the taps.

“Hot,” Steve answers immediately; he doesn’t need any other cold liquid on his head today.

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Munson says airily, turning on the water. “You just kinda strike me as a cold shower guy. Like, up at dawn, go for a run, take a cold shower – all that weird jock shit.”

It isn’t intended to mock, Steve realizes as Munson tests the water temperature—the school pipes take forever to heat up—but to tease. It’s a joke, and Steve is invited in on it. And anyway, it’s… actually kind of close to the mark, so Steve doesn’t say anything at all for a moment as he puts his head as close to the faucet as he can get it and Munson places one cupped hand over the back of his neck and uses the other to scoop water over Steve’s hair.

“Cold water is better for your hair. Not that you’d know anything about that.” Steve finally says, hoping that his own teasing tone carries even with the way he has to raise his voice to be heard over the running water.

Luckily, Munson sounds amused when he answers. “Oh! Shots fucking fired. I see how it is!” Even as he’s pretending at being offended, his fingers stay gentle against Steve’s scalp as he tries to scrub out the dried mess, and Steve fights very, very hard not to shudder.

He can’t remember when the last time someone touched him with gentle intent was. Maybe he’d gotten a hug from Dustin last week?

Shit, that’s fucking pathetic.

He tries even harder not to lean into the touch, into the surprisingly kind hands on the back of his neck and on his scalp, tries hard not to act like some kind of touch-starved weirdo and make Munson regret offering to help.

The irony of the fact that Steve is trying not to act like a freak in front of Eddie Munson is not lost on him.

After another couple of minutes of Munson manipulating Steve’s head this way and that, doing his best to be thorough, he lets Steve go entirely and shuts the water off.

“That’s probably as good as I’m gonna be able to get it,” he says, pushing another handful of paper towels at Steve as he stands up.

“Better than I could’ve done here,” Steve says with a shrug, rubbing the paper towels over his hair and grimacing as he can feel it frizzing in about a hundred different directions.

When he finishes, he turns to look in the mirror, watching in real time as it droops over his forehead and tickles at his wet shirt collar. Munson stands next to him, watching without judgement, but with what feels like an inappropriate amount of fascination.

“Well, I’m not going to lie to you,” Munson says at last, “you look a little like a sad, wet dog.”

Steve’s eyes snap to Munson with a glare. “Gee, thanks.”

“Some people are into that!” Munson insists, holding his hands up placatingly. “That droopy aesthetic, with the big, brown puppy eyes. Someone might just wanna scoop you up and take you home to take care of you. It’s a thing.”

Do you want to? – the question comes immediately and unbidden to Steve’s head, and he quickly shakes it away. They might be on amiable terms right now, teasing each other a little, but he isn’t sure that wouldn’t be a bridge too far.

(He isn’t even sure it is teasing. For a moment, he’d had the genuine urge to ask.)

“Anyway, I think most of the mess is out of your hair, but I’m pretty sure your shirt is toast,” Munson goes on, gesturing to the brown stain around the collar, over one shoulder, and probably down the back.

If he’d been wearing a darker color today, it might’ve been alright, but of course today he’d chosen light blue. Steve sighs, plucking at the front of the shirt. If he can’t salvage it, he might as well ditch it; it’s getting uncomfortably stiff and tacky with the dried milk, and he’d honestly rather stick it out in his undershirt for as long as it takes him to get to the locker room than walk around with evidence of Hargrove’s little stunt all over him.

He untucks the shirt and yanks it over his head, no need to be careful of his hair, emerging from the depths of it to find Munson staring at him in a stunned sort of silence.

“What?” Steve asks. “If it’s wrecked, anyway, I might as well get rid of it. I’ve got a spare shirt in my gym locker I can go grab.”

Munson blinks at him, almost like he’s trying to clear his head. “Or!” he practically shouts – possibly louder than he meant to, since he continues more quietly, “Or, you could just ditch for the rest of the day. I mean, you have any particularly interesting classes after lunch you feel the need to attend?”

“Not really,” Steve admits with a huff of a laugh. “But leaving after that feels a little like– letting Hargrove win. Like I’m retreating or some shit.”

“Nah, don’t think of it like that.” Munson tosses an arm over Steve shoulders, waving his other in front of both of them, like he’s trying to show Steve a grand vision and they aren’t both just staring at the ugly tile on the bathroom wall. “Think of it as cutting class and getting free weed from Hawkins High’s most esteemed dealer.”

Steve turns to look at Munson, staring at him more closely than he’s ever had reason to, and realizing there are tiny freckles on his face. “What, seriously?”

“Sure.” Munson shrugs. “Lemme smoke you out, Harrington. Seems like a good way to let your stress go for a bit – though I am just a little biased.”

“Why?” Steve asks; he doesn’t understand the sudden turn this day has taken, the sudden and bizarre kindness offered that he doesn’t even know what he’s done to deserve.

Munson’s eyes slide away from Steve, though his arm notably stays draped over his shoulders. “Been where you are. It’s not great. And, I mean, if it had happened last year, then, admittedly, I probably wouldn’t have given as much of a shit. Jock on jock violence, whatever. But you,” he glances back at Steve, “you’re genuinely trying to be, like, a good person. And I don’t think you should be punished for that. I think, in fact, that you could probably use a friend.”

“I…” The words stick in Steve’s throat, because what the hell can he even say to that? On anyone else, Steve would have assumed an ulterior motive, but Munson had infused it with so much awkward sincerity that Steve can’t help but realize it’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s said or offered to do for him in… he’s not even sure how long.

His silence must stretch on a little too long, though, because the hopeful light in Munson’s eyes fades a bit, and he begins to slide his arm off of Steve’s shoulder. “Or, y’know, you can tell me to fuck off, because I’m, like, way overstepping some boundaries, and–”

“We should go to my place,” Steve blurts, while grabbing Munson’s wrist for some insane reason.

“What?” Munson blinks over at him, (understandably) startled.

“My place. We should go there to smoke. If you still want to.” Steve could cringe for how stilted the whole thing is coming out. “I want to be able to take a real shower.”

Munson stares at him for a moment longer before laying a hand over his heart with a gasp, suddenly leaning heavily into Steve’s side and forcing Steve to wrap an arm around his waist so they don’t both lose their balance.

“I see how it is!” Munson gasps dramatically. “My sink shower just wasn’t good enough!”

Steve holds in a laugh. “Your sink shower was… fine. But I’ve got milk dried in other uncomfortable places, so unless you want to wash my back for me, too, we should go back to mine.”

Munson’s gaze snaps back to Steve, something a little odd in it, and – oh. Oh, that hadn’t sounded quite like Steve had meant it. It had sounded a little like an offer of the kind you don’t go around making to just anybody.

Steve braces himself, waiting for the reaction (he doubts if Munson would get any kind of physical, but there will probably be an awkward pulling away and sudden remembering of something he has to do literally anywhere else that afternoon), but all Munson does is break into a sly smile and say, “I could, but I’d have to charge you extra.”

Steve can’t help it: he laughs, giving Munson a good-natured shove, who finally releases Steve but doesn’t stumble more than a couple of steps away.

“Meet you at my place?” Steve offers, balling up his shirt and dropping it on top of his notebooks as he grabs them from the shelf. “Half an hour?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Munson gives him a corny little salute before grabbing his jacket from over the stall wall and preceding Steve to the bathroom door.

“Munson,” Steve finds himself calling out, just as the other boy’s hand closes around the door handle; Munson glances back and Steve fights the urge to look away. “Uh. Thanks. For, like… yeah. Thanks.”

Whatever meaning Munson takes out of Steve’s absolutely eloquent verbal vomit of gratitude, it makes him smile. “No need for thanks, man,” he says. “I’m honestly a little surprised to say it, but the pleasure was definitely mine.”

And then he disappears out the door, leaving Steve in the bathroom wondering how the hell his day had taken this turn, and just what destination it’s leading him to.

And thinking that he’s honestly a little excited to find out.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things post s2 AU #stranger things #this one is a bit long just as a heads up; about 4.6k #is it good? I dunno but I had fun writing it and you guys seem interested so here we go!#eddiesteve #solar wrote

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sykloni · 11 months

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Dannymay 2023

15. Full Hazmat AU & 23. Rogue Gallery

#danny phantom #dannymay2023 #full hazmat au #rogue gallery #(the thing I love about full hazmat au is that unless Danny shows his face)#(it would be totally reasonable to assume that he is an adult)#(especially if you don't want to believe a child beat you)#comic #(just gonna add this here since it seems to be coming up a lot)#(This is not a fan art of any specific fic!)#(When I do fanart of fanfiction I always link the fic and tag the person who wrote it)#(I know this is not that original idea and people have already linked multiple good fics in reblogs)#(And I'm sure there are probably even more with similar concept)#(BUT this is still not fanart of any of them)

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spookberry · 3 months

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Just imagine spectra vondergeist watching on youtube or tiktok normies making true crime content about her family death. She will go insane and balistic. She didn't deserve it but god timing si right, she taste her own medicine

I've been holding onto this ask for so long, sorry bout that lol

#monster high #half normie au #spectra vondergeist #tucker foley #my art #ask #you said tiktok but when i was writing the dialogue i wrote youtube cuz i forgot tiktok existed for a second woops

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bleedingoptimism · 5 months

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Steve likes to watch youtube videos of a guy who restores old consoles. It soothing to him, it relaxes him. He likes watching how he restores them, fixes them, makes them look brand new.

He also enjoys watching him work for… other reasons. Weirdly, he thinks the guy is kind of hot, even if he never shows his face. He looks fit, with the way his shirts stretch over his chest and are loose on his tiny waist and he’s always wearing cool belts, black leather with studs or chains. He likes the way he moves around, manic and a little clumsy but incredibly precise when necessary.

Steve especially likes watching his hands, thick strong fingers, bony wrists, noticeable veins, and short clean nails that sometimes have chipped black polish adorning them.

He sometimes thinks about those hands when he's alone, but, well… no one needs to know about that.

🎮🤲💖

Eddie has a fairly popular youtube channel… And a huge crush on his next-door neighbor. He simply cannot decide if the dude is cutter than hot or vice-versa.

'He sure is nice, though,' he thinks, when one day he gets a large package of replacement parts that he’s struggling to get inside and the guy walks up to him, asks if he needs any help, and takes the heaviest box with no effort at all.

He says his name is Steve and then stares at Eddie's hand for a really long time when Eddie extends it for him to shake after getting the boxes inside his studio.

He hears Steve’s little 'oh', under his breath and then sees him blush prettily before mumbling ‘He needs to go, now.' And stumbling out of Eddie’s place.

Eddie chuckles to himself as he watches him leave, definitely cute AND hot in equal parts.

🎮🤲💖

A few weeks later Steve's mom tells him she needs help getting rid of some of his nonno's old things and he finds a LOT of cool stuff that look just like the ones Eddie restores on his channel.

He and Eddie have been slowly getting friendlier over these last couple of weeks and he’s been dying to have an excuse to talk to him more, so he takes the items home and then goes to Eddie's and very nervously tries to offer them to him but doesn't know how to explain he knows he's a youtuber without looking like a weirdo because Eddie’s never shown his face.

He stumbles and blushes a lot, barely making any sense and Eddie mistakenly thinks he's trying to ask him out and says,

"I'd love to go on a date with you," Smiling and hiding his dimples behind a lock of hair he's been playing with since the moment Steve started stuttering.

Steve completely forgets what he was trying to say or do and says he'll pick him out at 6.

The date is amazing, it feels like they are meant to be. They get along so well, talking, laughing, and already making fun of each other as if they’re old friends. And they are definitely attracted to one another. If the way Eddie practically tackles Steve with his rush to get his mouth on him when they get back, it’s any indication.

Steve is very on board with this and he enthusiastically kisses him back. They kiss desperately as he fumbles with his door handle to get it open. When he succeeds, he walks them backward into his place not wanting to stop kissing Eddie, but stumbles and falls flat on his ass.

When Eddie turns on the light he sees Steve sprawled on top of a bunch of boxes full of old technology. A lot of emotions go through his face, ‘he’s so expressive’ Steve thinks a little enamored, having still not realized how much trouble he’s in.

But Eddie looks confused, then shocked and scared, and finally, angry,

"Steve, what the fuck?"

‘Oh, shit…’

“I can explain!” he says immediately, standing up and walking toward Eddie as he backs away,

“I didn’t want to ask you out-” Steve starts but interrupts himself when Eddie huffs, turns, and starts walking towards his own apartment, “Shit, fuck! No- That’s not what I meant, Eddie! Wait-”

He turns again and glares at Steve but then his eyes go wide, “Steve,”

“Please, let me explain-”

“Steve-”

“I did- do! Want to ask you out! I like yo-”

“Steve!” Eddie screams and Steve stops, shocked, and finally focuses. Eddie is staring at him and he’s so pale even his freckles have changed color. But no, wait. He’s not staring at him, he’s staring at his arm and Steve looks down to see… a lot of blood.

“Oh,” he says faintly. He must have cut himself on a sharp edge when he fell. Too worried about Eddie, he hadn’t even noticed the pain, but now that he’s seeing the cut, it fucking hurts.

“Oh,” he says again, realizing he’s feeling kind of dizzy, ‘that's way too much blood,’ he thinks.

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie huffs, takes off his flannel shirt and wrapping it around Steve's arm, he pulls Steve by his other hand toward his van.

“Oh no, your cute shirt,” he mumbles and hears Eddie snort before he slams the door of the passenger seat and goes to the driver’s one.

They go to the hospital in silence. It's tense. Steve tries to explain himself but Eddie shuts him up harshly, tells him to save his energy.

Even so, when they get there, Eddie still holds him gently by his good arm as he helps him inside. He tells the nurse what happened because Steve is having a hard time focusing right now and then tells him he’ll wait outside for him.

He gets stitches and a tetanus shot just in case because he doesn't remember when was the last time he got one and gets weird looks when he refuses painkillers, but no arguments. He’s given a little juice box and is told he can't get up until he finishes it.

A few seconds after the nurse leaves, the door opens and Eddie walks in. Steve looks up and smiles at him, but Eddie doesn’t smile back and Steve shrinks a little on himself.

Eddie sits on the chair facing the overbed table Steve is perched on and sighs, moving his hand in little circles motioning like, ‘Well go on. Explain yourself’

Steve looks around the room and thinks about where to start. He can't look Eddie in the eye, so he stares at the little juice box in his hands. It's got a cartoon orange in the front. The drawing it’s awful and kind of scary.

Taking a deep breath, he starts, “I've been watching your videos for a long time now. I have- I am- I-”

He fumbles for what to say, even if this date is already ruined…it's not exactly a good first date topic, is it? How fucked up he’s inside.

In a flash, images of his father’s violence, running from home with his mom, going to live with his nonno, taking care of him as he slowly lost his mind with age while his mom worked her ass off to feed them, getting cheated on, losing his “friends” because he didn't want to bully freshmen, working as a babysitter and getting almost beat up to death by his kid’s stepbrother… he shakes his head and shrugs,

“I've been through some…stuff” is what he says in the end, looking up at Eddie. He doesn't look mad anymore, his expressive eyes look concerned. Steve worries about what was it Eddie saw in his own expression, but it surprises him how easily he read him. He’s usually so good at hiding it.

He breathes in again and keeps going, “Your videos, they calm me down when I've, sometimes I get anxious and-” he clears his throat, again, not wanting to tell Eddie about the panic attacks, the nightmares.

But it seems he doesn't have to, Eddie looks at him like he gets it.

It makes Steve want to keep talking, “Watching you work, seeing you fix things, leave them like new, no sca- marks, no problems, just working again and beautifully clean. It makes me feel better.”

Eddie gives him a small smile and Steve returns it, “I really like your hands…” he blurts out and then closes his mouth quickly, blushing furiously.

Eddie’s eyes go wide and then he smirks and stands up slowly walking up to him and taking Steve’s hands on his own, they both stare at their joined hands for a while, the touch feather-like and soft.

“You recognized me because of my hands?” Eddie asks him a little incredulous.

Steve giggles, “I saw the logo for your channel on your studio that day I helped you with the boxes,” he clarifies sheepishly.

Eddie blushes and opens his mouth in a silent ‘oh,’

Steve draws small circles on Eddie's knuckles with his thumbs, “When I came over today, I was just trying to offer you those stuff at my place, they were my grandfather's” he explains, “I didn’t know how to say I knew who you were without looking like a weirdo and I got nervous and you thought I was going to ask you out and I wasn’t planning to but you are so beautiful I-

Eddie kisses his cheek and Steve shuts up and looks at him surprised,

“I’m sorry I freaked out,” Eddie says, “I thought- I don’t know what I thought- I was just upset you didn’t actually like me.”

And Steve immediately answers, “I like you” a little too excitedly.

Eddie smiles at him so warmly it makes his heart rate pick up, “Good. I like you too.”

He blushes and looks down at their hands again unsure, “Do you really? Even tho I’m…”

“What?” Eddie asks, squeezing his hands reassuringly.

“Broken?” Steve whispers.

Eddie hums and drops his hands to hold his face, “Not broken, baby” he says lovingly and kisses the crease between Steve’s brows, the top of his eyelid, his nose, and the corner of his mouth. Then hugs him and Steve buries his face on Eddie's neck, and breathes him in.

A minute goes by or an hour, Steve is not sure, and Eddie leans back enough to kiss him again softly and whispers, “Some things don't need to be fixed Steve, just held.”

𝒻𝒾𝓃

coffee? a hug? ☕🥐💕

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #i wrote something #modern au #trying out this new read more feature i hope it works!#im kidding #i do hope people click for the rest tho this goes places

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zoe-oneesama · 1 year

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No one is threatened by you, Gabby!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Episode 44 Part 13

First < Previous > Next Episode

Season 1, Season 2, Season 3, Season 4, Season 5

Ep 41, Ep 42, Ep 43, Ep 45, Ep 46, Ep 47

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#look...I wrote this page before the end of season 4 okay?#you think I ever thought he would SUCCEED?!#in fairness he didn't Felix did #scarlet lady #scarlet lady au #scarlet lady comic #sandboy #episode 44 part 13

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whoahoney · 1 year

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Unbelievable

Eddie Munson x friend!Reader

Summary: reader has a crush on eddie and plans to confess her feelings at the bar, when she finds him sitting with a gorgeous girl, she doubts herself… what will she do?

Warnings: minors DNI, unwelcome advances, drinking, jealousy, anxiety, making out, allusions to smut

A/N: dedicated to the lovely @easy-peasy68 and this awesome request she sent in! I hope you love it, darling! 💖😌

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Tonight was the night—you were certain.

Tonight you’d worn your best clothes and redone your makeup twice. You prepared to drink until you were drunk of sorrow or happiness, one of the two.

“You’re not allowed to say that.” Robin chided over the phone as you walked to the bar and roll your eyes, “Think positive! He’s your friend, if he doesn’t return your feelings, how mean could he be about it?”

“I know he won’t be mean, Rob, he’s perfect!” You whine. “If he’s gonna let me down I know he’d do it in the sweetest most earth shattering way.” You watched the sidewalk pass beneath your feet and tried not to imagine the look of disappointment on his face.

“I have it on good authority that people can still be friends even after one rejects the other! Just look at me and Steve. We’ve been sailing this platonic love boat for years now! His dorky love confession is just a blip in the past now—“

“Whoa, wait, my love confession was not dorky—“ You hear Steve in the background and roll your eyes as you come to a stop before the sticker covered door that you’d grown quite fond of, this being Eddie’s favorite spot.

“Alrighty, Rob. I’m here.” You mumble and lean against the building.

Robin gasps, “Okayloveyou, call me after please, byeeeeee!” She almost sings as you end the call.

You take a deep breath and pull the door open. You’re so distracted looking for Eddie that you nearly blow right by the bouncer, sat at his laptop watching Lord of the Rings as he checked IDs.

You roll your eyes as he shoots you a questioning look, comparing your birthdate to your face before handing it back to you. You mumble a thanks and let your eyes scan the seats along the bar, where Eddie always sat.

You wondered if you beat him here for once, if you could be the one with two drinks waiting in front of you to be shared when he sat down like he’d always had with you.

You wonder if he’ll compliment your outfit, if he’ll even notice it. He typically always had a little compliment at the ready for you, about your hair or perfume, simple words that made you wanna shudder and savor the feeling forever.

A group of people grabbing drinks from the bartender caught your attention. They laughed merrily with each other and grabbed two tall glasses each to take to their awaiting table of friends, but when they moved, they also revealed a scene you never wanted to see; Eddie sat at the bar, and a gorgeous girl in your spot next to him.

Your heart ached and sank in your body, the beating of it suddenly so powerful it thudded in your chest. You wanted to swallow the lump in your throat, but your mouth was so dry you couldn’t, it just added to the sandpaper feeling prickling all the way down.

You wanted to cry at the way Eddie’s shoulders shook with a chuckle, facing the wall of bottles while she faced him, leaning closer on her hand and letting her ample cleavage show. She wore a red dress, one you wouldn’t even dream of wearing. Her lips were painted the same color and her eyes were lined with black so thick it reminded you of the music videos that sometimes played at the music store Eddie worked at.

She was perfect. And you suddenly felt as if you were not.

You feel someone bump into your shoulder and realize you were standing in the middle of traffic, grabbing a place at the bar with shaking hands, on the other side of three large old men that frequented the bar too.

Your mind was reeling and spinning without any alcohol to fuel it, so you opted for a water to collect yourself. When the bartender sat the tall glass in front of you, you take three big gulps of it and then some deep breaths. “Just go on over there, honey.” A gruff voice said.

“Yeah, that’s your spot!” Another said.

You turn to the right to see the old men looking at you, their leather vests, fading tattoos, and bald heads usually intimidating you, but when you saw them now, looking at you, you only saw concern in their eyes. You shake your head, “I don’t know what you mean.”

The men chuckle kindly, “Sweetheart, we know that’s your boy over there. And that broad has been buggin him for the last ten minutes about buying her drinks.”

Your brows push together and you lean over to view the two down on the other side of the man that spoke to you. Eddie had a tense smile, one he used when he didn’t wanna be rude.

“He could be nervous. She’s awfully pretty,” You think.

Another one of the men notice the skeptical look on your face, “He’s here to see you, ain’t he?” He asks incredulously through his thick mustache.

You shrug and nod, “We come here every week. W-We’re just friends though, so I should leave him alone.”

The men chuckle again before the third one pipes up, “Uh-uh! We gotta pool goin on how long it’ll take you guys to kiss. Poor boy always looks like he’s gonna make a move and doesn’t.” He rolled his eyes and his friends agreed.

Your jaw dropped, amusement on your face, “He does not!” You quietly chide before sneaking another glance at Eddie’s almost cowering figure as he kept his body facing straight, barely turning his head to respond to the girl.

“Between you and me,” the man closest to her almost mumbled, “if y’all kiss after this week, I lose—so it’s now or never.” He tsked and took a swig of his bottled bud light. You blush crimson and close your eyes. “If you go over there and plant one on loverboy, I’ll give you $50.” He held out his hand for you to shake.

You try not to chuckle when you notice these old men have you almost convinced. You take a deep breath and shake his hand, “I have to right now?” You ask.

“You just have to go over there right now, okay? And if it don’t work out, you gotta seat right back over here.” He nodded and gave you a firm pat on the back that almost knocked you over as you picked up or water and climbed off the stool. As you pass by them, you hear their rumbling cheers while they no doubt watch you.

You keep stepping towards where Eddie and the girl sat, Eddie’s hair practically a curtain between himself and her.

“You’re just shy, aren’t you?” She purred when you got close enough. She reached out to stroke Eddie’s hand that rested on the counter only for him to drag it away into his pocket.

“Nah, no, I-I’m typically not.” He said with a dry chuckle.

The girl tsked and leaned forward as you stepped up right behind her, still undetected, “Aww, so you just act this way for little ole me? All cute and shy?” She flattered herself and giggled in a way that you figured was supposed to be alluring.

As Eddie turns his head to face her, you step over next to him and put a hand on his shoulder, “Actually I think you just make him uncomfortable.” You remark, as you look her over and school your face to look unimpressed with the girl before you, as if you hadn’t envied her at first sight.

You look at Eddie, who stared at you with brown eyes wide with awe. Your lips twitch when they attempt to smile at the two waiting glasses in front of him, sips yet to be taken. “Can I have my seat or do I need to sit in his lap for you to understand?” You look back at her coldly.

She scoffs and looks between you two as she stands with her purse and returns to her table of friends in the corner.

You exhale deeply and look over at your biker friends who had heard the whole exchange. They raised their newest glasses to you and drank with hearty laughter.

“Friends of yours?” He asks with a uneasy chuckle, checking out the old men skeptically before he spotted their patches and smiled.

You shrug, “New friends.”

He nodded. You lingered by Eddie, your hand still on his shoulder before you move to sit in your spot, “My lap, huh?” He chuckled, amused and impressed at your display of courage he’d never seen before.

You plop down, the seat pleasantly warm from the bitch that previously occupied it. “Yeah, sorry about that, you just seemed…” you shook your head as he nodded gently.

“Thank you.” He looked you over, his eyes growing large again when they paused at your chest. “You look… fantastic, wow.” He says with a dumbstruck smile as he took you in again.

You chuckle and shake your head, “Oh, this old thing. Just threw it on, y’know, but, uh, I’m-I’m glad you like it!” You smile at him, feeling the difference in the air between you tonight. It felt good. Full of possibility.

Eddie clears his throat and slides your drink over to you. “A toast— to my best friend;” he started as you lift your glass with a quirked brow, “The bravest, wittiest ….” He hesitated, peering into your eyes, “…prettiest girl I know.” He nodded as he finished.

“Here, here!” The familiar gruff voices echoed behind you in agreement, lifting their shots before throwing them back. You guys chuckle and sip your beers, your nose wrinkling at the first taste as you usually did.

Eddie chuckled at you as you set the glass down, foam on your upper lip. “What?”

“You got a little…” he pointed at your mouth, but didn’t give you a chance to clean it yourself, bringing his thumb up to wipe it off with one gentle swipe. “There… much better.” He said softly, his face inches from yours. His touch sending pins and needles where he touched. He’d never touched your face before—not to mention your lips.

You look down and blush, finding your knees between his and his body leaned close to yours. He looked so much more like himself now, that ornery glint in his eye, his boyish smile that always said ‘trouble’ when he flashed one your way.

You watch his ringed hand rest on your knee, stroking in loving circles before you look up at him, his gaze more serious, yet not stone. Something else was hidden in the look he gave you, something that felt familiar to you.

He whispers your name, “—Tell me something.”

You cock your head and give him a single nod, “What’s to tell?”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes before taking a drink, “S’gonna be like that, huh?” He looks at you again, playful smile on display as he leans closer to you again.

“Like what?” You chuckle, enjoying this game. Eddie rolls his eyes with a smile and goes to turn back forward when you catch his knee, “No, no,” you pat him before turning him to you by the knee in your grip, Eddie’s gaze darkening as his eyes flicked back up to yours. “No need for that.”

You go to withdrawal your hand, but he catches it., “Were you jealous?” He asked, his hand stop yours.

You can’t help but balk, your mouth opening and eyes widening before you can pinch your brows together and shake your head, “N-No,” you find yourself in the lie, “I just—“ you shrug, finding his eyes on yours expectantly, obviously working hard to keep his mouth straight and resisting the smile that threatened to curl up at the corners.

“Just?” He prodded.

“Like—ugh, the way she was touching you. And looking at you—”

“And… that’s not jealous?” He broke a little, one side of his smile lifting as he bit the other cheek.

Your cheeks blossom into magenta, your avoidant smile rising up on your face as you grab your drink as a buffer, not daring to move your other hand from his grasp. Eddie watches you as you gulp the brew and set down the glass, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Okay, maybe a little..” you shrug before looking up at him from under your lashes, your eyes darting back down when you saw his smirk.

Oh, great. It’s a joke to him.

“But if it was a guy, okay,” you start, “And if I was you, and I was looking the same way you did, you’d do the same thing, wouldn’t you?” You shrug in question. “You’d wanna protect me from an unwelcome conversation, right?”

Eddie nodded, “Yeah, absolutely.”

“See?” You go to move your hand from his, turning to face the bar when he catches you again.

“To protect you, yes.” He said, hidden urgency in his eyes as he squeezed your hand gently, “—But also because I’d be jealous.” He smiles at your hesitance to believe him as you gently shake your head in disbelief.

“So.. now would be a good time to tell you about my feelings?” You ask quietly.

“Feelings?” He asks in feigned incredulity. You fight the blooming smile as he teases you. “Feelings about what?” He mocks you at your own game.

You roll your eyes and push at his chest, smiling when he caught your wrist and released your other, turning his hand to face palm up, his fingers lingering on yours in the hope you’d wind your fingers through his.

And you do, just as he’s begun stroking his thumb over your hand, the one he caught on his heart.

“Tell me.” He says just above a whisper despite the chaotic barroom.

You nod, “I… I like you. A lot. An embarrassing amount, actually— since the day we met.” You stumble, looking down at the rings on his hands you’d never brought yourself to play with, though you thought about it a lot.

You’d never held hands like this before, always sure to stay in your own bubbles. But tonight, everything was different, and you both knew it wouldn’t ever be the same.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He said casually.

You look up at him in surprise, to find him leaning forward and releasing your hand to hold you steady as he pressed a kiss to your lips. Your eyes melt closed and you kiss him back, not shying away from the urge to touch his face and neck.

You barely hear the cheers behind you until Eddie breaks the kiss to glance at your friends a few seats down the bar. You turn shyly to find them paying their tabs and handing cash to the man that convinced you to come over here in the first place.

He saunters over to you, cap on his head and a new dip in his mouth, the lump bulging beneath his bottom lip. “Here ya go, darlin, take your new boyfriend out on a date.” He dropped a fifty in front of you and shoved his winnings away in his pocket.

Your jaw drops and you go to hand it back to him, “Sir, I can’t take this—“

“The hell you can’t!” He said as his friends joined him, one of them taking his free hand. “I’m $200 richer because of you, let me share the wealth!”

“Gary, you leave them alone.” The man chided. “Congratulations, you two,” he said when he turned to you, “Seeing you guys here these last few months had us thinking about our old times—Gary and I have been coming here with our friends since ‘82.” He beamed at his partner and it was only then you noticed the pride flag patch, beneath the Satyrs Motorcycle Club emblem, along with a BACA patch to boot.

You smiled warmly as Eddie took your hand again and swiftly pocketed the $50 for you. “Well, we owe you fellas drinks the next time we meet!” Eddie said.

You smile at his heart and nod in agreement, “Thank you, so much.” You smile at Gary who nodded.

“We wish y’all the best—treat her right, pretty boy, she knows where to find me.” He pointed a thick callused finger in his direction with a teasing wink and a final pat on the back as they departed, hearing the unmistakeable revving of their friends preparing to leave.

Eddie looked back at you as you sighed, the tension from the last couple weeks finally falling away with each careful stroke of his thumb over your hand.

I could get used to this, you think.

“So…” Eddie said, in the way he always did when he had a new plan of action, “How about… we blow this popsicle stand, grab some food and then.. maybe spend the night at yours.” He said, looking down at your hands as he spoke, the way he did when he was shy.

You smile and think about the advantages you have now that your best friend might just be your boyfriend, how well you know each other already. How easy this felt since you said the words that felt like wire bristles coming out of your throat.

“Spend the night?” You ask with a hand pressed to your chest. Eddie blushes as he meets your eye, not bothering to clarify the sentiment of spending the evening at your place like you’d done plenty of times before.

But never spending the night.

You bit your lip before letting it slip out of your teeth, “You wanna?” You ask quietly.

His eyes shift again, that darkness taking over again as his mischief fell and lust took hold of him. He nodded.

“And before our first date!” You say in a theatrical gasp that had him giggling and shaking his head before taking a drink.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to—“

“Who said that?” You scoff, taking a sip of the water you brought over with you as Eddie chuckled into his now free hands, shaking his head and groaning, “you’re unbelievable.”

“I bet it won’t be the last time you say that tonight.” You say daringly.

Eddie’s mouth drops open before he lurches off his stool to pay your tabs. As he stands in line his gaze keeps drifting back to you, knowing you’re watching him with a coy smile he’d never gotten to see before now. He figures now you must’ve been too nervous and it makes him chuckle as he looks you over again.

You notice this and shoot him a look, narrowed eyes and a suspicious smirk, only able to guess what he’s thinking about you.

Your eyes shift behind him to find the girl from earlier still sitting in the corner, her eyes on you with curiosity. You wonder if she saw your kiss, or how Eddie held your hands. Before you can think too much about it, Eddie’s obstructing your view as he approaches and holds out his hand for you, something else he hadn’t done before.

You take it gratefully and smile as you fix your purse. You step forward and feel his hand at your lower back, almost bringing you to your knees at first. You gathered yourself quickly and smiled when you saw his hand shoot out from behind you to grab the door, ushering you through into the warm night air.

His hand slips into yours and he pulls you closer to him. His smile is set on you and he wraps his arms around you, staring at you for just a minute.

“Thanks for my drink.” You smile, finding a hand on his chest and the other stroking the column of his neck.

He chuckles, “Of course. More than happy to cover my girl’s drinks.”

“Ooh, your girl.” You sing teasingly.

You feel him stroking your back at the edge of your shirt where a sliver of skin was exposed. “Yeah. Unless your mind has changed about me in the last five minutes—“

You’re quick to cut him off with a shake of your head and a “Mm-mm, nope!” That sends him smiling wider as he pulls you over to his car.

“You didn’t drive, did you?” He asks as you approach the Kia. You shake your head again and catch his smirk.

“You dirty dog.” He tsks and puts his hand against the passenger door you leaned against.

“What??” You ask through a giggle.

“You came here with a plan didn’t you!” He leaned in close, til his nose brushed yours and you could smell the alcohol on his breath. You thought he was going to kiss you before he pulled back and appraised you. “What—plan A I’m your ride, plan B, you Uber?” He asks.

You nod.

“I’d never let you get into an Uber.” He scoffs and opens the door for you, guiding your body around the door and into the car.

He watches you buckle up, and waits patiently til you look up at him in question, wondering if he asked something you didn’t hear.

“What?” You ask softly, trying not to melt at the way he looked at you.

He shakes his head gently, “Nothin,” he leans closer to you, “Just… glad I don’t have to pretend anymore. Feels nice.” He smiles again. You nod in agreement. “Plus I need a kiss from my girlfriend if she wants a ride home.” He pauses right in front of your lips waiting to you to close the rest of the distance.

“Is that how it’s gonna be, Munson?” You ask.

He nods, “Oh, yeah, I’m capitalizing on it. I’ll do anything for you if it means I get a kiss.” He looks down to your lips and back up again.

You smile and push your lips to his, with more fervor than you did in the bar, his lips warmer and wetter than before. Eddie practically drops to his knees to keep the kiss going, internally debating on climbing inside the car this way until—

“Excuse me? Excu—Excuse me!” A voice said from in front of the car. You’re the one to pull out of the kiss, Eddie following you before following your gaze and finding the girl from earlier, her friends behind her as she holds her keys in her hand, “Can I get into my car please?” She asks in uncomfortable calm.

Eddie stands up, “Oh, yeah, for sure!” He shuts your door and jogs around the front of the car without another look in her direction, scrambling inside the car and starting it just to turn to you and pull you in to continue your kiss.

You crack your eyes open to find the girl’s friends opening the back doors to her car and piling in, as she remained frozen to the spot, her mouth dropped as she watched how Eddie kissed you. You close your eyes and open your mouth just a bit more and feel Eddie’s tongue slide inside, and you hate that you hoped she saw it.

You moan into his mouth and let him explore before tangling your tongue with his. His taste was intoxicating, even after the beer. Kissing him in his car was a different feeling than kissing in the bar, this was more private—special even.

You’d spent a lot of time in the passenger seat of his car, smoking, telling secrets, singing together, crying after hard days, eating take out when neither of you feel like cooking, it was another one of the places that was special to you because it was somewhere you shared with Eddie. And now you got to share this in here too.

Eddie let out a savoring groan before parting his lips from yours. “Now that, was unbelievable.” You said as he smiled in the same goofy way he always did.

You giggle and look away as he turns up the music and put the car in reverse. “Bet it won’t be the last time you say that tonight.” He says before sticking his tongue out. You look over at him with a glimmer in your eye and a smirk that had him driving 15 over the speed limit and kissing your hand every few seconds, like he had waited for this just as long as you had.

And just in case you’re wondering—Eddie had you calling him unbelievable (and a few other things) by the end of the night.

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