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Fates Endless Inkwell: basically a series of random rambles i write in messages with friends and then hopefully will be posting here. They're sort of not-fics, just me chatting and getting my ideas out in great detail.
But that being said, feel free to interact with them! You can ask questions about them or like... share cute ideas they inspire in your own little brains! Just whatever!
I just have so many ideas and no motivation to write them all out "properly" so I've created this thing to hopefully at least share my ideas with you all!
I'm gonna try to keep the tags on them neat and consistent so they'll be easy to search for. All of them will be tagged with "Fates Endless Inkwell" and ship names of course! And if you ever feel it needs a specific tag please feel free to message me!
You guys are awesome! Thanks for stickin around through my writing lulls! Love you guys! ✌🏻✌🏻
{ Little Steddie thing that popped in my head randomly. It's set somewhere after s2, because it mentions Steve's fall from king and the fights he lost. Also Al Munson is there and not nice. Eddie has bruises. Also asshole teacher warning. But also a sweet teacher to make up for it.
Anyway, out of it because of abuse Eddie and protective Steve! Unexpected getting together and fluff!! Enjoy! 🩷 }
Eddie was having an off day. His dad had come around over the weekend. Eddie locked himself in his room, and Wayne kept his father away as best he could. It had ended in the first real time he'd ever heard Wayne truly raise his voice in anger. He'd shouted at Al to fuck off. And leave Eddie alone.
He'd said some really nice things about Eddie, how he was doing good, growing into a good boy, that he didn't need Al fucking that up. And Eddie was grateful. But he'd still had to leave his room and tell his dad he wanted him to go. That he was happy with Wayne. That he felt safe here.
His dad didn't take it well, but he'd only managed to bruise Eddie's arm before Wayne jumped between them and shoved the man out the door. His hand on Eddie's back as they listened to him speed away, tires throwing gravel at the side of the trailer.
Eddie had let Wayne look at his arm, where he'd been grabbed. Dark red fingerprint bruises already forming. He'd let Wayne make him dinner and fuss of over him, told him he was fine. But after Wayen left for work Eddie had cried himself to sleep.
And now he was sitting in class, the last place he wanted to be. Fingers moving over his sleeve where his bruises pulsed, listening to their jackass history teacher bully some poor kid who'd forgotten his homework.
Eddie's head throbbed as the asshat really started laying into the kid, Eddie could see tears dripping onto his pant legs, the kids head hung low. He felt that familiar surge of anger and knew his day was about to get worse.
"Can you lay off man? Jesus." Eddie shook his head, eyes meeting Mr. Spooner's over the heads of the three kids sitting in front of him. The already quiet class dropping to dead silence as he stopped speaking, his attention moving to Eddie. Great.
"Excuse me?" His voice was tight, always was when he was being an asshole.
"He forgot his homework. It's not like he killed someone. Just..." Eddie shook his head again,
"Just leave him alone." Eddie sighed. Blinking slowly.
"Leave him, alone." The man echoed, clearly not impressed.
"Yeah." Eddie shrugged. Mr. Spooner narrowed his eyes, crossed his arms, and leaned back against his desk.
"Mr. Munson. Why don't you come up to the board for me." He said, voice calm, too calm for the way he was looking at Eddie.
"I'm good here, actually." Eddie nods, pats his notebook gently. Knows that won't be the end of it.
"Mr. Munson I wasn't giving you a choice. Come to the board." He motiones to the space next to him, hand moving lazily in the air.
"I'm okay. Don't really feel like being bullied in front of the class today. But thank you." Eddie smiles, bright and shit eating. Mr. Spooner huffs, and then before Eddie realizes what's happening he's next to Eddie's desk.
"Principles office. Now." The man hisses. Eddie presses his lips together and nods.
"Figured." He mutters, moves his notes and folder into his bag and stands, is about to head to the door, but apparently not fast enough. Mr. Spooners fingers wrap around his arm and yank, Eddie doesn't mean to make the hurt noise, but pain shoots through his arm where the mans fingers press deeply into the already bruised skin.
Eddie's feet stumble over themselves as he's dragged toward the door, he's about to try and pull his arm free, even if it'll hurt more, when everything stops, because of a voice from behind him.
"Hey! You can't just grab him." The voice is firm, protective, and a little angry, Eddie thinks. He turns to look over his shoulder and sees Steve Harrington standing next to his desk, brow furrowed, hands fisted at his sides.
"Excuse me? Mr. Harrington?" Mr. Spooner spits, face going red with anger now. But Harrington, bless him, doesn't back down, in fact he takes a very calculated step forward, features hardned as he looks at the man. Eddie takes this moment of suprise to try and twist his arm free. The fingers there clamp down.
"Ow! Fuck!" Eddie hissed, suprised, pain shooting up his arm, his body trying to pull away but his arm going limp, trying to stop the pain.
"Let go of him." Steve's voice is low, Eddie swears he sees him plant his feet the way he does when he's running around on the wooden gym floors playing ball.
"Excus-"
"Let. Him. Go." Steve says again, slower, not blinking as he stares their teacher down. And that does it, whether Mr. Spooner is scared of Steve, or has finally realized he's been assaulting a kid in front of the class, his grip looses, and Eddie pulls free.
"Jesus." He huffs, tucking his arm against himself, his fingers gently touching at his sleeve.
"Ya know what? Detention. For both of you. Now." Mr. Spooner says, voice clipped. Eddie nods, feels his eyes widen when Steve Harrington fucking scoffs, grabs his stuff, steps past Eddie carefully, and opens the door for him.
"C'mon." Steve says, softly, the hardness in his voice from before gone now that he's speaking to Eddie.
"Okay." Is all Eddie can think to say before tugging his bag up his shoulder a bit and following Steve down the hall.
~•~
His eyes are unfocused. He's just, staring. Dealing with so many assholes in a short time was draining, his brain was fuzzy, and his fingers kept absentmindedly moving over the bruises on his arm. He vaguely hears someone say something, their voice muffled like the adults on The Peanuts. Then he hears his name, still fuzzy, but very obviously his name.
He wills his eyes to focus, they don't, so he hums in response. Noncomittal. He hears his name again and blinks hard, shaking his head awkwardly to clear it.
"What? Sorry?" Eddie says, eyes finally focusing on Steve. He's sitting backwards in a chair a few desks away, clearly having been speaking to him. Mrs. Carlisle is sitting at the desk up front, head hidden behind her book. Of all the detention teachers, Eddie's always liked her best. She lets you talk as long as you don't get too rowdy, and doesn't care if you're doing classwork or not. As long as you don't disrupt her reading, she's chill.
"I said, you're staring." Steve says, with the voice of someone who's said it multiple times already. But he doesn't sound annoyed.
"No I-" Eddie starts, his immediate response when boys accuse him of staring. But then he stops, frowns a little, blinks a few more times and nods.
"Sorry. I wasn't staring at you. Just... sort of... through you." Eddie explains, fingertip pressing hard into the desktop.
"Just... staring in my general direction." Steve supplies, nodding, even smiling when he surprises a small laugh out of Eddie.
"Yeah. That." Eddie nods, agreeing with him. Eddie doesn't know what else to say so he doesn't say anything, just flashes another small smile and turns to the window, hopes his eyes focus on something over there instead.
"Hey." Steve's voice is soft again, and he sounds closer. Eddie hums again, turns back to see Steve has moved close, he's now sitting backwards in the chair directly in front of Eddie.
"Whoa. Hi." Eddie breathes, leaning back in his chair a little, hoping its not rude to lean away from someone when they clearly came closer to be secretive.
"Are you-" Steve's brow furrows, he bites his lip, then moves his finger over it before tilting his head, and then leaning a little closer, his fingertips touching the edge of Eddie's desk.
"Are you okay?" He finally asks, teeth worring into his bottom lip as he crosses his arms. Eddie blinks at him.
"Am I...?" He trails off, frowns himself, eyes dropping to the desktop.
"I don't... um... what do you mean?" He stammers, fingers drumming against the desk. Steve's mouth quirks to the side, not like a smirk, more like he's trying not to smile.
"You've just been quiet today. No ranting in the lunch room. And even defending Eric you were pretty..." he trails off now, like he's not sure he should say it.
"Pretty what?" Eddie pushes, has too, needs to know how this new, fallen king, sees him.
"I dunno kinda... calm. Or like... not as... aggressive? Not that you're aggressive." Steve corrects, quickly.
"You're just usually more... animated?" He says it like a question, and he's looking at Eddie like he's asking if it's okay for him to say that. And Eddie is so tired, and just wants to go home, and sleep. But he smiles, ducks his head and nods.
"I'll take animated. I've definitely been called worse." Eddie looks up and finds Steve looking at him, smiling.
"Yeah I've heard." He says, a little laugh following his words. Eddie once again doesn't know what to say, so he says nothing. Just sits, and watches Steve watch him, and waits.
"Seriously though. Are you okay?" He nods then, towards Eddie's arm and the way his fingers are moving over his sleeve genlty, petting at his own arm, soothingly.
"Oh, uh... yeah. I'm- I'm good. I guess." Eddie shrugs one shoulder, and then, for reasons he'll never know, pushes his sleeve up, exposing the deep purple bruises on his arm. The clear print of someone's hand on his skin, four dark spots on the outside of his arm and one larger dark spot on the inside. Steve gasps, literally, and Eddie almost laughs again.
"Did he grab you that hard? Jesus. We should tell someone. That's-"
"It wasn't him." Eddie cuts him off, his voice soft, and he watches Steve frown, watches his eyes move over Eddie's arm and then he looks back to his face.
"He just grabbed what was already there. That's why it hurt so much." Steve says, not like he's talking to Eddie, more like he's talking to himself. But Eddie nods anyway. His chest feeling a bit tight as Steve looks at him. And then Steve's fingers touch his arm and he's lost.
Steve's hand is warm, his touch gentle, if Eddie hadn't been looking right at his own arm he may not have even felt it. But he was looking, and he did feel it.
Steve's fingertips moving over his pale skin until they neared each bruise, skirting just near the edge of the darkened skin, and then moving to the next bruise. When he's done inspecting them he does something else Eddie's not expecting, something that takes his breath away. Steve lays his hand gently over the four bruises, warm and easy, like it's meant to be there.
"Are you okay Eddie?" He asks again, and it feels different. Feels like maybe he knows what Eddie's feeling. Eddie's throat tightens, and his eyes burn, so he just nods.
"You sure?" Steve asks, and his thumb moves over Eddie's skin, slow, the heat from his palm soothing a bit of the ache in his arm. Eddie nods again, clears his throat.
"Um yeah. Yeah no I'm good. Wayne, uh, my uncle, he took care of it. All good now." Eddie explains. Doesn't know why. Never in a million years thought he'd be having a moment like this, especially with Steve Fucking Harrington. Steve looks at him, really looks at him, for a long moment and then nods, but he doesn't take his hand away.
"Good." Is all he says, his thumb still moving in that slow rhythm against Eddie's skin.
"I'm so tired Steve." Eddie says, the words falling past his lips without his permission. Steve huffs a laugh, eyes crinkling with a barely there smile.
"I know. That's okay." Steve says, nodding, in agreement with Eddie, and then down towards the desk.
"Get some rest." Steve says, giving Eddie's arm an impossibly gentle squeeze, his hand moving down Eddie's arm, fingers curling around his wrist. Eddie lays his head down against his arm, eyes drooping, Steve's fingers against his skin the last thing he sees before he drifts off.
"Boys?" A soft voice.
"Boys? It's time to go." A soft touch on his shoulder and he startles awake to see Steve do the same in front of him. Feels Steve's fingers drag over his wrist as he finally lets go. Eddie's wrist is sweaty where Steve was holding onto him, he can't honestly say he cares.
"Sorry." Steve mutters, wiping his hand on his shirt, Eddie shakes his head and rubs at his eyes.
"You were both out cold." Mrs. Carlisle chuckles, patting both their shoulders before walking back toward her desk.
"Time's up. You're free to go." She says brightly, collecting her things as they do as well. Steve opens the door for Eddie again, does it three more times as they make their way through the halls and out the doors to the parking lot. They're parked three spaces away from each other.
Neither of them say much as they walk. Both of them slow and hesitant as they reach their cars. Eddie kicks at the asphalt, the toe of his Reebock's sliding along the painted line. He doesn't know what makes him say it, just knows that the ghost of Steve's skin against his has been making his chest flutter as they walked out here.
"Hey." He starts, looking up to find Steve already looking at him. He tilts his head, waits.
"Do you wanna- I mean would you wanna... maybe... come with me?" Eddie asks, doesn't say where, it doesn't seem to matter. Steve nods, immediately, teeth pressing into his bottom lip again.
"Yeah. I'd like that." He says, hands shoved into his pockets.
"Lead the way." He says, nodding to Eddie's van.
So Eddie hops in, and let's Steve follow him to the trailer park, his eyes on his reerveiw mirror more than normal as he keeps his eyes on the Beemer following him.
Steve follows him into the trailer quietly, following him to Eddie's room. They climb into bed silently, shoes kicked off, Eddie lifting his arm and letting Steve curl under it, head resting on Eddie's chest.
They lay there in silence for a long time, the small fan on Eddie's desk the only sound, Eddie's fingers move over Steve's shoulder, walking back and forth, fidgety, but not nervous. It's Eddie who breaks the silence. Of course.
"This should be weird right?" He asks, a whisper, not wanting to break the quiet completely. Steve snorts, shrugs under Eddie's fidgeting fingers.
"Honestly. These days. I don't even know." Steve muses, and then he pushes up onto his elbow, so he's looking down at Eddie. He's so close, and Eddie can see scars, small ones, littering his skin, no doubt from all the fights he'd lost this year.
"But I know one thing." Steve says, swallows hard, his fingers fidgeting now, with the hem of Eddie's shirt.
"I don't feel like such a screw up when I'm with you." Steve sighs, deep in his chest. Eddie frowns.
"Who's been calling you a screw up?" He asks, hand moving from his side to lay over Steve's. He shakes his head, shrugs.
"My parents. Every single application letter I got back. All regreting to inform me I'm not smart enough to keeping go to school." Steve won't look at him, eyes glued to Eddie's chest.
"At least you're gonna graduate. I'm fucking stuck here man." Eddie sighs, Steve moves his hand, places it palm down over Eddie's heart.
"Shit. I heard that. Sorry." Steve frowns. Eddie shakes his head.
"It's fine. The day's looking up. I've got Steve Harrington in my bed right now. I'm not entirely sure this isn't all just a dream." Eddie sighs, closing his eyes and letting himself sink lower into his matress. He hears Steve chuckle, and then feels the bed dip as he leans closer, lower, over Eddie.
"It's not a dream. Although, I have dreamt about you before, so maybe it is. Maybe it's my dream, and you're trapped here." Steve smiles, then startles a bit when he sees the look Eddie's giving him.
"You dream about me?" Eddie asks. Steve nods, his cheeks tinting pink.
"I didn't think you liked me. Or even knew who I was, really." Eddie looks up at his ceiling, eyes wide, feeling a little flabbergasted.
"I know who you are. I see you Eddie. I do now, anyway." Steve rests his chin on his hand, watching Eddie look up at the ceiling.
"Oh yeah? What do you see exactly?" Eddie asks, glancing at Steve and then looking away again. Steve smiles, rolls his eyes.
"Someone protective. Someone loyal. Someone who pretends to be scary so people will leave him alone. Someone with a big heart and who's smart, even if he has to do senior year over." Steve reaches up, pushes some of Eddie's hair away from his face.
"You. You're kinda lonely. But I see you." Steve sighs, rests his cheek on his hand on Eddie's chest.
"You're lonely too. That's what I see." Eddie says, moves his finger down Steve's nose and then pokes him, getting him a little strangled noise for his trouble.
"That all you see? Oh wise and powerful Eddie?" Steve asks, voice pitched with dramatics.
"Nope. I see other stuff." Eddie says, doesn't elaborate.
"You wanna share?" Steve presses. Eddie shakes his head slowly.
"Not particularly." He says, laughs when Steve smacks at his chest. He grabs Steve by the wrist and flips them, easy, Steve goes pink to the tips of his ears as Eddie looks down at him.
"Maybe later." Eddie says, smiling down at Steve, Steve smiles back, his eyes move to Eddie's lips and then back up, making Eddie's stomach flutter. His eyes dart to Steve's lips and he thinks about leaning in, thinks about pressing his lips oh so genlty to his. And then he bails, rolls back onto his back, to safety. He thinks he hears Steve sigh next to him.
And then he's hovering over Eddie, his hand moving to Eddie's shoulder. And then a few seconds later his cheek. Steve's thumb moves over Eddie's skin again, warm as it moves from his cheek to drag over his bottom lip.
"Can I?" Steve asks, his eyes on Eddie's mouth. Eddie should bave told Steve he was brave, lonely and brave and so many other wonderful things.
"Do you want to?" Eddie asks, sounding very much like he doesn't believe him.
"I really do." Steve says with a nod, his fingers curling into the hair at Eddie's neck. Eddie chuckles, shakes his head.
"What? You don't want me too?" He asks, sounding a bit smug, like he already knows the answer. Eddie shakes his head, smiles up Steve.
"It's not that." Eddie says, his hand finally moving, finding Steve's hip.
"What then?" Steve asks, eyes moving over Eddie's face, amusement sparkling there, the same shining in Eddie's he's sure. He shakes his head again, once, and then smiles.
"It's just... Steve Harrington, a boy kisser. I never would have guessed." Eddie says with a little snort. Steve flushes a deeper shade of pink and ducks his head, his hair tickling Eddie's face. When he looks back up he's smiling.
"I told you. These days. Who knows." Steve says, leaning down.
"This is real right?" Eddie says in a rush, making Steve pause, tilt his head again. He moves his fingertips over Eddie's lips, his thumb moves across his chin and then sooths little circles against his neck.
"This is real." Steve tells him, and closes the small space left between them. Eddie hums into the kiss, it's soft, and it's sweet, and it's everything he imagined kissing Steve would be like and more. Steve hums back, pulling Eddie closer.
"Don't leave." Eddie whispers against him, into him, sharing breathe because Steve didn't pull back. He feels Steve smiles against his lips.
"Oh you're never getting rid of me now." He mumbles, promises, breathes into Eddie before he kisses him again and again and again. They stay that way, tangled together, something new and exciting, something that somehow already feels safe.
Steve falls alseep on Eddie's chest, his hand resting on Eddie's arm, over his bruises, but gentle, like a shield. Protecting Eddie, even in his sleep. His knight in shining armor, Eddie thinks, a goofy, sleepy, smile dimpling his cheeks as he drifts off to sleep.
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Tagging some homies whomst might be interested: @hotluncheddie @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe @scoops-aboy86
{ this took forever cuz i got to the end that day and then got stuck but i did it!!!! I know it's technically fall now but shh shh shh pretend it's not!!! @hotluncheddie @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx also hi hello this is my writing blog for those who don't know that! Enjoy guys! 🩵🩷🩵 }
Summary: Steve and Eddie are left in Hawkins for the summer while everyone's away at camp. A calm summer alone might be just what they need.
Warnings: just a little bit of angst when they're talking about their moms, but i think that's it!
🩵🍉🩵🍉🩵🍉🩵
"Does it always feel like this when he goes to camp?" Eddie asks, his voice tight, his hand resting on his chest. Steve glances at him, blows out a long breath before he answers.
"Yeah. Sucks." His voice tight too as they watch Dustin get his stuff loaded into his moms car. But it's worse this year.
"And they're all fucking going! Look at them! Just packing up and leaving us behind!" Eddie wouldn't call it wailing, but he might be close. Steve snorts next to him, covers it with a cough.
"And Robin's already left, fuckin bandcamp." Eddie grumbles, says it like bandcamp is now his arch nemesis. But he bumps his elbow genlty into Steve comfortingly, Steve bumps him back.
They hug all the kids. Wave them off. Steve still trying not to laugh at Eddie crying, while absolutely crying himself.
"Wait. And everyone else went to school. Or a job." Eddie says, glancing at Steve again.
"Steve. Are we losers?" He asks, with the voice of a man who's world has just trembled.
"Maybe. Little bit." Steve answers, no hesitation. That doesn't make Eddie feel better. He groans.
"Hey. At least they gave you your diploma." Steve shrugs, pats Eddie's back, once, before taking his hand back. Eddie snorts.
"Yeeeeaahh. But only because they felt guilty about sending a witch hunt out to kill me for being a murder and satan worshiper and god knows what else." Eddie shakes his head, crosses his arms, his hip pops.
"I wish I was that cool. Not the murder thing obviously. But like... the other stuff." He flaps his hand dismissively, though Steve didn't actually say anything. He smiles though.
"But I'm just a loser. Apparently." He huffs, hangs his head, not so subtly peeking up and out through his bangs at Steve. He rolls his eyes, but it's fond. And he shoves at Eddie's shoulder.
"Yeah well, shit happens man." Steve says with a shrug. Eddie's head pops up.
"Woooooow okay! Jerk. You were supposed to make me feel better." He shoves at Steve, who barley moves, Eddie narrows his eyes. Steve smiles, huffs a laugh.
"Sorry man. I'm a loser too, how am I supposed to help?" Steve kicks at the gravel of the Henderson's driveway, stepping in slow circles as Eddie watches him.
"So we're both losers." Eddie says, hands shoved in pockets, scuffing his toe as well, eyes lingering on Steve's feet as he turns, and turns, and turns, in slow motion. Eddie feels sweat dripping down his back. The humidity has been lethal this summer. It was supposed to break soon, but as far as Eddie could tell, that wasn't happening.
"Guess so. That a problem?" Steve answers, stops spinning, thankfully, Eddie was getting dizzy just watching him. Eddie shakes his head, his hair lifting off his neck for a moment, allowing a nice breeze to reach his dripping skin.
"Nope. Well maybe." Eddie thinks, brow furrowed, eyes on the sky.
"What?" Steve asks, frowning.
"Can we be losers together at your house? Where the air conditioning is?" Eddie asks, his shoulders drooping, hands hanging low by his sides, like he's melting. Steve laughs then, bright and warm like the sun shining through the trees, shimmering on the ground by their feet.
"I dunnnooooo." Steve draws, arms crossed over his chest. Eddie keeps his eyes off them, though the cut off shirt shows everything. Eddie settles for more dramatics, to keep his eyes to himself.
"Steeeevvvvvveeeeee." He groans, melting further, his hands hitting the ground and dragging. Steve laughs again, and shoves his hand up under Eddie's head, lifting him up again, not seeming to mind that Eddie's forhead was sweaty under his bangs.
"Alright c'mon. Get in the car." Steve says, relentingly, like he wasn't always gonna say yes.
"SHOTGUN!" Eddie shouts, takes three running steps toward the car and then stops.
"Oh wait. Everyone's fucking gone. Ugh!" He kicks at the gravel and stomps to the car. Too hot and sticky to notice the way Steve's smile softens as he unlocks the car for Eddie. He rolls the windows down, but turns the air on too, and heads to his house. Doing his best to watch the road and not Eddie, who's kicked the seat back and is now lounging in his passenger seat.
~°~
Steve gets one day to himself. He sleeps in, eats a bunch of junk, and is settling down on the couch to watch a movie, pushing away the thought that maybe he was gonna be alone this summer. Eddie not having called at all. Not that he expected it. When the doorbell rings.
Eddie's standing on his doorstep, a cropped Iron Maiden shirt and jeans cut just below his knees, his hair tossed up into what Steve guesses is supposed to be a bun.
"I had an idea." Eddie starts, stepping past him.
"So there's this place out down 44. Me and Wayne used to go there all the time when i was little and I haven't been in ages and- are you busy? Am I interrupting something?" Eddie cuts himself off, bends backwards awkwardly to peak into the dark living room.
"What would you be interrupting?" Steve asks, closing his front door slowly, giving it a little push til it clicks.
"Dunno. You're the ladies man. Thought maybe you had someone over." He peaks into the kitchen now, slinking against the wall like he's trying to stay out of sight. Steve snorts.
"Not anymore. There's no one here man." He shakes his head.
"You were saying?" Steve prompts, holds his hand out, waiting. Eddie stares at his hand, then looks to his face.
"Huh?" Is all Steve gets. He rolls his eyes and bites his lip to stop the smile.
"Something down 44? What's out there?" Steve asks, forcing another smile down when Eddie's face lights up.
"Oh yeah! I can't tell you. It's a suprise. Do you need to change clothes or are you okay going in that?" Eddie asks, hand waving up and down in Steve's direction.
"I- how am I supposed to know the answer to that if I don't know where we're going?" Steve says slowly, eyes narrowing at Eddie.
"Well. You don't have to get out of the van if you don't want. And no one will really be able to see you. If that helps at all?" Eddie's nose scrunches, his shoulders hiking up near his ears with an exaggerated shrug. Steve looks at Eddie, looks down at the baggy shirt and sweatpants he'd pulled on to watch his movie, and then looks back to Eddie.
Eddie's smile is wide, all teeth and dimples, and he's got that look in his eyes that Steve should probably be more wary of, but he likes it. He sighs, really selling the annoyance, head falling back, eyes on the ceiling.
"I'll get my shoes." He huffs, and stomps up the stairs. He's hears Eddie's little barely there "yes!" as he bounds up the stairs, swears he sees the end of Eddie punching the air as he gets to the top.
They've been driving for fifteen minutes when Steve asks again.
"Where are we going?" He lifts his hand on the windowsill, letting the warm air carry it up, and then back down, as Eddie drives them down the winding back roads in the setting sun.
"Do you know what a suprise is?" Eddie asks, turning and giving him a look, before moving his eyes back to the road.
"Yes. Eddie. I know what a surprise is." Steve says flatly.
"Then stop asking!" Eddie laughs, his hands jumping on the steering wheel, not letting go, just splaying his fingers wide. He can't flail when he drives but god Steve appreciate the effort.
"Fine! God." Steve grumbles, but when he and Eddie glance at each other they're both smiling.
They pull into the old drive-in just as the sun falls below the horizon. Eddie pays, flicks the radio to the right station and parks them in one of the empty spaces at the back.
"This okay? Can you see alright?" He asks, and Steve just nods.
"Okay cool. I'll go get snacks, what do you want? They have popcorn, obviously, but they've got some candy too. And coke." Eddie's already out of the Van, chin resting on his windowsill, looking in at Steve with wide eyes.
"Popcorn. Coke. And whatever candy you want. We can share right?" Steve ask, moving to grab his wallet.
"Absolutely we can share." Eddie says, slaps the windowsill twice, his rings clinking against the door, and then he's gone before Steve can even get his wallet all the way out of his pocket.
Steve has no idea what the movie is, some old western, he thinks, but he knows Eddie's seen it a million times. The way he's mouthing all the words, and making faces, so dramatic. Steve finds himself watching Eddie in the mirror more than the movie. But the popcorn is great, always better fresh. And Eddie had gotten more than one candy. So Steve digs into the packet of twizzlers and tries to watch the movie.
The drive home is quiet. Steve can hear the humming of the cicadas in the trees as they drive. The warm air barely cooling with the sun gone. It's sticky, but it pushes his hair around and feels nice. He closes his eyes and listens to Eddie sing and hum along to whatever tape he's got in. Something he'd normally be listening to at ear splitting levels nodoubt, but he always keeps it lower when Steve's in his van.
"I should make you a tape. Broaden your music tastes." Steve muses, turning the music up a few notches. He watches Eddie glance at him, three times, clearly wanting to stare but keeping his eyes on the road. He watches him smile and shake his head.
"My music tastes are fine. Thank you very much. But sure. If you want. I gueeessss I could branch out. For you Steven." Eddie says, and he's teasing, Steve can feel it. But he can feel something else too. Just under the surface.
They don't talk anymore while Eddie drives him home. They just sit in comfortable silence, listening to the music and the cicadas in the trees. Steve closes his eyes again and sighs into the warmth of the night.
So it starts with a movie. At an old drive-in. The sun setting and the warm wind blowing and the promise of a calm summer.
~°~
The next day it's swimming. Eddie shows up at Steve's, in another fucking croptop, his boney hips on display over his swim trunks. Steve nods him in speechlessly, eyes on his lower back as Eddie walks out to the backyard and makes himself at home near one of the lounge chairs. Steve's never seen so much of his skin, pale, and scarred, and fucking beautiful.
Eddie tries to jump in with no sunscreen and Steve almost has a breakdown. He grabs at Eddie and lathers him up so he doesn't burn to a crisp. The touching and the blush glowing on Eddie neck making Steve feel a little crazy.
But he loves swimming. And making lunch after being in the sun is nice too. Eddie stays the night. They order pizza and stay up well into the evening, Eddie dragging Steve back outside for a night swim. Because "you can't swim at the lake at night. You get eaten alive by bugs! STEVEN!"
So they swim, mostly floating now, laying on their back, hands and arms brushing in the water as they look up at the sky.
~°~
Two days later Eddie picks him up again. The sun is still up, though it's heading into the evening. The sun and air still suffocating during the height of the day. The evenings are nicer, still sticky, but Steve finds it hard to complain the way Eddie does. Enjoying the way the heat makes Eddie's hair fluffier, and the way it makes it stick to his skin, which always seems to be shining with sweat these days. Not that Steve has noticed, or anything.
"Where we going tonight?" Steve asks as he pulls himself up into the van.
"You really think I'm gonna tell you?" Eddie asks, giving him a look, eyesbrows high on his forehead, disappearing beneath his bangs.
"Another suprise?" Steve asks, already knows the answer.
"Yep! Just trust me! It'll be fun!" Eddie says, watching him put on his seat belt. Steve settles and turns back to him.
"I do. Trust you." Steve says, calm, certain. He sees Eddie swallow.
"Right. Well good. I'm super trustworthy. Amazing choice." Eddie nods, mostly to himself, Steve's sure, and backs out of the driveway.
Steve's never been to this creek before. But he'd brought his trunks, as requested, and was now watching as Eddie swung back and forth on a rope before letting go and throwing himself into the water. His stomach makes a sickening smack on the water when he hits. Steve grimaces, Eddie breaks through the surface of the water with a groan, his hair flat and in his face.
"Don't. Don't do it the way I did. That was a mistake." He calls to Steve, shoving his hair out of his face and looking up to find Steve laughing at him.
Like, full on, red in the face, doubled over, no sound coming out, laughing. Eddie feels himself go warm down to his toes and sinks deeper into the water, down to his shoulders, as he watches Steve laugh, adoring the toothy grin on his face.
Once Steve stops laughing, and has himself under control, he grabs the rope and swings out over the water, dismounting perfectly and swimming under the water to breach back up right in front of Eddie, splashing water all over him.
"Show off." Eddie mutters. Steve laughs, again, so beautiful, and while Eddie's distracted, he lunges forward and tackles Eddie back into the water. Eddie let's out a squawk as he goes under. Both of them surface and Steve's laughing again.
"What the fuck was that sound!?" He asks, voice bubbling with laughter, pitched a little higher in his mania.
"Well excuse me! For being in distress when I'm being bullied and harassed!" Eddie defends, splashing water at Steve.
"Harassed!" Steve barks, more laughs filling the air, echoing through the empty woods around them.
"Yes! You tried to drown me!" Eddie's hands flail, his cheeks hurting now from smiling.
"You'll know if I'm trying to drown you Munson." Steve says, teasing, Eddie's pretty sure. Maybe.
"Oh yeah? Well I could drown you. It can't be that hard to drown someone." Eddie huffs, takes a step toward Steve, he doesn't move back.
"Yeah? You think you can take me?" Steve asks, his voice full of mirth, and god, so innocent. Eddie flushes immediately, knows his chest and neck are red, he can feel it.
"I- I mean... yeahhh?" Eddie's confidence gone now. And Steve is smiling, that's not good.
"Okay no. Nevermind. I changed my mind. Steven DO NOT- SON OF A BITCH!" Eddie's shrieks this time as Steve jumps at him, cackling as he shoves Eddie under. He comes up sputtering, shoving his hair this way and that. Leveling Steve with an unamused look.
"You're the worst person." Eddie says softly. Steve throws his head back and laughs, but then he's in Eddie space, so so close. And he's reaching for Eddie, his hand in his hair.
"You got a leaf." He says, pulling his hand back, showing Eddie the leaf he'd pulled from his hair. Eddie watches Steve set the leaf back down in the water, watching as it drifts away in the gentle flow.
They stay there til the sun goes down, sitting on the shore, doing their best to dry off in the humidity.
"How'd you find this place?" Steve asks, after what seems like years of silence, just the wind in the trees and the bugs and tree frogs talking.
"Hmm?" Eddie hums, glancing at Steve, he'd been in his head, chin resting on his knee where his arms are wrapped around them, the question clicks right as Steve opens his mouth to ask again.
"Oh! Me and my mom used to come here." Eddie says, eyes moving away from Steve, looking back out over the water. Steve frowns, bites his lip, Eddie doesn't talk about his mom much. Like at all.
"Can I ask what happened to her? Or... or where she is?" Steve asks, his voice quiet, almost a whisper. He doesn't think Eddie is gonna answer him at first. He watches him take a deep breath, his back and shoulders rising in the dark. Steve has a brief thought that Eddie's skin looks even prettier in the moonlight, but Eddie clearing his throat brings him back to the moment.
"She died. When I was nine." His voice is flat. But scratchy, like his throat is tight.
"Shit." Steve says, to himself, but knows Eddie hears it.
"Sorry. I shouldn't've-"
"It's fine Steve." Eddie says, and he sounds so... serious.
"I don't talk about her cuz it upsets Wayne. And me.. too. I guess. We just don't- talk about her." He sighs, deep, lets his head fall forward, resting his forehead on his knee.
"Do you want to?" Steve asks, swallowing hard, his throat clicks. Eddie's still for a moment and then looks at Steve, his cheek resting on his knee instead now.
"I dunno."
Steve nods, reaches out, curls his fingers gently around Eddie's ankle.
"If you ever want too. I'd love to hear about her." He squeezes Eddie's ankle, genlty, and then lets go. Both of them looking back out over the water.
"She'd have liked you. I think you'd have liked her too." He's nearly whispering, so Steve scoots a little closer.
"She liked music. Loved music. That's where half my records came from. The one's I managed to save. They were hers." Eddie sniffles, wipes at his face, keeps himself turned away from Steve. He smiles, leans into Eddie, their shoulders touch, skin to skin, Eddie's somehow cold, despite the heat of the evening.
"We used to dance in the living room when she played them. Me on her feet. Her just... twirling us around. There was always music in the house, when it was just me and her." He cleared his throat again, turned to look at Steve. His eyes were sad, his smile too. Steve's chest ached.
"I miss her so much." A tear falls down his cheek and he wipes it away quick, with the back of his hand. He looks away again. Steve wishes he could help. Wishes he could hold Eddie close and tell him he's sorry. That he wishes he still had her.
"What about you?" Eddie asks, an awkward laugh bubbling out of him as he wipes at his face again.
"What about me?" He frowns, a little lost.
"Ya know. Do you miss your mom? When she's not-" Eddie pauses, turns to Steve again, eyes shining in the moonlight.
"When she's not around." He finishes, sounding apologetic. Steve looks at him, looks out at the water, and thinks.
"Sometimes." He decides on the truth. He does miss her. Sometimes.
"When I was little... she was different." Steve sighs, pulling his knees up to his chest now, mirroring Eddie next to him.
"Different how?" Eddie asks, his voice quiet still, like speaking any louder would burst this bubble they've created, sitting on warm packed dirt on the edge of the creek, as the water flows by, slow and warm.
"Just different. More... more. She was more, like, she cared... about me... more? I dunno." Steve frowns, shakes his head.
"More engaged?" Eddie supplies, head resting on his knees. Steve thinks for a moment, trying to decide if that's the right word. He's not suprised to find it is, Eddie always has the right words for him.
"Yeah. More engaged. More involved. Or maybe just more invested." He shrugs, rests his head down as well, looking at Eddie, looking at him.
"Invested." Eddie repeats, but the way he says it, like he hates it.
"Yeah. Like, when I was little, she was invested, cuz she had these like, hopes and dreams for me ya know? They both did I guess. And then I grew up. And just... disappointed them. Why invest in a disappointment right?" He shrugs again, takes a deep breath, rubs his face against his knee to wipe the tear away.
"Steve."
"Yeah?"
"You're not an investment. You're their kid. It shouldn't be about their hopes and dreams for you not coming true and giving up." Eddie reached out this time, his fingers brushing Steve's ankle, but not curling around it. He wasn't brave enough.
"They're just supposed to love you." He presses his lips together, gives Steve a sorry look. Licks his lips and presses his knuckles into Steve's ankle harder. He sighs, turns his hand and curls his fingers around Steve's ankle after all.
"They're just supposed to love you." Eddie says again, softer, and Steve reaches down and grabs Eddie's hand, holds it tight. He rubs his face on his knee again.
"Yeah." Steve sighs, closes his eyes for a moment and then looks back up.
"Thanks." He breathes. Eddie nods, smiles a heartachingly soft smile, and squeezes Steve's hand in his.
A loud splash and the call of a bullfrog makes them both jump out of their skin. They startle away from each other and then laugh nervously.
"Okay asshole. That was just rude!" Eddie calls out into the dark. The low echoing call trills back at them.
"He's mocking us." Eddie says, turning to look at Steve, his most unimpressed look on his face.
"Unbelievable." Eddie shakes his head, and Steve laughs. It sounds a little wet, a little teary, and a littler nervous. But it sounds grateful too. Steve tosses his shirt at him and they both get dressed.
"We should get outta here before we get eaten alive." Steve says, grabbing his shoes, handing Eddie his.
"You think the bullfrog's that big?" Eddie asks, tugging his shoes on. He hears Steve snort.
"The mosquitoes. Idiot."
"Oooooh right right right." Eddie says, nodding as they start back to his van.
Steve called him an idiot, and all Eddie could do was smile. Because he'd heard the smile on Steve's lips when he'd said, saw him shake his head. And what was more, was the tone, he'd said "idiot" but he sounded fond.
~°~
"I think I'm in love with Steve." Eddie says to Wayne, over their scrambled eggs and toast, apropos of nothing. Wayne finishes chewing, looks Eddie dead in the eyes, and just.... stares.
"What!?" Eddie flails.
"You think?" Wayne asks with, is that condescension? Eddie narrows his eyes.
"Rude." He stands, takes their empty plates and carries them to the sink.
"There's NO NEED for rudeness." Eddie calls over his shoulder.
"It's been months. It's needed." Wayne says dryly, standing with a groan.
"You should tell him Eds." Wayne says, watching his boy clean their plates, scrubbing much more aggressively than he needs to.
"Eddie." He settles his hands on his shoulders. Eddie freezes.
"Tell him how you feel." He squeezes, steps away.
"What if he hates me?" Eddie asks, voice quiet. Wayne's heart aches, knows Eddie doesn't really believe Steve would hate him. But he knows why he's saying it, why he's thinking it.
"Steve isn't like him son. He's a good one. If you don't trust your judgement, trust mine. Yeah?" Wayne waits, watches Eddie look at him. He looks at him for a long time, and then nods. Wayne nods back.
"Tell him." He says, and catches Eddie when he dives into his arms for a bone crunching hug.
"Thanks Wayne. Love you." He mumbles into Wayne's shoulder, giving him another tight squeeze.
"Love you too kid. Now let me go. You know I need my beauty sleep." Wayne grumbles, but he shoves his hand into Eddie's hair and ruffles it just to hear him yell and watch him start slapping at his hair to fix it.
"Go to bed old man! RUDENESS!" Eddie shouts, making Wayne laugh as he ducks into his room.
Eddie goes to his own room, still enjoying the novelty of their double-wide government provided trailer. He falls back onto his bed and stares at the ceiling for seventeen seconds before he grabs his pillow and screams into it.
~°~
"I think I'm in love with Eddie." Steve sighs into the phone, dropping his head genlty onto his arm where it's resting on the counter. There's silence on the line.
"Robin? Did you hea-"
"You think!?" She nearly shouts into the phone. Steve grimaces and holds the phone away from his ear.
"Jesus." He hisses, hesitantly putting the phone back to his ear.
"-are you just now realizing this?" Robin hisses into the phone, mostly because she's trying to whisper, but she's excited, he can tell.
"What? Well how long have you known!?" He asks, fingers playing with the phone cord, his nerves getting to him.
"Months!" She yells. He cringes again.
"Months?! How's that possible I just figured it out!?" Steve yells back.
"Your eyes have known longer than you Dingus." She huffs, he can see her leaning against the wall by the phone.
"My... what now?" He asks, frowning.
"I could see the way you looked at him Steve. It's been. Months." She says, slowly, for emphasis.
"I- well that's." He closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, and sighs, deeply.
"I've been in love with him for months." He groans.
"I know babe. Hey Steve?" She waits.
"Hmm?"
"You should tell him."
"I should tell him what?" His eyes are closed, he's frowning.
"That you love him!" She's yelling again.
"Robiiin." Steve whines.
"Sorry." Her voice at an acceptable level now.
"But you should tell him. Right now. In fact I'm gonna hang up. And you go tell him. And then after you tell him. Come back here and call me back and tell me how it goes!" She's talking a mile a minute, Steve eyebrows rising further and further up his forhead as she goes.
"Robin?"
"Yes Steve?" She sounds excited.
"I love you."
"Awww i love you too."
"But I'm not doing that." He says flatly.
"Hey! Booooo! You gotta tell him!" She sounds like a cheerleader now.
"Yeah no. I'm gonna tell him. I'm just not gonna come back here and call you right away." He sighs, but he's smiling, especially when she scoffs indignantly.
"What? Why?" She asks, Steve hears rustling on the line and pictures her crossing her arms.
"Oh I don't know. Might put a bit of a damper on the moment. Don't you think? Hey Eddie, I'm in love with you, but hold that thought, i have to go tell Robin." Steve says mockling, Robin is quiet for a moment.
"Ya know what?" She asks.
"What?" He knows what she's gonna say.
"I don't think I like your tone. Sir. I'm hanging up now. I'll call you tomorrow. Same time. If you don't answer I'm gonna assume you're doing gross stuff with Eddie and I'm gonna leave an inappropriate message byyyyeeeee bye bye bye!" She singsongs.
"Wait no Rob- she hung up." He says to himself. He lets the phone fall from his hand, to the counter top, to the floor, the twisted tanlged line catching on his fingers sending it clattering down slowly.
Steve shoves his face into the crook of his arm, counts to seventeen, and screams.
~°~
Eddie wakes from his impromptu midday nap to a knock at the door. He rubs his eyes, looks at the clock. Seven. Woops. Definitely didn't mean to sleep that long, and Wayne didn't even wake him up before he left. More rudeness. He stumbles off the couch and pulls the door open, to find a nicely dressed, bright-eyed Steve.
"Get dressed." Steve says before Eddie can even open his mouth. Eddie looks down at his ratty shirt and sweatpants, and then back up to Steve.
"It's nice to see you too Steven. How are you this evening?" Eddie says, voice flat.
"Yeah yeah. It's nice to see you too. I need you to get dressed so I can take you somewhere. C'mon." Steve says, shooing Eddie back into his own trailer and to his room.
"And fix your hair." Steve calls as Eddie shuffles down the hall to his room.
"Bossy." He mutters, digging around in his clean laundry.
"Do-" he stops, thinks, cocks his head to the side, grimaces.
"Do I need to be dressed as nice as you?" Eddie calls, hoping Steve says no, he doesn't really have... nice clothes.
"You think I'm dressed nice?" Steve's voice asks from the other end of the trailer.
"Um... yeah? Are you not? You look... nice." Eddie closes his eyes and groans inwardly, mouthing 'oh my gooood' to his ceiling.
"Oh. Thanks. Um no, just... wear whatever." Steve's voice says, and if Eddie wasn't so nervous about his fucking clothes, and his fucking mouth, saying stupid shit, he'd have heard how flustered Steve sounded.
He digs to the bottom of his hamper, pulls out his newest pair of black jeans, they're still that nice dark black, and no rips. Then moves to his closet and digs around...
"Is there gonna be air where we're going?" Eddie calls, eyes looking up as he waits for an answer.
"No." Is all he gets from Steve.
"Shit." Eddie hisses, his hand falling from his red flannel. His fingers dance over the row of shirts. He grabs a black tank, and a button down, his most sublte Hawaiian print, deep red flowers with deep green leaves scattered throughout. He tugs the shirts on, looks in the mirror, shrugs, and shoves his feet into his shoes.
He grabs the hair tye off his nightstand and pulls his hair up, disguising his nap bedhead into a messy bun. He takes a deep breath and walks back to Steve. He's looking at Wayne's mug collection, hands clasped behind his back. His dress shirt tight around his shoulders.
"Is this okay?" Eddie grumbles, hands shoved into his pockets when Steve turns, he feels hot all over as Steve's eyes move over him, down, slowly, and then back up, even slower. His eyes land on Eddie's hair and stay there.
"Steve?"
"Hmm?"
"Is it that bad? Do I look like an idiot?" Eddie asks, looking down at himself, questioning eveything down to his shoes, which he always wears.
"Wait what?" Steve asks, Eddie catches him blinking rapidly.
"Do I look alright?" Eddie asks again, pulling on his button down, splaying the sides open like wings. Steve smiles, and Eddie swears his ears go red.
"You look good. I've never seen that shirt." He says, stepping closer, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Eddie smoothes his hands over it.
"Oh yeah, it's special. Got it the one and only time me and Wayne went to Florida." Eddie pats at the shirt against his chest.
"It's nice. Looks good." Steve smiles, wipes his hands on his slacks.
"Ready?" He asks and heads to the door without waiting for an answer. Eddie chuckles and follows him, blushing when Steve opens his car door for him.
They've been on the road for about 15 minutes when Eddie glances at Steve, again. And finds Steve already looking at him, again. He bites his lip and looks back out the window.
"I assume asking where we're going would be pointless." Eddie muses. He looks over, watches Steve smirk before he glances at him again.
"What's the matter? Never heard of a suprise?" He asks, cheeky.
"Oh ha ha. Very funny. But that's what I figured." Eddie smiles, lets his head fall back against the seat. He sticks his hand out the window the way Steve always does when he's riding shotgun in Eddie's van, lets the warm air move and change it's path. Up, and down, the warm air, brushing through his fingers, against his skin. It blows in through the window as Steve drives them down the back roads, blowing Eddie's loose peices of hair this way and that.
Eddie keeps glancing at Steve, fighting the urge to reach across the seat and take his hand. But he doesn't, not yet. He wants it to be perfect. Which reminds him.
"Oh. Hey. I made you something." He digs in his pocket and pulls out the tape, they stop at a stop sign and Steve looks at the tape, then at Eddie. And laughs.
"What? It's not what you think. It's ballads. I don't only listen to loud shit ya know?" Eddie smiles, teasing, wiggling the tape. Steve shakes his head.
"It's not that." He lifts himself in his seat a bit and digs in his own pockets, pulls out a tape of his own. They both look from the tape, to each other, and back again, before bursting out laughing.
Eddie pops his tape into the glovebox and grabs the one held between Steve's fingers.
"Hey! That's-"
"For me right?" Eddie asks, holding the tape to his chest. Steve snorts, closes his eyes, and nods.
"Yeah. It's for you." Steve concedes.
"Well I wanna listen." Eddie says, matter of fact, and pops the tape out of the case and into the deck. Steve watches him, waits for the first song to start and immediately starts laughing as Eddie's face contorts when Belinda Carlisle's voice starts singing 'Heaven is a place on earth'.
"Are you shitting me? What the fuck is this!?" Eddie's voice is nearing shrill as Steve keeps laughing, finally pulling away from the stop sign. Eddie reaches for the radio and Steve bats his hand away.
"Ah ah! No! You have to listen. We're broadening your musical horizons, remember?" Steve grabs his wrist, tosses his own hand back at him.
"I changed my mind. It's not worth it. No one needs their horizons broadened this much." Eddie groans, and then gapes, his mouth hanging open, eyes wide, as Steve starts singing.
"Whaaaat?" Eddie drawls, shaking his head. Steve sings louder.
"Please for the love of god. Stop this. Stop this now." Eddie hands hover, not sure weather to cover his ears or swat at Steve to make him stop. The song ends and he thinks he's safe, and then Steve is smiling at him again. Eddie looks at the radio, then back to Steve.
"Oh god. Wh- what's the next song?" He starts reaching to stop the tape and gets grabbed again as the first notes of 'I think we're alone now' come through the speakers.
"Is this a torture tape? Is that why you made this?" Eddie yells, because Steve turned the radio up, Tiffany's voice over powering him, and then Steve's as he starts singing again.
"I hate you! I hate you so much! Evil! You're evil!" Eddie yells, clapping his hands over his ears. The music is barely muffled, and he can see Steve laughing at him.
Steve reaches out and turns the music down, pats Eddie's knee.
"Hey. Joke songs are over. You can listen for real now." Steve's still smiling, glancing at Eddie as the road winds around a curve. Eddie narrows his eyes, he drops his hands slowly.
"But for the record. Both of those songs are also great. But I definitely put them there mostly to fuck with you." Steve chuckles, looks at Eddie again.
"Evil." Is all Eddie says, Steve's nose scrunches, he keeps driving. Eddie glares for a bit longer, and then leans back and listens. He closes his eyes. Let's the music play as they drive through the night. By the time the tape starts to play 'The Lovecats' Eddie feels the car pull off the road.
He opens his eyes and finds they're at the overlook. Near the quarry. He looks at Steve.
"Did you bring me out here to throw me in the quarry? Torture me on the ride... and then throw me in." Eddie questions, Steve turns to look at him. And then gets out of the car without a word.
"Uuuum... Steve?" Eddie follows him out, stumbles around the car to the trunk and finds Steve unloading a basket and blanket.
"Can I... carry something?" Eddie offers a hand, Steve hands him the basket with a small smile, and then walks toward the overlook.
"Man. Really?" Eddie huffs, and follows, catches up to Steve as he gets the blanket laid out. He stands there, waiting for Eddie, and Eddie walks up, slowly, looking at the blanket, the basket in his hand.
"We're picnicking?" Eddie asks. Steve smiles, takes the basket, or tries to, Eddie holds onto it, doesn't let him take it, his heart is pounding, his palms are sweating.
"Please say something." His voice is small, even to his own ears. Steve tilts his head, bites his lip.
"I love you." Steve says, teeth digging into his lip, even as he smiles.
"Like I'm like, in love with you." He continues, sounding a bit breathless.
"Have been for awhile... apparently." He rolls his eyes, at himself, Eddie stares.
"Shut up." He says. Steve tilts his head, frown lines starting.
"Wha-"
"No shush. Be silent. I-" Eddie shakes his head, takes his hand off the basket, Steve almost drops it, sets it down gently, still frowning. Eddie's hands find his hips and he huffs.
"I. Was supposed to tell you that." Eddie says, fingers digging into his own skin. Steve tilts his head the other way, the fucking puppy.
"You... were supposed to tell me, that I love you?" Steve's still frowning. Eddie laughs, a manic little bark of a thing.
"No! That I love you! I was gonna tell you that! And then you just- wait... you love me?" All the confrontation goes out of him, his eyes going wide as he looks at Steve. It's Steve's turn to laugh now, loud and bright and sharp. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them Eddie is closer, much closer.
"You love me?" Eddie asks again, softer, his hands twitching at his sides.
"You love me?" Steve echoes, tongue moving over his bottom lip. Eddie digs his teeth into his own lip, and nods.
"Like a lot." Eddie sighs, shoulders drooping, all the tension leaving his body. The smile on Steve's face makes his knees weak.
"Yeah?" He asks again, nose scrunching.
"Big time." Eddie sighs, nodding. Steve sways toward him, resting his head on Eddie's shoulder.
"Can- can I kiss you?" Eddie asks, his hands shaking, hovering near Steve's hips, not sure if he's allowed to touch. Steve lifts his head and tilts it, gives Eddie this soft look.
"No." Steve says. Eddie startles, just a little, hands clenching, dropping to his sides.
"No?" He says.
"No." Steve echoes.
"Oh. O-okay. Um.. sorry I just-"
"Not yet." Steve says, hands reaching out, moving up Eddie's arms to rest on his shoulders. Eddie tilts his head this time.
"Not... yet." He says it slowly, like he's processing the information. Steve laughs, presses his thumbs into Eddie's collarbones.
"Yeah. Kissing's sort of like, an end of the date thing." Steve explains. Shrugging his shoulder.
"Oh. Okay. Cool. I knew that." Eddie says, nodding, eyes anywhere but Steve. Steve tilts his head again, looks at Eddie, really looks at him.
"You- ... you have been kissed before right?" Steve asks, watches Eddie go a deep shade of red as he pulls away and sits himself down on the blanket.
"Of course. Of course I've been kissed before. Obviously. Duh." Eddie grumbles, shoving at the corner of the blanket with the heel of his shoe. Steve watches him, smiles down at him, and shakes his head.
"Eddie." He says his name softly, Eddie hears Steve's knees hit the ground next to him.
"What?" Eddie asks, frowning. But then Steve's hand is on his cheek, and his head is being turned. And Steve is looking at him, his eyes moving over Eddie's face, lingering on his mouth as he leans down, oh so slowly.
And then he's being kissed. And it's everything. Everything he'd ever dreamed but so much fucking better, because it's Steve. The real Steve, not just the one that lives in Eddie's head. He whines into the kiss and Steve's fingers sink into his hair and curl there, pulling him closer, but still kissing him softly.
Eddie feels hot all over. And its not just because of the heat. He breaks the kiss, making a weird little sound in his throat when his lips leave Steve's.
"Wait just- lemme-" he scrambles to his knees so he can face Steve, hands grabbing at Steve's shoulders when he nearly falls. Steve catches him, laughs again at Eddie's flailing and then pulls him closer.
"Thought you said it was an end of the date thing?" Eddie breathes, hands finally landing on Steve's hips, steadying himself, Steve shrugs.
"You're an exception." Steve smiles, moves a strand of hair out of Eddie's face and tucks it behind his ear.
"Oh yeah?" Eddie asks, feeling and sounding giddy. Steve nods, bites his lip.
"Yeah. You're pretty much, always, my exception. You're kinda under my skin." Steve sighs, his hand settling against Eddie's neck. Eddie swallows, hard, his teeth digging into his lip.
"Is that a good thing?" Eddie asks, face scrunching. Steve snorts, drops his head against Eddie's.
"It's the best thing." He breathes, thumb moving against Eddie's skin genlty as he moves, just the smallest amount, and presses his lips to Eddie's again. Eddie hums into it, hands grabbing at Steve and pulling him closer, feeling a bit in over his head but trying to keep up with what Steve's mouth is doing. Their teeth click together and Steve pulls back.
"I'll get better, I promise." Eddie whispers, fingers tucking into the beltloops of Steve's jeans so he can't go too far. Steve brushes his nose along Eddie's, hands holding his neck.
"You're fine. You're perfect." He breathes, shaking his head a little. Eddie snorts, drops his head to Steve's shoulder and tucks his face into his neck.
"Hey. I made you're favorite. Pb and j, potato chips, oreos, and moutain dew." Steve whispers, smiles when Eddie groans into his neck and wraps his arms around Steve, trying to pull him closer, like he's trying to climb inside Steve and live there.
"I love you. So much Steve." Eddie sighs, pulling away, looking at him again, cheeks red.
"So much." Eddie moves his fingertips over Steve's cheek and then ducks in to kiss him, just a soft press of lips.
"Love you too." Steve sighs, smiling as Eddie digs into the picnic basket and starts pulling out food. He sets everything up nicely, setting two places, first across from each other, and then moving so he's sitting right next to Steve.
They're quiet as they eat, both of them smiling around their food. And when they're done eating, they pack things up, and head home. Eddie settling into the passenger seat, the mix tape Steve made still playing, the air from the window warm against his skin as they drive through the dark.
Eddie smiles out the window, reaches to his left and takes Steve's hand, settles their linked fingers in his lap with a smile as he turns to look at Steve, he's already looking at Eddie, smile on his face. Eddie smiles back and then closes his eyes and laughs as Madonna starts playing, Steve smiling smuggly, humming along as he keeps driving.
Steve takes them to Eddie's, they settle in his bed, tangled together in their boxers, trying to stay cool but not able to keep away from each other.
"We could've gone to yours, where the air conditioning is. Would'a been more comfortable." Eddie says, fingers moving slowly over Steve's back where he's curled against Eddie's chest. He hums sleepily, cheek rubbing against Eddie, skin to skin.
"Comfortable here." He mumbles, fingers curling over Eddie's ribs and then uncurling, his hand moving under Eddie, finger's dragging through the sweat pooling in the small of Eddie's back, slowly, like he's savoring it.
"You just like me all sweaty, dont you?" Eddie asks, fingers walking up Steve's sticky back to tangle in his hair. Steve hums a little laugh and nods, cuddling closer.
"Cute when you're whiney and dramatic." Steve mumbles.
"Wow. Okay. Brat." Eddie huffs, moves his hand and presses his finger into Steve's nose.
"Mmm!" He protests, high in his thoat but doesn't move away from Eddie, just opens one eye and looks up at him, little smile on his lips.
"You love it." Steve says, pressing a kiss to Eddie's chest, then snuggling closer again, cheek pressing hard against him, fingers digging into his back, eyes closed again. Eddie smiles down at him, hot, and sweaty, but happy, as he lets his hand fall gently back to Steve's back, then tangling his fingers in Steve's hair genlty.
"Yes. Yes i do." Eddie whispers, presses a kiss into Steve's hair and lets his own eyes fall closed, the warm breeze from the open window rustling their hair. The cicadas and tree frogs singing in the dark, lulling them both to sleep.
reader LIKED the fic? reader left thoughtful comment because they thought there was something worth analyzing? oh! oh! love for reader! love for reader for one thousand years!
Was having some thoughts about Steve joining Hellfire. They are as follows.
I'm thinking maybe they start him off with smaller weekly oneshots. Unbeknownst to Steve they are also still meeting for their regular other campaign, he figures that out later. That Eddie's been writing one shots for him on top of his other bonkers story he's got going and Steve is like "oh 🥺".
BUTTT! during the one shots, all the kids have their moments of being RUDE to Steve. Mike is the worst (cuz I dislike him and his fucking attitude). But everytime one of them is rude to Steve, and it's like legit mean stuff, like them calling him stupid. Things like that. Steve usually kinda gets quiet. And then, whenever the kids do that, Eddie starts making notes in his notebook. Then whoever said the mean thing, their characters die.
Like, Mike gets the worst of it cuz he's just such an ass. But Eddie's got a SYSTEM in these notes okay!!! There are straight tallys, for actually hurtful mean things, there are wiggly tallys for things he can tell are meant to be teasing but that he can tell definitely still kinda hurt Steve a bit. And then there are stars. People get stars for helping Steve along the way.
Be that helping his characters, or just helping him with his math or helping him understand something about the game when Eddie is busy or "distracted". Cuz he legit always notices when people help Steve. Most of the time it's cuz he hears Steve's genuine thank yous. Lucas, and surprisingly Erica, have the most stars, aside from El. Max gets stars sometimes just for back talking Mike's rudes comments with shit like,
"mike what does it matter? we're all about to die anyway. That sphinx is gonna fucking eat us. Who cares. Leave him alone."
Because her and El have of course been invited too. But they've been playing just a LITTLE bit longer so they know a small amount more. El only has stars because she is legit always helpful. Steve has taken to sitting between El and Erica because they're the nicest to him. Lucas usually sits across from him.
Dustin has lots of wiggly tallys cuz he just can't control his mouth sometimes. But one day Mike gets brutally killed again and starts whining about it and Steve has noticed Eddie making little notes. Has no idea what they are. Cuz he doesn't look through other people's notebooks. Thats rude.
Everyone has noticed the notes. No one has asked. They all have theories. And when Eddie is like,
"I'm trying to teach you a lesson. Not my fault you aren't smart enough to figure out what it is." And his voice has such a BITCHY tone when he says it. Because Mike had JUST been hounding Steve for missing "obvious" clues and not being smart enough to figure it out and walking into a trap.
And steve had gone red from his ears all the way down his neck, he also felt bad cuz he'd gotten El's character hurt. And then Mike had been an ass. Steve was upset. So Eddie killed Mike. And then he's whining and Eddie's about to say something else when El speaks up, looks across the table with a scowl and says,
"just be nicer! It's not hard to be nice. Steve is our friend. Be nice to him." And she rolls her eyes at Mike, puts her hand on Steve's arm and is like,
"I will be fine. Will can heal me." And Will pipes up and is like,
"yeah. I can heal her no problem." But it's El's outburst that makes Steve kind of wonder more about the notes Eddie takes.
He'd never ask, and never look. But he stays behind one day to help Eddie clean up, they have weekly games at the community center.
So Steve's staying after and helping with chairs and tables and getting books and dice and things stored away and Eddie's notebook is RIGHT THERE. Open to the page he's always scribbling on. And Steve just sort of... stops. And looks at it. And it's everyone's names with tallys and marks and stars. Erica has wiggly marks AND stars. But mostly stars. Because she helps him with his math almost every game.
Also she "accidentally" let mike get hit with an attack in the game cuz he was being rude. El's is all stars and scrawled under them in Eddie's chicken scratch is,
"She's a literal angel oh my god."
So Steve's eyes are just wandering over this page and his brow is all creased and he doesn't hear Eddie come back until he says,
"figured out what's missing yet?" In that teasing sweet little voice he uses on Steve that makes him feel a little dizzy sometimes, give him butterflies in his stomach, and his whole body jerks and he looks up and Eddie's leaning casually against the wall near the door. And Steve immediately apologizes and Eddie laughs, shakes his head, walks closer. And is like,
"It's okay Steve. But you didn't answer my question." He licks his lips, steps closer. Steve looks back to the notebook for a second and then back to Eddie.
"My names not on there?" He asks, worrying his finger into the table top next to the notebook. And Eddie is nodding.
"Yup." And Steve's like,
"The tallys are about... me?" And he's frowning. But Eddie steps a bit closer, standing next to the table now. And he smiles, all shy and soft and is like,
"yeah Steve. They're about you. Got kinda tired of all the kids talking shit about you. And to you. So I came up with a system. Anyone says anything about you being stupid, I kill them." He grins, wide like the Cheshire cat and Steve feels kinda pinned down by it. Feels kinda hot all over.
"You didn't- have to do that. It's fine. It doesn't bother me. I mean I know I'm not smart." And he just shakes his head and looks at the ground and Eddie kinda slams his hand down on the table, startling him. He looks up and Eddie looks mad. Not at him. Just, mad.
"You're not though. Is the thing. I mean... you're incredibly good at strategy. I know you don't know enough about dnd yet to know this, but you've been a crucial part in winning like, the last three games." Eddie steps closer, his fingertips brushing the back of Steve's hand.
"You're not stupid. You're just smart in different ways." Eddie shrugs. Gives Steve a little lopsided smile.
"You think I'm smart?" He asks, biting his lip to stop the giddy smile that's threatening to spread. Eddie doesn't stop his smile, just lets it go, lets it dimple his cheeks and make Steve's knees weak. And he's like,
"yeah man. Just cuz some jumped up little tweens can't see it doesn't mean I can't. You're kinda hard to miss." He does bite his lip then, fingers playing with his hair, Steve knows he's trying not to hide behind it.
"I just uh-" Eddie clears his throat,
"I'm really petty. And protective. And it's ridiculous cuz you're not even mine but- I just- felt like I had to protect you. Or stick up for you. Or something? I dunno. Feels stupid now that I'm saying it out- oof!" Eddie huffs when Steve slams into him. Arms wrapped around his neck. He may or may not be crying into Eddie's hellfire shirt. But he gives Eddie a squeeze and then pulls back, looks at him, smiles and says,
"I am though." With a little shrug. And Eddie's like,
"you... are?" Confused. And Steve laughs, light and sweet and says,
"Yours. I am yours. If you'll have me. Or want me. Or- mmfph!" Steve's words end in a high pitched hum as Eddie's lips hit his. Just a firm press. His hand on Steve's cheek. He pulls back fast, pink in the cheeks.
"Sorry I just- if you let me have you, Steve. I may never let you go." He chuckles, giddy. Steve snorts, his head falling to Eddie's shoulder for a second before he looks at Eddie, cups his cheek genlty.
"Who says I want you to?" His brows jump, challenging. Eddie goes redder, down to his neck.
"Wanna try that kiss again?" Steve asks.
"God was is bad? I've never- I'm not... good. At that stuff." Eddie cringes. Steve cups both his cheeks until Eddie's wide eyes are staring at him, his cheeks a little squished.
"It wasn't bad. It was kind of perfectly you. But we can get you good at that stuff. You're a fast learner right?" Steve smirks, Eddie's eyes go impossibly wider as he nods aggressively, cheeks squishing even more.
"Yes, sir." Eddie mumbles between his squished lips. Steve nods, once and then moves forward, slowly, determined to show Eddie just how thankful he is for him. How thankful he is that Eddie sees him.
Summary: Thomas finds Edward on deck, beaten and bloody. He gets Edward to safety, and then hunts down the culprits who hurt his Edward.
Warnings: vampires. Werewolves. Blood. Violence. Character death, not the main lads. Revenge killing. Blood play (if you squint). Mention of Fitzier!
A/N: @fitzjamesbulletwound HERE IT ISSS! very loosely inspired by THIS ART because i saw it and needed some vamp Jop and wolfie Ned. So it shall be. Also, i don't know how the vampires and the wolves came to be in this au, but i do know Thomas has been a vamp for longer than anyone else on these ships. I also do suspect that whatever happened... it was probably Hickey's fault. Maybe also Sir Johns. Neither of them are in the fic... but i assure you...it was almost definitely their fault. Hahahahaha!
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Edward is bleeding. He can smell it from the captain's quarters. He could smell it for miles. He could smell it across the ice, all the way back home in England, if he needed too.
But he isn't back home. He's stuck in the ice. With all these others. Crawling over the ships like rats, saying things they shouldn't be, doing things, they shouldn't be.
Crozier dismisses him for the evening. Thomas nods, walks away, his fists clenched so hard he can feel his nails biting through his cold skin, pointed as they are. He stalks through the freezing ship, sliding through the shadows, unseen.
He stops for a moment. Smells Edward's blood on a few of the crew. Digs his claws in harder, forces himself to keep going. He has to find Edward. Now.
He finds him a few moments later. Up on deck. Bruised, and broken, and covered in blood. His coat ripped and torn and tossed aside. He's reaching for it weakly when Thomas finds him. His hand tembling from the cold, and the pain, as he reaches out.
"Edward." The single word makes the man flinch, he curls into himself, hands covering his head.
"It's alright. It's me Edward. It's Thomas. You're alright." Thomas soothes. His hands moving to Edward's shaking shoulders, gentle, avoiding the bruises he can see through the ripped shirt. There's blood pooling under him, it makes Thomas light headed, the scent of him. His Edward. His mouth waters.
He shoves the feeling away. Covering Edward with his coat and lifting him, pulling him into his arms easily. Edward weighing next to nothing.
"Tom." Edward's voice is weak, his fingers curling into Thomas's own coat, pulling himself closer with a whine. His fingers are cold, but still warm against Thomas's skin.
"I'm here." Thomas soothes, and starts walking out over the ice. There's a small camp out there now. Poorly made snow houses containing what's left of the Marines, and one or two Lieutenant's. Tozer is on his feet as soon as Thomas is through the door.
"What's happened?" He growls, eyes glowing in the fire light, Thomas knows the light is casting a shimmer over his own eyes, doesn't care right now, Tozer and the Marine's know him already, besides.
"I don't know." Thomas hisses, not at the Marine, at the pained noise Edward makes when he sets him down.
"But I intend to find out." He crouches, moving his fingers over Edward's forhead, pushing blood soaked hair out of his eyes.
Edward blinks up at him, one of his eyes is full of blood, his lip split. Thomas moves his thumb over the cut, Edward whines. Thomas frowns, brings his thumb to his mouth, and licks it clean. He can taste the pain Edward's in, feels it crawl across his cold skin like lightning across a stormy sky.
"Take care of him. I will return." Thomas tells Tozer. His eyes moving to Lieutenant Irving, he's already edging toward Edward, rags in his hand. Tom Hartnell is at his shoulder, looking concerned. Thomas knows Edward's pack will take care of him. Knows he's in good hands.
He goes to the door. Turns to see Tozer already helping Irving get Edward out of his bloody clothes, Blanky taking the clothes and pressing his folded up coat under Edward's head. Thomas nods to himself, and head's back out onto the ice.
The ship is quiet when he returns. Thomas hears nothing. Almost nothing. He hears heartbeats. Few and far between, as they are now, dwindling every day, the longer the night gets. Thomas closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and follows the scent of Edward's blood.
He finds Des Voeux and Stanley in the dark. Deep below deck. Smelling like Edward. His blood. And his pain. Thomas closes his eyes again, trying to calm the thing that rages inside him.
"Can we help you." Stanley asks, voice cold, and empty, like so many of them are now. Thomas opens his eyes, sees four eyes looking back at him, there's no light down here, to set them shimmering, but Thomas can see them all the same.
"Why?" Is all Thomas says. All he can say. The only word he can force up out of his throat. Des Voeux smirks at him, Thomas curls his nails, his claws, for that's what they are, into his palms again, presses the points into his skin just so.
"What? Upset that we went after your little pet?" Des Voeux asks, head tilting in the dark, that smirk still on his face. Stanley laughs next to him. Thomas feels the growl in his throat before he's conscious of making it happen.
"He's not my pet. And he's a good man." Thomas keeps his voice level, eerily so, no emotion there, though he feels full of it, full of everything. He feels everything all the time, always.
"Please." Stanley spits.
"He's a dog. Just like the rest of them out on the ice." He hisses, tilting his head to the side with a jerk, his neck cracking.
"They are still a part of this crew. No matter what's happened to them. No matter what they've become. They're no different to us." Thomas growls, he can feel blood dripping to the floor from his palms.
"Oh but they are." Stanley says.
"We're as different as night and day." The doctor snarls.
"And they are. Beneath us." He hisses. Des Voeux cackles beside him, the pointed teeth in his mouth should be a threat. Would be. If Thomas didn't have a matching set. And Thomas has been doing this, much, much longer.
He has Des Voeux against the wall before the laugh can die in his throat. His hard pointed nails digging into the soft, cold, skin there. He tries to speak, Thomas squeezes harder, blood dripping slowly down into the hollow of the man's throat.
"What do you think you're doing?" Stanley hisses, coming for Thomas. He moves quickly, before Stanley can react he has him by the throat as well, his arms outstretched, one pinning Des Voeux to the wall, the other holding Stanley up, his toes hovering just above the floor.
"You." Thomas growls, his chest heaving.
"Will never touch him again." His fingers squeeze into Des Voeux again, he gags and coughs, his legs starting to kick as Thomas lifts him off the floor as well.
"So sentive." Stanley chokes out.
"And over a dog, no less." He chuckles. Thomas turns to him, his head tilting slowly as he looks up at the man. Stanley takes that moment, to laugh again. Thomas closes his eyes, one last time, takes a deep breath, and lets go.
He opens his eyes and smiles at Stanley, the smile on the man's face fades, quickly. Thomas growls, deep in his chest, and rips Des Voeux's throat out. He falls to floor, choking, hands grabbing at his neck as blood pools out around him. His body shudders, once, and he stills.
"What have you done?" Stanley chockes out, his own clawed hands grabbing at Thomas's arm now, Thomas grabs one of them, stretches it out to the side as Stanley struggles in grasp.
"He may well be a dog." Thomas says, bringing Stanley closer to him, pulling him right into his face so he can look him in the eyes.
"But he is mine." Thomas growls, low, as he releases Stanley's arm. He shoves his now free hand deep into the man's chest, his fingers curling around the cold heart that lives there. A too sharp smile stretching across his face as he rips it out.
~°~
Crozier finds him there. Not ten minutes later. Blood around his mouth, covering his hands, two bodies lying heartless on the floor beside him.
"Thomas?" The man questions, bringing his lamp closer, lowering himself to look at his steward.
"What happened?" Is all his Captain asks of him, heart hammering in his chest, blood pumping loudly through his veins. He's alive. Still. For now. Thomas has kept him so. For as long as he can.
"They hurt my Edward. They- they almost killed him." Thomas stammers, the blood on his lips sticky now, he runs his tongue over them, and then back of his hand.
"Your-?" Crozier pauses, his eyes filling with realization.
"Oh Thomas." He sighs, reaches out for him, helps him to his feet.
"I couldn't help it. I couldn't stop it. Couldn't stop myself." He breathes, panting now as Crozier pulls out his hankerchief and wipes at Thomas's mouth.
"It's alright Thomas. I understand. I don't blame you. I couldn't. You understand?" He cups Thomas's face.
"Not for this." He looks at him pointedly, until Thomas nods, and sags, his shoulders drooping.
"Is Edward alright?" He asks, straightening Thomas's coat, to have something to do. To his credit, he's never been afriad of Thomas. Not one day since he found out what he was.
"Alive. I took him to his pack." Thomas says, eyes moving over the bodies on the floor.
"I've made a mess." He says, he sounds tired, even to himself. And he feels it. Bone deep. He wants to rest. He wants his Edward.
"That's alright son. We'll get it sorted." Crozier tells him, pats his shoulder gently.
"We can help." A voice from behind Thomas, he doesn't turn. Heard them coming. Lieutenant Hodgson and Mr. Diggle, walking out of the dark into the small circle of light cast by Crozier's lamp, both their eyes shimmering.
"Good lads." Crozier praises, motion them foward. Thomas bends to help, Crozier's hand on his shoulder stops him.
"We've got this Thomas. Go see to your boy." He tells him, serious, and solemn. Thomas can smell Fitzjames on him. Has for awhile now. James was like him now, like Thomas. Crozier didn't seem put off. Thomas knew he wouldn't be able to protect the captain forever, but James would see him right.
Thomas walks toward the darkness, his toes stop just at the edge of the circle of light.
"I am sorry Captain. For the mess." He looks over his shoulder. Crozier waves him off. Hodgson stands next to him, gives him a small smile.
"You've not done anything we didn't all want to do." The Lieutenant tells him, bending again to assist Mr. Diggle. Thomas nods, takes a step.
"Thomas?" Crozier calls, gentle. Thomas turns.
"Yes Captain?" He asks, hands clasped behind his back, out of habit.
"Tell Mr. Blanky he is missed, will you?" Crozier asks with a small smile. Thomas returns the smile, his teeth returned to normal once again.
"Will do, sir." Crozier nods, and Thomas walks into the dark.
~°~
Edward is alseep when he returns. Curled under a pile of blankets, close to the fire. Hartnell sitting at the end of his makeshift bed, Blanky at the head of it. Thomas shoves away the thought that they look like guard dogs. He doesn't think of them that way. Never has.
"How'd it go?" Tozer asks from his place near the door, gun perched in his hands, Thomas doesn't feel threatened, knows he doesn't have to, not here. He's safe here, though he is different than them.
"Taken care of." Thomas mutters, the taste of blood in his mouth fogging his mind for a moment. He wipes his hands down the front of his coat, can feel the dry blood on them. Tozer nods, eyes following Thomas's movements.
"You can get cleaned up if you want. Stay with him." He nods toward the rags in the corner, still stained with Edward's blood, and the bowl of water next to them, and then nods to Edward, who turns and whines in his sleep, pain no doubt shooting through his body when he moves.
"You're sure I'm welcome?" Thomas asks, already moving to take off his coat. Tozer's lips twitch, a smile threatening.
"If I'm right in my assumption, you've just killed at least one of your own kind." Tozer says, taking a step toward him, leaning close, Thomas can feel the others eyes on him.
"And you did it for him." He nods to Edward again.
"So, Mr. Jopson. You're welcome here long as you like." He purses his lips in an awkward, but sincere, smile. And then takes his place back near the opening in their makeshift ice house. Thomas watches him for a moment, then looks around the room, each man his eyes find dipping their heads at him. His eyes land on Mr. Blanky and stay.
"The Captain would like you to know that you are very much missed, sir." Thomas ducks his head. Hears Blanky bark a laugh in that way he has.
"I should think so." He says, smug as ever and smiling brightly at Thomas before moving away from Edward, giving them space.
Thomas cleans himself in the water, staining it a darker brown still, and then moves to sit near Edward's bed.
He moves the blankets down a bit, to get a look at him. He's bruised, and broken, but healing. Thomas can feel it. He curls his fingers around Edward's wrist and just feels him, his blood moving under Thomas's fingers.
"I'm so sorry Edward." He whispers, reaching up, pushing Edward's hair away from his face again, fingertips dragging over his brow genlty.
"If I had known." Thomas takes a deep breathe, leaning forward, pressing his head to Edward's shoulder. Genlty. He hears the uptick in Edward's heartbeat just before he feels his fingers in his hair.
"Thomas." Edward sighs, fingers scratching at his scalp. Thomas sits up, just a bit, staying close to him. Edward smiles at him, much as he can, when Thomas takes his hand.
"Edward." Thomas sighs back, bringing Edward's hand to his mouth, lips pressing to his knuckles. Thomas notes his knuckles aren't bruised, or scraped, at all.
"Why didn't you fight back?" Thomas whispers, lips moving against Edward's skin. The man's eyes fall closed, and then open again, looking at Thomas with sadness, and what Thomas knows is Edward's own personal style of guilt.
"Said they were gonna hurt ya." Edward mumbles, eyes blinking heavily.
"Ned." Thomas sighs, biting into his own lip. He nuzzles his nose against the pulse in Edward's wrist.
"They won't ever hurt you again. I promise." Thomas whispers, lips pressing to the pulse point now, then trailing into his palm. Edward's fingers curl against his cheek, holding Thomas.
"What have you done? You smell like blood." Edward sighs, blinking his eyes hard, clearly fighting to stay awake. Thomas presses forward, holds Edward's hand against his face, cups Edward's cheek with his other hand.
"What I had too. For you." Thomas's head tilts, to the side, into Edward's hand.
"For me hmm?" Edward hums, eyes falling closed, smile curling his lips. Thomas smiles back.
"Yes. For you. All for you." He pets at Edward's hair, pressing it away from his face, Thomas leans forward, getting as close as he can to Edward without hurting him.
"My little wolf." He whispers, scratching behind his ear, snorting when Edward leans into the touch, hums happily, his eyes still closed.
"Yours?" Is all he says, eyes opening after a moment, roaming over Thomas's face. Thomas swallows, hard, keeps his eyes on Edward, he nervously tucks his stray hair behind his ear.
"Yeah. Mine. You're mine." Thomas says, blinking rapidly a few times, doing his best to keep his eyes on Edward's.
"Promise?" Edward asks, his hand sliding down Thomas's neck and grabbing for his hand again. Thomas takes his hand, smiling when Edward squeezes.
"I promise you're mine. I'm keeping you now." Thomas says, smiling. Edward smiles back, big, and bright, and beautiful.
"Forever?" Edward asks, licking his lips, eyes on Thomas's mouth now.
"Even longer if I can manage it, sir." Thomas breathes, his slip into old habits making Edward smile.
"Suits me." Edward says with a shrug and a grimace, pain shooting through him. Thomas squeezes his hand again, his thumb moving over Edward's knuckles once more.
"Good. Me too." Thomas says, matter of fact. He glances around the room, sees that most of the men have left, those still there all looking pointedly elsewhere. Aside from Blanky, who tips Thomas a wink and then looks away. Thomas presses his lips together, holding in a laugh, and looks back to Edward.
His Edward, lying under three blankets, covered in bruises and cuts, but healing. And safe. And his.
Thomas sighs, leans down, and presses his lips to Edward's, genlty, doing his best to avoid causing any pain. Edward hums into the kiss, Thomas hums back, it rumbles through his chest like a purr. Thomas kisses him and he tastes like his. Like Edward, like home.
The blood from the cut on Edward's lip stains Thomas's lip red, Edward's fingers in his hair pulling him closer at the taste. Thomas growls into the kiss, tongue pressing against the cut as Edward whines into his mouth.
Edward's blood in his mouth makes him dizzy, makes him push closer, makes him purr against Edward's chest as the man pulls him closer, despite the pain it causes.
Thomas worries it's too much, that he's too much, like this, enjoying that salty tang and the pain and the blood. And then he feels Edward smile against his lips, feels his fangs dig into Thomas's bottom lip and pull. Drawing blood from Thomas and growling into Thomas mouth when he gasps.
Thomas pulls back, licking their blood from his lips as Edward stares up at him, his heart hammering in his chest beneath Thomas's hands. Thomas smiles, his teeth gone sharp again, Edward smiles back, his fangs catching on his bottom lip, blood shining there, enticing.
Thomas laughs, scratches Edward behind the ear, and dives back down to kiss him again. It's sharp, and it's bloody, and Edward tugs him closer, needing more the same way Thomas needs more. It's bloody, and it's painful, and it feels like coming home.
♤ Summary: Thomas finds a small gift left on his pillow one night. A beautiful gift. With a beautiful note. But no clue as to who may have left it.
♤ A/N: A Joplittle Valentines Day fic from me???? It's more likely than you think!!! The only warning i can think of is maybe mentions of blood, but nothing bad just from.... you'll see. The rest is tooth rotting fluffiness!! Hehehe! @fitzjamesbulletwound here you goooooo! Also this is my writing blog hi hello! Happy Valentines Day everyone!!!!!!!! 🩷💜🩷💜🩷💜🩷💜🩷💜🩷💜🩷
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It had been, the longest of days. The cold and the dark settling beneath Thomas's skin, making him ache. Aching from the cold. Aching for home. For warmth.
The captains drinking had been... worsening. The few men left on terror hardly seeing him. He'd even stopped his trips to Erebus, sending Lieutenant Little in his sted. And everytime the man returned, frost bitten and frowning, his shoulders seemed to bunch around his ears, higher and higher.
Thomas knew it was shame. Would never speak that to the man. Wishes he wasn't feeling it. Thomas could see the strain their captain was putting on him. Silently wishing he could do something to help.
He had been trying. Making him tea. Keeping his things mended when the Lieutenant had once again stepped out onto the ice. Keeping his coats snug, his stitching keeping Little warm, so he hoped.
He'd finished mending his second pair of gloves not ten minutes ago. Sneaking them back into the Lieutenant's cabin after the captian had finally retired for the night. Little was still awake, somewhere in the ship, Thomas knew not where.
But he hoped he was hidden away in one of the warmer parts of the ship, at least. He'd come back from Erebus looking especially frosty this evening. His whiskers white from the snow, the specks of white clinging to his impossible eyelashes distracting in a way they shouldn't be.
Thomas shook himself. Rolled his shoulders, working hard to let the muscles there relax. He tugged the curtain of his bunk tight and sighed, deeply, before lighting his lamp. When he turned to his bed, half way out of his coat, he froze.
There was something on his pillow. A small parcel. Wrapped ever so neatly in brown paper and twine. The bow a little crooked, the fold of the paper a little bent. His breath seemed stuck in his throat.
He shrugged his coat off the rest of the way, hung it neatly in place, and stepped the few steps to his bed, gently lifting the little package into his hand. It was no bigger than two inches across.
He turned it round and round in his hands, turning himself as he did so, letting himself fall onto his bed heavily. Taking a deep breath, he moved his fingers genlty over the bow before pressing one end of the twine between his fingers and pulling gently.
He sets the twine next to him, then unfolds the brown paper. He nearly drop the contents as the small thing slides out of the paper. He grabs for it, clumsy in the cold, his fingers shaking. He catches the small object, and nearly misses the small slip of paper that flutters to the floor near his feet.
He curls his fingers over the thing in his hand, wood, it feels like. He picks the paper up, sets it on his other side, and opens his palm.
He gasps, his heart, ironically, fluttering and swelling and jumping into his throat. In his palm sits a small wooden heart.
Clearly hand carved with some sort of knife. There are dark spots here and there, like someone smudged something against the wood. Thomas guesses it may be blood, judging by the uneven surface of the wittling. The heart bumpy, and slightly edgy, but fitting perfectly in the hollow of his palm.
He licks his lips, clears his throat of the tears that are threatening, and curls his fingers tightly around the small heart. He closes his eyes, smiles to himself. And then remembers the paper that had fallen out. He grabs for it hastily, taking care not to rip or crease it. He unfurls the slightly curled edges and almost sobs at the words written, in neat and tidy handwriting.
I am terribly afraid this belongs to you.
Thomas feels himself laugh, or sob, maybe both. His teeth dig into his bottom lip, he reads the words over and over and over. Turning the paper once or twice, looking for any indication of who could have left him such a beautiful gift.
There's no sign. No signature. Just the slip of paper and a bloodstained wooden heart, small enough to keep in his pocket unnoticed, small enough to keep with him whenever he wishes.
He tucks the slip of paper away, hidden saftey from prying eyes, and curls his hand around the heart again. He tucks himself into bed, tucks the heart against his chest, and slips into dreamless, restful, sleep.
He wakes the next morning, the 14th of February, his fingers genlty curled round the heart. He smiles, moves his thumb over the rough edges, and gets dressed. He tucks the heart into his pocket, so that he might touch it throughout the day, should things try his patience as they so often have been.
He doesn't see Lieutenant Little for most of the day. Not sure if he'd once again been sent across the ice, or simply been on watch or otherwise engaged. He bumps into him after dinner. Heading back from the captains quarters with his tray of mostly uneaten food.
He rounds the corner and slams directly into the Lieutenant, the tray between them clattering to the ground, dishes breaking, food splattering onto the wood around them.
"Jopson! I'm so sorry. I didn't hear you coming." Lieutenant Little apologizes, and is on his knees across from Thomas without hesitation, reaching for broken shards and cutlery.
"You needn't worry sir. I've got it." Thomas tries to dismiss. He hears a sound, can't quiet believe that he's just heard Lieutenant Little snort a laugh until he glances up, through his lashes and his unruly hair, to see the slightest smile on the Lieutenant's lips.
"Please Jopson. I helped make the mess, at least allow me the dignity of assisting in cleaning it." He's got a hand full of teacup shards, and a fork and knife in his other hand. But that isn't what draws Thomas's attention.
No. What he notices at once, are the bandages already wrapped around Little's fingers. His left hand wrapped round the palm as well, two fingers and his thumb wrapped up snug. The right hand was free of bandages all together.
"Lieutenant." Thomas breathes, eyes on Little's hands. The man hasn't seemed to notice Thomas's distress, his sudden realization.
"I suppose we could call Neptune. Have him clean up the bits of food on the wall. He wouldn't say no to a midnight snack I'd wager." Little jests. That smile playing at his lips again. Thomas's breath catches and he nearly drops the few peices he'd manage to pick up before his eyes and thoughts had wandered.
"Jopson? Are you alright?" Thomas nods, his lips pressing together tight. He flips the tray back over and drops the broken peices onto it. Too roughly, one of them breaks further. Little places his broken peices on the tray as well, sets the cutlery down gently next to them.
"You're quite sure? You look... rattled. It's just a plate and a cup. We've plenty more." The Lieutenant consoles him, ducking his head to get further into Thomas's view.
"It's not... that, sir." Thomas manages to croak out.
"Right. Well, if I can help with whatever it is. I would." Little assures, tossing a few more peices onto the tray.
"Your hand sir. What- if you don't mind me asking. What happened to it?" Thomas looks at him now. Watches Little's smile fade, his brows knitting together, looking much more like himself. Thomas hates it. Misses that mirthful smile, the way it makes him look impossibly younger.
"Oh this?" He flexes his hand, looks down at it. Frowns at it really. But says nothing more. Thomas can see him thinking. Can't tell if he's trying to come up with a lie or is hesitant to admit to what he's done.
"I cut it." Little answers, after a fashion, and lamely, his brow furrowing further, a small shake of his head, like he's not sure why he said what he said. Thomas has to bite his lip to keep from smiling.
"Cut it how, sir? If you don't mind me asking." Jopson presses, so unlike him, but he watches Little's ears go red and decides it was worth it.
"I don't mind you. ...asking." The Lieutenant clears his throat, his eyes widening briefly, his cheeks filling with color now as well. He blinks a few times, his eyes on the tray between them on the floor. Both of them still kneeling.
"Do you wittle often, sir?" Thomas asks, can't keep it in. It's perhaps the wrong thing to say, the way Little startles and stands abruptly. Thomas attempts to stand as well and feels a sharp pain in his leg. Little's hands are on him at once, grabbing at his elbows and helping him to his feet. His hands trail down the undersides of Thomas's arms as he steadies himself, breaking away as Thomas finds his balance. But not fast enough, Thomas grabs his bandaged hand, genlty. Little's eyes snap to his face, finally.
"I apologize if my behavior has been untoward. I never meant-"
"For me to find out?" Thomas questions, his voice light, teasing. Little looks away again.
"Forgive me." He says, begs, and Thomas does, would, he'd forgive him anything.
"You're forgiven." Thomas says, steps closer, carefully over the tray on the floor, into Little's space.
"Though you've done nothing I need forgive." Thomas whispers the words, watches Little hear them, process them, and look up at him through those impossible lashes of his. The shadow of them on his cheeks infinitely enticing.
"I- have I not?" Little asks, voice soft, uncertain. Thomas shakes his head.
"No. Sir. You haven't." He takes one more step, slides his hand purposefully into Little's.
"It was the most beautiful thing, sir." His voice still a whisper.
"Edward." Is all the Lieutenant says, he swallows, hard, Thomas hears his throat click with it, his nervousness.
"It was the most beautiful thing, Edward." Thomas repeats, with an ammendment. Edward huffs a laugh, incredulous. His eyes on their joined hands. He brings his free hand up, fingers moving gently over the back of Thomas's. His fingers trace over his knuckles, moving slow, then up the side his palm, along the line of hair that grows there, until his palm lays flat against him, warm and wondedful.
"Not the most, beautiful thing." Edward says, eyes moving from their hands to Thomas's face, eyes flicking back and forth as he looks at him, stares at him. Thomas feels himself flush down to his toes.
"You flatter me, sir." Thomas huffs, smiling, brightly, in his discomfort.
"Edward." Little nearly begs this time, voice soft and wanting.
"And I should hope so." The crooked smile that tilts his lips and transforms him once again into the picture of youth, nearly has Thomas's knees buckling.
"I- you're- what you wrote." He takes a deep breath, squeezes Edward's hand.
"I feel the same. I mean mine... my heart. It's yours." Thomas smiles again, feels it in his chest this time, warmth spreading through him as Edward smiles back. His eyes crinkling as he lifts their hands to his chest, to his heart.
"Truly?" He asks, a man of many words. Thomas laughs, rolls his eyes and steps closer, pressing their chests together, trapping their tangled hands between them.
"Truly. And utterly." He breathes, his face hurting from smiling, his hands warm, held, and safe.
"I might kiss you Thomas." Edward sighs, the breath of it ghosting over Thomas's face, warm against his skin. And his name on Edward's tongue is like music, filling him with impossible warmth.
"I'll not stop you." He swallows, licks his lips, watches Edward's eyes watch him and then he's being kissed.
Edward's lips are warm against his, chapped, but so are his. He breaks away quickly, too quickly, the whine that claws it's way out of Thomas's throat has Edward reaching for him again, his hands on Thomas's wrists.
"I'm sorry I- Not here- It's- If I continue I-" Edward stammers.
"You'll what?" Thomas asks, leaning forward, pressing their heads together.
"I may not be able to stop." Edward says, voice straining. Thomas smiles again, drops his head to Edward's shoulder. Edward moves one hand around him, rubs up and down his back, twice, before he steps back again. Thomas lets him go, eyes on Edward as he smiles again.
"Later." Thomas says, his hand tucking into his pocket, fingers curling around Edward's heart. Edward's shoulders relax, his features melting as he smiles again, crooked and soft.
"Later." A promise.
They clean the rest of the mess in silence, stealing soft touches as they go. Parting ways as Edward heads to report to the captain, and Thomas heads to clean the mess they'd made.
Edward keeps his promise. He comes to Thomas later, whispering sweet things and more promises.
He keeps them all.
Years later. After the ice and the terror. After they're saved and healed. He brings Thomas home with him. Settles them down on a little farm in the middle of nowhere. Buys them horses and chickens and goats. Teaches Thomas how to tend them.
And Thomas loves it. Tending the animals, the land, but most of all Edward. He loves tending to him, in any way Edward will let him. Tends to his needs, and his heart.
And when Edward isn't around, either out in the fields or gone to town for supplies and provisions, and almost always something sweet and special for Thomas. When he's away, Thomas reaches into his pocket and holds his heart in his hand, and knows he'll come back to him.
Thomas clutches the heart now, looks out the window into the rain, watches the tall grass in the fields move like waves in a storm, and smiles down at the windowsill, adorned with small wooden trinkets. Animals, and flowers, and strange shapes that got away from his beloved, but most importantly, the hearts.
Edward has carved him heart after heart over the years. Thomas adores them all. But none so much as that first one. Stained with Edward's blood, made in secret declaration of something he feared he'd never have. Never get to keep.
But he has it now. They both do. Thomas is his. And Edward is his in turn. And Thomas holds his heart in his hand until Edward returns, muddy and wet, but smiling at the sight of Thomas, always. And Thomas lets the heart drop back into his pocket so he can get his hands on something more precious, something so dear to him, he's no intention of ever letting him go.
♤ Summary: Thomas finds a small gift left on his pillow one night. A beautiful gift. With a beautiful note. But no clue as to who may have left it.
♤ A/N: A Joplittle Valentines Day fic from me???? It's more likely than you think!!! The only warning i can think of is maybe mentions of blood, but nothing bad just from.... you'll see. The rest is tooth rotting fluffiness!! Hehehe! @fitzjamesbulletwound here you goooooo! Also this is my writing blog hi hello! Happy Valentines Day everyone!!!!!!!! 🩷💜🩷💜🩷💜🩷💜🩷💜🩷💜🩷
🩹🤎🩹🤎🩹🤎🩹
It had been, the longest of days. The cold and the dark settling beneath Thomas's skin, making him ache. Aching from the cold. Aching for home. For warmth.
The captains drinking had been... worsening. The few men left on terror hardly seeing him. He'd even stopped his trips to Erebus, sending Lieutenant Little in his sted. And everytime the man returned, frost bitten and frowning, his shoulders seemed to bunch around his ears, higher and higher.
Thomas knew it was shame. Would never speak that to the man. Wishes he wasn't feeling it. Thomas could see the strain their captain was putting on him. Silently wishing he could do something to help.
He had been trying. Making him tea. Keeping his things mended when the Lieutenant had once again stepped out onto the ice. Keeping his coats snug, his stitching keeping Little warm, so he hoped.
He'd finished mending his second pair of gloves not ten minutes ago. Sneaking them back into the Lieutenant's cabin after the captian had finally retired for the night. Little was still awake, somewhere in the ship, Thomas knew not where.
But he hoped he was hidden away in one of the warmer parts of the ship, at least. He'd come back from Erebus looking especially frosty this evening. His whiskers white from the snow, the specks of white clinging to his impossible eyelashes distracting in a way they shouldn't be.
Thomas shook himself. Rolled his shoulders, working hard to let the muscles there relax. He tugged the curtain of his bunk tight and sighed, deeply, before lighting his lamp. When he turned to his bed, half way out of his coat, he froze.
There was something on his pillow. A small parcel. Wrapped ever so neatly in brown paper and twine. The bow a little crooked, the fold of the paper a little bent. His breath seemed stuck in his throat.
He shrugged his coat off the rest of the way, hung it neatly in place, and stepped the few steps to his bed, gently lifting the little package into his hand. It was no bigger than two inches across.
He turned it round and round in his hands, turning himself as he did so, letting himself fall onto his bed heavily. Taking a deep breath, he moved his fingers genlty over the bow before pressing one end of the twine between his fingers and pulling gently.
He sets the twine next to him, then unfolds the brown paper. He nearly drop the contents as the small thing slides out of the paper. He grabs for it, clumsy in the cold, his fingers shaking. He catches the small object, and nearly misses the small slip of paper that flutters to the floor near his feet.
He curls his fingers over the thing in his hand, wood, it feels like. He picks the paper up, sets it on his other side, and opens his palm.
He gasps, his heart, ironically, fluttering and swelling and jumping into his throat. In his palm sits a small wooden heart.
Clearly hand carved with some sort of knife. There are dark spots here and there, like someone smudged something against the wood. Thomas guesses it may be blood, judging by the uneven surface of the wittling. The heart bumpy, and slightly edgy, but fitting perfectly in the hollow of his palm.
He licks his lips, clears his throat of the tears that are threatening, and curls his fingers tightly around the small heart. He closes his eyes, smiles to himself. And then remembers the paper that had fallen out. He grabs for it hastily, taking care not to rip or crease it. He unfurls the slightly curled edges and almost sobs at the words written, in neat and tidy handwriting.
I am terribly afraid this belongs to you.
Thomas feels himself laugh, or sob, maybe both. His teeth dig into his bottom lip, he reads the words over and over and over. Turning the paper once or twice, looking for any indication of who could have left him such a beautiful gift.
There's no sign. No signature. Just the slip of paper and a bloodstained wooden heart, small enough to keep in his pocket unnoticed, small enough to keep with him whenever he wishes.
He tucks the slip of paper away, hidden saftey from prying eyes, and curls his hand around the heart again. He tucks himself into bed, tucks the heart against his chest, and slips into dreamless, restful, sleep.
He wakes the next morning, the 14th of February, his fingers genlty curled round the heart. He smiles, moves his thumb over the rough edges, and gets dressed. He tucks the heart into his pocket, so that he might touch it throughout the day, should things try his patience as they so often have been.
He doesn't see Lieutenant Little for most of the day. Not sure if he'd once again been sent across the ice, or simply been on watch or otherwise engaged. He bumps into him after dinner. Heading back from the captains quarters with his tray of mostly uneaten food.
He rounds the corner and slams directly into the Lieutenant, the tray between them clattering to the ground, dishes breaking, food splattering onto the wood around them.
"Jopson! I'm so sorry. I didn't hear you coming." Lieutenant Little apologizes, and is on his knees across from Thomas without hesitation, reaching for broken shards and cutlery.
"You needn't worry sir. I've got it." Thomas tries to dismiss. He hears a sound, can't quiet believe that he's just heard Lieutenant Little snort a laugh until he glances up, through his lashes and his unruly hair, to see the slightest smile on the Lieutenant's lips.
"Please Jopson. I helped make the mess, at least allow me the dignity of assisting in cleaning it." He's got a hand full of teacup shards, and a fork and knife in his other hand. But that isn't what draws Thomas's attention.
No. What he notices at once, are the bandages already wrapped around Little's fingers. His left hand wrapped round the palm as well, two fingers and his thumb wrapped up snug. The right hand was free of bandages all together.
"Lieutenant." Thomas breathes, eyes on Little's hands. The man hasn't seemed to notice Thomas's distress, his sudden realization.
"I suppose we could call Neptune. Have him clean up the bits of food on the wall. He wouldn't say no to a midnight snack I'd wager." Little jests. That smile playing at his lips again. Thomas's breath catches and he nearly drops the few peices he'd manage to pick up before his eyes and thoughts had wandered.
"Jopson? Are you alright?" Thomas nods, his lips pressing together tight. He flips the tray back over and drops the broken peices onto it. Too roughly, one of them breaks further. Little places his broken peices on the tray as well, sets the cutlery down gently next to them.
"You're quite sure? You look... rattled. It's just a plate and a cup. We've plenty more." The Lieutenant consoles him, ducking his head to get further into Thomas's view.
"It's not... that, sir." Thomas manages to croak out.
"Right. Well, if I can help with whatever it is. I would." Little assures, tossing a few more peices onto the tray.
"Your hand sir. What- if you don't mind me asking. What happened to it?" Thomas looks at him now. Watches Little's smile fade, his brows knitting together, looking much more like himself. Thomas hates it. Misses that mirthful smile, the way it makes him look impossibly younger.
"Oh this?" He flexes his hand, looks down at it. Frowns at it really. But says nothing more. Thomas can see him thinking. Can't tell if he's trying to come up with a lie or is hesitant to admit to what he's done.
"I cut it." Little answers, after a fashion, and lamely, his brow furrowing further, a small shake of his head, like he's not sure why he said what he said. Thomas has to bite his lip to keep from smiling.
"Cut it how, sir? If you don't mind me asking." Jopson presses, so unlike him, but he watches Little's ears go red and decides it was worth it.
"I don't mind you. ...asking." The Lieutenant clears his throat, his eyes widening briefly, his cheeks filling with color now as well. He blinks a few times, his eyes on the tray between them on the floor. Both of them still kneeling.
"Do you wittle often, sir?" Thomas asks, can't keep it in. It's perhaps the wrong thing to say, the way Little startles and stands abruptly. Thomas attempts to stand as well and feels a sharp pain in his leg. Little's hands are on him at once, grabbing at his elbows and helping him to his feet. His hands trail down the undersides of Thomas's arms as he steadies himself, breaking away as Thomas finds his balance. But not fast enough, Thomas grabs his bandaged hand, genlty. Little's eyes snap to his face, finally.
"I apologize if my behavior has been untoward. I never meant-"
"For me to find out?" Thomas questions, his voice light, teasing. Little looks away again.
"Forgive me." He says, begs, and Thomas does, would, he'd forgive him anything.
"You're forgiven." Thomas says, steps closer, carefully over the tray on the floor, into Little's space.
"Though you've done nothing I need forgive." Thomas whispers the words, watches Little hear them, process them, and look up at him through those impossible lashes of his. The shadow of them on his cheeks infinitely enticing.
"I- have I not?" Little asks, voice soft, uncertain. Thomas shakes his head.
"No. Sir. You haven't." He takes one more step, slides his hand purposefully into Little's.
"It was the most beautiful thing, sir." His voice still a whisper.
"Edward." Is all the Lieutenant says, he swallows, hard, Thomas hears his throat click with it, his nervousness.
"It was the most beautiful thing, Edward." Thomas repeats, with an ammendment. Edward huffs a laugh, incredulous. His eyes on their joined hands. He brings his free hand up, fingers moving gently over the back of Thomas's. His fingers trace over his knuckles, moving slow, then up the side his palm, along the line of hair that grows there, until his palm lays flat against him, warm and wondedful.
"Not the most, beautiful thing." Edward says, eyes moving from their hands to Thomas's face, eyes flicking back and forth as he looks at him, stares at him. Thomas feels himself flush down to his toes.
"You flatter me, sir." Thomas huffs, smiling, brightly, in his discomfort.
"Edward." Little nearly begs this time, voice soft and wanting.
"And I should hope so." The crooked smile that tilts his lips and transforms him once again into the picture of youth, nearly has Thomas's knees buckling.
"I- you're- what you wrote." He takes a deep breath, squeezes Edward's hand.
"I feel the same. I mean mine... my heart. It's yours." Thomas smiles again, feels it in his chest this time, warmth spreading through him as Edward smiles back. His eyes crinkling as he lifts their hands to his chest, to his heart.
"Truly?" He asks, a man of many words. Thomas laughs, rolls his eyes and steps closer, pressing their chests together, trapping their tangled hands between them.
"Truly. And utterly." He breathes, his face hurting from smiling, his hands warm, held, and safe.
"I might kiss you Thomas." Edward sighs, the breath of it ghosting over Thomas's face, warm against his skin. And his name on Edward's tongue is like music, filling him with impossible warmth.
"I'll not stop you." He swallows, licks his lips, watches Edward's eyes watch him and then he's being kissed.
Edward's lips are warm against his, chapped, but so are his. He breaks away quickly, too quickly, the whine that claws it's way out of Thomas's throat has Edward reaching for him again, his hands on Thomas's wrists.
"I'm sorry I- Not here- It's- If I continue I-" Edward stammers.
"You'll what?" Thomas asks, leaning forward, pressing their heads together.
"I may not be able to stop." Edward says, voice straining. Thomas smiles again, drops his head to Edward's shoulder. Edward moves one hand around him, rubs up and down his back, twice, before he steps back again. Thomas lets him go, eyes on Edward as he smiles again.
"Later." Thomas says, his hand tucking into his pocket, fingers curling around Edward's heart. Edward's shoulders relax, his features melting as he smiles again, crooked and soft.
"Later." A promise.
They clean the rest of the mess in silence, stealing soft touches as they go. Parting ways as Edward heads to report to the captain, and Thomas heads to clean the mess they'd made.
Edward keeps his promise. He comes to Thomas later, whispering sweet things and more promises.
He keeps them all.
Years later. After the ice and the terror. After they're saved and healed. He brings Thomas home with him. Settles them down on a little farm in the middle of nowhere. Buys them horses and chickens and goats. Teaches Thomas how to tend them.
And Thomas loves it. Tending the animals, the land, but most of all Edward. He loves tending to him, in any way Edward will let him. Tends to his needs, and his heart.
And when Edward isn't around, either out in the fields or gone to town for supplies and provisions, and almost always something sweet and special for Thomas. When he's away, Thomas reaches into his pocket and holds his heart in his hand, and knows he'll come back to him.
Thomas clutches the heart now, looks out the window into the rain, watches the tall grass in the fields move like waves in a storm, and smiles down at the windowsill, adorned with small wooden trinkets. Animals, and flowers, and strange shapes that got away from his beloved, but most importantly, the hearts.
Edward has carved him heart after heart over the years. Thomas adores them all. But none so much as that first one. Stained with Edward's blood, made in secret declaration of something he feared he'd never have. Never get to keep.
But he has it now. They both do. Thomas is his. And Edward is his in turn. And Thomas holds his heart in his hand until Edward returns, muddy and wet, but smiling at the sight of Thomas, always. And Thomas lets the heart drop back into his pocket so he can get his hands on something more precious, something so dear to him, he's no intention of ever letting him go.
if you’ve jerked it to my fics— happy valentine’s day. come get ur flowers: 🌹💓💋🪻💞💋🌸💕💋🌺💗💋🌷💖💋🌻💘💋🌼💝💋💐🩷💋🌹💓💋🪻💞💋🌸💕💋🌺💓💋🌷💗💋🌻💖💋🌼💘💋💐💝💋🌹🩷💋🪻💓💋🌸💞💋🌺💕💋🌷💗💋🌻💖💋🌼💘💋💐💝💋🌹🩷💋
Hi!!! I'm rereading some of your steddie ficlets and I just wanted to tell you I really love them!! Thank you for writing them <3 you're a really good writer. Hope you have a good day!!!
AAAAHHHHHH!!!! THIS ASK MADE ME SO HAPPY!!!! i haven't written in a bit and woke up to this!!! And aahhh thank you thank you thank you!!!! You are so sweet and kind i hope wonderful things come your way friend!!!!
Virgil McAlester x Plus Size, Gender Neutral, Criminal Surveillance, Reader
♤ Summary: Virgil shows up at your place, wounded again. You take care of him like always. And hope maybe this time you might get to keep him.
♤ Warning: blood, wound tending, unprotected sex, sort of friends with benefits to lovers... like if you squint... reader was oblivious to the feelings, non canon compliant.
♤ A/N: tagging @jozstankovich cuz i always do, and also @wifeofbath because you liked the post i made about it, so hopefully it's okay to tag you! 🩷 all mistakes are my own, no betas in this house we just post it and run. Oh! another thing, the non canon compliance is that i had him let the library lady live. Not because i think he would have, but mostly because it pissed me off that the movie killed her in the first place. So i changed that. He might be a little ooc but like... he was barely there and i can do whatever i want. 👍🏻😄👍🏻
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The perimeter alarm beeps, drawing your attention from your painting. You lift your head and look at the wall of monitors to your left. You swing your legs out of bed and walk over, watching him shuffle slowly towards your door, he's hurt again then.
You sigh, settle your finger on the button and wait. You click it down as he reaches for the door buzzer, not letting him hit it. He drops his hand, looks up into the camera above the door and smiles.
He reaches for the door and you lift your finger, letting it lock so it doesn't move when he pulls on it. He doesn't look at the camera as he flips you off. You snort a laugh and click the button again, letting him in this time.
You walk to the bathroom, duck under the sink and grab the first aid kit, it's much bigger now than it was when you first got here. You had to upgrade when he decided he was going to be using you as his medic and not an actual doctor, or the weird mob doctor everyone else goes too.
You set the kit, now more of a duffle bag, on the end of the bed and walk to the kitchen. Filling a bowl with warm water as you wait for him to come through to your space.
It's essentially a warehouse you've fixed up into a living space. You have a bathroom and a kitchen semi separated from the main room. Your bed shoved against one wall, your desk and wall of monitors along the other. And a small space across from your bed with another smaller desk, for drawing and painting and whatever else you choose to do when you're not monitoring the movements of some criminal or another.
"Fuckin comedian you are." He says, in lieu of a greeting. You smile into the sink and slap the handle to turn it off when the bowl is full enough.
"Enjoy that did you?" You ask, grabbing one of the dark wash clothes you keep in a drawer specifically for him now, dark so the blood doesn't stain them. He hums as you walk back into the room, already pulling your singular desk chair closer to your bed. You elbow the switch on the wall, he squints as the room goes from nearly pitch black, save the glow from the monitors, to bright florescent.
"You should go into stand up." He grumbles, sighing as he falls slowly into the chair, being careful not to roll, his heels firm against the tile floor. You hum in response, mimicking his response from earlier.
"And miss out on all this?" You gesture to his face, which is bleeding, and his hand, also covered in blood.
"What fun would that be?" You ask, sarcasm dripping from your words as you set the bowl down gently on the edge of the bed, carefully not to spill it. He sniffs a laugh, his head hung low, chin resting against his chest, hair hanging in front of his wounded face. You frown, reach under his chin and lift his head, he looks up at you, mouth twitching into a quick smile before dropping again.
You push his hair out of his face and inspect the wound on his cheek. Bullet wound. Your heart hammers in your chest, palms sweating a bit.
"Close one." You say, trying to joke and missing by a mile, your voice tight. He nods. Says nothing. You take a deep breath and start cleaning. Wiping the blood from his skin in soft careful movements. The water in your bowl a filthy brown by the time his face is clean.
"Stitches first and then your hand? Or you want me to clean that first and then stiches?" You ask, hand on his shoulder. He frowns, flexes his fingers, grunts.
"Hand first." He says, voice tight.
"M'kay." You look to the bowl, then his hand, you scrunch your nose and tap his shoulder.
"C'mon. It'll be easier in the sink." You grab the bowl and carry it to the kitchen, poor the bloody water down the sink and get the water warm, only turning the pressure on about half way. You step aside and pull his hand forward, moving it under the water and rinsing the blood from his skin gently as he grimaces at each touch.
You dry his hand and face when you're done and both walk back to the bed. He plops back into the chair, hands firmly on the handles now, waiting for you.
He hisses through his stitches, tears falling down his face as your needle goes through his skin again and again. You stitch his hand too, and then wrap it.
"All done." You whisper, patting his knee. He breathes out hard, opens his eyes and looks up at you.
"Thanks." He sighs. You nod, and keep your eyes on him.
"You gonna shower?" You ask, he always does.
"Yeah." He says, eyes on you, making you incredibly aware of the fact that you're still in your pajamas, just shorts and t-shirt, but still.
"Okay. Be careful with your stitches, use the low pressure setting if you're gonna put your face in the water." You instruct, tucking supplies back into the duffle.
"Whatever you say doctor." He says, and you can hear his smirk. You keep your eyes on the duffle, only looking at him just as he ducks into the bathroom.
You hear the water turn on, wait til you hear the shower door open and click shut again, before your dig out some clothes for him, things he's left here over the last few years. A shirt here. Pants there. You'd cleaned them and tucked them away for safe keeping.
You place the folded shirt and underwear underneath a towel, and set it on the bathroom counter when tuck the duffle back into place. If he hears you come in he says nothing. If he feels you glance at him through the foggy glass, he says nothing.
You've been doing this dance for months now. This new dance. Tending his wounds had been normal, but a few months ago things had changed. At first he'd just stayed the night, lying in bed next to you, sleeping. You'd wake with him wrapped around you, snuggling into your soft body.
And then he'd kissed you. And then more. And more. And now you're here. Tending his wounds again and waiting to see how much he wants from you tonight.
You turn the lights back off on your way into the kitchen, letting darkness fill your space again, the way you like it. You feel safer in the dark. Always have. Tucked away in your space away from the world, where no one can see you, doing your work in the dark, finding and watching people no one else can find.
You clean the bowl and put it away again, toss the towels into the laundry and head to your desk. You look over the monitors for awhile. Nothing much going on. A few targets milling about on the late night streets. All of them heading home for the night it seems.
You click through a few more, checking on them. Nothing new. Everything where it should be. Everyone, where they should be.
"It's the middle of the night and you just happen to be wide awake?" His voice cuts through the humming of your screens.
"I'm always awake in the middle of the night." You keep your eyes forward.
"Isn't that why you come here?" You tilt your head to the side, finally looking at him. He's leaning in the doorway to the bathroom, damp hair smoothed back, arms crossed across his chest as he watches you, ankles crossed as well. He smiles, ducks his head.
He pushes off the wall and you look away, eyes going back to your screens, you pretend to watch people, though your eyes are unfocused. You feel him against your back before he speaks again.
"Not the only reason." He whispers, presses himself against you, firm chest flush against your back, hands gentle when they move to your hips.
"Does that make me special then? Providing first aid and fulfilling your other needs as well?" You hum, his fingers dig into your skin, tugging you closer.
"See. Fuckin comedian." He whispers into the skin of your neck, pressing soft kisses across your skin, his hands pushing your shirt up just enough so he can get his hands on the waistband of your shorts.
You sigh as your head falls back onto his shoulder, letting him take what he wants from you. His hand push your shorts down, nimble fingers moving between your soft thighs, pressing into the skin, telling you to spread your legs without words.
You do as you're told, always do when he gets like this. Needy like he can't get enough of you, can't touch enough of you fast enough, can't get you close enough.
He tugs your shirt up over your head, spins you around. Smiling at you briefly before pressing his lips to yours, soft at first and then more insistent, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he lifts you and drops you on your own desk with a grunt, cursing from using his injured hand but not stopping.
He presses himself againt you, presses into you, a deep sigh falling past his lips, into your ear as he presses inside. His hands grabbing at your shoulders as his hips move against you. You claw at his back as he moves, he whines into your shoulder, his lips and teeth pressing into the skin there.
You lean back a little, to look at him, your hand moving to the side of his face that's not injured, pushing his hair out of the way to cup his cheek, thumb moving across his skin as his hips slow momentarily, his eyes locked on yours. You move, brushing your nose against his before kissing him, too soflty, probably. But he whines into it, chases it deeper, his hips stuttering.
You groan, squeeze your legs around him tighter, heels digging into his thighs, pulling him closer, deeper. He grunts into your mouth and then he's gone again, mouth at your shoulder like always. His hands on your thighs, fingers digging deep into the soft buttery skin there, tugging you impossibly closer, grinding into you deeper and deeper.
His teeth dig into your shoulder as you clench around him, heat filling you, crashing around you, as his hips stutter once more and he stills. Both of you breathing heavily as your grip on each other loosens, but you don't let go.
He laughs, breathless, into your shoulder, like he always does when he finishes. His lips pressing barley there kisses up to your cheeks, across your nose, and down the other side of your neck. He tucks his chin over your shoulder and just rests there, his softening cock still settled inside you.
You roll your hips once, smiling when he whimpers in your ear. You hold him try not to think about how he likes to watch the monitors rather than look at you when he's like this. Always looking over your shoulder when he takes you on the desk. And he always take you on the desk.
And normally you can ignore it, you say nothing. Just let him have you, however he wants you. Because it's enough. Having him this way. His hands smooth down your back and he presses a kiss behind your ear softly, as he pulls out, and you can't hold your tongue.
"Ya know I can get you a mirror if you wanna look at yourself so bad." You mutter, hands sliding from his back to brace yourself on the desk. He tenses for a moment and then pulls away from you slowly, hands resting on your thighs still. There's a mischievous glint in eyes that hurts.
His head tilts, studying you, you look away, grabbing your shirt and tugging it back on, you try to push him away so you can find your underwear and shorts, but he crowds against you again, calculating eyes still locked on you.
He leans close, his lips pressing to your ear and his other hand moves to the side of your head, holding you gently. He nuzzles against your cheek and huffs a laugh.
"It wasn't me I was lookin at." He whispers, presses a kiss to your temple and then he's gone. He bends and picks up his discarded shirt, wipes himself clean and then steps back between your legs, finds a clean spot on the shirt and wipes you clean as well. And then he fucking winks at you and walks away.
Your heart pounds in your chest as you find your clothes and tug them on.
You turn back to your screens, eyes on the one that was right behind you when he had you pressed to your desk. You see yourself, standing there looking at your monitors. You turn slowly, looking to the ceiling, the small camera you'd installed there blinking at you smuggly in the dark.
Your chest rises and falls heavily, heart and stomach fluttering as you realize. He'd been watching you. Watching your face as he fucked you. Had been from the beginning. Your palms sweat, you place them flat on your desk as you hear your sheets rustle behind you.
"Coming to bed?" He asks, voice soft. Not gloating, the way you'd expected. You look over your shoulder at him, he's sitting on the edge, one leg hanging over the side, watching you. He jerks his head gently, inviting you to join him.
You nod, see him smile, and then crawl into bed next to him. Laying face to face in the dark, nothing but the glow of the screens casting light, and only on you. His face is in darkness, the screen behind him giving him and eerily glowing silhouette.
"You really didn't realize?" He breathes between you, reaching toward you, knuckles brushing your cheek. You shake your head. Too nervous to speak. You see the shadow of his head nod.
"Do you now?" He asks, thumb moving over your bottom lip. You shrug the shoulder not pressed again your mattress. He hums again, assessing, and then leans forward, up on his elbow, looking down at you, his hair falling in his face, curtaining you both in, he's so close.
"I come here for you. The other shit's just a bonus. Okay?" He asks, doesn't wait for an answer before he's kissing you, softly, and then lying back down. You say nothing.
"You believe me?" He asks, moving his head against the pillow, the sheets rustling.
You look at him in the dark, thinking back over the last few year. The way he started staying. The way he asked to see your art. Asked about the music you like. Asking all sorts of questions he didn't need too, nothing personal at first. Not in your line of work. It wasn't done. Until it was.
He'd asked about your family, if you had a nice childhood. All sorts of questions. You hadn't answered them all, but it hadn't felt like he was fishing for information. It had felt like he was curious, trying to figure you out. For himself, not for someone else. You close your eyes, reach out and take his hand in the dark.
"I believe you." You say, he squeezes your hand, and even in the low light, you can see him smiling.
You lay in the dark for a long while. Your eyes closing and opening again slowly, both of you moving your fingers against each other. His voice is impossibly soft when he speaks.
"I almost killed someone tonight." He says, voice heavy with emotion. You squeeze his hand, knowing nothing you say will help. You hear him swallow, his throat clicking in the dark across from you.
"I couldn't do it. I mean we fought. And I could have. I had her. But then," he breathes shakily,
"This fucking book fell out her pocket. That one you're always rereading. With that little fuckin guy, lives in a hole. Fights a dragon or some shit?" He sounds frustrated, his hand shaking in yours.
"The Hobbit?" You ask, a small smile curling your lips even though it's not a happy thing he's telling you. You hear him snap his fingers, his free hand pointing at you in the dark.
"Yeah. That. It fell out of her pocket and I couldn't- I just froze. It made me think of you and I couldn't do it." He shrugs, shoulders bouncing in the dark.
"I knocked her out. Took the kid. This girl. Couldn't have been more than 8. I didn't like that either. Kids." He shakes his head, breathes out hard.
"I couldn't even stay at the diner. Said I had some shit to do for the family. Something to clear up. I dunno. I couldn't stay there. Not if they were gonna hurt that kid." He shakes his head again and rolls onto his back, the light from the screens illuminating his face now. You can see tears, one of them falls down his face from the corner of his eye. You reach out and wipe it away, he leans into your touch.
"I didn't like that. I don't wanna go back." He whispers, grabbing at your hand when you begin to pull it back. He keeps ahold of it, rests it on his chest. You can feel his heartbeat, steady, but fast. You close your eyes, thinking of the bullet that nearly killed him today, your heart thundering in your own chest, the fast rhythm matching the one you feel under your hand.
"So stay here." He turns his head, looks at you.
"For awhile. You don't have to go back right away." You shrug, move closer, he moves to accommodate you, shoves his arm under you and tugs you close, buries his nose in your hair as you settle on his shoulder.
"Just stay here. With me." You whisper, hand resting on his ribs tugging him closer. You hear him sigh, his fingers tapping out a gentle rhythm on your arm.
"Maybe I will." He breathes, rubbing your arm, settling in closer to you, pressing a kiss into your hair.
"Won't be able to get rid of me." He whispers. You smile against his chest.
"Hmm. I dunno. You're pretty small. I think I could take you." You argue, all fondness. He snorts, squeezes you, his hand resting on the soft roll of your side.
"I'm sure you could." He agrees, sounding exhausted. You lift up on your elbow and look at him, his eyes barely staying open as they look at you.
"Sleep. And stay." You kiss the corner of his mouth. His cheeks dimple with a smile, eyes finally closing and staying that way, smile fading slowly.
"Okay. Yeah. I'll stay." He sighs, falling to sleep as you watch him. You brush a stray peice of hair off his face and settle back down against him. Drifting off on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around you tight.
He'll wake you in the morning with a soft kiss and cheeky grin, having been watching you sleep. Always watching you. Always has been watching you.
♤ Summary: A mysterious woman comes into town, and Gator's life, as everything's beginning to fall apart. He feels drawn to her strangeness, though his gut tells him to stay away. But why would he start making good decisions now.
♤ Warnings: gator x oc, oc character, blood, knives, Canon compliant torture. Also the end of this is written is summarized bullet points because i ran out of motivation to finish it but wanted to share it, but not leave it unfinished and without an end. 🩵
♤ A/N: Im finally posting this wooo! Mostly for @jozstankovich my beloved. Thank you for listening to me rant about this all that time ago! Her she is in about half her glory! But i wanted you to meet Jones finally so here it is!!! Enjoy! 🩵💜🩵
🐊🐦🐊🐦🐊
[ PART ONE ]
The air in the bar is hazy. His arm throbs inside his cast and he takes a sip of beer. It doesn't really taste good, and it doesn't really numb the pain. But it's something to do. He takes another sip and swallows roughly as Gary walks over, sets another beer in front of him, Gator stares at it, says nothing.
"Got yourself an admirer." Gary says, wiping at a small puddle of condensation on the bar.
"What's that?" Gator ask, his eyes still on his beer, unfocused.
"Girl over there. Been here all day watchin the door. 'Cept now she's watchin you. Looks to me like she was waitin for ya." Gary sets an empty glass on the bar top as Gator's eyes finally focus and move to him.
"Really? That what it looks like. To you?" He asks, watches Gary ignore his tone and splash something red on the ice he's scooped into the glass.
"Yep. Hasn't taken her eyes off ya since ya walked in. Must see somethin she likes." Gary fills the glass with coke and slides it to set next to Gator's beer.
"Cherry coke's all she's been drinkin. Not that I mind. She's been tipping well for each one." He gives the glass a small nudge, so it clinks against the beer bottle, and then he's gone again. Walked off into the haze to tend to one of the other patrons.
It's not busy, really. Only a little crowded. But it is a Tuesday night. So no surprise there. Gator glances into the mirror behind the bar, sees the girl in question.
She's sitting at a back booth, nearly empty glass in her hand as she leans down, pulls the straw into her mouth and takes a sip. Gator squints, a car drives past outside, flashing light into her booth and her hair glows for a moment, a halo of blue fire around her head. Gator scoffs to himself and looks away. Blue hair, who the fuck has hair like that? Nobody around here.
He downs the last swig of beer in his first bottle. Sets it on the bar and grabs the other in his casted hand, easier to hold the glass of cherry coke in the other, he groans as he stands, his body aching.
He walks slowly to her table, watches her watch him walk toward her, her expression blank as she blinks at him. There's a thin scar running across her nose and under both eyes. The hairs on the back of Gator's neck stand up, he rolls his shoulders to fight off the shiver threatening to run down his spine. He almost rolls his eyes at himself, gettin so worked up over some chick in a bar, just cuz she's been starin at him for almost an hour. He blinks hard, pushing away thoughts of what his father would think of him.
He sets the drink down on her table, takes a sip of his own.
"You got a bit of starin problem, you know that?" Gator asks, resting his arm against his hip, holding his beer as steady as he can as his arm aches. She doesn't answer him. Just stares, lifts one shoulder and then drops it, blinking up at him slowly, her eyes moving over him appraisingly.
He watches them pause on his thigh, were his gun sits, just for a moment, before they move back up over his chest, finally landing on his face again. She leans forward, takes her straw between her teeth and pulls it into her mouth. Gator swallows thickly as she stares and finishes the last of her drink.
The straw gurgles and Gator does shiver this time, her eyes still on him, the corner of her mouth twitches before she lets the straw fall from her lips. He leans forward, nudges the new drink he'd brought her a little closer. She ignores it.
"You gonna say thank you?" He asks, switching his beer to his other hand as another tremor of pain shoots down his arm. He grimaces, can't help it, opens and closes his fist a few times, watches her eyes track the movement.
"No." She finally says, her voice quiet. She stands, Gator startles back a step. Her lips twitch again as she shrugs on a black jean jacket over her red flannel. She shoves her hand into her pocket and takes out a fifty dollar bill, drops it gently on the table, and moves to step past him. Her eyes still lingering on him.
He reaches out, grabs her arm as she passes, she stops, her head tilting to the side, her eyes on the door now, not him.
"Wanna tell me what you're fuckin starin at before you go? Pretty fuckin rude to stare at people like that. Ain't you got any manners?" He asks, voice low, but he's mindful of how hard he holds her arm, fingers genlty curled around her bicep.
Her head moves slow as she turns to look at him, her eyes land on him, again, and his hackles rise, again, the sudden feeling that he's not in control washes over him like ice water. He swallows, his throat clicking. He watches her watch him, she says nothing.
"You gonna fuckin answer me? What'er you starin at?" He asks, impatience lacing his tone now, his fingers tighten ever so slightly on her arm. She blinks at him, twice, slow. And then tilts her head, like a curious animal, like she's assessing a threat. Her eyes move over his face, back and forth, she reaches up, rests her hand on his on her arm.
"I was just wondering if you're pretty when you cry." She says, matter of fact. Gator's heart thuds, his lungs seize, she shoves his hand away with her own and then she's out the door. He blinks to himself, his hand burning where she's touched him.
"What the fuck." He breathes, rubs at his chest, drops his bottle on the table next to her empty glass, and follows her.
~°~
He shoves the door open and stops, looking out into the dark parking lot. He spots her about twenty feet away, digging in her jacket pockets next to a pretty old jeep. Her jeans are ripped at the knees, her combat boots covered in snow and scuffed.
"Hey!" He shouts, sniffing once as he trudges through the packed snow after her. She pulls her key from her pocket and opens the door. He stalks up to the jeep and grabs the top of the door, finally drawing her attention. She eyes his hand, then moves her gaze to him again. Her eyes are cold. Almost black in the darkness of the lot. He takes his hand away.
"That's a helluva thing to say to someone." He says, breathing heavy in the cold, little puffs of condensation floating before him. She's says nothing. Just looks at him. His chest tightens, annoyance flooding through him.
"Not gonna say anything?" He asks, crosses his arms, steps closer to her. He expects her to step away, but she doesn't. She stands her ground and looks at him, that assessing looking filling her eyes again. One shoulder lifts, then falls.
"You're not from around here." Gator says, statement. Not a question. She takes a step back, crosses her own arms, mirroring him. She shakes her head once, still doesn't speak.
"You stayin in town long? Planin on causin some trouble?" Gator questions, squinting at her. Her lips twitch, the smallest amount.
"Just passin through." She says, and her voice is still quiet, like she's trying not to be heard, or doesn't want to be. Gator scoffs, smirks at her, pleased he'd gotten her to say something.
"Right. Well, "Just Passin Through", think I'm gonna need to see some I.D." he holds his hand out, she drops her eyes to his hand, and then lifts them back to his face.
"Like now." He clarifies, leaning into her space again. Her expression hardens, but she moves, hands searching her jacket pockets, she takes a pocket knife out, sticks it between her teeth and dives back in. Gator's eyes linger on the knife, her white teeth clamped around it, and wonders if he should take it from her.
"You ain't got a purse for all your shit?" He asks just as she pulls her wallet from her back pocket. She glares at him as she hands over her license, tucks her knife back into her jacket as he reads.
"Jones L Weaver. What kinda name is Jones?" He asks, moving only his eyes to look at her, expectant.
"It's the kinda name I got." She mumbles, hands in her pockets again, shoulders hunched against the cold. Gator moves his eyes back to her license. Height: 5"3 Eyes: green. Hair: red. He moves his eyes to her blue hair, her eyes locked on him as he keeps reading, her knee bouncing as she waits.
"What's the L stand for?" He asks, looking at her again. Her arms tighten against herself.
"Llewellyn."
"You what?" He scoffs, raising an eyebrow at her. She takes a deep breath.
"Llewellyn. It's Welsh." She says, glare growing deeper the longer he looks at her. He nods, eyes closed for a moment, like that was obvious. He holds the license out to her, she reaches for it and he pulls it back, rests it against his chest. He watches her nose twitch, like she's about to snarl at him, and thinks maybe teasing her isn't the best idea.
"Where you stayin while you're passin through, Jones?" Her name feels interesting in his mouth. She sighs, deeply, and shoves her hand back in her pocket.
"Motel on the edge of town." She nods her head to the left, in the direction of the motel. He knows the place. Knows that all kind of shady things go on there. Drug deals. Hookers. You name it. He holds her license out to her again, brows raised, imploring her to take it.
She stares at his hand for a long moment, her eyes move to his face once, he nods. She reaches out, fast, and takes it from him. Tucks it into her pocket and moves toward the open door of her jeep. Gator grabs the door again, the metal cold beneath his fingers, and watches her climb in. She reaches for the door and glares at his hand when she sees it.
"Well, behave yourself Jones. And maybe I won't see you around." He smiles, his best shit eating grin. And to his surprise, she smiles back. He feels his own smile falter as he looks at hers, wide, and sharp, her eyes still void of emotion.
"Oh. I think you'll be seeing me around plenty, Deputy." She says "deputy" with the same lilt he'd been saying her name, a little mean, condescending. She rips the door out his grasp and slams it closed. He startles back a step, nearly slipping on a patch of ice.
He watches her through the window for a moment before moving to his prowler. He kicks the snow off his feet and slides in, turning the key and cranking the heat and radio up. He can feel her watching him. Glances in his mirror and sure enough, her jeeps still there, exhaust billowing behind it in the frigid air.
He waits for the heat to warm, hand over the vent, and keeps his eyes on her jeep. His skin crawling the longer it sits there. And then the lights flash on and she's driving away. He watches snow fly up as she hits the gas, fishtailing as she pulls out onto the road and speeds away. He has half a mind to follow her, pull her over for speeding, just to watch her glare at him again.
He has his hand on the gearshift to do just that when the knife between her teeth flashes into his memory. And the way she'd looked at him, cold, and assessing. He shivers, from the cold, he tells himself, and slams the prowler into gear. He pulls out of the parking lot and heads left. In the opposite direction of the weird fuckin girl from the bar. With the blue hair, and the pocket knife, and the sharp smile.
~°~
He feels her before he sees her. Every warning sign in his body going off as he sips his coffee. He rubs at the back of his neck and turns on the stool, the diner is full, everyone in town coming in for breakfast. And in the back corner, he sees her. Blue hair sticking out beneath a backwards cap, matching his own. Though hers is solid blue, to his white and green.
Her eyes are on him. Again. He takes a deep breath, is about stand, but she beats him to it. He watches her toss money on the table and watch him until she gets to the door. She winks and walks out into the morning.
His palms are sweating. It's the first thing he can think. When she's gone. His skin is tense. And his palms are sweating. He finishes his coffee and toast, drops some money on the counter, and heads out into the sun himself, pushing her from his thoughts as he shoves the door open.
She's leaning against his car. He stops with the door still pushed open, gets run into by some asshole, and lets go of the door, walks toward his car.
"What kinda name is Gator?" She says in way of greeting. She's leaning on his car door, arms crossed over her chest as she watches him come closer. He can hear his heart beating in his ears, well, ear. The left one still a little wonky from the fucking gun going off right next to. He raises his shoulder into said ear, pressing for a moment and then lowering it.
"How'd you know that's my name?" He asks, shoves his hands into his pockets and rolls his shoulders, standing a bit taller. She nods toward the diner.
"Waitress." Is all she says.
"The waitress told you my name?" He asks, frowning and looking over his shoulder.
"Yes. And no." She says, Gator looks back to her and she's smirking. His frown deepens. He shakes his head.
"She used your name. To you." Jones clarifies.
"You were all the way across the room." Gator replies.
"I have very good hearing." She says, rearranges her footing.
"And I can read lips." The smirk is back. Gator gives her a tight smile, takes a step closer. But not too close. Something keeps him back. Away from her.
"Your dad's the sheriff right?" She asks abruptly. Gator narrows his eyes.
"That fella on all them billboards? That's your dad right?" She elaborates, tilting her head toward him.
"Yeah." Gator nods, not really wanting to talk about his dad with this girl. Or anyone else.
"Hm." Is all she says. A small noise as she keeps her eyes on him.
"Why?" He asks, his voice sharp without meaning for it to be. She shrugs, pushes herself off his door and takes a step toward him, smirking again when Gator takes a step away.
"You don't look like him." She says with a shrug, and then turns and starts walking away. Gator's mouth is dry. His head swimming and confused as he watches her walk down the sidewalk. He clears his throat after a moment, licks his lips.
"Is that a good thing?" He calls after her, not wanting her to stop talking, he likes her voice, the more he hears of it. Thinks he likes how honest she is too. Even when she says weird shit.
She turns as she walks, continuing backwards, shrugs her shoulders with her hands in her pockets and then turns again, keeps going down the street. A little skip in her step as she disappears around the corner. Gator slides into his car and glances down the street again, hoping for another glipse of her before he starts his day.
~°~
He's see her again the next day. Finds her out on a back road, changing a tire on her jeep. He pulls up behind her, flashes his lights and hits the siren once. He leaves his lights on, for saftey as the sun fades.
He steps out of his car and watches her stand, wiping her forhead with the back of her hand as she turns to look at him.
"Are you stalking me Deputy?" She calls, its the loudest he's heard her speak. He walks closer, smiles, and kicks at her tire.
"Need a hand Weaver?" He asks, hands on his hips.
"You only got one to offer." She nods to his cast. He looks down at the blue sticking out of his sleeve. Fuck. He'd forgotten about that.
"Shit." He mutters.
"Your feet are working right?" She asks, her hands falling to her hips as well. His eyes fall to her Metallica shirt, linger there longer than they should. He clears his throat and nods.
"Alright good. Gimme a sec." She bends again, crouches beside the tire and fiddles with the lug wrench until she has it straight up and down. She gives a few sharp tugs, it doesn't move. She huffs and stands again.
"Give it a kick for me?" She asks, moving out of the way. Gator looks at it, brows furrowed.
"This way." She points toward the front of the jeep.
"Just..." he looks down at it, back to her.
"Just kick it?" He asks, she nods, steps up beside him, presses the toe of her boot to the outside of the lug wrench where it's secured on the lug, gives him a nod. He eyes her leg, awfully close to the wrench she's insisting he kick.
"I don't wanna kick you." He says, wiping his good palm on his jacket. She shakes her head.
"I trust you. Go on." She nods to the wrench again. Gator sighs, something stirring in his chest at her words, takes a step to the side and lifts his foot.
He lines up, places his boot against it and then draws back. He kicks. Nothing. She nods at him. Hands on her hips as she adjusts her foot, keeping the wrench where it needs to be. He kicks again. Nothing. He huffs, takes a step back.
"Hard as you can Tillman, c'mon." She slaps his shoulder, her eyes softer than he's seen them yet. Though that could be the light from the setting sun.
He sighs, lines up again, and kicks. Hard. The wrench moves. Not far. But a little. She nods, grabs his shoulder to steady herself when she starts to wobble. He grabs her jacket at the elbow, steadying her. And he kicks again.
The wrench clicks all the way to the side and she smacks his shoulder again. And then she's on the ground, loosening the lugnut in earnest. She pops the last one off, shoves it in her pocket and stands again.
"Stickin around to help with the rest?" She asks, looking at him with wide eyes, shining in the fading sunlight. He wipes at his nose, running a bit in the cold, and nods.
"Sure. I uh- what do I do?" He asks, feeling like an idot. And a bit useless with his fucked up arm.
"Just gotta get the one off the back and then switch 'em. I already got the lugs off that one." She nods toward the back and Gator follows.
They get the tires switched in pretty good time. But it's still dark when they're finished. She tightens all the lugs several times, till she gets them to click twice. Then she's throwing all her tools into the back of her jeep and turns to Gator.
"Not bad. Thanks for helping." She smiles then, it's small, and fleeting, gone almost before Gator sees it. But he does see it. And he's pretty sure he's fucked.
"Sure. It's what I'm here for." He shrugs, takes an awkward step back toward his cruiser. She nods, levels him with a look he can't quite decipher. She steps into his space, reaches up and slips his hat off his head. Then slips her own hat off and pushes it onto him, pulls it down snug. She slides his onto her own head, pats his chest roughly, clicks her tongue and winks at him, before turning back to her jeep.
She hops in, rolls the window down, rests her elbow on the windowsill.
"Thanks again. You did good. I appreciate it." She nods, looks away, looks back, her lips twitching.
"See ya later Gator." And she hits him with that smile again. Like a punch to the gut before she drives off, his hat sitting backwards on her head.
He watches her drive away until her tail lights fade into the distance, then reaches up and takes her hat off his head. He walks back to his car and climbs in, turns the top lights off and the overhead light on, and looks down at the hat in his hands.
It's a dark, midnight blue, and there's a small blue bird embroidered on the front. The edges of the bill are worn and fraying in a few spots, just like his. He holds it in his hands and thinks that it must be loved, to be so tarnished. He moves his thumb over the little bird, the feathers on its back the same color as Jones' hair in the sun.
He startles back to himself when a car speeds past, clears his throat and sniffs, wipes at his nose. He slides the hat carefully back onto his head, clenches his fists around his steering wheel, and flips his lights and siren on, flooring it as he chases down whatever asshole interrupted his thoughts.
[ PART TWO ]
He shouldn't be driving. Logically he knows that. He can feel his heartbeat in his face. His lip split, cheek burning, the vision in his left eye fuzzy. But he couldn't stay there. Not at the ranch. Not in that house. Not tonight.
The roads are dark, thankfully, empty so late at night. He grips the steering wheel tighter, blinks his eyes hard, pain shooting through the left side of his face when he does. He fucked up. Again. Nadine got away. Again. That creepy old man was right, she was a tiger.
He's not sure where he's going until he pulls up to the motel. Parks crooked next to her pretty jeep. He clenches and unclenches his hands on the wheel. Unsure if this is a good idea.
Sure she'd been nice enough after the tire change. But this was different. He was bringing his crap to her door. A door that wasn't even permanently hers. Just some shitty motel room.
He closes his eyes for a moment. A mistake. Visions of Roy's angry face and hard fists flash before him and he jolts in his seat, opening his eyes again. He huffs, turns the car off, and gets out. He walks to the door, number six, he'd checked that day after the bar.
He lifts his hand to knock three separate times before his knuckles manage to make contact. He can hear the tv through the door. It goes silent after he knocks. He knocks again and hears things being shuffled around before the door swings open.
"You look like shit." She says after a moment of silence. Gator makes a face.
"Weird. I feel like a million bucks." He deadpans, hands hanging at his sides. She moves her hand up to the door, leans her head against it, her weight shifting as she watches him. She's wearing a black cut off and blue flannel pajama pants cut off just above the knee.
"You gonna let me in?" He asks, voice quiet, doesn't like how close he sounds to begging. Knows Roy would probably hit him again for being so fucking pathetic. She tilts her head, moves her eyes over his face and purses her lips.
"What for?" She asks, eyes on his face again. He sighs, drops his head. Fucking figures. He nods, takes a step back to turn away and finds himself stopped by her hand on his arm.
"Kidding." She says, whispers, really. Her grip tightens and she turns him back around, pulls him through the door into the warmth of her room and shuts it soflty behind him.
He ends up on the edge of her bed. Jacket and boots taken and tossed god knows where, he didn't see, doesn't care. She's standing in front of him now, looking at his face. Then she's gone. And then she's back, cloth in hand. He flinches when her fingers touch his face, gentle as she is.
She holds her hand up, a surrender gesture, like she's trying to calm a frightened animal. His chest burns. He nods. Angles his face up again so she can see what she's doing.
She cleans the blood off his skin quietly. Her hands soft and careful. Her brow furrowing deeper each time he flinches under her touch. When she hits a cut or a bruise. The rag is a muddy brown when she's done.
She disappears again. Comes back with a clean one. Moves this one along his hairline several times. He watches her do this. Care for him. His own brow furrowing at the anger that seems to be simmering behind her eyes.
Her hand lands softly on his cheek, thumb moving gently over his skin. He leans into the soft touch. Leans into her. His eyes falling shut.
"Who did this to you?" She asks, her voice a quiet calm that makes him shiver, he does nothing to hide it. He opens his eyes and sees that furrowed brow again. She tilts her head when he doesn't answer, waiting. He shakes his head, genlty.
"Doesn't matter." He mumbles, and his chest aches when she takes her hand away. But then her hands are on his knees, and she's kneeling in front of him, looking up at him with wide eyes.
"It matters to me." She whispers, frowning again, and she looks, if Gator's being honest and seeing things right, confused. She looks confused that she cares. That dawns on him too. He gives her a weak smile, shrugs.
"Your father did this?" The words are a question but tone of voice tells him that it's not. He hangs his head, chin hitting his chest. He's so tired.
"My fault. I fucked up. Can't seem to do anything right lately." He shakes his head, raises it, just a little, so he can see her. That little frown is back. He tilts his head, smiles at her, just because he can.
"Maybe that's a good thing." She says, stands, walks away. He misses the warmth of her hands on his knees.
"What? What does that mean?" He asks, head still fuzzy, but he hears the defensiveness in his own voice. She crosses her arms and leans against the shitty little dresser against the wall, shrugs.
"Just that... maybe someone who would do that to your face, isn't someone you wanna be doing right by." She levels him with that cold look she has and he feels his hackles rise, anger rising in his chest. He clenches his fists on his thighs but can't look at her when he says,
"What would you know about it?" Defensive. Again. He hears it. Can't seem to stop it coming out of his mouth. And he loaths it. His stomach twists with it as his face throbs.
"More than you'd think." She says, her voice harsh, it's almost a hiss. Gator's blood runs cold, his eyes moving over her face, they move over the scar there. He says nothing. Neither of them do. For a long moment.
Gator stares at the floor. Not sure what to say now. But knows he's fucked up. Again. She breaks the silence first.
"C'mon. Into the bathroom. I gotta stitch that up." She's beside him when he blinks, hand out, offering to help him up. He takes it immediately. Doesn't want to upset her anymore. He groans when he stands, his bad arm curling against his ribs as pain shoots through his chest.
Her hand moves to his shoulder, straightening him up with a firm press. She moves her hand down his chest and probes, gently, Gator hisses. Sucks in air between his teeth, lets it out slow.
"Take this off." She says, tugging on his shirt. He looks at her, feels his face flush, looks away.
"It's fine. S'just a bruise." He murmurs, shakes his head, tries to take a step towards the bathroom. Her firm grip on his elbow stops him.
"Take it off. Or I'll take it off for you." Her voice is low, even, more threatening than he's ever heard it. He looks at her again and shivers. She raises her eyebrows, challenging. He watches her, waits to see if she'll give up. She doesn't, just squeezes his arm firmly.
He sighs deeply and genlty pulls his shirt over his head. His tank follows after it, her glare when he tries to leave it on is heavy, pointed. He has trouble looking away.
She guides him into the bathroom, sits him on the closed toilet lid. Tells him not to move and disappears. He doesn't look in the mirror. Knows what he'll see. What he'll defend when people ask. Already has. Doesn't wanna think about it right now. She comes back in with a small black bag in her hands.
She sets it on the counter, tucking the short strands of her hair behind her ear as she grabs a few needles, and thread. She glances at him, finds him watching her and looks away again.
He watches her sanitize the needles and thread them. Watches her walk over to stand in front of him, so close. She reaches out, moves her hand under his chin and tilts his head toward the light.
"This is gonna hurt." She says, her lips twitching. Gator knows she's trying not to smile.
"You could try not to enjoy it so much." He drawls, doing his best to glare at her, but he feels his lips twitch too. She smiles, briefly, and then grips his chin between her thumb and fingers, bends a little to look into his eyes.
"I won't enjoy hurting you." Her voice is so serious, low, and calm, but not emotionless, like it can be. And there's something in her eyes, some emotion he can't pin down. He blinks up at her, swallows roughly, and then closes his eyes as she presses the needle against his cheek.
It's take her about five minutes to stitch the cut on his cheek. Four stitches and she's patting his aching face, telling him he's all done. He opens his eyes to see her flipping a switchblade closed. He must make a noise, and face, because her eyes move to him and she smirks, tucks the knife into the pocket of her pajama pants.
"I find you unsettling, sometimes." He doesnt mean to say it. It just comes out. But he's glad he said it, immediately. She snorts a laugh and shakes her head, moves back toward him.
"Most people do." She says quietly, moving her thumb over the stitches she'd made, the marks she'd left on his skin.
"You know what that means right?" She asks, softly, eyes moving over the bruises and smaller cuts on his face. It makes his chest ache, and his hands itch with longing.
"Wha- no? What?" He stammers, looking up at her. Her eyes find his and she smiles, leans down, and for the briefest moment he thinks she's going to kiss him. Hopes she will. Wants it so bad it burns behind his bruised ribs.
"It means you're smarter than you look." She whispers, and pats his face, right where his bruise is.
"Ah fuck." He hisses, stands up fast as she steps away from him, a laugh bubbling out of her. He grabs her wrist and tugs, pulls her towards him.
"You think that's funny?" He asks, his voice light. She bites her lip, eyes moving over his face, and then she nods. He shakes his head at her, lets her wrist go when she pulls it toward herself. But she doesn't step away from him. Just stands there, looking up at him, staring again.
His heart pounds in his chest as she stares. Not sure he likes it. Still. Would never admit it out loud but he's terrified of what she sees when she stares at him. Terrified she'll see more than he wants her too. Terrified she already has.
He shoves the fear down. Clenches his fists at his sides and decides to take a chance.
"What you said earlier." His voice is soft, softer than he's let it be in years. She raises her eyebrows in question, doesn't back away.
"About, knowing more about it than I'd think." He continues, licks his lips. It feels harder to breathe suddenly, like he needs a hit from his vape, like ten minutes ago. She nods, slow, her eyes still on him. Always on him.
"Were you talking about this?" He asks, moves his hand up, brushes his fingertips gently over the scar. Traces it from end to end. Notes how her eyelids flutter at his touch, and the little freckles scattered there as well.
She blinks, hard, her eyes staying closed for a moment. It's odd. Her not looking at him, even for just a moment.
He cups her cheek and she grabs his wrist. Her hand moving fast, he'd barely seen it. And her eyes are on him again, something behind them now. A look Gator can't decipher. One he's never seen on her before. Desperation, maybe. Or fear.
She pulls his hand away from her face genlty, presses it back into his own chest, and then she's gone again. Out of the bathroom in a flash. Gator waits a moment, but she doesn't come back. He follows her out into the room, shutting the light off behind him, avoiding the mirror again.
She's digging in the sad mini fridge when he comes back out. And that's when he sees the tattoo, or the edges of it anyway. Feathers, just the tips of feathers peaking out from under her cut off along her shoulders. He licks his lips again, says nothing.
"I uh- I can g-"
"Lay down." She cuts him off, or says at the same time, he's not really sure.
"What?" He asks, feeling nervous, and very naked, without his shirt. He puts his hands in his pockets, doesn't know what else to do with them. She stands, turns to him, something blue in her hands. She nods toward the bed.
"Lay down. Nice and flat." She nods toward the bed again and he does as she says. Lays on the bed awkwardly, his hands resting on his hips. He looks down at himself and sees dark bruises forming on his left side, deep purple blooming across his ribs.
She walks over, holds up the blue thing in her hand, it wilts around her fingers as she shows it to him.
"This'll help. But it's gonna be fuckin cold." She says with a grimace. He takes a deep breath, nods at her. She places the gel ice pack over his ribs genlty, presses down a bit to mold it to his side better. Gator squeezes his eyes shut at the pain. Feels the bed dip next to him and opens them again.
Jones is looking down at him, perched on the bed near his hip. She reaches for him once, her hand twitching, and then she rests it on his stomach. His skin flutters under her touch as she moves her hand slowly. Her fingers press into his skin, testing his ribcage on that side.
"Pain?"she asks, not looking away from her hand on him. Her fingers moving up and down his side, agonizingly slow. He takes a shakey breath, his heart thundering in his chest.
"No. Not there." He manages to say, knows his voice sounds strained.
She presses her fingers into his skin at the top of his ribs, drags them down, leaving trails of white skin that vanish as soon as they form. Her fingers end up on the waistband of his pants, they move genlty over his belt. He watches his own chest twitch as he barely suppresses a gasp.
Her eyes jump to his face. Her hand moves away from him. He's not sure if it's wishful thinking or not, but he swears he sees her cheeks tint pink before she stands and walks away. But just to the other side of the bed.
"You staying the night?" She asks, climbing under the covers on that side.
"I- if that's okay? Is that okay?" He asks, turning his head on the pillow to look at her. She's cuddled under the blanket, has it pulled up almost over her head, but he can see her face peeking out, cheek squished up a bit from her own pillow.
"It's okay." She says, quiet.
"Okay." He says, to have something to say.
"I gotta leave early. For work." He continues, his stomach twisting at the thought of seeing Roy. She nods.
"Okay. You can shower if you need too. It won't bother me." Her voice is still quiet, muffled a little by the blanket.
"Thanks." Is all he says. He hears her nod again and then the TV clicks off, and then the lamp next to the bed, leaving them in the dark.
He doesn't know how long he lays there, ribs freezing and aching. The taste of blood in his mouth. Fighting the urge to turn and look at her. To watch her sleep.
Just when he convinces himself she must be asleep by now, her breathing relatively even, she speaks, and he flinches again, she doesn't mention it if she sees.
"Yes. That's what the scars from." A beat.
"I had a father a lot like yours." She whispers the words between them, snakes her hand out of the covers and rests it on Gator's shoulder, her skin on his warm and inviting, but Gator doesn't move. He lays there, still, and cold, and tries not to imagine what kind of things might have happened to her. Blinks hard when he finds it all too easy to picture, feels his throat burning.
"Goodnight Gator." She sighs, deep in her chest, her fingers pressing into his shoulder before she tucks her hand back under her blanket.
"Night Weaver." He whispers back, his throat tight, his eyes burning now.
He lays in the dark, shivering from the ice pack on his ribs. Trying to sleep. At least a little. He turns his head finally and finds Jones already looking at him. He hadn't felt her gaze this time.
The last thing he sees is her smile before she yanks the covers up over him as well, warmth enveloping him, finally, as he drifts off into blissfully dreamless sleep.
[ PART THREE ]
He's a fucking idiot. He shouldn't have gone into that fucking shed to see Nadine. So stupid. He actually believed her for a minute. Half way to trusting her like a fucking idiot. Roy was right. He was a fucking loser. And then that fucking Trooper showing up, like he could actually do something to them, on their own property.
Fuck him. And fuck Nadine. Fuck 'em all.
His hands clench on the steering wheel, again. The car skidding slightly in the snow as he drives. He shakes his head, should have never gone to talk to her.
The shit she'd said. About Roy. About... about him. And maybe she was right. Maybe he was a fuck up. And he'd said... what he said. He shuts his eyes tight, for just a moment, opens them again, shakes the thoughts out of his head and takes a deep drag on his vape.
"Fuckin bitch." He mutters, and keeps driving.
The sun is just beginning to set when he pulls up to the hotel, and in the low light of the evening he almost misses it. The blood. On the passenger door of her jeep.
He's got one foot out of his cruiser when he sees it, and his blood runs cold. Because it's not just blood. It's a fucking sigil. Like the one Munch had left at the house, in the girls' room.
Gator almost drops his keys as he scrambles to the door, number 6, it's open, just barely. He takes out his gun, levels it with shaking hands and kicks the door open with the toe of his boot. His heart pounds in his ears as he looks at the mess.
Her shit is strewn across the floor. The comforter had been drug halfway off the bed toward the door. The shitty little tv is shattered.
And there's blood smeared on the door jam, near the bottom. A smudged handprint, like she'd tried to hold on, found purchase for a moment and then lost it. Gator feels his chest and throat burn, blinks back the stinging in his eyes.
"Jones?" He calls into the room, his voice shaking, knows she's not going to answer.
"Fuck." He hisses, holsters his gun and steps back toward the jeep. He's stepping back into his car when he sees it, an arrow. He steps around the back of the jeep, crouches down. An arrow drawn in blood. Pointing out into nowhere, down the road that leads out of town.
His fists clench and he's back in his cruiser, turnig the key roughly and speeding away. He should maybe go slower. It's most likely a trap. Got to be. And the sigil on her car. He'd clearly missed his target. And now the old fuck had Jones.
"Fuck fuck fuck!" He yells, slamming his hands against the wheel. He almost doesn't see it. The dark shape in the road.
"Fucking christ." He breathes, startled, as he slams on his breaks. The car skids to a stop about ten feet away. The body in the road makes his stomach turn. He can see red flannel, and blue hair. He slams the car into park and scrambles out of it, his knees hit the ground twice before he makes it to her, cold damp seeping into his jeans, he doesn't feel it.
"Jones? Shit. Hey, hey i'm here." He says, kneeling next to her, hands moving gently over her arms, searching for wounds. He finds none, turns her over, her eyes are closed, and he hates it.
"Hey. You with me Weaver? I need you to wake up hon okay? C'mon." He shakes her, pats at her face softly, and then harder when she doesn't stir.
He hears something behind him but doesn't turn, his hands moving to her hair, trying to find blood, or a bump, anything. Any reason she won't wake up. His heart is pounding, tears threatening to fall as he shakes her again, roughly this time.
"Jones, wake up! Please." The last word is a whine, as he begs, pleads, with her lifeless body. He thinks he hears footsteps behind him, maybe someone coming to help. He's about to turn when her eyes flutter open.
"Oh thank-" he cuts off, brows knitting together in confusion when she raises her finger to her lips, shushing him silently. He shakes his head, doesn't understand. And then she moves her finger away, and smirks at him. His blood runs cold again as she lifts her hand and opens her palm, he sinks away from her, his stomach lurching as he reads what's written. Just two words.
'Suprise shitbird.'
"Oh fuu-" he starts, the words falling past his lips in a surprised groan, the footsteps right behind him now, they stop. He barley feels what hits him, just grunts and falls forward. He watches as a hand drops into view, helps Jones to her feet.
They walk over to him. He can see their boots, scuffed and snow covered. They stop in front of him, his head pounding, and as his vision fades he hears that voice he'd grown so fond of.
"What do we do with him now?" She asks, her voice small, shaking, he thinks briefly that she's probably shivering, has to be cold out her without her jacket. And then another thought, as the darkness sets in.
He's such a fucking idiot.
TWO WEEKS AGO
Jones sits and listens to him speak. He's always saying something interesting. She finds it hard to pay attention sometimes. Just wishes he'd speak normally. After all these years, his strangeness grates at her nervous. Turns her stomach. And she knows it's rubbed off on her in some ways.
She's strange now too. Lost and alone, save for him, and too odd. Too sharp. Too many angles that people don't like to look at. She listens to him talk of men and tigers, and wishes, not for the first time, that she was somewhere else, with someone else.
He stops talking. After a long while. And just watches her. He's always watching her. She doesn't mind it. Knows other people hate it. It's part of the reason they do it. Unsettling people shows their true colors. And that's what he always wants to see.
"You didn't bring me here to hunt a tiger." She says, after his silence goes on. He shakes his head slowly.
"No. No birds do not hunt tigers." He says, simple, like it's obvious. She supposes it is.
"No." She agrees.
"But a bird may hunt a lizard. Or perhaps a rabbit. From time to time." He speaks slow, always so slow. She restrains the urge to shiver. Or scream.
"I'm here to hunt a lizard." She says, doesn't say it like a question. It won't do any good. She has no choice.
"Yes. You will do this for me." He says, watching her. Still. She looks at him. Her fingers longing to reach for her knife. But she isn't fast enough. Knows that she isn't. Never has been. Not with him. She nods. Tucks her arms tighter around herself.
"Good. You will trap the rabbit. And punishment shall be handed down upon father and son. As one." His gravely voice is low, he nods at her once. Looking at her. Not seeing her. He walks out the door with no further instructions.
Jones sighs, the tension leaving her body now that he's gone. She stretches her arms, stands and shakes herself out. She heads down the stairs and out the door, hands shoved in her pockets against the cold. She climbs into her jeep and cranks the heat up.
The cold sinks into her bones as she drives through miles and miles of white. Snow covered feilds, far as the eye can see. She keeps her eyes on the road, and wonders how hard she'll have to work to trap this rabbit. Hopes it will be easy. Hopes it will be enough.
PRESENT DAY
She listens to him beg. And bargain. And it turns her stomach. He doesn't know she's here, off to the side in the shadows. She's said nothing. And his attention is on the man in front of him. Kneeling in front of the fire, heating a knife.
Jones knows this. Has witnessed him hand down his punishments time and time again. Over and over. Years and years.
He stole her. Tried to make her better. To wash away her old sins by punshing others.
And some days. It felt right. Like he was right. All his talk of sins and payment and penance. It felt right. Even good. Sometimes. But not now. Not here. Not with him.
She crosses her arms over her stomach, squeezes against her ribs as hard as she can, nails digging into her own skin harshly. And she says nothing.
She watches Gator fall. Watches Munch tower over him. Watches as he takes his eyes. His eyes that had looked at her with so much misplaced trust. She watches him cut, and carve, and she watches Gator scream.
And she hates herself. For being here. With him. Hates that she agreed to this. Hates that the rabbit in the trap had gotten under her skin.
She waits for the screaming to stop, and walks over. Gator's unconscious, from the pain, and the shock. Her hands shake as she looks at him. His face covered in blood. Though not as much as there could have been, had the knife not been burning.
The smell is what gets her. Chokes her. She presses her knuckles to her lips and keeps looking. Refuses to look away from what she caused. What she's done to him. Her throat and eyes burning in the low light of the small cabin.
"I don't wanna do this anymore." She breathes, voice and body shaking. She crouches next to Gator, her hand reaching out, she moves it back to her chest before she touches him. She feels Munch walk up behind her. Stands again. Faces him. She has to face him for this. Her body shutters again as she meets his eyes.
"I can't. I'm done." Her voice is quiet, in the little shack. Her hands tremble so she curls her arms around herself again, clutches at her jacket, and keeps looking at him.
He towers over her. Always has. Makes her feel like the child she was when he found her. He looks at her, head tilted. Reaches up and moves his blood stained thumb across the scar on her face. He cups her cheek, briefly. It's more of a soft press of his hand and then it's gone.
Fear crawls up her spine as he watches her. Assesses her. And then he nods. Once. Takes a step back.
"Your debt is paid." He whispers, turns away from her, goes back to the fire. She almost sobs, almost laughs, almost does a lot of things.
What she does instead, is move around the shed, looking for something that will work for what she needs. She finds an old tattered sack shoved off to the side. She takes her knife out her pocket and cuts it to size. Moves back toward Gator.
She does touch his shoulder this time. Gently. Not that it matters now. If she's gentle with him. She tilts his head to the side and wraps the cloth around his head, grimacing as she coveres his face, the deep, now empty sockets, sticky with dry blood and burnt skin. She ties the fabric behind his head, fingers brushing through his messy hair.
"I'm sorry." She whispers. Knows he can't hear her. Not right now. Not sure if she'll be brave enough to ever say it to his face. She squeezes his shoulder, once, and then stands.
"I'm not done with the rabbit yet." Munch says, watching from the fire.
"I know." She says, doesn't look at the man. Doesn't have too any longer.
She looks down at Gator, her heart clenching in her chest, remembers the sight of him lying next to her that morning, face pressed into the pillow, little sounds falling past his lips as he slept. The sun hitting him from behind making him glow. Like some kind of angel.
And she knows he's no angel. But she isn't either. Never has been. She turns away from him, walks toward the door. Looks back one more time, her hand on the doorframe, light shining in around her.
She was stupid. Stupid enough to think that maybe, he could be her angel. Not perfect. And sometimes cruel. But hers.
But not after this. It was too much. She was choking with the weight of it all. Her shoulders aching with held up guilt. She watches Gator for a moment longer. His fingers twitch, and he groans, low in his throat, and she turns away, walks through the door, and doesn't look back.
[ THE REST. SUMMARIZED ]
I ran out of steam but wanted you to get to read where i was planning on going with it at least. To not leav it completely unended. Italics is Jones' pov.
- Gator in the feild, getting untied and stumbling into the tunnels. Jones follows him, they talk and argue. He screams at her to fuck off basically. / She lets him go a few feet and then follows him through the tunnels silently. Lets him climb out and waits.
- After Dot learns about Wit and talks to Gator, Jones shows up to talk to him again. More calm this time. She apologizes, holds his hand for a moment before disappearing again. / She watches, from the sidelines, as they load him into the ambulance and take him away.
- Gator gets his first visitor in the prison hospital, thinks it's going to be Dot. But it's Jones. He tells her he doesn't want to talk. She says good. Because she wants too. To explain. / She tells him, struggling with talking so much, how she came to work for Munch and had a debt to pay. Her father's debt. She tries to touch his hand at the end but he pulls away, so she leaves. But tells him she'll be back.
- He's cold to her most visits. And then one day Dot mentions Jones. And how she's been taking care of his snake and attempting to make cookies. He smiles softly when Dot tells him she's VERY bad at it. / Gator mentions the cookies and she tells him she never really had a family that did that, and Munch sure as hell wasn't a baker. He laughs at one of her jokes and she smiles, tells him she'll be back, maybe with cookies, but probably not. He smiles again and she counts it as a win.
- She brings Brownies, he can hear her smiling cuz they actually turned out well. And then he asks her why she keeps coming back. He doesn't understand. / She tells him the truth. Because she likes him. And she's trying to prove she'll come back for him, and keep coming back for him. And be there when he needs her. He lays his hand on the table very deliberately, and she moves her hand closer, til their fingers touch and he smiles, moves their fingers together until one of the Guards warns them off. Both of them squeeze before letting go.
- At some point during their visits she dyes her hair yellow. For a change. Gator makes a comment about her being his sunshine. Even if he can't see the sun. She's warm. To him. And always makes him feel brighter. She keeps her hair yellow after that.
A little holiday thing for and inspired by: @jozstankovich happy holidays love!!! Little bit of Kirby angst but mostly fluff! Tagging @thecreelhouse as well since you've liked our kids so far! 🩵
• Win is never allowed in the kitchen alone. Ever.
• Gator IS allowed in there alone but almost never cooks "real" food by himself. He just doesn't care that much.
• Kirby is always allowed in the kitchen because he always makes them all something yummy.
• Kirby also has a very refined pallet. He can do that thing where he can taste something and tell you all the stuff that's in it.
• Win and Gator of course love to test this.
• Win has baked them cookies from her mom's recipe before. But she loses it after moving and gets up set. (Hi jozzy taking this one little thing from your thing that inspired me! 🩵)
• Her and Gator come home to a messy kitchen that day and a very upset Kirby.
• He's actually crying. And sniffling. His face all red. And he's coughing.
• Win wraps him up in a hug and asks what's wrong as Gator gets him one of his ice packs and lays it on his back.
• When they finally get him calm they ask what happened.
• Kirby sniffles through telling them he was trying to recreate Win's mom's cookies from the year before. He remembers how they taste.
• But he'd gotten a cold a few days earlier and he couldn't taste very well. And about half way through cooking he got hot. And his nose got even stuffier and he couldn't taste AT ALL. and it just. Set him off.
• Anytime he can't breathe he gets agitated. It's a huge thing for him. Being able to smell and taste. And it sends him into overstimulation really quickly.
• The whole time he's talking Win just keeps melting closer to him. Cuz he didn't have to do all that.
• Gator's rubbing his back and smiling while shaking his head.
• Win's crawls carefully into Kirby's lap, she barley fits cuz they're nearly the same size. But she gets on there.
• And she just hugs him and hugs him and whispers thank you. And that she loves him. And they can try again, together, once he feels better.
• He just keeps sniffling. And they can tell he's feeling better emotionally. Even though all he says is a muttered "wanted it to be a suprise."
• Win gets off his lap and tells him to go lay down while she cleans up. Kirby tries to protest and she gives Gator a look and just says "take him."
• And Kirby is like "whoa! What? That sounded so aggress- what are you doing!?" The end of it almost a shriek as Gator scoops him up and tosses him over his shoulder like it's nothing.
• "Take some medicine with you!" Win calls over her shoulder as she's scoops up all his mixing bowls.
• Gator grabs it easily on his way, barely even pausing as Kirby squirms and protests.
• Once Win cleans the kitchen she goes into the bedroom to find Gator and Kirby in bed, Kirby's alseep, head on Gator's chest with Gator's hand in his hair. His ice pack resting on his back still. Water bottle tucked against Gator's side, like he'd been helping Kirby drink.
• "He feelin better?" Win asks, crawlin into bed with them. Gator nods, looking sleepy as he keeps his eyes on the tv. "He calmed down when i got him settled." Gator sighs as Win snuggles up with them.
• "He's too sweet for us ya know?" Gator muses, his fingers tangling with Win's as she rests against Gator's other side. She laughs, leans and kisses Kirby's forehead. He snuffles in his sleep, rubbing his cheek into Gator.
• "He's pretty amazing." She sighs, curls into her boys.
• "You know once he can taste again he's gonna get those cookies perfect right?" Gator says, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and sinking further into the matress.
• "Oh I'm counting it. Can't wait to taste my moms cookies again. They always taste better when someone else makes them." She sighs, her eyes closing, her lips curling into a smile as Kirby's hand reaches out in his sleep, fingers curling over both of hers and Gator's.
• Win blinks and looks at her boys one last time before falling asleep, Gator's hand still in Kirby's hair, soothing him as he snuggles closer again, humming into Gator's chest.
• Gator hums back, mimicking the pitch he'd heard, Win can tell he's almost alseep. Probably doesn't even know he's made the sound. Win smiles, tugs a blanket over them haphazardly, and let's herself drift off as well.
Gator Tillman x Kirby Rivers (oc) x Win Lewis (oc)
♤ Summary: Kirby teaches Gator some things in the bedroom. Things get a little out of hand. (In a good way)
♤ Warnings: sex. This is all sex. Trans oc (Kirby uses he/him), Gator x oc x oc, threesome. The more indepth tags im gonna put under the cut cuz it's... its all sex stuff okay here we gooooo!
♤ A/N: look @jozstankovich i finally wrote iiittttt!!!! Gonna tag @thecreelhouse too! If you aren't into smut stuff please go no further friend! I will not be offended but i never want to presume everyone is into sex stuff cuz i know some people arent!!! 🧡🤣🤣🤣🧡
18+ Under The Cut!!!
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!!
♤ Extra Warnings: trans sex, Kirby is a boy but he has a vagina, and they use terms for that. Mostly "cunt" i think, cum eating, overstimulation, blow jobs, fingering, oral (everyone receiving), dirty talk, unprotected sex (wrap it y'all), i wanna say.... cream pie? Not 100% on what that 100% includes but i wanna say its in there, switching! Allllll these fuckers switch!!! They switch more than costumes on Broadway okay??? And you have to love that for them. God i hope that's it, enjoy!!!!
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Kirby wipes the back of his hand across his face as Gator lowers himself to his knees next to him. Win's panting on the bed, her thighs still shaking, tremors volting through her body.
"You're better at that than me." Gator mutters, his hands on his knees. Kirby readjustes his knees, they're starting to ache from overuse. He narrows his eyes, staring at Gator.
"What?" Gator asks, leaning away a bit.
"Gimme a pillow for my knees. I'm gonna teach you somethin'." Kirby nods toward the head of the bed, Gator scrambles back up to grab one, Win gasps on the bed and pushes herself up onto her elbows to look at Kirby, and then Gator, who settles beside him again after he gets the pillow under Kirby's knees.
Win's shaking hand moves down, between her legs and Kirby slaps it, pointing at her with a look.
"No touching. You gonna be good?" He asks, head tilted. She bites her lip, her chest heaving as she looks at them, and nods. Kirby smiles, nods at her, gives her knee a squeeze.
"Good girl." He praises, and then turns to Gator.
"What do you want me to do?" He asks, hands on his knees still, his cock hard and pressing against his belly. Kirby's eyes linger there, he fades.
"Kirby." Gator snaps his fingers in front his face, Kirby shakes his head, blinks a few times.
"I don't get to touch her?" He nods to Win, up on her elbows watching them again, her face is still flushed from the three rolling orgasms Kirby just pushed her through, but her breathing is finally leveling out. Kirby watches her pout mockingly at Gator before he looks back to him.
"Not yet. She's fine for now. Needs a little break." Kirby says, giving her a knowing look.
"Presumptuous." She mumbles. Kirby presses his tongue to his teeth, eyebrow cocked on his forehead and moves his hand up her leg slowly. Her breathing falters as his hand moves higher. Her teeth dig into her lip when his fingertips reach her folds, he smirks at her and pressed his fingers in, deep, his thumb pressing straight against her clit and circling. Her head slams back, fingers clenched in the sheets.
"Kirby! Fuck! I'm sorry I'm sorry! I'll wait!" She screams, overstimulation clenching her muscles, he whole body bearing down on his fingers. He pulls them out, slow, circles her clit one more time, her body jerking, manic laughter bubbling out of her as she lays there twitching. He pats at her inner thigh, fingers soaking wet.
"That's what I thought. Just watch sweetheart. It'll make it better later. You trust me?" Kirby asks, his hand curling around her calf soothingly. She presses up onto her elbows again.
"I trust you." She breathes, and smiles at him. Her eyes moving to Gator at the same time Kirby's do. He turns to him, holds out his hand, and smiles when Gator places his wrist in Kirby's palm.
"I'm gonna teach you what it should feel like okay? The ways you should be moving your tongue." Kirby's eyes are wide, waiting for Gator to respond. He swallows roughly, his throat working, and nods.
"Okay. I'm- yeah. That sounds...nice." His pupils are blown, his eyes almost black as he watches and waits for Kirby to start. Kirby smiles at him, presses a chaste kiss to Gator's palm, and then moves his mouth to his wrist and starts his lessons.
He moves his tongue slowly at first, the salty tange on Gators skin making his mouth water, he moans against Gator's pulse point and tugs him closer. His eyes are closed but he can feel Gator squirming next to him, pressing his thighs together. Kirby's been doing the same since he got on his knees for their girl. His thighs have to be slick by now, there's no way he's not fucking dripping. He pulls back, his mouth popping off of Gator's wrist loudly. He hears Win sigh on the bed above them.
"Okay, now show me what I just did to you." Kirby orders, holds his own arm out to Gator. He frowns.
"What? My arm not good enough?" Kirby asks, chastising.
"No! No it's fine. I just-" Gator voice stalls, his eyes fall to the floor.
"Hey." Kirby moves two fingers under his chin, lifts his head.
"Tell me what you want." Kirby says, easy. Gator swallows.
"I wanna touch you." Gator says, his voice quiet. Kirby smiles.
"You can touch me. Use my shoulder, c'mhere." Kirby shifts a little, angles himself toward Gator more and he's against him immediately. Gator's arms around him, hands pressing into the warm skin of his back, his mouth hovering over Kirby's shoulder.
"Go ahead."
Kirby closes his eyes, focuses on the soft slide of Gator's tongue against his skin, moans and grabs at Gator when he moves his tongue perfectly, exactly the way Kirby had against his skin.
"Okay okay." Kirby breathes, pushes Gator back, away from him, his hands linger on Kirby's naked hips.
"Did I do good?" Gator asks, his eyes wide, expecting, and Kirby's happy to see, there's no lingering worry or fear, that Kirby might be mean to him, might tell him he's worthless. Kirby and Win had been working hard to erase that feeling from their boy. And it was working. Kirby cupped his cheek, snorted a laugh when Gator moved his hand over his ribs, tickling,
"You did perfect. Lemme show you somethin else." Kirby smiles, held his hand out again. Gator immediately moved his wrist into it. Kirby looked up Win, she was sitting now, elbows on her knees as she looked down over the end of the bed, watching them. She smiled, her teeth pulling over her bottom lip.
"He's so good for us." She sighed, moving her foot out, pressing it to Gator's shoulder, he curled his fingers around her ankle and held her there. Needing the contact.
Kirby lowered his mouth to Gator's skin again, and felt Win's hand move into his hair, not guiding, just resting there, that touch, keeping them all connected. Gator whined high in his throat and Kirby pulled back again, goofy grin on his face.
"What the fuck was that?" Gator asked. His eyes wide, he looked between Kirby and Win. Kirby snorted, Win laughed, flopped back on the bed, her hands laying across her stomach.
"Oh I'm pretty sure I know exactly what that was." She laughed, her foot still resting against Gator's shoulder, it angled her knee up a bit and both boys leaned a little to the left, gawking as she exposed herself.
She clears her throat and they both look up at her, eyes wide and innocent and needy.
"Weren't you in the middle of something?" She asks, voice a little lower than normal, knowing look on her face. Kirby blinks up at her, slowly, she laughs again and lifts her other leg, toes at his cheek until he's facing Gator again.
"Teaching him." She says, her voice fond as she drops both her legs away from them, crossing her ankles and closing her legs.
"Right. Yes. That was- yes. I was doing that." Kirby nods, shakes his head once and pulls at Gator's arm again.
"Watch." Is all he says before moving his mouth back to Gator's skin. He keeps his lips off him, sticks his tongue out a little farther, lets Gator watch the way he moves and swirls and presses his tongue to him. Gator watches with wide eyes, whining again when Kirby moves his tongue just right.
"Fuck." Gator breathes, leaning closer, his free hand clamped down on his own thigh, his cock is nearly purple against his stomach now.
"Can I?" He asks, looking at Kirby. Kirby smiles, nods, tilts his head to the side and lets Gator in.
He curls his arms around Kirby, pulls him up onto his knees, taller, as he mouths at his neck, his collar bones, Kirby squirming in his arms.
"Fuck, Gate. You're such a fast learner." Kirby laughs, grabbing at him, pulling him closer as his tongue moves perfectly against his skin. He feels Gator's teeth and knows he's getting lost. Getting distracted. Kirby moves his hands into his hair.
"Want me to help you with this?" Kirby asks, moving his thigh just so, pressing it against Gator's cock trapped between them.
"Mhm." Gator whines into his neck.
"Yeah? How do you want me?" Kirby asks, his hands moving down Gator's back, pulling him closer, grinding against him.
"I want your mouth." Gator sighs, nosing into Kirby's hair.
"Oh yeah?" He asks, pulls back, looks at Gator.
"You want my mouth cuz that's what she got?" He asks, knowing the answer already. Gator nods, doesn't speak, his eyes glassy.
"Yeah? Somebody jealous?" Kirby teases, hears Win chuckle next to him. Gator nods again, licks his lips.
"That's okay sweetheart. No need to be jealous. You know I'll give you whatever you want right?" Kirby asks, cupping Gator's cheek. He nods again, slow.
"Yeah I know. Know you'll take care'a me." He says, voice syrupy, he nods again. Kirby nods back, kisses his cheek.
"Up on the bed." Kirby pats his cheek and smiles when Gator scrambles back up onto the bed, he moves so his back is against the headboard. Kirby crawls onto the bed thankfully, glad to give his knees a rest. He lays on his stomach between Gator's legs.
"This isn't- I mean I'm not-" Gator stammers, looking down at him, his hands flexing in the sheets beside his legs.
"Not gonna last long?" Kirby asks, eyes up and on Gator. He shakes his head.
"Fuck I love that. So fucking much." He crawls up then, kisses Gator deep, licks into his mouth and pulls back again before Gator can catch up.
"Fucking cum down my throat. I want it." Kirby growls, slides back down to his stomach, mouths at Gator's hip for a minute.
"Jesus Christ." Gator breathes, his chest heaving.
"Gonna let me help you pretty boy?" Win's voice in Kirby's ears, her breath tickling the skin just behind it, her hand moves over his back, slow, over his ribs and hip, slower. He feels her lay next to him, chest pressed against his side, sees her other hand move and lace together with Gator's.
"Am I pretty boy right now?" Kirby asks, peppering kisses across Gator's hip, moving closer, licking at his happy trail, smiling into the skin there as Gator squirms.
"You're always a pretty boy." She breathes, her breath hot against his ear.
"Lemme touch you. Make you feel good. Wanna watch my good boys cum together." She sighs, drags her teeth across his shoulder. Kirby shivers, feels her hand move down, away from his hip, over his ass, she moves her nails gently against the inside of his thigh, his hips move against the matress.
"Yeah. Fuck yes. Touch me please." Kirby begs, moves his mouth to the base of Gator's cock, as Win moves her fingers up, moves them over Kirby's slick thighs as Kirby swallows Gator, his throat opening for him as Win whispers,
"You're so fucking wet baby. So fucking good for us." As she presses two fingers into Kirby, slow, pulls them back out as he whines around the cock in his throat.
"You're our good boy aren't you? Hmm? Taking us both so fucking well." She adds a third finger, it goes in easy, Kirby's so wet, his hips rolling against the matress, pressing her fingers deeper as she licks and bites at his shoulder.
"Mhmm." He hums, his throat vibrating as Gator fucks his hips up into his mouth.
"Jesus fuck. You're fucking mouth." Gator groans, hands clenching in the sheets, and to Win's hand, their fingers still laced together.
"He feels so good doesn't he Gate, so wet and warm?" She coos, her fingers making obscene sounds as they move into him over and over. Gator's free hand clamps down on Kirby's head, fingers tangling in his hair, pushing his cock deeper.
Tears fall down Kirby's face as he forces himself deeper, Win's slick fingers moving over Kirby's clit now, her mouth clamping down on his shoulder, teeth sinking deep. Kirby whines around the cock shoved in his throat, his cunt squeezing Win's fingers as he cums, humming again as Gator fucks up hard, cumming down his throat with a yell.
Kirby stays on him until his cock is soft, and then pulls back with an obscene pop, gasping a little, he licks at his lips, his tongue sticky. Win's nuzzles into his shoulder. Kisses the mark she made.
"Fuck." Gator sighs, finally going limp with Kirby's mouth off him.
"I mean... fuck." He says, chest heaving. Kirby laughs, his cheek resting on Gator's hip.
"Such a way with words." He sighs, feels Win roll away from him, he reaches for her, draps his arm over her stomach after she wiggles her way up closer to Gator.
"Was it good for you too?" She asks, her eyes on Kirby. He scrunches his nose.
"You couldn't tell?" He asks, feeling sleepy, nuzzling his face against Gator's dick, making him squirm again.
"No I could tell." She says, sounding satisfied with herself.
"I couldn't tell." Gator lies. Looking between them both.
"Oh no?" Win asks. Gator shakes his head.
"Well here. Lemme show you." She grabs at Kirby's arm, yanks him up to lay between them, he goes easily enough, pliant and fucked out.
"Here." Kirby hears her say, his eyes falling shut, and then he feels hands on him, and then fingers in him.
"Mmm! Fuck!" He cries, his legs trying to close at the stimulation, Gator laughs, one hand hooked under Kirby's knee, keeping them apart. His other hand next to Win's, knuckle deep in his dripping cunt.
"Fuckpleasefuck." Kirby begs, his hips twitching and rolling.
"Is that what you want? Hmm? Want me to fuck you?" Gator asks, hums in his ear as he shoves his fingers deeper.
"Fuck. Mmm- ah! Please! Yes!" Kirby writhes between them, Win pulling at his other leg now, keeping them apart as she cirlces her thumb around his clit. Gator pulls his fingers out, moves them up Kirby's stomach and then sucks them into his mouth. He licks them clean and then he's moving, he's on top of Kirby in the time it takes him to blink.
"Fuck. She was right. You did enjoy that didn't you? Taste so good." He breathes into Kirby mouth, licking into him and letting him taste himself. Kirby can feel him hard against his stomach again already. He nods, letting Gator know he's right, he did fucking enjoy it.
"Wanna enjoy me now too?" Gator asks, doesn't wait for an answer as Win's hand between them lines him up. He sinks into Kirby easily, slips into him deep as Kirby claws at his back and cries out, tears falling into his hair as Gator fucks him.
"Take me so good baby. Like you're fuckin made for it. My pretty little boy." Gator growls, his hips slamming into Kirby, their skin slapping against each other.
Kirby feels fingers press against his clit, his hips slam up into Gator's. He feels more than hears Win laughing against his ear. Her breath hot, her lips even hotter when they mouth at the skin of his shoulder again.
"You want more? Hmm? Sweet boy? You can take more can't you?" She hums, her fingers moving down, pushing in next to Gator's cock, he and Kirby moan into each other mouths at the new pressure.
"More! please! Want it. Need it." Kirby whines, hips rolling, nails digging into Gator's back, and then Win's arm when she grabs him, both of them clutching at each other across Gator's back.
"I've got you baby. We've got you. Gonna give you what you need." Gator soothes, kisses his cheek and then pushes hismelf up onto his hands. He braces himself, hands on Kirby's hips, shifts his knees a little and pounds into him. His cock buried deep on every thrust, Win's fingers pushing in next to him, stretching him wider as Kirby cries, squirming beneath them as they push him over the edge, his whole body shaking as Gator fucks him into the matress.
"He's gonna cum inside you pretty boy. Fill that pretty cunt. That what you want honey?" Win purrs, voice rough and deep in his ear.
"Y-y-yes. Pl-please." Kirby begs, his hands above his head now, slammed against the headboard, his fingers clawing at it as Gator fucks him deeper, his hips stuttering as he gets closer.
"Such a good boy for us. Always saying please." She teases, moves her hand away from his cunt, up his stomach, nails scratching lightly at his skin as Gator keeps moving. She moves her hand back down, slow, over his clit again, making him scream, and then presses her fingers back in, slides them in beside Gator's cock and pushes them both over the edge again. Gator falling foward, hips snapped tight agaisnt Kirby's, cum filling his cunt as he licks at Kirby's neck, both of them moaning and whining into each others skin.
Kirby's soft laughter fills the room, airy and manic. The way it always does when they fuck him good. His hands still clawing at Gator's back. Gator stays inside him. Win pulls her arm from between them and snuggles close to them both.
"You okay sweetheart?" She breathes, kissing Kirby's cheek. He nods slowly, laughter still bubbling out of him, Gator pulls out of him, cock soft, and he laughs again, tucking his head into Gator's neck.
"Didn't hurt you did I?" Gator asks, lifting his hips as Kirby shakes his head. Gator looks between them, shoves Kirby's leg up a bit, shifts his hips just right and watches his cum drip out of him.
"Fuuuuuck. You're fucking perfect." Gator groans, moves his hand down, presses his fingers through his cum and curls them. Win groans as she watches him lift his hand, suck his fingers into his mouth and then reach for her. She goes willing, opening her mouth and letting Gator slip his cum covered tongue into her mouth. Both of them moaning as they taste him and Kirby on their tongues.
"Jesus fuck." Kirby breathes, watching them, his breathing calming slowly. He watches them both swallow and then look at him.
"What was that for? I was supposed to be teaching him, to fuck you better. Not... not this." Kirby waves his hand around weakly. Win snorts as Gator gets up, walks into the bathroom.
"Well you're such a good teacher, I thought maybe a preemptive thank you was in order." Win said, pressing again Kirby's side again, her hand moving over his chest and up his neck, angling his head toward her so she could kiss him. Her salty tongue licks into his mouth and he sighs, deep, as she pulls back.
"Well thanks. It was... it was fuckin great." Kirby says, smiling as she laughs into his shoulder. Gator comes back with a warm washcloth, wipes Kirby clean and tosses it to the side.
"What about me?" Win huffs, playful as she spreads her legs. Gator smiles, but his eyes go dark as he curls his fingers around her ankle.
"I'm not done with you yet." Gator says, his voice low. Win digs her teeth into her lip, plants her feet, her heels digging into the sheets.
"Oh yeah? Got some new moves you wanna try?" She asks, lifting up onto her elbows as Gator crawls and kneels between her legs.
"Yeah. Gonna see if I can make you scream the way he can." Gator jerks his head in Kirby's direction, Win lets her head fall to the side, looks at Kirby too. His eyes are closed, one leg bent at the knee, putting him on full display, but his hands are resting on his stomach. He doesn't look at them as he raises one and gives them a thumbs up.
"Good luck soldier. Make me proud." He says, voice soft and fucked out, he drops his hand back to his stomach as Gator lays down, his head between Win's legs.
"Gonna make me scream then?" Win teases, her legs bouncing slowly, like butterfly wings around Gator. He lets her knees fall back down and clamps his hands down on them, spreading her legs wide and holding them down against the matress.
"That's the plan, yeah." He says, looking up at her. Her eyes widen, her mouth opens, like she's gonna challenge him again and he moves. Latches his mouth onto her and moves his tongue the way Kirby showed him. Whatever words she may have been about to say fall away as she falls to the bed.
She moans deep in her throat as he keeps going, licking and sucking until she's shaking beneath him. Her eyes squeezed tight, hands clenched in the sheets for what very well might be the hundredth time today. Her thighs are starting to shake when she hears Kirby say,
"Here. Slip two in there. And curl them like this." And she feels his slender fingers slip inside her, curling perfectly the way they always do, hitting that spot inside her like no one ever had before. She snaps her head up, looks down to see both boys between her legs.
She watches Kirby lean close to Gator, feels his fingers pull out of her. She watches him move his hand over Gator's on her thigh and hears him whisper,
"Lemme show you." Into Gator's ear. Gator's face is all focus, his other hand droping down her thigh, his thumb moving to replace his mouth on her clit. She gasps at the change, opens her mouth to encourage them when she feels four fingers press into her, her head slamming back again.
"Right here." Kirby says, and she feels Gator's fingers hit that perfect spot. Feels Kirby's fingers from the other side, moving Gator's, showing him how to do it. And then Kirby curls their fingers together, filling her up and pressing inside her as Gator leans back down, his tongue finding her clit again as Kirby presses their fingers in deeper, a little harder.
She cums with a scream, hands shoving at them both, trying to push them away, to stop the over stimulation as her body shakes and clenches around them both.
"Not yet." She hears Kirby say, feels Gator's fingers push deeper, feels Kirby's slick ones cover her clit before Gator's mouth is there again.
And then Kirby is kissing her, moving his tongue in her mouth the way Gator's moving his over her clit and she's fucking thrown over the edge again, moaning and crying into Kirby's mouth as he kisses her through it.
Her body shakes for almost two mintes after their done with her. Gator wiping her down and both boys curling around her after. Kirby's head resting on her breast, his hand resting just below her belly button. Gator's got her tucked under his chin, his hand resting around her ribs.
"You okay babes?" Kirby asks, pressing a kiss to her cheek. She nods, smiles slowly, and breathes out a laugh.
"Yeah. Okay is... an understatement." She chuckles, her hand resting on Kirby's arm giving him a squeeze.
"So I- I did good. That was better than before?" Gator asks, nuzzling his nose into her hair.
"Yeah Gate, you did fucking amazing." She compliments, moving to kiss him, dislodging Kirby from her chest with a sqwuak. She gets settled back down and he licks a hot stripe across her boob before settling back down himself.
"Hey! Watch it!" She teases, slapping at him.
"Oh I was. Hence the lick." He grins up at her, she rolls her eyes, but watches his grin turn into a syrupy sleepy smile as he cuddles closer. His arm reaching across her to grab at Gator too. Both her boys angle themselves closer, holding each other as they hold onto her.
They lay there until the sun falls, shadows dancing off into the dark as they drift in and out of sleep. Eventually showering together before they all hobble and waddle and limp into the kitchen. They scour the pantry and then talk and laugh as Kirby makes them dinner, the others watching as their beautiful boy cooks for them, in his pretty little apron, no shirt on underneath.
♤ Summary: Just some headcanons about this little trio and the things they get up to with Kirby's old Polaroid camera.
♤ Warning: Gator x oc x oc, ot3 oc pairing, trans oc, Kirby uses he/him pronouns, masturbation, mentions of sex, poly relationship.
♤ A/N: heyooooo @jozstankovich lookkyy hereeee! (I may or may not have added some stuff at the end! Thanks to your idea about the risqué pics from Win!!! Hehehe!) Enjoy! Oh and! @thecreelhouse i hope it's okay to tag you too!
Okay so basically, i feel like they would all have like, certain feelings about having their pictures taken. And like most people it's either serious and chill or goofy and silly.
Like Gator 100% takes those douchy lookin pics, especially selfies. But if Kirby or Win catch him right and just go "say cheese" he will legit take the prettiest pictures with his genuine pretty smile. Because no matter how he acts sometimes that boy is so beautiful and photogenic.
And Win either poses all cute, and sweet and looks like an angel. Or they get her looking like a feral little goblin doing some silly shit. There literally is no in-between and her boys love it that way.
And Kirby. Sweet sweet Kirby. Has three settings. He either cheeses it up nice and good. Smiles all dorky and weird. Or he has no fucking smile at all. Sometimes because he's being silly, sometimes because he wants to rip the camera or phone out of the person's hand and just trash it.
Cuz he's got issues with self image still and sometimes he hates having his picture taken. But when he's goofin the serious bits, the others love it!!
And then the third setting he has, is them catching him laughing and just his genuine bright smile. And he tends to cover it a lot because he's sensitive about his little crooked teeth but some days they catch him at just the right moment and they capture that bright ass smile just right and they both just fucking swoon.
And Win and Kirby are the ones that probably start collecting the pictures. Cuz Win finds Kirby's old Polaroid camera and starts takin pics and he pins them up on the fridge. But then it's covered. So he starts pinning them to his bulletin board. And then THAT gets full. So he starts just putting them on his wall in his bedroom and lets Win and Gator add to it and do whatever they want.
And eventually the whole wall is full of just happy silly stupid moments they've had. And they all love looking at it and adding to it and sometimes taking things down when they need more room for new things.
Gator sneaks a lot of pictues down. Takes them home and hides them under his bed in a shoebox before he gets away from Roy. To have some nice things at his house.
There's a whole little section of Win and her cooking mishaps. And a section of Kirby out working on cars because Win's thirst for him when he's out there is insatiable, and she's dragged Gator into it now too, so it's getting out of hand.
And Kirby loves taking pictures of the other two sleeping. Especially Gator. But he adores Win so much that he loves taking pics of her when she's doing anything and not paying attention to him. There's lots of her reading, or working on her music. Cuz she gets a little crease between her eyebrows and sticks her tongue out in concentration and he LOVES it.
There's tons of Gator sleeping cuz he looks soft, and happy, and relaxed when he's with Kirby and Win so Kirby just... keeps taking pictues of it.
So Kirby's house, and probably Win's as well, i imagine it bleeding out of Kirby's house out into the other's. Win's more so at first. But once Gator gets his own place he has a wall of his own. Some of his are more risqué pics of them all. But he has literally no shame and Win and Kirby fucking love him for it.
Just... all three of them having walls covered in the others and their love. 🧡
And Win 100% would send more risqué pics when she knows the others are busy. Just to get them all flustered on purpose. It would be so much worse for Gator though. Cuz his job is actually around others. Kirby literally works from home. And the amount of times he sends back,
"I understand your intentions but if you think I don't receive these and just straight up go inside and rub one out, you're out of your tiny little mind. I am immune to your childish antics!!! Mwahahahhaha!"
Meanwhile Gator is at work in his cruiser squirming and flustered and bothered and they're talking in the group chat so he saw Kirby's answer too and it's NOT HELPING!!!
So Gator sneaks off, either hides in the bathroom at work and jerks off, whining into his arm, biting into his bicep when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket cuz he knows they're bothing commenting on how they know exactly what he's doing.
Sometimes he sneaks off in his prowler and drives way way out into the middle of nowhere and does it there instead. So he can be as loud as he wants. Sometimes Win and Kirby call him and just listen to him fall apart on the phone. Encouraging him and telling him how good he's doing.
Kirby 100% is also touching himself, but Win only can if she's not around people at work. So she sneaks off sometimes too, into the bathroom, and shoves her hand down her pants and whines into her arm too. But sometimes she can't and her plan totally fucking backfires and she ends up all hot and needy.
But it's okay cuz she knows Kirby and Gator will take good care of her when she gets home. And they do. Multiple times. Kirby always so smug like,
"You see what happens when you play games? You get horny. And Gator gets horny. And I'm the only one who can get off without incident." He says all this while snuggling into her naked back of course. And Gator snorts and is like,
"Without incident. Like we don't know you've fallen in the fucking shower getting off and nearly given yourself a concussion." He's shaking his head but he reaches over, across Win where she's pulled against his chest, and grabs at Kirby's waist, making him squirm. Kirby bites at his arm and is like,
"Worth it." And cuddles even closer, pressing kisses to Win's shoulder before gently sinking his teeth in, making her squirm. And she reaches behind her, wraps her arm around Kirby as best she can to pull him closer til he's grinding his hips against her, hums into Gator's chest and says,
"Totally worth it." All dreamy and cute as they fall alseep all tangled together.
Was having some thoughts about Steve joining Hellfire. They are as follows.
I'm thinking maybe they start him off with smaller weekly oneshots. Unbeknownst to Steve they are also still meeting for their regular other campaign, he figures that out later. That Eddie's been writing one shots for him on top of his other bonkers story he's got going and Steve is like "oh 🥺".
BUTTT! during the one shots, all the kids have their moments of being RUDE to Steve. Mike is the worst (cuz I dislike him and his fucking attitude). But everytime one of them is rude to Steve, and it's like legit mean stuff, like them calling him stupid. Things like that. Steve usually kinda gets quiet. And then, whenever the kids do that, Eddie starts making notes in his notebook. Then whoever said the mean thing, their characters die.
Like, Mike gets the worst of it cuz he's just such an ass. But Eddie's got a SYSTEM in these notes okay!!! There are straight tallys, for actually hurtful mean things, there are wiggly tallys for things he can tell are meant to be teasing but that he can tell definitely still kinda hurt Steve a bit. And then there are stars. People get stars for helping Steve along the way.
Be that helping his characters, or just helping him with his math or helping him understand something about the game when Eddie is busy or "distracted". Cuz he legit always notices when people help Steve. Most of the time it's cuz he hears Steve's genuine thank yous. Lucas, and surprisingly Erica, have the most stars, aside from El. Max gets stars sometimes just for back talking Mike's rudes comments with shit like,
"mike what does it matter? we're all about to die anyway. That sphinx is gonna fucking eat us. Who cares. Leave him alone."
Because her and El have of course been invited too. But they've been playing just a LITTLE bit longer so they know a small amount more. El only has stars because she is legit always helpful. Steve has taken to sitting between El and Erica because they're the nicest to him. Lucas usually sits across from him.
Dustin has lots of wiggly tallys cuz he just can't control his mouth sometimes. But one day Mike gets brutally killed again and starts whining about it and Steve has noticed Eddie making little notes. Has no idea what they are. Cuz he doesn't look through other people's notebooks. Thats rude.
Everyone has noticed the notes. No one has asked. They all have theories. And when Eddie is like,
"I'm trying to teach you a lesson. Not my fault you aren't smart enough to figure out what it is." And his voice has such a BITCHY tone when he says it. Because Mike had JUST been hounding Steve for missing "obvious" clues and not being smart enough to figure it out and walking into a trap.
And steve had gone red from his ears all the way down his neck, he also felt bad cuz he'd gotten El's character hurt. And then Mike had been an ass. Steve was upset. So Eddie killed Mike. And then he's whining and Eddie's about to say something else when El speaks up, looks across the table with a scowl and says,
"just be nicer! It's not hard to be nice. Steve is our friend. Be nice to him." And she rolls her eyes at Mike, puts her hand on Steve's arm and is like,
"I will be fine. Will can heal me." And Will pipes up and is like,
"yeah. I can heal her no problem." But it's El's outburst that makes Steve kind of wonder more about the notes Eddie takes.
He'd never ask, and never look. But he stays behind one day to help Eddie clean up, they have weekly games at the community center.
So Steve's staying after and helping with chairs and tables and getting books and dice and things stored away and Eddie's notebook is RIGHT THERE. Open to the page he's always scribbling on. And Steve just sort of... stops. And looks at it. And it's everyone's names with tallys and marks and stars. Erica has wiggly marks AND stars. But mostly stars. Because she helps him with his math almost every game.
Also she "accidentally" let mike get hit with an attack in the game cuz he was being rude. El's is all stars and scrawled under them in Eddie's chicken scratch is,
"She's a literal angel oh my god."
So Steve's eyes are just wandering over this page and his brow is all creased and he doesn't hear Eddie come back until he says,
"figured out what's missing yet?" In that teasing sweet little voice he uses on Steve that makes him feel a little dizzy sometimes, give him butterflies in his stomach, and his whole body jerks and he looks up and Eddie's leaning casually against the wall near the door. And Steve immediately apologizes and Eddie laughs, shakes his head, walks closer. And is like,
"It's okay Steve. But you didn't answer my question." He licks his lips, steps closer. Steve looks back to the notebook for a second and then back to Eddie.
"My names not on there?" He asks, worrying his finger into the table top next to the notebook. And Eddie is nodding.
"Yup." And Steve's like,
"The tallys are about... me?" And he's frowning. But Eddie steps a bit closer, standing next to the table now. And he smiles, all shy and soft and is like,
"yeah Steve. They're about you. Got kinda tired of all the kids talking shit about you. And to you. So I came up with a system. Anyone says anything about you being stupid, I kill them." He grins, wide like the Cheshire cat and Steve feels kinda pinned down by it. Feels kinda hot all over.
"You didn't- have to do that. It's fine. It doesn't bother me. I mean I know I'm not smart." And he just shakes his head and looks at the ground and Eddie kinda slams his hand down on the table, startling him. He looks up and Eddie looks mad. Not at him. Just, mad.
"You're not though. Is the thing. I mean... you're incredibly good at strategy. I know you don't know enough about dnd yet to know this, but you've been a crucial part in winning like, the last three games." Eddie steps closer, his fingertips brushing the back of Steve's hand.
"You're not stupid. You're just smart in different ways." Eddie shrugs. Gives Steve a little lopsided smile.
"You think I'm smart?" He asks, biting his lip to stop the giddy smile that's threatening to spread. Eddie doesn't stop his smile, just lets it go, lets it dimple his cheeks and make Steve's knees weak. And he's like,
"yeah man. Just cuz some jumped up little tweens can't see it doesn't mean I can't. You're kinda hard to miss." He does bite his lip then, fingers playing with his hair, Steve knows he's trying not to hide behind it.
"I just uh-" Eddie clears his throat,
"I'm really petty. And protective. And it's ridiculous cuz you're not even mine but- I just- felt like I had to protect you. Or stick up for you. Or something? I dunno. Feels stupid now that I'm saying it out- oof!" Eddie huffs when Steve slams into him. Arms wrapped around his neck. He may or may not be crying into Eddie's hellfire shirt. But he gives Eddie a squeeze and then pulls back, looks at him, smiles and says,
"I am though." With a little shrug. And Eddie's like,
"you... are?" Confused. And Steve laughs, light and sweet and says,
"Yours. I am yours. If you'll have me. Or want me. Or- mmfph!" Steve's words end in a high pitched hum as Eddie's lips hit his. Just a firm press. His hand on Steve's cheek. He pulls back fast, pink in the cheeks.
"Sorry I just- if you let me have you, Steve. I may never let you go." He chuckles, giddy. Steve snorts, his head falling to Eddie's shoulder for a second before he looks at Eddie, cups his cheek genlty.
"Who says I want you to?" His brows jump, challenging. Eddie goes redder, down to his neck.
"Wanna try that kiss again?" Steve asks.
"God was is bad? I've never- I'm not... good. At that stuff." Eddie cringes. Steve cups both his cheeks until Eddie's wide eyes are staring at him, his cheeks a little squished.
"It wasn't bad. It was kind of perfectly you. But we can get you good at that stuff. You're a fast learner right?" Steve smirks, Eddie's eyes go impossibly wider as he nods aggressively, cheeks squishing even more.
"Yes, sir." Eddie mumbles between his squished lips. Steve nods, once and then moves forward, slowly, determined to show Eddie just how thankful he is for him. How thankful he is that Eddie sees him.
