“A kiss may be grand, but it won’t pay the rental, on your humble flat, or help you at the automat.”
Like literally the most famous song about how much girls love jewellry is just explaining the importance of getting jewellry for when your partner leaves you penniless and alone.
The founder of Girl Scouting in the US, Juliette Gordon Low, funded her first troop by selling her pearl necklace, which was her only belonging after her husband died and left everything to his mistress.
She founded Girl Scouts to teach girls self-sufficiency so they wouldn’t have to go through what she went through when her husband died and she didn’t know how to take care of herself.
People debate if Eddie or Steve would say ‘I love you’ first, but I propose an alternative perspective where they both say it long before they start dating and confuse the hell out of everyone, including themselves.
Almost dying could put your life into perspective.
When Eddie awoke in his hospital bed with his uncle at his side and the late afternoon light shining through the window blinds, he was struck with the kind of death-bed revelation reserved for men sentenced to dangle from gallows or grit worn teeth down the muzzle of guns. He was alive, despite the assumed certainty of his death hours or days before.
Eddie let Wayne hold him, despite how much it hurt because the pain reminded him he was alive, that he’d made it out on the other side. Without thought, Eddie told Wayne he loved him. It wasn’t the first time he’d said it, but he couldn’t remember the last time it’d happened.
They were long past the first few tumultuous years when Eddie had moved in with Wayne. Where they’d tiptoed around each other and waited with bated breath for their shared peace to go wrong. Eddie hadn’t been used to living in a household where he didn’t have to walk on eggshells to get by and Wayne wasn’t used to looking after himself, let alone a kid.
They’d since found their rhythm, but it wasn’t often either man voiced their affections. Wayne showed his love. He didn’t speak it. That was just the way he was. Eddie didn’t share the man’s reservations, not anymore. His adolescents was a wave that had long since crested, and all care for others’ opinions had been thrown out the window. He wasn’t shy with his love, but his proximity to death made him reckless with it.
When Dustin appeared at his bedside not long after, looking as though he were staring down a spectre, Eddie knew he had to do something. He leaned over, ruffled Dustin’s hair and told the kid everything was going to be okay, that he loved him.
When the whole mess had died down and Eddie was able to come out of hiding, he showed up in Gareth’s garage at the usual time for band rehearsal. He was bombarded by a mess of limbs and an earful of questions. He told them his well-practised lie then muttered how glad he was to be back, how much he loved those stupid sons of bitches, because he did and they should know it. He’d never told them that before.
What Eddie hadn’t expected was to fall fast and hard for Steve Harrington. Eddie wasn’t one for fast affection or grand romantic ideals. He had his head firmly attached to his shoulders, thank you very much. He knew fast love was just infatuation. You were falling for the idea of a person, not the real deal.
He knew it was stupid and yet at seeing Steve sprawled out on the floor of his trailer, in front of their shitty Philips Color TV, his usually styled hair mussed, Eddie thought he loved him, which was a terrible thought because it meant Eddie had to tell him.
I found a Christmas Prompt list, and Christmas fics are a particular weakness of mine, so here’s one for fellow Christmas lovers.
December 1. “Stop trying to get me under the Mistletoe”
Ministry Galas were so dull. Draco always found himself longing for the drama of the Galas and Balls that belonged in Harlequin Romance novels but the reality couldn’t be further from the conception he’d had as a dewy-eyed teen.
Instead of being swept off his feet by a dashing rogue, Draco was more likely to be stuck talking to a stuffy, old man who either smelled like mulled wine or moth balls. Or in the case of Mr. Elseworth, both.
He was just trying to make his excuses to go and get a refill on the punch, when he heard quite a clatter from the hallway just off the ballroom.
His head wasn’t the only head turning as a voice, one that Draco would be able to pick out anywhere, started to shout. “For fuck’s sake, Millicent!” Harry Potter spluttered. “Stop trying to get me under the mistletoe.”
Harry emerged from the hallway, fists balled at his sides; tall, dark, and brooding and Draco’s heart turned over in his chest.
Millicent Bulstrode followed Harry out of the hallway, jogging a few steps to catch up.
Most people tried to make it appear that they weren’t listening to the drama unfolding but Draco gave no such pretense. “Excuse me, would you, Mr. Elseworth?”
He made his way toward the punch table, also conveniently toward Harry and Millicent, and made a show of filling up his punch while he listened.
“I’m not interested,” Harry growled, as he stacked too many cookies, crackers, and cheeses onto his tiny plate at the other end of the table.
“But maybe if you just gave it a try-”
“I’m gay!” Harry all but shouted and no one in the room was pretending not to listen anymore. “Alright? It’s not you, Millicent, you’re lovely,” he spat with more contempt than a compliment ought to have, “I am just very not interested in women.”
He gestured wildly toward the press corner with his plate, “Did you get that? I’m bent. Completely and irrevocably into men. Gayer than the most cheerful Christmas decoration.” His eyes landed on Draco, went soft around the edges, and Draco couldn’t help but smile back.
“You know what else?” Harry continued, tossing his plate onto the table before taking the half dozen steps to Draco’s side. “I’m completely head over arse for this man,” he said, taking Draco’s face in both hands and kissing him in front of the press and everyone else.
Draco’s glass slipped from his hands as his fingers fisted in Harry’s auror robes and he kissed him back.
He pulled back and whispered, “I’m gone on you, Draco Malfoy, and I don’t care who knows it.”
“Me too,” Draco managed to respond before the press seemed to find their tongues and there was a flurry of movement and pictures being taken.
Harry pulled himself away from their embrace, but kept Draco’s hand firmly in his own as he started answering questions. Draco stood at his side, certain that he’d find the pictures of his smug smile unbearable in the morning papers, but he just couldn’t help himself.
He glanced over and saw Millie standing at the end of the table, grinning. She raised a glass to him and he mouthed thank you.
He really was going to have to get her the best Christmas present this year for helping him pull this off. Sometimes fate just needed a little push.
Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | Day 03: Present | WC: 926 | Rated: T | Warnings: Swearing. | Tags: Pre-relationship; First meeting; Modern setting; No Upside Down; Sad Steve Harrington, but just for a while.
Steve knows he should have bought Robin’s present earlier, but he forgot, okay?
His father has been acting like a complete ass for the past months –more than usual, that is—, breathing down Steve’s neck and criticizing every single deal Steve closes at work, every single decision he makes, just for the sake of being an asshole.
And as if that isn’t stressful enough, Nancy thought now, one fucking week before Christmas, would be a great time to let Steve know that she couldn’t see a future with him anymore and that she wanted to break things off.
So, excuse him if Steve has been a little too preoccupied with other things to remember sooner that he still needs to buy a fucking Christmas present for his friend.
Jesus Christ, he’s not gonna cry in the middle of a store. He refuses.
Taking a deep, calming breath, Steve pushes his way through the crowded store, eyes roaming over shelves in search of something Robin might find funny.
It’s their little tradition; they never give each other anything useful. A funny mug, a weird painting they saw at the flea market, those are the kind of Christmas presents they give to each other. And, usually, Steve gives the matter a lot of thought before buying anything. He loves spending hours looking for things that are completely useless, but that he just knows Robin will adore because she is a dork and adores every odd trinket Steve gives her every year.
But this year he’s in a hurry. Thanks to his father, and Nancy, and the shitstorm that Steve’s life has become, he can’t even take his time and enjoy the process of buying a silly present for his freaking best friend because his life is a mess, and Steve is a mess, and he needs to buy this fucking present today because Robin’s leaving town the following morning to spend the Holidays with her family so Steve needs to give her the present tonight, and he’s crying.
Fucking hell, he’s crying in the store like a fucking idiot. What is wrong with him?
“Hey, are you okay?” A quiet voice comes from right beside him, cutting off his spiraling thoughts and followed by a soft touch to his shoulder that makes Steve startle a little.
He turns, hand coming up to grab the front of his jacket as Steve’s eyes land on the kind stranger. And suddenly Steve is spiraling all over again because the stranger is hot, and he’s looking at Steve with concern all over his handsome face, and Steve can only imagine the pitiful image he must make right now, with his puffy eyes and runny nose.
“I’m fine,” Steve mutters. He wipes his eyes quickly with the back of his hand. “I’m okay.”
The man doesn’t look convinced. “You sure?”
“Yes, I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed right now.”
“Hm, last minute shopping can be stressful, I’ll give you that.”
Steve chuckles. It’s stronger than him. This situation is so absurd, how did he even end up here in the first place?
“Yeah,” Steve concedes. “It really can.”
And that’s when he sees it; the man is holding a horrible Peppa Pig lamp. The pink monstrosity is so badly crafted that they managed to make the pig cross-eyed, and what should be a friendly smile looks more like a grimace than anything else.
It’s horrendous.
It’s exactly what Steve is looking for.
“Where did you find that?” he asks, pointing to the horrible lamp in the guy’s hands.
The man is taken aback by the question. “What, this thing? It was hidden behind a stack of coloring books in the other aisle. Why?”
“Did you see if there’s another one?”
“Dude, it was hidden behind other stuff. I’m pretty sure it’s the only one.”
Steve can’t help the pang of disappointment that crushes his heart. At the same time, he can’t say he’s surprised. Nothing’s been working out in his life lately. Of course he’d find the perfect gift for Robin just for someone else to get to it first. It’s fitting, honestly.
“Do you want this one?” the man asks.
Steve’s eyes widen. “What?”
“The lamp. You can have it if you want. I don’t mind.”
“I don—I mean, I want it. But what about you?”
The guy shrugs. “I was gonna give it to my uncle as a joke. I can find something else.”
Steve hesitates. He bites his lip, his hands fiddling nervously with the hem of his jacket.
The man is having none of it.
“Come on, take it,” he says just as he deposits the ugly lap in Steve’s arms. “It’s okay.”
“Uhn, thank you. You just saved my life.”
“By giving you an ugly lamp?”
The grin that takes over his face is the first genuine smile Steve has given someone in the past three weeks. “Yes, by giving me an ugly lamp.”
The man smiles back. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”
They share a glance for a moment longer before the man gives Steve a small salute and turns to leave.
“Wait!” Steve calls, and the guy turns again to face him. “I didn’t get your name.”
Brown eyes dance with mirth as the man says, “It’s Eddie.”
“Merry Christmas, Steve. I hope you enjoy your Peppa Pig lamp.”
“I’m Steve,” he says, hugging the weird lamp against his chest. “Merry Christmas, Eddie. And thanks again.”
Steve watches Eddie disappear around the corner. His face is warm, and his heart feels much lighter than it did before.
The drive back to Beacon Hills feels shorter than it should. Maybe it’s because Stiles has spent half of it with his knee bouncing, his brain a hurricane of what ifs and rehearsed confessions. Or maybe it’s just that he’s finally coming home, to the one person who’s been stuck in his chest like a virus he can’t shake.
When he parks the Jeep outside the loft, he sits there for a long moment, hands gripping the steering wheel until the faint tremor in his fingers calms. The sun is setting behind the building, the sky a smudged watercolor of gold and violet, and Stiles laughs quietly to himself because of course the universe would try to make this look cinematic.
Inside, the loft looks the same - industrial, quiet, lived in. It smells faintly of coffee, cedar, and something familiar and grounding. Derek’s scent.
“Hey,” Derek says from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel, looking up with that small, cautious smile that still hits Stiles like a punch to the ribs. His hair’s longer now, a little curlier. There’s stubble on his jaw that Stiles wants to trace with his thumb.
“Hey,” Stiles echoes, his voice somehow both too quiet and too loud.
They talk about nothing at first. the drive, how school’s going, how the pack’s been. It’s easy, the way it always is once Stiles stops thinking too hard. Derek leans against the counter, arms crossed, eyes soft in that way that used to scare Stiles because he didn’t know what it meant. Now he does.
Finally, Stiles takes a step closer. His heart is hammering so hard it almost drowns out his voice. “I, um… there’s something I should’ve said before I left for school. Something I should’ve said a long time ago.”
Derek’s brow furrows, but he doesn’t move away.
“I missed you,” Stiles says. “Like, stupidly. Like, wake-up-thinking-about-you, dream-about-you, wish-you-were-there-for-everything kind of missed you. And I think it’s because - no, I know it’s because I love you. I’ve loved you for a while.”
The air seems to still. Derek blinks once, twice, his breath catching. Then, slowly, the tension melts off his shoulders. “You’re not the only one,” he murmurs, voice low and rough.
Stiles’ heart does an actual somersault. He grins, a little dazed. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Derek says, stepping closer. “You really think I’d spend all those nights making sure you didn’t get yourself killed if I didn’t?”
Stiles laughs, the sound shaking, relieved, and then Derek kisses him.
It’s soft at first, hesitant, almost testing, but it deepens quickly. It feels like something they’ve both been building toward for years, slow and certain. Derek’s hand comes up to cradle the back of Stiles’ neck, thumb brushing his jaw. Stiles presses closer, fingers sliding down Derek’s chest, tracing the unfamiliar planes that have always felt untouchable, until they aren’t.
When his hands settle on Derek’s stomach, Derek flinches. Just barely, but enough.
Derek looks away, his jaw tightening. “It’s nothing. Just… I’ve stopped working out as much. Haven’t had the inclination . I’m not exactly in fighting shape anymore.” He gives a humorless little huff. “Guess I’m softer now.”
Stiles blinks at him, stunned for a second, then exhales through a disbelieving laugh. “That’s what you’re worried about?”
Derek shrugs, eyes on the floor, and it hits Stiles right in the chest. this man who’s fought monsters and carried grief like a second skin, looking suddenly unsure of himself because of something so human.
“Jesus, Derek.” Stiles closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath like he’s trying to steady himself. “You have no idea how unfair it is that you just got hotter.”
Derek’s head snaps up, eyes narrowing. “Hotter?”
“Yes! Hotter,” Stiles insists, hands gesturing wildly before they land back on Derek’s middle, palms warm against the soft give of his stomach. “You’re…God, you’re solid and warm and real and-” He cuts himself off with a laugh that borders on helpless. “Do you have any idea how much I wanted you before? And now you’re standing here all soft and cozy and looking like home and, yeah, it’s ridiculously hot.”
A slow smile tugs at the corner of Derek’s mouth. “You’re serious.”
“Dead serious,” Stiles says, leaning in until their foreheads touch. “You being soft doesn’t make you any less of the guy I fell for. If anything, it makes me wanna hold you more.”
Something in Derek’s chest loosens, visibly. His hands come up to Stiles’ waist, thumbs rubbing slow circles against his hips. “You really mean that?”
Stiles’ smile is gentle now. “Yeah, big guy. I do.”
Derek exhales, the sound soft, almost like a laugh. He leans in again, and this kiss feels different; deeper, unguarded. Stiles melts into it, fingers curling into the hem of Derek’s shirt, not to lift it, but just to feel. To anchor himself in the warmth and weight of him.
When they finally part, Stiles rests his head against Derek’s shoulder and murmurs, “You really thought I’d care that you’re softer?”
Derek hums, low in his chest. “Didn’t think you’d call it hot.”
“Then you don’t know me at all,” Stiles grins against his skin.
••••••
They end up on the couch after dinner, a half empty bowl of popcorn between them and a movie playing quietly in the background. Neither of them’s really watching. It’s mostly there for the light, for the sound of something familiar while they learn how to breathe in sync again.
Derek’s got his arm draped along the back of the couch, fingers brushing through Stiles’ hair every so often in slow, absent-minded strokes that make Stiles melt a little more each time.
At some point, Stiles shifts closer, practically curling against Derek’s side. The movie flickers across Derek’s face and Stiles just looks at him for a while, like he’s trying to memorize every version of this man he’s loved in silence for too long.
He eventually slides a hand beneath Derek’s shirt, fingers tracing lazy patterns across the skin of his stomach. Derek tenses for half a second, a quiet intake of breath, but Stiles just keeps his touch steady, gentle.
“You keep doing that,” Derek murmurs, voice low and rough around the edges, “and I’m never going to be able to focus on the movie.”
“Good,” Stiles says simply, his voice warm with a smile. “It’s a terrible movie anyway."
Derek huffs out a laugh that rumbles under Stiles’ palm. He shifts until Stiles is lying half across him, their legs tangled, Stiles’ head tucked against his shoulder.
Stiles hums contentedly and runs his hand over Derek’s stomach again, slower this time, tracing the soft give of muscle and skin. “You know,” he says quietly, almost to himself, “I used to think you were untouchable. All hard lines and sharp edges. I mean, you were, you are this whole brick wall of a man. But this…” He presses his hand a little more firmly, feeling Derek breathe under his touch. “This makes you human. You feel real.”
Derek’s breath catches. “Real?”
“Yeah.” Stiles lifts his head just enough to meet Derek’s eyes. “You feel like someone I could come home to. Not just the guy who keeps everyone safe. The guy who lets himself be safe, too.”
For a moment, Derek can’t speak. His eyes shine faintly in the dim light, not from tears exactly, but from something close to them, something full. He reaches up and cups the back of Stiles’ neck, thumb brushing along the pulse there. “You always say things that make me forget how to breathe.”
“Good,” Stiles whispers, smiling against his skin. “Then we’re even.”
Derek leans down and kisses him again slow, unhurried, the kind of kiss that feels like a promise. Stiles sighs into it, his hand still resting over Derek’s stomach, feeling it rise and fall beneath his palm. The steady rhythm of Derek’s breathing grounds him.
Eventually, they settle back into the couch, the movie long forgotten. Derek’s hand drifts lazily over Stiles’ back, tracing shapes into his skin. Stiles stays like that for a long time, half asleep, murmuring something soft against Derek’s chest.
“What was that?” Derek asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
Stiles’ lips quirk, eyes still closed. “Said you feel like home.”
Derek’s arm tightens around him, and he presses a kiss to the top of Stiles’ head. “You are home,” he says quietly.
The movie hums quietly in the background, the last bit of popcorn forgotten. Stiles’ fingers move one last time, a slow, soothing pass across Derek’s stomach before going still. Derek’s breathing evens out, and the loft fills with nothing but the sound of them - steady, together, finally.
Still processing and realizing at random times again that the main plotline of season 5 is that a gay man accepting himself gives him the power defeat evil.
That's the main plot.
We've never had this. We've just- we've just never had this.
