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abibliophobiaa · 2 years

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Begin Again: Chapter Two

Summary: The year is 1988. After the loss of a beloved family member, you find yourself inheriting an old coffee shop. The quiet bartender at the Hideout across the street just so happens to catch your eye.

(18k+ words; eddie munson x afab!reader; sunshine!reader x grumpy!eddie vibes)

Warnings: Vignette style (sorta); Eddie’s post S4 trauma; panic attacks; nightmares; family member loss; grief; alcohol use; mild smut in later chapters so 18+; additional warnings to be added.

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Summer, 1988

Before long, spring bleeds into a balmy summer and the Fourth of July inches closer.

While spring brought along with it new opportunities, new friendships, and new beginnings, you’re excited for warmer weather.

Excited for colorful dresses, walks around the town, smelling the freshly cut bouquets at the florist next door, ice cream cones that melt between your fingers, and watching the sunset from your apartment windows.

You wake with the sunrise on the third, spine cracking as you lift your arms up over your head to stretch the soreness from your limbs.

Your alarm clock blares bright neon in the early morning sunrise, reading 4:30 where it rests on the pile of books you placed next to your bed as a makeshift side table until you can purchase new furniture and really spruce up the apartment.

With a sigh, you slap a hand along the alarm clock and start your day. You tug on a pair of jeans, don a summery top with flowy sleeves, and drape your apron over your hips. The lights flicker on in the shop and the place illuminates, ready for a new day.

You prep the coffee pots and turn on all the machines. Croissants are prepared and placed in the oven, along with various other treats, and you wipe down the surfaces of each table accordingly.

The sign hanging in the window flips from ‘closed’ to ‘open’ and you assume your routine.

Every day just like the one that came before.

But there’s a comfort in it. An ease in which you live your new life here in Hawkins.

It’s familiar and it’s constant, with little diversion.

That is, until the girls start their shifts and probe you about plans for the weekend. Apparently one of their friends is planning on hosting a barbecue for the holiday with a small group of their closest companions.

And it seems they’ve invited you.

Max crosses her arms over her chest, one of her braids dancing over her shoulder as she does so. “You never get out of the shop.”

“Because I own the shop,” you remind her.

El hands a cup of coffee to a customer and glances over to where you and Max are presently cleaning up a coffee spill.

“It’s a holiday, just come ,” Max says.

“I don’t even know your friend!” The exasperation in your tone rises, the mop in your hand trailing more water along the floor.

“He’s your age, so is Robin, and we’ll be there. What’s more to know?” Max reaches down to lay a few towels onto the mess you’ve made, adding, “Plus, they are customers. I’m sure you’ve actually met them before.”

You're considering it. You’re actually considering going. “And he’s going to be just fine with me coming over to his place?”

Max nods. “His parents are never home, so we basically have the whole place to ourselves for the day. Just come.”

“Please…come,” El says, slipping out from behind the counter. “You’ll make friends. Actual friends.”

Your brow arches at that one. “As opposed to?” El slinks backward, giving you a tight smile.

“Your customers are not your friends,” Max says. “Well, they are. But these could be real ones. Come on. You’ve been in Hawkins for months and I don’t think I’ve seen you go anywhere even once.”

“I go places!” you reply hotly, your skin burning aflame in embarrassment.

The Hideout, but they don’t know about it.

“Okay, fine, so I don’t go places. I spend my afternoons in my apartment.”

“So you’ll come?” Both girls look at you expectantly.

“Fine!”

Three months.

Maybe more. He can’t remember the number anymore.

The amount of time that has passed since you moved into town and effectively uprooted his life.

His normalcy.

Before that, it’s been easy to keep people at arms length—to stay far enough away that they don’t ask questions.

Most people do tend to stay far away.

No one wants to be associated with the Freak, the murderer, the man who made a deal with the devil.

It didn’t matter then when they abolished his name from the news and he was cleared as a free man, and it certainly doesn’t matter now; people still look at him with disdain, whisper when he passes, step away from him when he gets too close in the supermarket.

He knows, though, there’s something about you that draws him to you.

Magnetic, you’re magnetic. That’s what it is, this feeling, this tug.

He hasn’t felt that way in a long time. This pull to another human outside of his core group (The Party), this desire to want to open up.

It’s coupled with fear but the urge is there.

It hasn’t been in a long, long time.

Before that, it’s two years.

Two years since the events of the Upside Down.

Two years since Chrissy died in his damn trailer home. Two years since he watched her bones break like twigs against his ceiling. Two years since he found out monsters lurked beneath Hawkins.

Two years since he watched Max fear for her life every day before that day. Two years since he became forever bound to The Party.

It’s been two years since he heard Dustin’s screams rattle his bones as he cut that rope.

Two years since he felt the first rip of his own flesh as those mouths full of teeth cut into his skin. Two years since he felt them attack from every angle. Two years since he laid there in hell on earth and pleaded that he’d just die.

Two years since he felt that blinding, agonizing pain as he shook in Dustin’s arms, taking what he thought were his last breaths.

Two years since he said goodbye.

Two years since he thought he had died.

Two years since he wished he had.

Two years since he woke up in that damn bed, and was poked and prodded by an endless team of doctors with wires sticking out every which way from his body. Since they tried to salvage what they could of his shredded skin.

It’s been two years, but when he closes his eyes…it’s as if it’s only been two minutes.

It’s why he doesn’t let anyone close.

The last time he did so, it set into motion the week that changed everything.

You’re not sure what to expect as you get out of your car. But what you definitely don’t expect is the large expanse of property and the gorgeous home that stands there surrounded by endless green lawn on that bright summer day.

It looms in front of you, intimidating in nature, and not only due to the size. On the patio outside is a group of people awaiting your arrival, a group of which you haven’t met all of.

Tray of cookies in hand, you start the slow shuffle to the side entrance where Max and El told you you were to enter by. Luckily, the fence already sits open, and the sound of chatter immediately greets your ears, mixing in with the sound of the radio spilling from a speaker and someone jumping into the pool.

You can smell the food cooking before you see it on the grill. Steve Harrington stands in the distance waving a spatula around as he talks. You recognize Robin next, with her short hair and glowing smile. The girls are in the pool with Will, Mike, Dustin and Lucas. You know the latter portion of the group that is not currently employed by you because they frequently spent time at Sunshine Coffee, trying to get a glimpse of their friends while doing homework together.

The most surprising, however, of all the guests at the barbecue is none other than Eddie Munson.

He sits in a lounge chair nearest to the pool, a cigarette between his lips, his bare arms on display for the first time ever , with his hair back in another one of his low hanging ponytails. You notice first the dark ink sprawling along his arms. Some newer than the others, judging by what you know of tattoos. Your eyes catch on the scar you can still see on his left bicep, like a little sun on his skin mixed in with a swirling array of black and gray that shifts and moves as he does. Seemingly aware of the kids now waving to you in earnest, he shifts his head over his shoulder, and though his gaze is obstructed by sunglasses, you can tell he’s surprised you're there.

I’m surprised too, you think, suddenly uncertain of where to stand, what to do, what to say. You fidget on the spot with a hand curling in your dress, tempering the urge to flee. It’s what you might normally do in a moment like this, what you’ve done long before moving to Hawkins was ever set into motion.

There isn’t much time to think, however, before Robin’s rushing over to your side and offering to help you with your things. She’s kind and pleasant—surprisingly so. She even goes so far as to give you a tour around the Harrington home, making you aware of where you can use the bathroom, get a new drink from the fridge, or a snack from the pantry. Not that you’ll need it with all the food cooking, but you’re appreciative all the same.

Once back outside, Steve greets you shockingly enough with a warm hug. Says he’s happy you finally showed up, as though he’s been waiting all day, and tells you food will be done in a few minutes.

It gives you a moment to get accustomed to your surroundings. Robin remains the perfect host at your side, prattling on about what she’s doing for college. She’s heavily intent on becoming a music teacher, and studying at the local community college. When she asks if you’ve ever thought about schooling, you mutter that you’ve never really thought to try.

Going to college meant staying in one place for a long period of time, and thus it’s never been a thought in your mind. Maybe in another life, another time, when you felt like you were ready to settle.

But now…no.

Now you’re content with your coffee shop, with training up the girls to do all the tasks you need to keep it afloat, and deciding how you feel about Hawkins later down the line.

She pulls you along beside her to plop down in the lounge chair across from Eddie, her foot kicking against Eddie’s ankle to draw his attention.

“You’ve met Eddie, haven’t you?” Robin asks, and your eyes shift to his face. It’s hard to see what he’s thinking behind those sunglasses, a mask settled across his features.

“We’ve met,” Eddie says softly, tipping his head down towards you.

“Hi, Eddie.” You wave his way and Robin glances between the two of you awkwardly, hands on her knees.

“Well, there’s the pool obviously, Steve has karaoke for later if we want to do any, you know where the snacks and drinks are, and, uh, food will be ready soon,” she announces, standing tall to her feet. “I’ll leave you both to it, then! Enjoy!”

It’s…well, it’s silent. And though that’s not entirely unusual for Eddie, it’s still striking to you at the moment. His arms rest on either rest, body slouching into the chair.

“You took the day off?” You practically wince at the small talk, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind in the endless silence that settles between you.

“Was going to work, but Steve is big on his family get-togethers,” he tells you, taking a sip of his beer.

So the fact you’re here makes your heart warm.

“I…uhm, I’m glad you’re here,” you say, turning your head slightly to catch his profile. He’s looking out into the pool, mouth a thin line. You let out a slow breath. “I didn’t know you’d be here, but it’s always nice to see you.”

He’s quiet. So quiet.

You get the impression the sentiment isn’t returned.

You try to not let it sour your mood. “Well, uh, I’m going to see if Robin needs any help. Want me to grab you anything?” You rise to your feet, hands swiping along your dress. “A water? Beer?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” he says, and you catch the faintest curl of his lips.

Okay then , you think, and march off.

You show up to the party in a summer dress.

Of course you do.

It’s yellow with all these little flowers all over it. Bright, just like the summer day.

Suiting for you.

You, who quite literally radiates the sun, even on the gloomiest of days.

He remembers the night you slipped into the bar and tried to pretend no one saw you—that he never saw you.

Even water logged as you were, he’s pretty sure he’s never seen anyone so pretty.

People notice it. They’d be foolish not to. Whirl around in their seats and look your way, trying to catch a glimpse of the girl with sunshine in her heart.

But since you’ve met, all the times he’s been around you have been on his terms, and now you’re in the middle of Steve’s patio with a beer in hand and your head tipped back in a laugh as Robin tells you a lively story.

“You invited her?” Eddie asks, turning his head to Steve.

“Actually Max invited her. And El,” Steve explains, spatula swirling wildly as he speaks. “She seems nice. We’ve gone to the shop a bunch. Robs and I. But she’s always so busy. This is the first time we’ve really gotten to really meet her. Why? You got a personal vendetta against baristas I should know about?”

Quite the opposite, he thinks, but he’ll never admit that to Steve.

They immediately love you.

Of course they do; how could they not?

You match their golden retriever energy, bodies swaying—and surprisingly so, since none of you are even tipsy—as Steve sings (incredibly off key) along to “Super Trouper,” and you and Robin try to steal the microphone every couple words. All in all, it’s a stunning display of a lack of singing talent, but the kids are loving it, and Eddie hates it because it’s like a punch to the gut.

It’s been this way since you arrived. Your endless charisma, that light that seeps from you, the way you flit in and out of conversations with everyone at the party.

Everyone except him .

That’s his fault, he recognizes. He’s not really made it an effort to pull you aside, offering nothing more than little comments here and there.

He can see it on your face. The way you recognize he’s distancing himself on purpose.

It’s easier when you’re at the bar.

There, you’re quiet. You’re unassuming. You talk between the two of you, sure, but it’s on his terms. Here, you’ve injected yourself into his world—into this group that he trusts with all the parts of himself that have changed since what happened two years ago.

They’re a safety net. They’re the only people he feels like he can still be himself around, and you’ve breached that, you’ve entered in and made yourself a home.

They love you, and they should , but it’s another reminder of the fact the last time he let someone close to him they died in his home. The last time he let someone get close to him, the kids were in danger, Dustin got hurt, Max almost lost her life because of Carver interrupting their plan, Robin, Steve and Nancy almost died.

He can’t let another person get hurt from knowing him.

He can’t let you get hurt from knowing him.

He’d never forgive himself.

It’s sometime later that you end up sitting with your dress hiked up a bit on your thighs and your feet in the pool as the kids talk around you. The sun has set in Hawkins and the sound of crickets and cicadas blends into the gentle hum of music spilling from the radio.

Robin appears with Steve, her chin coming to hook over Eddie’s shoulder and smacks a kiss to his cheek. “Can we keep her?” Eddie groans as she shakes his shoulders, trying to get a rise out of him, and stands at Steve’s side.

“She’s not a pet, Robin.” He tries to keep his tone neutral. Unaffected.

“You like her,” she points out, grin turning wide and wicked.

He shakes his head, earning a look from Steve. “Don’t even start with that. I’m not hearing it.”

She’s practically bouncing in front of him. “But it’s true. I can see it. You can't keep your eyes off of her. She’s beautiful, though, so totally understandable. How did it happen? When did it start?”

“Rob,” he warns, feeling his chest tighten.

“Eddie, this is good . It’s really good ,” Steve says. Robin nods enthusiastically beside him.

“And why is that?” He challenges with a narrow stare, standing to his feet.

“You looked happy today. We can excuse this moment of assholery and chalk it up to your denial speaking, but she makes you smile. I haven’t seen you smile like that in ages,” Robin says, voice high and right with emotion.

He knows she wants the best for him, knows she wants to see him happy , but he has the guys from Corroded Coffin, he has Uncle Wayne, he has the kids, he has her and he has Steve, and that makes him happy.

“It could be gas.” His reply is deadpan, sunglasses obscuring the crinkle around the corner of his eyes at the look on Robin’s face that says ‘shut up, asshole.’

“Eddie,” she warns, arching a brow up at him.

“I'm serious. Steve’s cooking can be questionable.”

“I'm going to choose to ignore that. My cooking is fine,” Steve argues, cheeks aflame.

“So how long has this been going on?” Robin’s relentless. He supposes he should know this about her by now, but it makes his head spin all the same.

“There is no this because all this is is that I’m her customer and she visits the bar sometimes and we talk.”

“She visits you at your job and you visit her at hers—that sounds like interest,” Steve says, a little too pleased with himself.

“Mutual interest,” Robin agrees, beaming so bright she mirrors the summer sun.

“Look, I’m not even going to venture there because it’s only a matter of time before she figures out why you guys are the only ones left in Hawkins who don't run away at the sight of me. I’d rather not be there when she puts two and two together and hates me anyway.” He pauses, taking a deep breath, fingers at the bridge of his nose to pinch there. “So I’ll keep her at a distance and remind myself that I think she’s annoying as all hell most days—”

Because he doesn’t know what to do with the feelings that stir otherwise. So now it’s push them down, tuck them away, sweep them under the rug.

The sound of your ankle banging against the side of a lounger greets his ears, and his head jerks your way. Steve and Robin’s looks of amusement drop into sorrow as your eyes flash between them and him, disappointment clear on your features. He catches the way your bottom lip wobbles, how your eyes widen, shoulders dropping. There’s a small “oh” that spills from your lips, as if you’re only realizing now you have stumbled in a conversation you were never meant to hear in the first place, but he can sense your embarrassment all the same.

You deflate, and Eddie proves himself right once again why it’s futile to get close, because he catches those first glittering tears on your bottom lashes, unshed now, but there all the same.

And he knows you heard him.

Let someone close… hurt them. Just as he predicted.

“I, uh, was just going to say goodbye. I have to wake up early to set up the shop.” You step forward to hug Steve and Robin. He doesn’t expect you to come close to him, but it stings all the same when you simply glance away and mutter, “Goodbye, Eddie,” before slipping away, and out of the yard.

Steve watches him as you go, eyes scouring every inch of his face, head shaking lightly. “Aren’t you going to, oh I don’t know, follow her? Make sure she’s okay? Come on, man.”

“She said goodbye,” he says, catching your fingers struggling with your door handle in your haste to leave.

“Go,” Steve reiterates, and Eddie grumbles his way across the lawn, catching your door just as you’re about to close it.

There’s a little huff that spills from your lips and there’s a part of him that has to temper down the thrill that jolts in his chest at the way your eyes narrow up at him expectantly.

You’re always challenging him.

Even now there’s a protest in your stare—on your tongue.

But you focus your eyes ahead instead and lift your chin, trying to conceal the hurt swirling behind your eyes.

Asshole, asshole, asshole.

“I have to go,” you remind him.

“I’ll, uh…I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, and he shuts the driver's side door.

And as he walks back to his group of friends, he scolds himself the whole way, because the best thing he could come up with in a moment of stupidity was say ‘I’ll see you around, okay?’

Eddie doesn’t come by for five days, and you don’t visit the Hideout for just as long.

It’s not that you’re angry at him. No—the initial hurt is long gone. Now you’re left with this bitter emptiness. A feeling of questioning, as if every truth you had thought you’d know to be a certainty was really a lie all along.

For weeks you were led to believe whatever this thing was growing between you and him had been real. This tangibility you could tend to, could nurture.

Yet at the first sign of struggle, he ran away. Pushed you aside without a second thought. Said those hurtful things at the party.

He’d run after you, sure, but only after he registered your pain.

Only after his friends looked at him like he’d absolutely lost his mind.

You want to believe that there’s more to the story, that there’s a reason why he said what he said and did what he did.

But the worst part of it all, the part that twists the knife deeper in your chest, is the thought that maybe there isn’t, and maybe you trusted him too fast. Dove headlong into a dead end friendship with the one person in town you felt most free to be yourself around.

That part hurts the most.

Eddie feels like an idiot.

You are an idiot, he tells himself as he stands in that flower shop near Sunshine Coffee , asking the owners for some sort of arrangement that speaks to an apology of sorts.

“What kind of an apology?” the husband asks, looking over at Eddie wearily. His wife stands in the back, watering the flowers about the room.

They must know you’re upset with him, and for good reason, too. It’s normal that he frequents the shop, but for the past few days he’s stayed away, not wanting to see that look of hurt across your features ever again. It’s bad enough that when he closes his eyes he can picture it.

How your foot tripped over the edge of the lounger, the way your words tumbled from your lips, your skirt rustling about your ankles as you sped away…and sped away from him.

Steve caught up with him the next day over the phone, trying to talk more sense into him. Trying to tell him there’s nothing wrong with opening up to a new friend, especially when that person was trying to go at his pace, respecting his boundaries, and never pushing him further than he was willing to go.

You’ve always been patient, and friendship is a two way street, where equal participation is expected from both parties.

Steve reminds him that this is a good thing.

His government ordered therapist does, as well. Reminds him that part of healing is doing the uncomfortable things, stepping out of his comfort zone, coming out from the shadows he’s shrouded himself within.

He’s not meant to live in solitude.

“It’s for a…I was a total asshole who took advantage of your kindness, and I deserve your rage kind of apology,” he admits, and watches as the older man regards him carefully before thinking to himself quietly.

“You can do pink roses.”

“Aren’t roses for love?” he asks, wanting to be clear. He’s always seen them around Valentine’s Day when all the couples at Hawkins High wanted to be all mushy and show their undying devotion to one another. “I’m not trying to say I—I love her or anything. I barely know her.”

“Pink roses mean gratitude. Seeing as you took advantage of her kindness and hurt her, pink roses are a perfect way of showing that,” he explains, putting together an assortment on the countertop and tying it off with a ribbon on the front. “Do you want me to write her a card?”

“Can I…take one to go?”

“Sure thing,” he says, ringing him up and sliding a blank card across the countertop. “And word of advice, boy: that girl is wonderful, so you better do better.”

I’m trying, he thinks, slipping out of the building.

And it starts with the little bouquet he has one of the girls deliver you later that day, with a little card affixed to the ribbon.

The words on the letter read: Fact of the day—Eddie Munson is a giant asshole.

Then beneath, in tinier lettering: Do you think you can forgive him, maybe?

Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley are always a welcome sight within the walls of Sunshine Coffee. Even before the Fourth of July barbecue, you’ve particularly liked them. The two would come in, often bantering with one another, bright smiles on their faces.

It always spoke to a close bond between the two; you don’t know them well , but that kind of bond is clear and attests to being tried and tested in the fire, and only made them stronger for it.

You’re a little shocked to see them here now, however.

The last time they saw you, the three of you were happy and high off of life, cheeks warm from the summer sun, arms looped around each other's necks as you sang ABBA, smelling of suntan lotion and lips stained from cherry popsicles.

You glance over your shoulder to Will and ask him if he’s good to let you go on your lunch break, and he’s immediately nodding his reply. The three of you slip out into the street, sights set on the local ice cream parlor, because Robin reassures you ‘ice cream is the perfect lunch for a day like this.’

It’s sweltering out. Sweat slicks your skin, the back of your neck, your hands. That first swipe of your tongue along your chocolate and vanilla swirl has you humming in delight, sandaled feet kicking out beneath you.

“I’m actually so shocked to see you two,” you admit, just as Robin sticks her spoon into her cup.

“We told you there’s no getting rid of us now,” Robin says, and she’s right, but it makes you smile all the same.

Makes you warm, and it has little to do with the heat shining down from the sun above.

“I’m actually planning another get together,” Steve says, tongue already cherry red from his ice. “You’re invited, obviously.”

“Thanks, Steve.” You swipe your tongue along another line of rainbow sprinkles, glancing out into the street.

You can see the now-quiet Hideout. It won’t be busy for a couple hours now.

“So, uh, that’s actually kind of why we ambushed you at work,” Steve says, catching your wandering gaze.

“Hmm?” Your head snaps back their way, wrist lifting to your mouth to catch the ice cream sliding down the side of your cone.

“He really likes you, you know? We know he can make a fool of showing it, but he does,” Steve starts.

“Who?” You’re playing coy, hiding your nervousness behind your ice cream.

Robin’s quick to answer with, “Eddie…we just ask you to give him a second chance, okay? He’s been through a lot. And I’m sure we’re literally breaking a thousand rules of friendship right now by approaching you like this, but he’s already been so much happier since you’ve been here. You, like, challenge him and make him come out of the little shell he’s put himself into and it would really break my heart—both our hearts, really—if that stopped.”

“I planned on it,” you tell them sincerely. But you also know it has to be on his terms.

He’s already started with his apology, and now it’s just a matter of…waiting to see what happens.

You can’t force yourself onto someone who doesn’t want you to be prevalent in their lives. And yet, you respect his past; you understand that there are parts of him you’ve not privy to that his friends are, and the fact that they may reveal why he is the way he is at his core.

Knowing that, being made aware of that, is something you want to happen on its own time. In the right time, and by his discretion.

It’s his story to tell.

So the three of you stand to your feet and walk through the town, talking about the upcoming weekend, planning things for dinner and dessert. And you plan for the future with the sun at your backs, bright and vibrant smiles as bright as the beams that dance along your skin, with nothing but hope to guide you all.

He doesn’t come the next day. Nor does he come the day after. And soon it’s a week since you’ve seen him in the four walls of your coffee shop. Which surprises you, because he left that apology bouquet of flowers with El to give to you.

You can only imagine his dark figure hulking as he entered that little flower shop, filling the vibrant room with a streak of black and gray. It makes the corners of your mouth lift simply thinking of it—imagining him having to order the plants and write up his little note card.

If you beamed when you read his little fact of the day, you’d never admit it. But the girls certainly caught it, pointing and laughing at the way you lit up like a Christmas tree at the prospect of Eddie Munson getting you apology flowers.

It’s what they babble teasingly at you, at least. All wagging fingers and pouty lips over the fact he had gone out of his way to make a gesture as he had in hopes of getting back into your good graces.

Only, you’ve not seen him since.

You thought maybe he would come see you— talk in person about why the way he behaved like a proper imbecile that evening.

You’re sorely disappointed, and the sting of fresh rejection ripples and dances along your skin, cracks between your ribs and curls around your heart.

Max catches you one evening, hours before you’re set to close up for the day. Normally, it’s your job to make sure the shop closes up. You’ve always wanted to make sure the kids are ahead on their schoolwork anyway, but now with summer here, they’ve offered to stay later more often.

Extra pay, they remind you.

Extra help, you remind yourself.

But on this day she glances over the glass case wherein all your freshly baked cookies lay, a fresh bar towel in her hand as she wipes the case clean and sparkly. You catch the flash of red hair before she huffs out a sigh and tosses the towel onto the countertop.

“Just go over there,” she says, and you don’t even need her to clarify, despite the way your brows arch in feigned confusion at her words, because you know exactly where she’s referring to. She humors you all the same, nearly barking out, “To the Hideout. And don’t make that face, because we all know you go over there. Right?”

“Yeah, we’ve known,” El says, counting the tips in their ‘College Fund’ tip jar you made for them.

“It’s…kind of obvious.” Will winces, putting a lid over a fresh latte.

Max lets out another sigh. “The fact of the matter is, you’re moping around and he’s moping around, and if you’re going to do that, why not just—oh, I don’t know—mope together?”

You level them all with your best stern look, hands on your hips, but they only hide their giggles behind their palms. They’re enjoying this; they’re actually enjoying your struggle in this very present moment. “I think you three forget I’m technically your boss.”

“But…we’re also your friends,” El says, and Will nods in agreement, passing you a smile over his shoulder.

“We kind of crossed over into friendship territory when you came over Steve’s,” Max reminds you, shrugging.

“So it was a trap, then?” you tease, backing up until your shoulders press against the glass case. “You three will be good to lock up?”

“You’ve taught us everything we need to know,” Max says, and the other kids nod in agreement.

“Fine,” you agree, raising a finger to scold them when they all smirk at you. “But if anything happens, anything at all, you come get me.”

“Go!” El lets out an exasperated giggle and you slip out the door.

The Hideout isn’t as busy at this time, you discover. Normally you’re there past eight at night, and it's just after four thirty now. The sun still has yet to set, but there’s no light in here, except for that of the neon lights that glow blue above.

There’s only the quietest of conversation around you. A few people spread throughout the place, an older couple in the corner, two acquaintances at the bar. And then there’s you, sliding up onto a stool and pulling out the worn copy of The Fellowship of the Ring Eddie let you borrow.

He eyes you cautiously as you do so, as if he expects the worst. But you’ve already made up your mind; made it up long ago, if you’re being honest with yourself. “You didn’t warn me that Gandalf died.”

His mouth drops open momentarily at that, but a slow smile spreads across his lips and he props a forearm against the bar across from you. He leans into it to get closer. “That would ruin the story.”

“Yeah, but you know I loved him.” You told him as much numerous times. You were fond of him, the way he cares and loves for the fellowship. The wisdom he harbors.

“I know,” Eddie says, sounding regretful. “Can I convince you to keep reading…under the promise that maybe things will get better?”

You huff and pout, sliding your finger into where your bookmark presently rests at the back of the book. “I don’t see how they can.”

“Well don’t you want to know what happens next?”

“I do.”

“Then will you trust me?” He pauses, catching himself before he continues. You watch him rub a hand along the back of his neck, rings glinting in the light. “Actually—don’t answer that.”

“Why not?” You press him, mouth settling into a firm line.

“Because I…damn it, I messed up, okay?”

“I know, and I got your flowers. I forgive you.” You nod in earnest, already resolute in your decision to forgive him and move on from it.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t change the fact I was still an asshole,” he says, sounding a little mournful. “You just…you didn’t hear the whole conversation.”

You try to offer him an easy smile as he walks around the bar and sits down beside you on another stool. It’s the closest you’ve been to him, you think. “Did I walk in at the wrong time?”

“Something like that.”

Your answer is simple then, “Okay…then I forgive you for that, too.”

“You shouldn’t,” he says quietly.

You shake your head at him. “But I do.”

“Yeah, but why do you do that?”

You’re not understanding. “Why do I do what, Eddie? I’m trying to forgive you for being an ass and you’re not letting me, so are you rejecting your own apology?”

“You’re just…damn it, you’re—and it drives me crazy. That’s why I said you annoy the shit out of me.” He groans at the end of his words, palm sliding down his face. “I’m just—look, I’m not used to people being like you.”

“Like me?” You point to yourself with your thumb, head tilting to the side.

He’s staring straight at you when he says, “Nice, sweetheart, nice.”

You ignore the little flutter that gives way at his nickname.

“Why is that?”

“Because of all the shit that happened two years ago,” he drops an elbow onto the counter and rests his forearm along the top. He’s close enough just the slightest shift on the stool will mean his fingers brushing the sleeve of your work tee shirt.

“I know,” you tell him. “And I’m sorry for that.”

His eyes shift to your face. A worry line forms between his brows, out of place on such a youthful face. “Oh, so you, uh, looked into it?”

“No,” you reassure him softly, resting your hand on the back of his. He flinches at first, but doesn’t make an effort to pull away. You offer him a slight squeeze and continue, “no I didn’t, Eddie.”

“Why not?” It’s as if he can’t believe you wouldn’t.

As if he wonders why you haven’t.

“I figured one day you’d tell me,” you reply, thumb shifting against his palm in a slow swipe before you pull away to rest against his book instead. “When you’re ready, of course.”

“Oh…o-okay.”

“Yeah, so will you let me accept your apology? This way we can start over.”

“I’d like that,” he agrees, moving to stand to his feet as a customer taps a few dollars against the bar.

“Go—back to work for you,” you tease, adding out in a quick rush, “and get me the second Lord of the Rings book!”

“So you are going to read?”

“You asked me to trust you,” you remind him, watching as he starts walking to his customer. “This is me trusting you.”

Things… change after that.

You were friends before your mild tiff, sure—but Eddie starts to change from that point on. You wonder if it’s a wish to try and maintain what he says, about trusting him, about him trying to appreciate what you’ve been to him these months. But your adventures travel outside the four walls of the Hideout and Sunshine Coffee for the first time one humid Saturday a few weeks after you restart your friendship.

After Eddie lends you The Two Towers and you breeze through it in a week’s time, you tell him you really want your own set of the books. “You know, to mark up and stuff,” you tell him, to which he calls that, “A crime that requires jail time, unless you buy two copies so you have one to keep for rereading and one to annotate,” and you shove at him as you sit beside him in his van on the way to a thrift store just outside of Hawkins in search of a new bookshelf.

You briefly wonder if this is the town he lives in, what with the way he navigates so smoothly, no question to what roads to take.

You don’t press him, however.

You’re patient with him. You want to see him grow in your presence. To pull back those layers of his rough exterior and find the gold within. You know it’s there; you’ve seen it sparkle numerous times now. Can sense it behind every secret smile he offers you.

Your first store leaves you empty handed. You slip and out of aisles in search of the perfect piece to put in your home, but find nothing to your liking. Nothing that would even do well with a nice coat of paint or a good staining.

The second shop has a nice carpet you end up purchasing, with Eddie’s awaiting arms there to carry it back to his car, but again no bookshelf. So it surprises you a little when you both climb back inside after Eddie shuts the back doors and says, “I could try and build you one?”

“Really?” You shift your head to look at him. He’s gone with a short sleeve shirt today. Red, the vibrant deep kind that makes your marrow sing because of how stark and stunning it is against his skin. “I couldn’t ask for you to do that. It’s too much, I—”

“I want to. How hard could it be?”

It leads you back to your apartment, where you sneak around the back so as to not disrupt the kids that you’ve left alone for the day while you enjoy a day off. The first in months, really. Eddie watches you fumble with the key, chuckling when your trembling fingers struggle a bit.

“Here,” he says, moving around you and filling the space beside your bodies with his own. His chest brushes your back, fingers dancing against yours as he pulls the keys from them. With a swift ‘click’ the lock slides open, and he pushes inside. “Good to know the lock still works.”

“The guy who installed it is really humble,” you tease and his eyes roll, shoving past him to inspect the apartment. “Look—I…it’s a little bit of a mess. I haven’t gotten around to fixing the place up yet. Taking care of the coffee shop comes first right now. Hence…all the stuff laying around in piles and boxes.”

When Eddie looks around, however, there’s no judgment there. Only curiosity in his dark stare as he glances around your space. You catch the mess in the sink, the boxes on the countertop beside it. There’s your unmade bed, with its burnt orange pillows and white bedspread, kicked down toward one end. To the side of that are your piles of books with your alarm clock and lamp set on them. Luckily, your clothes are unpacked and stored away in your closet, kept hidden behind a curtain you remembered to pull shut that morning.

“Well, here’s…my place,” you raise your arms in a sweeping circle. “It’s not much, but it’s…well, it’s mine. Needs a good coat of paint, some furniture, and a little love, but it does what it needs to.”

“I could help, you know?” he offers, giving the place another once-over.

“Eddie, you’re already here to measure a space for a bookshelf you’re going to build with your own hands,” you laugh out, a little shocked by his offer. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“We could do it together, lighten the burden,” he says evenly, hands on his hips. Suddenly it strikes you as odd seeing him there. The quiet boy from across the way, now your friend offering to help you get more comfortable in your new home. “We’ll need to go to the store and pick up wood for the bookshelf anyway. Why not grab some paint while we’re there?”

“Really?” you ask, and he nods. “I—if you’re sure. I’ll make you all the cookies, just wait.”

He smirks. You think you like that look on him best, because one of his dimples pops when he does so. “I’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.”

You plan for the next weekend, then.

You don a simple tee shirt made to get dirty and a pair of shorts as you climb down the back stairs and slip into the coffee shop unannounced.

The kids seem a little intrigued by your plans two weeks in a row as you hurry to put together a coffee for your friend, but you remind them that you’re, “Simply conducting business, as usual.”

Max gives a little smirk to Will and El. “Oh, I'm sure there’s loads of business happening.”

The kids all burst into a fit of giggles as you splutter out a huff, tossing a pair of sunglasses over your eyes and calling over your shoulder for them to have a good time while you’re gone, and slip out the front door. Eddie’s there with the windows rolled down, metal music streaming from his windows, his hair free and in wild waves today. He’s gone with a ratty white tee and jeans, and he thanks you softly as you hand him his cup of coffee and whips down the road.

“Who is this?” you ask, listening to the words spilling from the speakers. “Take a look to the sky, just before you die. It’s the last time you will. That’s…well, it’s really chilling.”

“Metallica,” he says, chuckling as you wrinkle your nose in confusion. “A metal band. One of my favorites. You can add that to your collection of random facts about me.”

“Already written down,” you say with a soft roll of your eyes at him. “What does the song mean?”

“It’s based on the poem by Ernest Hemingway. About the Spanish Civil War. There’s basically this moment where the soldiers are surrounded on a hill and it’s their last moments before…well, before dying,” he explains, sounding a little far away. “I think the song all in all is about death, though. I mean, the part you mentioned is a thing someone does right before they die. That last look up at the sky, knowing it’s the last time they’ll see it.”

You almost want to ask him ‘ how do you know,’ but he continues quickly with, “If you like this one, I’m sure you’ll like more of their stuff. We may turn you into a metalhead, or at the very least someone with a little more refined taste, yet.” You open your mouth to give him a witty retort when he pulls in front of a hardware store and pushes his door open. You reach over to unbuckle yourself and grab the door handle, but he’s already there, offering a hand to help you down. “Okay, what color are we thinking of for the walls?”

You shrug as the two of you walk toward the store, bell jangling upon entering. “Maybe off white to match my bed?”

That’s how you learn there are approximately a thousand different shades of white to choose from. You suddenly regret asking Eddie to come along with you, even despite it being his idea, as the two of you stand in the store and thumb through a book full of different colors to choose from, turning what you thought would be a quick trip into an hour-long stay. Each one looks only minimally different from the one before it, and each one leaves you all the more confused.

“What about this one?” you ask, nudging Eddie with an elbow.

“It looks just like this one,” he points out, rubbing a hand along his jaw, his coffee cup still in hand though it’s long empty now. “How about you close your eyes and just…I don’t know, poke whichever one and go with that? And while you do that, I’ll go ask that nice looking employee over there what kind of wood we think we’ll need for your bookshelf.”

The two of you rejoin some twenty minutes later with your cash at the ready as a nice cashier rings up your purchases and glances between the two of you, smiling softly.

“Sweet that you’re building this young lady a bookshelf,” the older man says, eyes more on Eddie than you. He’s the same man who helped Eddie pick out the supplies he’d need to make you one in the first place. A pretty dark wood, with a gorgeous grain. “That young, summer love. I remember when I was your age.”

“We’re, ah, we’re friends,” Eddie clarifies with no delay, cheeks red at their highest point.

“Just really great friends,” you tell him, thanking him as he hands you back your change.

“My apologies then,” he says, but there’s a smirk along his lips that makes you believe his words were definitely intentional. “Have a great rest of your day, you two! Stay safe out there; it’s a hot one.”

It’s certainly getting warmer here, you think to yourself, sliding your money back into your little purse.

Still, you pick your paint up off the counter and watch as Eddie palms the handle of the shopping cart, spirit bright as you wish him a wonderful day and head out the front door.

And if your heart races a little bit, well there’s no point in pondering that.

The room is ready in no time for painting. Summer sun seeps through your open windows, air filtering in through the screens. You took down the curtains to keep them from getting messy and helped Eddie pull all your furniture into the center of the room to try and prevent any spills.

It doesn’t take long before you’re helping lay out tarps around the space to protect your floors, laughing when Eddie struggles a bit getting them to unfurl fully before draping them around the room. There are tins full of rollers and paint strewn about the floor, ready for usage, and music drifting from your record player hidden within your closet. A little Dean Martin, one of your grandfather's favorites, croons in your tiny space, bringing joy to your heart.

And then there’s Eddie, with his hair back in a low bun, taping around your windows and cabinets to ensure you don’t go over any of the areas you intend to keep as they are with the off white you had chosen.

“What’s your favorite song?” It’s a random question he asks as the song changes and “Everybody Loves Somebody” plays. “If you had to pick one, what would it be? The one you can play over and over and never get bored of.”

You’re mid-emptying your dish drain into your kitchen cabinets when you pause to think about it. The question catches you off guard, but you’re always excited when Eddie asks questions to get to know you better. And right now, in this moment where it’s just the two of you in your home, seems like the perfect time to do so.

“Uhm…” You trail off, running a towel over the inside of a still-wet bowl. “‘Lay All Your Love on Me.’ I could probably listen to it forever.”

He’s throwing another one of those smirks your way and you stick your tongue out at him, earning a low chuckle. “Sorry, okay, ‘Lay All Your Love on Me.’ It is a good song.”

“So you do listen to ABBA,” you tease.

“I can appreciate their songs, sure. Especially since Steve and Robin listen to them all the time,” he says, coming to join you in the kitchen, tossing the painter’s tape into your kitchen drawer for safe keeping.

You shove your bowl up in its proper cabinet, draping the towel over your shoulder. “What about you? What song can Eddie Munson listen to on repeat for the rest of his life?”

He seems a little caught off by your question. Face morphing from momentary shock to thoughtfulness, brows pinching together, mouth taut. “If I had to pick just one, I would probably go with ‘The Trooper’ by Iron Maiden,” he says at last.

“They’re the ones who sang ‘For Whom the Bell Tolls,’ right?” you ask.

“No that’s Metallica, but you’re learning, Young Padawan,” he replies, pulling out a fresh paint brush and holding it aloft. “Are you ready to paint?”

It’s easy to work with him in the confines of your apartment. The two of you mingle here and there amongst yourselves, but there’s a comfort in the silence that stretches out between you. It’s not the kind that needs to be full of conversation, because it’s more the feeling in your heart simply having him there.

The gentle brushes of your arms when you both reach to wet your rollers, the accidental splash of pale color you accidentally get on his arm when you do so, the gentle caress of his laugh that tickles the hair along your neck when he says ‘it’s okay.’ It goes on like that for hours, the two of you working in tandem, the sounds of Dean Martin and brush strokes intermingling with Eddie’s commentary, on his praise of how your work is coming out, his guidance on the hardest to reach areas.

You pause only to eat some pizza, kindly brought up by Will, who asks if you two need any help before he heads out for the afternoon. You thank him and offer him a slice to go, but wish him a nice rest of his day to rest and relax. And then you’re alone once more with Eddie, commenting on how this pizza isn’t like your pizza back home.

“Better?” he asks, picking a pepperoni off his slice and dropping it onto his tongue.

“Definitely better,” you hum delightfully.

“Where is ‘back home?’”

It’s your turn to smirk, shrugging. “That’s a long story, and we have work to do, my friend. Now eat up.”

It’s not long before you’re both sitting in the middle of the room, paint brushes laying in little cups, rollers in their tins, your hands supporting your upper bodies as you look up at your work. The room looks perfect. So much brighter than it was before, even despite the slowly setting sun over Hawkins. It’s a beautiful cotton candy confection; oranges, pinks and lavender visible through your window. You stare ahead and Eddie does too, chests heavy from exertion, sweat slicking skin, basking in companionable silence.

You jolt briefly as the pad of a finger brushes along your jaw, settling when you shift and realize it’s only him, staring at you with a look unnamable behind his eyes. “You got a little paint…right here,” he says, answering the question already stewing in your mind before you can even voice the words.

You glance down to where his hand rests against your skin, and then back up to his face, trying to hide the shaky breath that struggles to escape. It’s a short moment, but does little to quell the rapid turn of your insides as they do a flip within you, cut even shorter when a knock at the door sends Eddie jumping to his feet to glance through the peephole.

You suspect it’s someone you know, because he opens the door and greets El on the other side, her small wave and ‘hello’ greeting your ears soon after. “I just wanted to let you know I finished closing up. Money is all counted, and Max helped me set up for tomorrow.”

You climb to your feet, coming to step around Eddie and curl your hand around the door. “Thank you, sweetie. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for helping out today.”

“Anytime!” she says, and you close the door behind her, leaving you alone once more with your dark haired friend.

The two of you clean up in silence, that brief moment of touch long forgotten as he helps you get rid of all the paint supplies and tosses them into a garbage bag. Your furniture and other things will have to stay where they are for now to keep dry, with a promise that he’ll come help you once more.

“Well…it looks amazing,” you say, doing a slow spin about the room as he finishes washing his hands in the kitchen sink, admiring your work. “Thank you again for helping, seriously. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.”

You watch his hand reach around him to fumble with his car keys in his back pocket. “It’s no problem. I should go though; I have to stop somewhere before heading home. Little bit of a drive, you know?”

“Oh—y eah, of course!” Your head nods rapidly, stepping backward a bit so he can move to the door. “Can’t exactly keep you here all night.”

“Goodnight,” he says, palm curling around the door handle.

“Goodnight,” you reply softly, hand coming up in a little wave.

You shut the door with a sigh and trail back over to your closet and lift the record, flipping it back over to the first side. The stylus settles where you want it and the familiar beginning notes of “Everybody Loves Somebody” fills your apartment.

Everybody loves somebody sometime. Everybody falls in love somehow...

You smile as you ready for bed, brushing a finger along the picture resting in a box for safe keeping of your grandfather, placed there lovingly by Eddie. Your fingers press against your lips and rest along his smiling face, voice quiet as you whisper, “I had the best day…”

Chance tells you he’ll be at your apartment by six, but he shows up early in a freshly ironed button up and a pair of slacks, hair perfectly styled on his head.

Chance buys you flowers and sets them in your awaiting arms as you approach that night.

Chance opens the door for you when you walk up to Enzo’s.

Chance compliments you on your features, tells you how good you look, brushes a kiss against your temple.

He stares at you the whole night through the candlelight glow, fingers dancing along yours ever so slightly.

He buys an expensive bottle of wine and makes sure you order whatever you want. You settle on pasta, and he orders a steak. Comments on the fact you didn’t need to be shy and order something cheaper. But you smile and bat your eyelashes, answering his questions as enthusiastically as you can.

It should be perfect. In all reality, it really should be.

It’s just…not fluid.

He talks about his work. About handing out tickets, arrests, the parties he’s broken up where underage kids got a little too rowdy. And you talk about your shop, your workers, your quirky customers. But it all feels very surface level, all very forced.

Stilted.

It’s not even to say he isn’t nice, because he is.

Maybe a little arrogant, what with the way he talks highly of himself and his achievements fresh out of high school only a couple years ago now, but you can write that off as him being excited and overly eager to spend time with you.

He’s just…not for you, and you can tell very early on into the date he’s not.

So as he drives you home and walks you to your apartment door, you press your fingers against the center of his chest when he leans down to kiss you and whispers how beautiful you are near your skin. Because while he’s nice and he’s perfectly fine, there’s no denying the fact he doesn’t rouse those feelings that a friend of yours does.

There’s no spark, no flame, nothing to kindle a connection with.

“Thank you for tonight, Chance,” you whisper, and lean forward to kiss his cheek.

He nods, resolute, and wishes you a goodnight at your door. Tells you he’ll see you around. You trudge up your stairs and slip inside your apartment, readying yourself for bed. You scrub the remainder of your makeup off from the evening, slip out of the dress you had worn to look nice at the fancy restaurant. It spills from your body into a messy puddle on the floor, and you toss it into the nearby hamper as you yawn, making your way across the room to where the lights from the Hideout dance and pulse against your skin. You press your fingers against the glass briefly, longingly, and shut the light on your book pile near your bed, dousing the room in darkness.

“So Eddie plays at this bar with his band from time to time. They used to play at the Hideout, but when Eddie moved out of town, he found this new spot, and instead of their five drunk people that used to be in majority of their crowds, they actually have a little bit of a following now,” Robin explains, leading you into the dark bar behind her. Steve’s there as well, but he’s standing off in the distance with some other guys dressed in dark colors, heads nodding as they talk. “Over there with Steve are…Jeff and Gareth. They’re Eddie’s band mates. And then there’s Kevin—he’s the one up on stage. He’s another. And Eddie…well, Eddie is probably in the back mentally preparing himself or something. He’s very passionate, like, very passionate about his music.”

You nod silently, finding yourself a little overwhelmed in the dark room. Not only is it in an unfamiliar town, but there’s a sea of swirling faces around you, melding together in the dim red lights dangling above. It’s definitely a younger crowd than that of the Hideout, and a lot more upscale. It seems like the kind of place people gravitate to, bodies pushing into yours as you try to force your way through the crowd behind Robin, her hand a vice around yours as she leads you to the bar.

She orders you both a round of tequila shots that you down swiftly, head darting around the area in search of the familiar head of wavy brown hair. He’s still nowhere to be found, however. “I can see if the guys know where he is.”

“I—I can wait,” you rush out, raising your voice above the music. “They’ll be starting soon anyway.”

“I’m sure he’d be happy to see you anyway,” she yells back, earning a glare from a woman standing close to the bar. She places an order for your next round of drinks and helps you back over to where Steve and Eddie’s band mates are.

Steve immediately raises an arm and tugs you into the crook of his elbow. “This is our newest friend,” he says, and tells them your name. Jeff and Gareth nod their heads, looking to you and then to each other, where they pass one another a quick look. It’s so brief you think you’ve mistaken it, and instead hold your hand up in a quick wave. “You’re probably looking for Ed, right? Here, let me show you around.”

Steve Harrington is kind and caring, first and foremost. You don’t know the full nature of his friendship with Eddie, but you know enough that you can tell they’re close. That whatever happened two years ago, from the brief snippets you’ve heard of it brought up in conversation, became a sort of catalyst for what they are to one another now. And because of that, because of the friendship between Eddie and yourself, that kindness and immediate love has been extended to you. You find yourself grateful for it as he leads you down a dark hallway, passing a break room you assume is for the workers of the actual bar, before he raps his knuckles on a room furthest in the back.

Eddie’s there a moment later. Dark hair loose about his shoulders, a lightning bolt earring dangling in one ear, tight jeans fitted to his thighs, Corroded Coffin written across his black tee shirt in white letters. He’s foregone his leather jacket, his bat tattoos, and another tattoo you’ve not seen before on the inside of a scarred bicep flashing before your eyes as he steps backwards into the room. You realize he only goes without when he’s outside of Hawkins, and you only briefly get a chance to wonder why before he’s gesturing for you two to come inside.

“I actually am going to check up on Robin. Make sure she’s not ordering too many drinks for them,” he says, pointing to you. “You know how Robs gets.”

“Oh I know,” Eddie says, but it’s accompanied by a fond chuckle, likely full of memories filled with Robin’s escapades.

You’ve only hung out with her a handful of times and can easily admit she’s a lot of fun. She’s also quite a bit more ambitious in social settings than even you are. You love that about her, though.

Steve leaves the two of you to it, door clicking shut and leaving you alone with the man. He drapes himself over the small couch situated in the far corner of the room, all long limbs over the top of the couch, one foot hooking over his thigh. You catch the barest hint of pale skin and lean muscle as he does so, catching your stare drifting before he says anything about it and focusing in on his eyes instead.

“This place is crazy,” you say, a little breathlessly.

“Definitely beats the Hideout, huh?”

“Definitely,” you agree, flopping down next to him when he pats the couch near his hip.

You were shocked when he brought up the show to you initially. Told you in passing at the bar about the show coming up mid-July, as if you’d talked about the fact Eddie plays in a band prior to that evening.

You want to press him further for not opening up about it sooner, but you suppose you should have picked up on the signs. His random strumming when you sat in the car together and his music played in the background, the tapping of his fingers, the random humming of songs and scribble of lyrics in a notepad when he thought you weren’t looking.

“I’m happy you invited me,” you tell him honestly.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he replies, his fingers spread along the top of the couch tapping your shoulder in a tune unknown. “I’m almost done with your bookshelf, by the way. Got my uncle to help with it, actually.”

“Oh no, don’t tell me that,” you whine, cupping your hand over your face.

“He wanted to help,” he reassures you, pushing at your wrist so he can see you. You shove at him jokingly, his laugh a rumble in your ears. “I’ve been keeping it at his place. Should be done probably by next weekend, if you want me to come to the apartment.”

You nod. “Next weekend is perfect. Maybe I’ll make us dinner. Like a little…celebration. We painted my apartment, replaced that hideous rug, and you built me a bookshelf. That place is actually starting to look like my place.” You pause, immediately rethinking your words, spluttering out, “Only if you want to, of course.”

“Sounds good to me,” he says, staring into your eyes just as a knock sounds from the door. A voice calls Eddie’s name from the other side, vaguely familiar to you, and Eddie shouts back, “Come in!”

Gareth appears with his longer hair flopping about his head, pausing when he catches you sitting on the couch beside his band mate. “Sorry. We just go on in five. Wanted to make sure you were ready.”

You shift away from Eddie on the couch, wiping your hands on your shorts as you stand to your full height. “I’ll let you guys get ready. I’ll see you out there.”

“See you out there,” he says, ignoring the way Gareth’s lip twitches upward when you duck around the boy and slip out of the room.

You wade through the sea of bodies once you’re back in the main area, catching sight of Steve’s floppy head of hair first before you see Robin hopping up and down beside him. They’ve managed to secure a little table and chairs, high enough over most heads that you’ll be able to see the stage. Robin hands you a margarita as you sit down, the drink chilling against your throat as you take your first sip gratefully.

She passes you a knowing grin, murmuring, “Where’d you run along to?”

“Stop instigating,” you huff out, but you giggle all the same, grinning when she pulls you into a hug. “But if you must know, I went to go check up on Eddie.”

Steve turns to look at the two of you then, explaining, “Robs snuck another shot while you were gone.”

“My friend over here has to catch up!” She jostles your shoulders a bit, and you hug her tighter.

“Your friend here has to work tomorrow, hon,” you remind her, running a hand down the back of her head when she pouts. “But I’ll have one more with you, okay? And then it’s off to bed for me.”

“Compromise,” Steve says, nodding enthusiastically.

Robin seems okay with that, plopping down onto the stool beside you as Corroded Coffin comes out onto the stage and gets into position. You briefly scan the band, their outfits all an array of black and white, with Eddie catching your eye the most. Him with his hair back, his band tee on display, ripped jeans tight against his thighs. And when they begin, you can only watch, completely enraptured, by the way his fingers move along his electric guitar. He moves like he was born to move on stage, head moving to and fro as he dives into the music—as if he’s one with it.

“He’s really good, isn’t he?” Robin asks low in your ear, sliding your shot of tequila in front of you.

You quickly swallow it down, following it up with your lime wedge. Your heart rackets against your ribcage as his fingers dash along the strings, movements precise and practiced, like the instrument is another part of his body, blending seamlessly into the rest of him.

“Yeah,” you mutter quietly, sipping the remainder of your margarita to chill your nerves that dance and hum with life beneath your skin, “he is.”

The fact you’re even here now means the world to you. This part of him he’s willingly choosing to share, something so deeply and uniquely his, that only his friends are privy to. It’s not lost on you, the meaningfulness of the evening. Being able to be there for him, in support of him.

You won’t take that for granted…this little glimpse of Eddie that you know has been entrusted to you for safe keeping.

It’s a day like any other. And by that, the girls are once again stirring the pot and trying to get a rise out of you and see what they can say to get information about the happenings of your personal life.

You should expect it by now, you suppose.

“Eddie’s been coming around more and more,” Max points out that afternoon as you and the girls close up shop.

El remains from a safe distance, as always, listening in on the conversation.

“Don’t think I forgot about what you girls did with the whole Fourth of July situation,” you warn them, brandishing your broom like a weapon.

“What do you mean?” El asks, and as much as you want to pretend she’s playing coy, you know he’s genuinely innocent.

“So you two aren’t trying to instigate anything between Eddie and I?” you press, looking in Max’s direction as she whistles to herself, suddenly highly intrigued by a spot on the ceiling.

“I know nothing about that at all,” Max says, holding out the dust pan so you can flick your collected dirt into it. “But if something were to happen, that would be pretty cool.”

You scoff disbelievingly. “There’s nothing going on with us, though. We’re friends; really good friends these days, honestly, but just friends.”

“Are you aware you just said friends three times in that explanation?” She seems way too happy with herself. “Seems excessive if you say you’re just friends.”

But you were.

You are.

There’s never been an indication as to anything that would suggest otherwise. He’s never given you any idea that his feelings are outside the boundaries of platonic friendship. Plus it’s only been five months since you’ve known him, and even less since you’ve been spending time with him.

You chalk it up to the girls wanting to have their fun and play it off once more like it means nothing—like there’s not a hidden part of you that does like Eddie more than you’ve let on, and finish cleaning up the coffee shop.

Eddie arrives as expected with your bookshelf at the ready. It’s beautiful. All dark brown wood with the prettiest natural grain, almost like it’s come from the forest itself. He helps you place your collection in their proper places on the shelves, taking a step back to admire your new set of Tolkien books, lovingly suggested by him. A little influence of his own self injected into your life.

You’ve settled on spaghetti, the smell of fresh sauce filling your apartment as Eddie takes in the place, now a lot different than when he saw it last. You've unpacked more of your kitchen, trying to ensure the place feels more like home. There’s a warmth to it now that you feel it lacked before. That, paired with your citrusy candle burning on the tabletop, and you feel your grandfather would be smiling down from wherever he is now.

You talk about the banalities of life as you finish up the cooking. His work, the building of your bookshelf, the minute updates to your apartment. You tell him about the kids and then business, how it’s prospering more than you could ever imagine. You’re making actual money now; enough where you could earn a decent living in Hawkins, though that part you leave out.

It brings him once more to the question you know he had intended to ask you last time he sat in this same space. His question to you is, “Where was home before here?”

As you told him before, it’s a long and winding tale. It’s like the stories in Middle Earth you’ve been reading about, these constant travelers, unable to settle for long in one place. So you settle for that, the abbreviated version, the simpler tale.

“My family moved a bunch when I was younger,” you explain, shoveling some spaghetti down onto his place and yours. He pours you a glass of wine as you move to sit, eyes not once leaving your face as you continue. “So, I, uh…bounced around a lot. You know, from school to school. It was kind of always that way for as long as I remember. As a kid I hated it. Never really staying in one place meant not really having a solid group of friends or people I could build any sense of community with.”

“I understand that,” he says, twirling the noodles around his fork.

“As I got older, though, I learned there were positives to that arrangement. I could get to know new people, experience new things, try new foods, learn new cultures,” you explain, memories of the various places you’ve lived. Warmer, tropical places; bustling cities; beach side apartments; quiet towns. “I had friends in…many places all of a sudden. I learned to sort of just seize the moment for what it is and make the most of it.”

“So how’d you end up here? In Hawkins out of all places?”

You swallow a bit of your noodles and down some of your wine. “My grandfather always wanted to see me slow down. I loved coming here as a kid, honestly. I have so many memories of this shop, just running in here and smelling his fresh cookies. The coffee. He’d sometimes sneak me some before my parents would let me have it. I’d spend my summers here with him, pretending to work for him, just…watching him. And he had such a, uh, joy for helping people. So when he died and gave me this place, I thought it was only right to uphold his name here.”

He nods, eyes soft as he regards you across the kitchen table. “Do you think you’ll stay?”

“Ah…that’s hard. My whole life I’ve sort of been running, I guess. Leaving before I could get too attached. I want to say I will, I just—”

“Don’t know any differently,” he says, and it sounds like he understands. “Running gets tiring, though. Trust me.”

“It does,” you admit, biting your lip.

You want to stop, you do. There’s just this fear that accompanies it. Of opening up enough to let people in and form a true community. Laying yourself bare to those who can nurture and also hurt you if you let them. But you’re trying. Sitting there, in that moment, with Eddie staring at you like he is, you find that you’re trying.

“If it helps your case in staying,” he says, climbing to his feet to toss his dish in the sink, “I’d be happy…you know, if you did. Steve and Robin would, too. The kids.”

Your heart warms as he says so, moving about your kitchen like he’s been doing so forever. He works in silence, even despite your protests as you tell him you’ll clean up, but he’s not having it. Instead he forces you to go pop on a record. Not ABBA, for the love of God (his words). You settle instead on Mötley Crüe, which he says is only marginally better, but he quiets after that. You can only hear the sound of a sponge against dishes and plates as he works, his arms shifting as he works. You try to keep from looking, but he’s all honed muscle and dark ink swirling across skin.

He goes to turn the sink off and starts to walk your way when the sound of a thump and a skitter of claws and wings meets your ears, loud enough over the music that it makes you jump out of your chair.

But Eddie’s reaction has your blood running cold. The way he lets out a strangled cry and stumbles backward into your counters, dropping down onto his bottom on the floor, hands around his kneecaps.

He’s not breathing.

You can hear the rasp of lungs that won’t fill, of his struggle as he turns in on himself, hand clutching at his chest.

You drop onto the tiles in front of him, gently crawling across the floor so as to not spook him further. He’s gasping like he’s in pain and you reach out to brush your fingers over the bats along the back of his forearm, along the curve of wings, trying to get him to look at you.

“Eddie?” You whisper his name, and his eyes shift just enough to meet yours.

Horror rounds those dark swirls of anguish, full of something you can’t quite see within them. Flashes of memory you’re not privy to. But you know it haunts him all the same, you can tell from what he’s told you, what his friends have, the events that no one speaks of and only alludes to.

“Eddie, it’s me,” you try again, watching his teeth clench. You want to reach up and smooth the tension from there, but instead keep your fingers connected where they lay against his skin. “It was just a bat or an animal or something. Hit the window. Silly little thing. I just washed the windows, sometimes they get confused. I’ve got you, I promise.”

You move even closer, sliding to hands up along his shoulders, up and down his arm until his focus trails to that instead of his shuddering breaths. “You’re having a panic attack,” you say out loud, though you’re sure he already knows that. “Do you want me to leave? I want whatever you want right now, okay?”

“N-no,” he heaves out, his expression fearful as he finally fully looks at you. His hand clasps around yours where it rests against his arm.

He’s pale.

He's so pale.

“Okay, yeah, I’m here,” you reassure him, his hand loosening so your palms can continue sliding up and down his arms slowly. “Try and match your breathing to mine. Slow inhales and exhales. I’m not going anywhere.”

You sit like that for a few minutes. Your legs bent so they can curve around Eddie’s broken form, your hands along his skin, his forehead against his knees as he gets a hold of his bearings.

He matches your breathing, slow inhales for five seconds, and then an exhale for just as long. Over and over again until he’s breathing normally once again, until the tension radiating from his form dissolves into a slower simmer.

You part from him only for a second to grab him some ice water, dropping back down to the floor to press the glass into his awaiting palm. He thanks you through a rasp as he sips eagerly, hands still shaking in doing so.

“Do you need me to do anything? Do you need anything?” you ask him, thumb still stroking his skin even now.

“This is fine,” he says. “Thank you. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“You’re sorry? Eddie, I’m your friend. That means if you need me, I’m there for you,” you remind him, stilling in your movements. “That means the good, bad, and the ugly.”

He gives your hand another squeeze before standing to his feet. He drops a palm in front of your face and pulls you up with him. Your form teeters a bit, but he catches you before you can slam into him.

“I…that hasn’t happened in a while,” he says, still sounding a little regretful. “I just—ah, I’m sorry.”

“No apologies.”

His features soften a bit at your mock scowl. It soothes your heart to hear him laugh. “Thank you again for talking me through it.”

You want to say ‘anytime’ or ‘always,’ but those words don’t seem fitting when it’s clear he’s still struggling. But you don’t get a chance to say anything at all, because he’s brushing the topic aside in favor of pulling out the VHS he brought of Star Wars: A New Hope, and dragging your old electronics from your closet to set them up for your viewing party.

And as the opening theme song plays and Eddie’s face illuminates beside yours in the dark, you can’t help but to question just what happened to him in March of 1986?

July 30, 1988 dawns warm and bright. Today’s adventures involve a night out at the local Fun Fair. A grandiose carnival full of lights, candy, food, rides, and games galore. Everywhere you look there are new sights to see, from the Ferris Wheel at the very rear, to the chair swings that spin high above the rest of the crowd, feet kicking as people laugh and trill from above. You see vendors passing out cotton candy as you go, boys passing their dates oversized stuffed animals after showing off their heroic prowess that normally you’d scoff at, but find yourself grinning over instead. Your heart swells because it just screams summer and you’re surrounded by the people who’ve become so very important to you in almost half a year’s time.

You wear a yellow summer dress, littered with pink flowers that match the neon lights glowing as far as the eye can see. The world is doused in color and life, children giggling as they pass excitedly from where you’re tightly pressing against Eddie as you walk behind Robin and Steve, who are already in search of the Gravitron.

The kids have already run up ahead. Mike and El go to make out in the photo booth—a fact you only know because Dustin practically taunted them into submission for being disgusting—and Lucas and Max to go try their own hand at some games. Will remains at Robin’s side, telling her stories about his studies at high school, while you simply let Eddie lead the way for now.

It’s been two weeks since his panic attack in your kitchen, and he seems more or less his typical self. At least from what you can tell in the months he’s been a constant in your life. He’s happy. Happier now, according to Steve one evening in passing as the four of you play Charades in his backyard over a couple of beers and burgers. It’s not the first time you’ve been told as such, and yet there’s something that sparks to life and cracks like lightning behind your ribs at the idea Eddie is opening up once more.

“Come this way,” Eddie whispers near your ear, stealing you away from the group to lead you down a side strip of the fun fair.

People grumble as you pass, your body colliding with another here and there as Eddie drags you behind him, soft mutters of “sorry” spilling from your lips. You’re bumping against his shoulder when he stops. You laugh out, “Bumper cars, really?”

“Get in,” he chuckles, and you’re practically racing him to clamber inside one. It’s a flurry of tangling limbs as you go about it, hands reaching between hands to try and buckle yourselves in before the hustle and bustle of moving vehicles begins at the sound of a buzzer. Your hands move to the steering wheel, his voice high and tight as he says, “I’m driving, sweetheart.”

“I’ve seen you drive,” you tell him, pushing at his elbows with your own to keep him from moving you away from the wheel. “Plus there are kids here. We don’t want to hurt anyone.”

One of which slams into you both from behind, and just so happens to be a grinning Max and Lucas, looking a little too devious for your liking.

Eddie whips his head around and shouts, “The Party doesn’t attack other Party members.”

“Maybe if you two would stop flirting you’d have seen us coming,” she drawls, and they are driving away, leaving the two of you giggling in her wake.

Lucas yells over his shoulder, “Sorry, Eddie!”

You turn to look at the very disgruntled metalhead with a smirk, elbow digging into his ribs lightly. “You can drive.”

You like to think you don’t have many regrets in your twenty-two years of life. You’ve always been one to try something once, maybe twice. But this? Letting Eddie drive the bumper car, with revenge behind his eyes intent to be dealt to Max, rank up there alongside those few that do make your list. Because he’s a dizzying swirling mess, whipping arms, screeching tires if this thing had wheels. And yet you’re laughing, ribs aching from the burn from the force, as he slams into Lucas and Max over and over and over again until she’s cursing at him from across cars and an attendant reminds you this is a kid friendly ride and that all fighting should be taken off the premises.

Your body bumps his as you split away from the other couple, trying not to linger on Max’s words. Trying to not think about the way they made something like excitement bubble up into hope.

Where you’re standing now, your hands brush every few steps. The gentle thrill of fingers against fingers, the sides of palms kissing, wrists knocking in the spaces between you. But he doesn’t stray from your side, instead pulls you closer when someone bumps into your arm in passing and you wince, nearly arm in arm now.

“Chair swings?” he asks, the blue of the neon lights flashing in his eyes as he looks down at you. He points upward and you can see them in all their splendor dangling from up above. Your head tips back briefly to take them in, a slow swallow sliding down your throat. Sensing your hesitance, you feel his hand lightly brush your arm. “We don’t have to.”

“No—no, I want to.”

It’s how you find yourself in a chair beside Eddie, him looking like he’s ready to take on the world, lighter than you’ve ever seen him before. Whereas you? You’re gripping onto the metal of the chair so hard you’re certain your knuckles strain from the effort, heart hammering away in your chest. Because you wanted to see him happy, you wanted it so badly, but there’s the matter of your own fear welling up. The feeling of being high above the ground, of flying, of soaring like you’re about to be.

Eddie’s hand stretches over the spaces between you and you glance down, brow arching instinctively. He brushes his fingers with yours and waits for you to twine them with his, your fear dissipating knowing he’s there to tether you.

“I’ve got you,” he says, and you trust him. “I promise.”

They’re your words to him in your kitchen.

Your breath hitches, lips spreading into a slow smile.

Maybe you keep your eyes closed the whole ride. Maybe you simply listen to the sounds of others' joy around you. Maybe you pray every second you’re up there for the ride to be over. But as time goes by, with his palm resting warm and solid in your own, you open your eyes and glance out over the crowd. They’re small, they’re so small and you’re infinite—at this moment at least. And to your right, when you blink, Eddie’s there…just as he promises.

Running seems tiring like this, when you’re high above the world, free from it all.

Back on the ground, he leads you to the endless rows of games where the two of you fail miserably over and over again to secure any prize. But you can’t fault his persistence all the same, the way his tongue sticks between his lips as you stand before the ring toss and he loses over and over and over again.

“Eddie, come on…there’s more games this way,” you tell him, tugging at the fabric of his shirt.

You glance over to the attendant, as if he’ll have pity on the poor man’s soul, intent on trying to win just one game. He doesn’t though, and asks for another fee to play again.

All in all, Eddie ends up following you over to play a game of balloon darts, and you find he’s actually much better at this one. So much so he wins you a teddy bear definitely too big for your bed back home, and shoves it into your awaiting arms for safe keeping. Your fingers brush against the plush of its soft head, grinning down at the chocolate brown eyes that mimic Eddie’s.

“Teddy, meet Eddie,” you say, mostly to yourself, but Eddie reaches over to squeeze the arm of the bear all the same. “What do we think about grabbing some funnel cake and going on the Ferris Wheel? I know it’s not my baking, but it's practically a rite of passage for these kinds of things.”

You feel like a teenager all over again with the boy you find yourself giddy around, climbing onto the bench for the ride. With the way he tucks Teddy into the space near his hip to keep the bear in place and shifts you closer so he can reach over to rip parts of the sweet treat from the plate between the two of you. Hawkins grows smaller and smaller beneath you, the fear of the free fall long gone from your mind when he pins you in place with his stare, doughy sweetness flooding your tastebuds. And as you pause at the very top, a bit of powder spills over onto his chin, mingling with the scar that creeps along his skin there.

You lift a thumb hesitantly, explaining what you’re doing before you do so to not spook him. “You got powder…just there,” you explain, brushing your thumb across his chin, then further along the slightest bit of puckered skin.

He releases a shaky breath, but doesn’t pull away from your touch. In fact, he leans into it, as you tentatively slide it along the bottom of his jaw.

“Does it hurt?” you ask quietly.

He shakes his head. “Not anymore. Not now.”

Words hang in the spaces between you. You keep your hand against his skin and glance up to the sky, counting the stars in the sky, counting them like little blessings. Tiny secrets.

Of all the days you’ve spent here so far, this one has to be your favorite.

A reason in your ever growing list of ‘whys’ in your constant questioning of whether or not you wish to stay.

“So,” Robin says, fingers carding through a stack of vinyls. The way she says it immediately signals to you that she’s up to no good, though that’s hardly surprising since she and Steve are some of the biggest instigators you know.

Your white shoes tap against the carpet covered floors, tongues still cherry red from the ices you consumed with your friend before heading to the local music store. You tug at your tank top, trying to let the air filtering from the fan positioned in the corner of the room chill your skin.

It’s a scorcher today, and while most people seem to have gotten the memo to stay inside, you and Robin spent the day thrifting for new fall clothes for you and walking around town.

You’re confident this will be your last stop though before heading back to your apartment to watch a movie with her.

“You and a certain friend of ours seem to be getting pretty cozy lately,” she says, peeking up at you innocently through her lashes.

You flip through a stack, pulling a Blondie record from the bunch to potentially add to your collection. “We’re friends. Friends…hang out.”

“Friends that go on the ferris wheel together and share dessert,” Robin says, raising a brow. You shake your head, snorting lightly before moving to another bin of records.

“I share food with you and Steve all the time,” you point out. “You and the kids are meddling lately.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You chuckle. “Of course you don’t.”

“You have to admit, it would be so cute—”

“Robin!” you warn, smiling wide at her.

“You dingus, you’re smiling because you like him so much. You can’t even fool me—” You rush around the bins between the two of you to clap your hand over her mouth, bursting out into louder girlish laughter as the two of you meet eyes.

“Let’s just get out of here,” you tell her, holding your record close to your chest. “Can’t take you anywhere.”

You both leave the store arm in arm, faces to the sun, world at your fingertips.

Gramps, you think , I’m starting to feel like this could be home, and that both terrifies me and excites me. Wish you were here…

It’s August 17th and Eddie is finally twenty-three. His Uncle Wayne wakes him with a cup of coffee brewed to his liking, and an omelet with all his favorite things. There’s a card on the kitchen table and a cheery balloon with a weight attached to it that sits beside it, Happy Birthday written in sprawling letters.

When he was younger, he’d probably have protested when Wayne reached down to curl a palm around the side of his head and kissed his head of waves, but now he’s only happy he’s still here to spend birthdays with him.

And judging by the smile on Wayne’s face, he feels the same. “You have any plans today, son?” he asks, sliding his Garfield mug before him, swirling a sugar inside.

“Just seeing Steve,” he says.

“Good kid, that one,” his uncle agrees, and it’s how Eddie finds himself walking toward Sunshine Coffee with Steve, wondering why the hell they were there now when the place closes at this time anyway.

The lights are out; he can see the dimness of the room from where they’re standing, but Steve’s telling him to hurry up because they have to meet up with Robin for game night and they’re about to be late.

“I don’t understand why we needed to stop here anyway?” Eddie huffs out, long legs carrying him as swiftly as possible.

“We need to pick up dessert. Your little lady friend baked a whole bunch and said we could come get them when ready,” he replies, tugging Eddie closer by his arm.

He’s about to curse Steve for pulling his arm like he is, but they’re opening the door and a light flickers on and all Eddie can do is stand in the doorway mute for likely the first time in his life as he takes in the scene around him.

The coffee shop has been completely transformed. The tables all moved together to make one giant seating area. Streamers of all colors hang from the ceilings, a banner that says Happy Birthday dangles from the front register counters. Music spills from a loudspeaker further into the room. And all about the room are the people who mean the most to him. From his Corroded Coffin friends, Hopper and Joyce, Jonathan and Nancy, the kids, Robin, his Uncle ( who gives him a knowing smile), Steve to his left…and then there’s you.

Standing with a cake in the middle of the room, his name written out across the white frosting in a bright red, with your makeshift attempt at drawing his guitar on the side.

Everyone’s shouting happy birthday, and when he looks over to Steve, he only gives him a nod and he’s stepping further into the room. It’s overwhelming, the fullness that floods his heart. The way the kids all step forward, wanting a chance to wish him happy birthday, to hug him. His friends do the same, each offering him well wishes and a pat on the back or a tight squeeze. Over and over again until his head spins, because he’s not used to this sort of affection.

Not used to being celebrated—not like this.

His Uncle steps forward as the crowd clears, reaching forward to bring his nephew close to his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me about this, pops?”

“I was held under strict guidance from that young lady over there to keep it a secret,” he explains, throwing a thumb over his shoulder to where you’re standing, head tilted back in laughter as Max and Dustin wave their hands wildly before you, clearly deep in some sort of tale. “You know, you’ve never introduced me to her before.”

“She’s a good friend,” he says, calling your name above the crowd. Your head immediately darts his way, before turning to the kids to excuse yourself. He tries to quell the rapid flutter in his chest as you draw nearer, as your skirt dances about your thighs, as your infectious curl smiles when you approach him. “I wanted to introduce you to someone.”

“Formally, at least,” Wayne says, passing you a little wink. “Seeing as we spoke a couple weeks back.”

You waste no time in reaching forward and hugging the man, shocking both Wayne and Eddie, but Eddie supposes it’s really not that shocking at all. You’ve always been warm. You ooze life and make people feel like they can be open, without any worry as to what you might think of them. It’s one of the things he admires most about you, so he simply smiles as Wayne shares in that embrace with you and pulls back after a while with a giant smile, murmuring something so quietly to you Eddie doesn’t quite catch it.

Your reply is a nod and you settle back at Eddie’s side, glancing up at him through your lashes as you wrap his side in a hug. The first hug you’ve given him. “Happy Birthday, Eddie.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says sincerely, glancing at his Uncle. “Uncle Wayne…this is…” He tells him your name, and then does the reverse, finally introducing the two of you. But it’s as if you’ve known each other for years as the two of you split away from him and talk over the coffee pot, showing him how to work it.

He doesn’t miss the way he misses your warmth soon after it's gone.

Steve appears to his right, arms folded across his chest. “It’s okay to admit you like her, you know? Also, in case you were wondering, it was her idea to do this in the first place. We promised you wouldn’t get mad at her. We thought it was a good idea.”

“I’m not mad,” Eddie promises, and chooses not to acknowledge that first part.

Because he’s not even yet had a chance to process the feeling bursting from beneath his ribcage whenever you’re near. The way his stomach dips, chest tightens, palms start to sweat. He’s never really had many opportunities throughout his teenage years, always too weird, too loud, too much for most girls. Sure, he’s kissed a few here and there, maybe had a make out at the Hideout here and there in a dark corner.

But nothing like this, nothing of this nature. And he especially never expected it happening after the Upside Down.

For so long he’s seen himself as some beast. As some monster that lurks in the shadows.

Now…well, you’re different, he supposes. You draw those parts of him forward. You make him step forward and into the open, pulling him from the shadows he prefers to hide in.

He’s not quite sure what to do about that yet. So for now he slips into conversation with the kids about DnD. He listens to Hopper and Joyce regale him with stories he’s not yet even heard about Robin and Steve. When they later gather around to have cake, he ties his hair back and tugs you to his side so you can sit beside him when you place the cake down before him, candles flickering against the faces of those across from him.

He feels loved.

He feels undeniably and truly loved.

He inhales and wishes for this year to be the best one yet, and exhales hopeful that it will be.

The end of summer finds you sitting in the back of Eddie’s van with Eddie, Steve and Robin. Eddie’s gutted the thing, all his usual things cleaned out for now, and placed a makeshift bed of blankets beneath. Pillows are strewn about the place, creating the perfect outdoor movie watching atmosphere.

Robin and you have been left to your own devices as the guys collect your various drink and snack orders, staring out the mouth of the van up at the twinkling stars in the sky.

You don’t have those back home. The sky is always too congested, always obscured and blocking out their pretty light. Tonight, however, the sky is full with an endless sea of them.

“That one, right there,” Eddie says all of a sudden, popping up beside you on the back of the vehicle, “is Aquila…then look up, up, up— yeah, right there. That’s Cygnus.”

You turn to look at him, and the stars reflect in his eyes. You can hear Robin and Steve talking to your left, sure, but Eddie’s swallowing up all the air in the space.

All the attention.

“Are there any others?” You tip your head back up to the sky, feeling a flutter when Eddie’s fingers curl around your wrist and he unfurls your pointer finger.

“Okay, so a little bit to the right of Aquila is Hercules.” He drags your hand to the right, outlining the square-like shape in the center and the spindly, broken limbs from the four points. “Right to the left of that… is Lyra.”

He drags your finger to the left and points out the other small constellation, his breath dancing along your bare shoulder, making your breath come out in short puffs. His fingers unfurl from around your wrist and you shift a bit on your bottom, further away from Steve and Robin, your bent knee and leg hanging over the edge of the van bracketing Eddie in place.

He’s wearing a Metallica tank top tonight, and those dark jeans he favors, hair loose and wavy in the humid September air. He’s smiling at you, you realize, bright and open in the dimly lit space.

“How do you know so many constellations?” you probe, head tipping to the side.

You watch as his eyes drift back to the sky. With Steve and Robin so caught up in their own conversations and murmuring their need to go to the bathroom before the movie starts, Eddie regales you with a story about his parents. That his father had been in and out of jail his whole life, and that his mother always struggled because of it, seeking comfort in alcohol and other substances. At a young age, she actually ended up dropping him off at his Uncle Wayne’s house here in Hawkins and…never came back for him. It breaks your heart as he tells you. The idea that she could just leave the child she grew and loved within her own body at one time.

He tells you about those beginning years, learning to navigate each other's new spaces. The way his Uncle became a constant, when he’d been so used to people coming and going in and out of his life before that.

“My uncle and I got close. Like…ah, really close,” he admits softly, with the shyness of a young boy, shocking for the twenty-three year old man sitting before you. “That involved learning new things together. So there was a time where we’d sit outside and just look up at the stars with a book and see what we could find.”

“Your Uncle Wayne is really special,” you tell him, your voice soft even on your own ears. “I’m really happy you have him. He was…so wonderful when I met him.”

“Yeah, he’s…” He leans back onto his hands, chest parallel with the sky. From here you can see the soft outline of his face, the line of his nose, his jaw, the bump of his throat, the chains that rest in the hollow. “He’s really important to me. We’ve been through a lot together.”

You swallow thickly, the importance of this moment not lost on you. “Thank you for sharing that with me, Eddie.”

His palm slides across the van floor and you’re about to ask him what he’s doing when those fingertips brush your own. They just rest there, not seeking or holding, simply touching . Simply sharing in the closeness of proximity. You follow the trail of his forearm down to where your fingers lay, index tapping against his thumb, when Robin announces boisterously that the movie is about to begin.

Your group slides further into the mouth of the van. You settle down on Eddie’s right so you’re closest to the wall, hidden away from the rest of the group, your knees close to your chest as you watch the opening scenes spill across the screen, showing two young boys moving into a Santa Carla, California.

The Lost Boys is interesting enough and moves swiftly. The premise of vampires always seemed intriguing anyway, these creatures of the night not bound by the innate human morality code.

And as you get further into the movie and Michael finds himself drawn into David’s motorcycle gang because of his growing interest in Star, you lean over to Eddie and mutter, “You should be a vampire for Halloween. You dress like these guys on a daily basis.”

“Are you making fun of my clothing choices?” he asks, tugging at your forearm so you thump bodily against his shoulder.

“I’m just saying, it would be an easy costume,” you chuckle, just as Michael is offered some sort of wine that you most definitely know isn’t actually wine.

“Would you drink a random chalice like that?” he asks you. The sound of Star telling Michael not to do it greets your ears.

“Absolutely not,” you say, chuckling. “You know that boy is about to become a vampire. Easy.”

“You two!” Steve hisses loudly, making you jump from where you rest beside Eddie. “Stop with the chit-chatting! There’s a movie playing!”

A group of people in cars around you “shhh'' Steve, his hands lifting in exasperation. “I’m trying to get them to shut up and you’re all trying to get me to shut up? Come on, people, be grateful here!”

“Steven,” you raise your head from up where you’re hidden by Eddie, snorting when Eddie shoves your shoulder lightly. “Quiet down, there’s a movie playing!”

“This,” he says, pointing a finger between the two of you, “is a scary thing.”

None of you are able to ask what he means by that, because a worker with a flashlight comes by and gives you a final warning that numerous people have made noise complaints, and one more will result in your request for removal from the premises.

You’re giggling to yourself, shoulder against Eddie’s with your hand over your mouth as they walk away. His face presses near to your ear, his own laughing warm against your skin, as he whispers, “Thank you.”

Your head pops up in confusion, eyes clashing with his. “What for?”

“Just thank you,” he says, and there’s a poignant sincerity there that makes your chest ache with sudden sticky fondness.

You take that moment to shift closer to his side, your back against the side of his chest, his arm coming to drape around your shoulder. He’s warmth and comfort, protection from the chill of the soon to be fall air. And if you lean closer to him as the movie goes on, as Star and Michael explore the intimacies of their relationship in the background, he only pulls you closer, thumb brushing along your skin, gooseflesh jumping to life.

“To keep you warm,” he explains, cheeks growing darker, as he looks down at your cuddled up forms.

“Of course,” you reply, trying to hide your wry smile.

So while spring marked a new beginning, summer brought along with it warmth and the stirrings of something more.

You’re excited to find out what that something more is.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x afab!reader #eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson post s4 #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic

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romanarose · 1 year

Text

If You Wanna Be Wild: Chapter 2

Javier Peña x Latina!sex worker!informant!Reader/OC x Santiago Garcia

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Summary: Javi and Santi talk about where to start with Lorea; Santi thinks on his night with Candy

Content and warnings for whole fic, not chapter by chapter unless something is added: Sex work, drug trade, some drug use/pressured used, sex workers and the mistreatment/stigma surrounding them specifically in the 70’s (my blog is sex worker positive) but ima put potential dub con depending how you look at it as a sex worker who works with dangerous men, some action surrounding reader and the guys and the drug trade, SMUT HEAVY, corruption kink (were corrupting santi here, he’s young, 25), no loss of virginity tho, threesomes, some slight m/m smut but that’s not the focus here, but as you know this blog is an lgbt blog so I’m always open to gay shit. Talk of war and some PTSD but I won't be going a whole lot into it.

Additional warnings: Catholic guilt and religous trauma and religion talk. However, this is not an anti catholic page. We can discuss the problems of the church at large and the guilt that abstence-only and shame based discussions on sex can affect people, but my family is catholic and I have a lot of respect for the individual people, especially Latino-catholics.

For the record, this is a fic that takes place in the drug trade and deals with the darker side of humanity, so anything from Narco's and Triple Frontier is liable to be discussed or mentioned here. This is your warning. This is not a dark fic nor is it centered around dark themes like Leather and Lace or Sunshine Starlight Sweetheart Brightside, but they are open to be talked about.

Reader has a nick name: Candy. Not her real name just what she goes by on her profession. Much of the inspo for this and for the title came from the Bruce Springsteen song “Candy’s room” so check it out for the vibes.

Reader speaks Spanish and had hair. I've decided Candy is just latina coded bc she's a sex worker in colombia so this is what I'm doing.

3.1k words. Proof red by my beloved Fen

Perspective changed per section. When perspective is Santi or Javi, reader is referred to in the 3rd person or by Candy.

************************

You have Santi sat up on the bed, facing you. Well, Diego. That’s what he said his name was, but if he thought you didn’t know who the new DEA agent in town was, he was mistaken. After your 3rd arrest for prostitution, you got a lot more careful, and always tried to keep up with the police in the area. You wondered if he knew Javi.

“Alright Diego, tell me, what exactly is it you’re looking for?” You ask, but he looks confused, so you give a soft, warm sigh. He was one of those ones. “Are you just looking for a quick fuck? Getting to know each other and forming a connection, exploring things?”

Santi considered his options. “Well, maybe I’d like to learn a little bit… only had s-” He swallowed. “sex a few times… you know, lights off, missionary, couple pumps and done…” A nervous chuckle emitted from him, so you tried to ease him with a soft smile.

“Don’t worry, baby boy, we can do that. Let’s start with getting to know a woman’s body, how about that?”

“Garcia, wake the fuck up.” Javi’s voice broke Santi out of his daydreaming, making him snap towards Javi.

“Huh? Sorry.”

“Whatsamatter, pretty boy, got dicked down too hard last night?”

Santi’s eyes went wide at that. “Dicked-?!?! DICKED DOWN? JAVI!” He leaned in to whisper harshly, as if it was important enough to keep quiet but not so bad Santi couldn’t miss an opportunity to clutch his pearls. “Javi, you fucking know I could get arrested for that!”

“I’m joking, pendejo.”

“You shouldn’t joke about that!”

Apparently, Santi looked concerned enough that Javi backed down, raising his hands in defeat. “Tranquilo, tranquilo amigo, lo siento. Yo parare.”

A little shaken, Santi glanced down as he calmed himself. “Gracias, Pena”. He rolled his shoulders and shook his head before clearing his throat. “So. Lorea. What do we got?”

Santiago Garcia had never seen a pussy up close before. There’d been porno magazines, sure… and he’d… touched a bit. He wasn’t an animal, Will had explained he can’t just shove his dick into a woman, that could hurt her. No, you gotta warm her up first, seduce her, open her up. Santi heard more than he ever wanted to of the sordid detail of Will eating pussy. However, when it came to actual sex, Santi barely got through it without a panic attack. There was no way he was going to attempt to go down on a girl under those conditions. Still, he didn’t want to hurt her, so he made sure to finger the 3 girls he’d somehow bumbled his way into bed with.

He needed to do better. Candy was allowing him the chance to explore, get over his nerves.

“But I want you to cum…” He had insisted.

“Well aren’t you a sweet boy… I’ll make sure I cum, how about that? Let me worry about that.”

“But…” he had looked across at her. “But I wanna learn how too.”

She nodded with reassurance. “You will, trust me, I’ll teach you. Just for today, focus on getting comfortable. I’ll let you know what feels good and what doesn’t but what works for me may not work for someone else, so remember that. Most important thing is communicating and listening to her body, so let’s start there.”

That’s how he got here, flat on his chest with Candy’s legs spread out before him. Her pussy was glistening for him.

“Where do I… how do I start?”

Candy sat up just a bit on her elbows. “Start by just getting familiar, explore.”

So he did. Santi started with touching. His index and middle finger swept along her folds, moving and opening her up for his view. She was beautiful. He started with the top, the area just below her pantyline tan skin under a bush of hair followed by her folds coming to a head.

“That’s the clit, that’s very important.” She took his fingers and pulled back the hood. “Touch there” When Santi complied, Candy sank back down on her bed with a hum.

Santi felt a swell of pride at giving her pleasure. “Is that good?”

“Very good, pretty boy. Lot of nerves right there.”

He continued touching below, feeling the way her skin moved to his touch and how his fingers slid across the slick, soft skin below… She looked delicious.

“Can I taste you?”

“Where do we even start with something like this?” Santi groaned, flopping his head back.

Javi couldn't help but roll his eyes at that. “Don’t be such a child, Garcia. You take this shit one step at a time, just like anything else. Let’s start with what we know.”

The handsome younger man sighed. “Fine.” He pulled out the casefiles and Javi noticed how much calmer he’d seemed, less high strung… still high strung but that was just Santiago, Javi came to realize. “Gabriel Martin Lorea, coke dealer, devout catholic and family man… none of which stops him from hiring hookers.”

Javi chuckles. “Few things do.”

“Well, marriage should, especially when you have children.” Santi glared at him.

His naivete, something Javi had been dreading with a younger partner, ended up endearing Santi to him. “Right, right of course.” He smiled and shook his head before lighting up a cigarette.

“Do you really have to do that indoors?”

“So sue me. I’m the one smoking, it’s not like it can hurt you.”

“I don’t know, I heard of a study that secondhand smoke can-”

Javi blew a puff of smoke in Santi’s face. “That’s just anti-smoking propaganda pushed by doctors to sell more nicotine patches.”

Santi had dived right in. Once he had permission to taste, he very tentatively licked a strip up her folds and to the clit… and was suddenly a starved man, insatiable, desperate to devour her and drown in her juices.. She liked when he touched her clit so he was sure to latch his mouth over the hood. As he sucked, Candy instructed him to finger her and he was happy to oblige. This, he could handle at least.

“Good boy…” Candy cooed at him. “Such a good boy for me, so obedient.”

“Wanna be good.” He mumbled into your core as he lapped at her, hips rutting against the bed. “Wanna do good.”

When her fingers found his hair, tangling up in his curls and tugging just a bit, he couldn’t help but whine into her, toes curling in his socks.

“You’re doing so good, baby boy, so good, but I’m gonna need you to stop.”

Stop? He didn’t wanna stop. Santi wanted to die here with her… Was it time? How much time did he pay for- ait, he hadn’t even paid her yet. What was her going rate? He didn’t fucking care right now, right now he’d pay her his life savings, his military pension, his first born, whatever she wanted if he could cum.

“Whyyyyy?!” He simply went back to eating her out, taking every moment he had.

“Because,” Candy pulled at his curls, forcing him to look up and crawl back up her golden body. “Because you are about to cum, and I still wanna ride you.”

He could feel his eyes go wide at that. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what that meant… but for someone who had only ever done missionary, the whole concept seemed so… dirty. Santi chuckled nervously, tucking his head into the crook of her neck. “I’ll be honest, Candy, I’m not sure how much longer I’m gonna last as it is.”

He felt her chuckle. “Let’s slow down for a moment, then. I want you to undress.”

His breath hitched, but he made the move to undo his pants until she stopped him.

“Uh-uh, Diego. Stand up. Let me watch you undress.”

Undress like… standing? By himself? All out there and naked? “Um… can’t I do it here?”

“You can.” She confirmed with a kind smile. “But I’d really like to watch you strip for me.”

How could he resist that? Tentative, slow and careful, Santi stood up and Candy sat on the edge of the bed, bottoms off but still clothed top. “Are you gonna take that off?” It was half a joke, half a genuine question.

Candy nodded. “I will, just trust me.”

And he did, with everything in him.

So he took off his shirt.

“Okay. Catholic. Do we know what church he goes to?”

Javi raised an eyebrow? “You think a drug lord is going to daily mass?”

“No, but if he’s devout I assume he’s got a family that goes. Wife and children maybe, but definitely a mother. I don’t know one woman over 50 who doesn’t belong to a perish, especially a hispaña woman.”

“You find a lot of company con mujeres mayor, amigo?”

“Shut up. I say we start there. If we can find out about his family's church, we can probably find out a little more.”

Apprehensive as always, Javi crossed his legs, doubtful. “I don’t know, what can we possibly find out?”

Santi shrugged. “Not sure, but churches have a lot of records when it comes to members and if he has a family that is active we might find out something useful.”

“Is this really the best use of our time?”

Javi raised a good point, this might be a dead end, and they would have wasted all that time. “Just give me a picture of all known families and I’ll keep an eye out.”

Now that caught Javi’s attention, cocking an eyebrow at him. “You go to church, Garcia?”

A faint blush crept up Santi’s neck. His mother was very religious, that religion instilled into him and his sister. His sister couldn’t care less anymore, but then again she had never cared much about their mother’s harsh opinions and strict standards… Santi did. And so, even now with her passing, Santi attended mass often. Not a part of a regular perish, he just attended where he could and when his schedule allowed. The old women there did love him, but Santi knew Javi would never let that go. “Tengo muchas tías y primos en la zona. Si no muestro mi cara en la iglesia a veces, se lo dirán a mi madre y nunca escucharé el final.”

Javi didn’t need to know his mom was dead.

Santi nervously slides down his trousers and underwear, revealing the last bit of himself to Candy. Except for his tube socks. He wasn't sure what to do about those.

“Can I… move now?” He asked, a tremble in his soft voice.

She cocked her head to the side. “Does it make you nervous? To be seen like this.”

“To be seen like what?”

Candy stood up. “Naked, vulnerable, in full lighting…” She walked over towards him and placed her hands on her chest. “To let someone be able to see every part, every dip…” She felt over the ripples of his stomach muscles. “Every.” Lower. “Single.” Lower. “Inch.” Grabbing onto his hardened cock and began stroking it.

Santi let out a shuttered gasp at the touch of her hand. With her other one she lifted it to his mouth. “Lick, pretty boy.”

He was happy to oblige, not needing to know why. He didn’t need to ask questions with her, he could simply shut off his mind and let Candy guide him… mother knows best. Santi lapped at her palm, keening into it as the wetness smeared on his face.

“Such a good puppy”

The whine that emitted from him was out of him control; he liked the praise, he liked the nickname. He liked it a lot. He had been taught his whole life that sex was for procreation, a dirty thing to be done in shame and in quiet but here she was, proudly jerking him off with the now-wet hand… His mom would have said she was consumed by lust, that the devil had taken her, but Santo saw nothing but kindness in her eyes. Yes, he was paying her, he was well aware of that fact but she did genuinely seem to want to help him, to let him explore, to allow him to care for this basic human instinct… Was this dirty? Was this wrong? He wasn’t sure he cared anymore.

“Doing so good baby boy, are you close?”

He was seconds away from coming. “S-so close.” He had his head thrown back, letting her take the lead on his pleasure.

With that, she wrapped her hand around the base of his cock, stifling his impending orgasm.

“Mierde!” Santiago grunted, body jolting a bit in the physical frustration.

“Relaje, guapo. Trust me, okay? Can you do that?”

He groaned, but complied. Santi trusted her with everything. Right now, he’d follow her into the dark.

“Alright, so Pope Santiago will case the churches in his free time. Where does that leave us during the time we actually get paid for?” Javi thought the nickname was fitting for the apparently religious boy.

“I think we need to learn more about his free time.” Javi put out his cigarette. “How about we talk to some girls, see if they know anything?”

Santi narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Girls?”

“Hookers, Pope, hookers.”

“Oh.”

Javi noticed how he suddenly became so nervous. The boy needed to get laid. The new information of Santi being at least semi-religious was a whole new insight on his psyche. He already seemed to be a bit of a mama’s boy, a goody-two-shoes with a shiny military career and a good heart, but this was a little different. Javier’s family was catholic, as most families were. He had been baptized, first communion, confirmed, the whole jazz but as soon as he’d got annoying enough, his mom stopped bushing the issue. Santi, however, was still practicing.

“I’ll handle that part, Garcia. Don’t worry, I won't drag the Pope into a whore house.”

Javi had no doubt Santi could hold his own in most scenarios. Hell, he’d seen it. In line of fire, interviews, everything Santi could handle. But take him into a room full of prostitutes? Well, they’d eat him alive.

“Are you ready for me, pretty boy?” You had him right where you wanted him, right where you liked pretty boys like him that you got to corrupt in moments like this… Santiago was special though, you could tell. He was innocent, but he was far from the most innocent. You’d taken plenty of virginities before, so many you’d lost track of it all, but the way Santiago looked at you right now as he was sat up against the padded headboard of your bed slowly stroking him as your legs straddled his. Santiago looked at you with reverence, adoration, like he was fully submitted below you… as if you had the power, even though it was in his hands as the customer. Yeah, he was a special one.

A good, young DEA agent, straightline former military, special Ops and he came to you to show him how to pleasure a woman; not just to have sex, not just to get off, but to learn how to heighten the pleasure of all parties… A church going boy too.

“Do I need to beg? Because I’ll fucking beg.” His hands were gripped at the sheets, lightning at the knuckles.

“Oh sweet boy, I won’t make you beg, I’m just checking in.” You sit up, rubbing the tip of his cock along your folds. Pulling down the foreskin, you begin to sink down on him, watching his eyes widen as your warmth enveloped him. He filled you right up. Every. Single. Inch.

“Breath baby, breath.” You urge him as you see his lips pressed tight together.

He did as he was told, releasing a breath.

“Good job. Now keep breathing, I’m going to finish undressing.” His cock was stuffed into you, and your bottom remained still as your top moved, stipping off your shirt and bra in one.

It was merely a whisper. “Beautiful…” His eyes were nearly glazed over in lust when you began your work.

Up, down, up, down… you moved on him with your hands on his chest for balance… he seemed almost in shock as he looked in your eyes, only staying momentarily to look at your breasts before quickly looking back at your face as if it was impolite.

“It’s okay to look, Diego. You won’t offend me. You can find me sexy, do you think I’m sexy, Diego?”

“So pretty…” It was gasped out and you could tell he was almost there again.

You began to bounce on him with more vigor and the “You can touch me too”

“I’m… I’m a little scared too…”

Running your fingers through his curls, you ruffle it, enjoying the look of the pristine young man coming undone for you. You take the initiative for him. Hand in hand, you guide him to your breasts, encouraging Santiago to grope and squeeze as he liked and you reveal in the feeling of feeling of his excited pawing. He was enraptured in you, you and him were the only thing that matter right now, and you knew it. You stretched around him, and you knew it had to be one hell of sight.

“Watch” Pulling him by his curls you guide him to look down where you and him connected, letting him watch the watch your cunt moved to accommodate him, making room to be filled over and over again. “See how my body let’s you in? I was made for you, pretty boy. I was made to take you inside me.”

The thick stretch was bringing you closer, and you knew he was only holding on by a thread himself, so you began to touch yourself. “Focus on that feeling, Diego. The feeling of us together. Can you feel it? I sure can.”

“I- I can, yes.” He was panting now, his bare tanned chest heaving with every bounce of you tits in his hands.

“Yes what?” But he looked up at you in confusion, a desperation on his face to be good, do good, do this all right. “Yes ma’am”

“Yes ma- ma’ammmm” With that, Santiago’s hits thrust upward into you, his eyes drilled shut and mouth tightly closed in his attempt to muffle his own release.

You did no such thing. As he filled you up, you spilled over yourself and felt the gushing release of your cunt soaking his cock, you yelled out for him, letting him know how good he made you feel. Relaxing onto his chest, Santiago wraps his arms around you like an affection-starved child, and you get a little hint into what you think this was all about.

He needed praise. He needed fondness. He needed skin to skin contact like nothing else right now. He needed to be a good person and do it all right and know he was doing it right.

Santiago needed to be loved.

*****************

IM BACK

Sorry i know it was a wait lmfao. I posted like 3 chapters of the wrong way sequel before this one lolololol OOPS

But i promise I got a fun plan for this fic! I hope you all enjoy.

Remember, reblogs are the only real way to spread work! Please consider relogging to support this writing.

Comments mean the world to me!

Asks are always open to discuss this fic or my others, but also for non fandom too! Talk to me about anything you're excited about! I wanna get to know you all.

Also, as a note im trying my best for historic acuracy but I know narcos goes from like 70's onward but this stays in the 70's. Pretend Pablo Escabar isn't an issue anymore lmfao.

@runa-falls @lunar-ghoulie @campingwiththecharmings @whatthefishh @itspdameronthings @persephone-girl @criticalarchitecture @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @beelzebeth87 @pimosworld @millerscoffee @heareball @thatwonderouswoman @poolbool @meveispunk @lovable-liar @millllenniawrites @read-and-wip @missdictatorme @the-fox-den @milkymoon2483 @k-ra @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @rosellacwrites @legendary-pink-dot @dreamingofbucky @axshadows @englandsgray @starsthatwatch @laiisleitte @fairlyang @alwaysmicado @theywhowriteandknowthings @casa-boiardi @lostfleurs @ninebluehearts @puglover12

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satubby · 1 year

Note

Hello again! How are you? I hope you are well, I love your Male Makima x reader Headcanons, if it is not too much to ask, I will give you this other request. Could you do Headcanons and Scenario on Male Makima when the reader (both are already in a loving relationship) is popular for her beauty and many guys flirt with her? I hope it's not too much to ask or the order is weird. I hope you can meet my request and I'm your fan!

[Hi, of course, thanks for being consistent and I hope you liked last time. I hope you like this too, I'm still thinking about the full NSFW scenario but I'll leave you a small one here. Cheers!!! 🤗 (＾ω＾) Sorry for the late reply and have a nice day]

[I take this opportunity to thank the 100 followers, I hope you like my junk writing. I'm still working on Powa (Male Power) headconons, thanks!!!]

[Warning: Mentions of violence, sexual and labor abuse, abuse of power, Spanking, derogatory names, NSFW, hard penetration].

The lively atmosphere in the karaoke box bar filling every wall of the place, you've been here for a while and everyone has had a few too many drinks accompanied by snacks and fried chicken. It was your birthday and honestly you didn't want to make such a fuss for a day like this, there would be a chance of a demon ruining it anyway.

The three demonic men in the room don't count or so you tell yourself. Honestly, you didn't want to invite Makime, something about him often gives off a bad vibe and more so when you meet him after all, you're not really of this world.

"Thank you all for being with me on this day, even if it was a small party, I give you my sincere thanks. Let's drink till dawn!!!" You smiled clinking glasses with everyone in the room. Makime as usual just stood on the sidelines, ignoring the noise of the Karaoke.

As you drank another glass of juice, as you were not good with alcohol, you felt a body bigger than yours, approaching and sitting next to you. Immediately, you identified who it was, his unmistakable smell of alcohol and cigarettes told you the identity of the individual: Himeno.

Said man was quite drunk at this point, being a heavy user and addicted to this type of vices because of his traumas, it was understandable to you. Himeno had smoked his sixth cigarette of the night, if you were honest you felt somewhat sorry for him knowing his history, this male version of Miss Himeno was more carefree, but when he got serious he was usually pessimistic and sarcastic.

"Ah! You look a little tense. Come on!!! This is your party, there's nothing better than drinking and forgetting everything - UGH! My head!" he spoke in a clearly slurred voice, honestly this made you laugh.

"Thank you for your concern Himeno-san, but I'm just a little uncomfortable… You don't need to worry" Said man made a reproachful noise and answered you, placing his arm behind you, pulling you too close to his chest.

"Hahaha what a little thing you are! … You know you should relax, we're not working and a little drink won't kill anyone, hehe… You look pretty like that, you know that? How I wish I could kiss you-" The black hair was getting closer and closer, almost as close as your lips. You couldn't move a muscle, and Himeno was getting closer to your face with every word that came out of his mouth. If you were honest, you could feel two pairs of demonic eyes watching: Makime, it was him for sure.

You knew it when you tried to push the man with the patch away, but because he is stronger than you, it was impossible. Makime was drinking his beer confidently and although he seemed calm, you could already feel his jealousy burning or maybe he was amused by the situation.

Fortunately or unfortunately, Powa, also drunk and out of control, interrupted them.

"You rascal! She's mine, big Powa deserves his first kiss tonight… MUAJAJA!" you had to cover your ears when he started yelling. Sometimes he was too loud for his own good, you could almost smell the fried chicken on his clothes and adding the alcohol on both men almost made you dizzy.

"Tsk! What a killjoy you are kid, it was just a little kiss… Besides, you're just as drunk as me hehe…!" Himeno laughed between sighs and took another swig of his bottle. And yes, he literally drank from the bottle Makime had brought and oddly enough that only made them all drunker.

You didn't really think much of it, but now you realized it in a way. Makime once again had something on his hands and you were going to be his victim but the others interfered with his plans.

A bang distracted you, it was like glass colliding with an object. Powa was so drunk that his childish temper only aggravated his demonic and aggressive tendencies, he could barely stand up straight when he smashed the vodka bottle on Himeno's skull.

"SHUUUT UUOP YOU RASCAL! This bottle is mine and so is it (Y/N). I... POWA AM THE KING OF THE PARTY HAHAHA!!!" You ran to the other side of the huge Karaoke room, you were startled when Himeno was there, lying on the floor, also laughing without caring about the blood coming out of his head.

"Powa! What have you done?" you looked at him even though at this point the aforementioned was already gone in his drunken fanfare.

Aki had to come over to calm the pink hair, who was protesting, refusing to move away from the broken bottle that even his hands were holding nailing pieces of it. "HAHAHA DRINK MORE!!! Tch! Let me go you rascal" Powa fought against his partner, poor Aki barely dodged his scratches. In the end, the rowdy little devil ended up slipping because of how drunk he was, falling asleep on the floor.

"Himeno-san, we need to heal your wounds" You tried to help him sit up properly, as he had fallen off the couch. The black hair refused throwing a small drunken tantrum.

"No, I'm fine… JEJE this doesn't compare to my days in public safety, calm down girl" Hiccuping, he collapsed too, blood was flowing worryingly, so you turned to Aki.

"Can you please take him to the hospital? Or something, FUCK! … I'm sorry to ask you this Aki" You rubbed your temples as he smiled slightly.

"The hospital is far away and it's already night, I'd better look for a pharmacy. I'll be right back and don't worry, it's your birthday, I'm sorry Himeno-san again got out of control as well as Powa" With those words and a hug from the boy, he stood up and left the room.

You sighed as you sat next to a sleeping Himeno, his head accidentally falling on your shoulder. You felt uncomfortable but a blush fell on your cheeks as the man himself began to drool in his sleep.

Returning to Makime, he was not very happy to say the least. He waited and watched, as usual just to analyze things. He would have left you alone knowing that expensive wine was laced with aphrodisiacs. Lately you have been avoiding him as if his mere presence was poison, and maybe it was, but it irritated Makime.

That's why he waited for you to drink, it was wrong, but since your mugging at the office a few weeks ago, he was smitten and although he didn't deny or accept his strange feelings for you; as a demon he felt possessive as soon as he sensed something beyond the emptiness in his empty sentimental heart. But this went to hell when the drunken Himeno drank the bottle that was to be for you first.

The Devil Control watched as you took Himeno to the bathroom, as he had thrown up on Denji's shirt at the last minute when he approached you to chat and offer you more chicken. You had offered to exchange your shirt for the orange-haired one, who took off his shirt without bothering to be exposed. Anyway, the others were drunk, except for Aki, Makime and you. Denji on the other hand was half a step away from getting completely drunk.

Therefore, Makime gulped down the last of his beer, standing up and coming towards you, taking advantage of the fact that you were distracted by carrying Himeno in the direction of the bathroom for him to throw up all over himself.

"I see you're in trouble (Y/N), I should help you with this. Himeno is too heavy for your small body" You honestly didn't want his help and you didn't know whether to take that as an insult or something else. But yes, Himeno was heavy for you so you let the redhead help you.

If Makime was honest with himself, he was already feeling the ravages of jealousy in the back of his mind and it turned his stomach. But he decided to be patient with you, he still won't confront you about it.

They both arrived at the men's room carrying Himeno.

"Makime-san, can you help him into the bathroom? I can't for obvious reasons" You said between uncomfortable glances. He didn't answer you anything, but still carried the black hair to the baths. Makime took a few minutes and you could hear the man with the patch vomiting.

You decide to check your old phone while waiting for them. Ah! you really missed the touch screen phones and not these old ones with keyboards.

Makime came out of the bathroom and seeing you distracted, he smiled and suddenly came up behind you, locked you in an awkward grip with you leaning against the wall and the red-haired man locking you in.

If it was indeed what you thought … Makime was doing the Kebedon to you and you would feel this as a compliment, if it was another person and another situation. But no, we're talking about the control demon, a deranged madman who doesn't feel anything or at least that's how you knew him until he started with these little games of catch and run.

"Amm… Do you need something Makime-san? It's… It's quite uncomfortable for you to lock me up like this, hehe." You laugh hoping to ease your nerves and instinctively hide your face behind that insignificant little phone of yours, as if that thing will protect you from Makime's serene and deathly jealous gaze.

Her eyes with rings in them scanned you. Then, a chuckle was heard in the background and Makime walked away ruffling her tresses. It was unsettling and uncomfortable, more so because of the secluded silence of the bathrooms compared to the soundproofed Karaoke rooms.

"Ahh! You really are something… Tell me something, doll, why do you keep testing me huh?" His smile although serene, had a tinge of anger and jealousy which you were not able to decipher because normally your boss is calm no matter how fake the facade is.

"Well… I don't understand what you mean superior" This time you didn't use his name or honorifics, you were more serious. If you were honest you wanted to swallow these growing nerves in your stomach, to appear that you were not at all at his mercy even though the situation and poses contradicted these thoughts of yours.

As if this was even funnier, he laughed and reminded you of that scene in the manga where Denji gives himself to Makima as one of her dogs. Which is ironic because she and he are the same in a way. Same essence, different sexes.

The controlling demon inside him struggled with his pride and growing, but confused feelings for you. Boy was it a cruel prank by cupid or whoever did this, dammit! If you knew how you made him feel, you'd stop fooling around with those bastards you call friends.

"Haaa! Are you that dumb or do you make yourself? Look at me, aren't you aware of the effect you have on my perfect self? For some reason that I refuse to accept as interesting as it is, you move things around inside my empty self."

There was a dangerous edge between the lines, an unleashed desire waiting to be accepted. Makime had always been a master in his perfection and control of everything, even among his own lacking emotions, but at this moment he doubted himself. These months that you have stood out in his eyes like a scared rabbit, running away from him, for some reason made his already perfect composure falter.

Again his gaze fixed on yours. I was looking for those answers in you… Why, of all humans and demons, was he interested in a pathetic being like you? For fuck's sake! He didn't know and yet you managed to have that effect on him… What did humans call that? That's right! Love.

"You really confuse me (Y/N), you make me doubt myself. Are you blind to the fire that burns in me, the hunger that grows every time I look at you? There is always a clash with my emotions and my rationality" He whispered softly almost growling. Both of you close to each other and Makime had unconsciously pulled you back, but you couldn't help it. You also had no words with which to counterattack.

"Every fucking night, every day and hour in this fucking existence called life… My mind goes out to you, for reasons I cannot control" His voice carried a hint of frustration, god knows if it was to himself or to you, though at the end of his words there was that yearning touch.

"Superior… I- I didn't know it put you like this, forgive me if this has caused you trouble" His hand silenced your words, giving way to you, invading your intimacy,. He reached out both palms caressing your face and you swear his gaze ceases to focus as his eyes are clouded. His touch on your cheeks, skin to skin, sends shivers down your spine and strangely is not as unpleasant as you might think.

In a quieter, softer voice, you hear him respond to your words. "I am divided. Torn between the darkness that my being represents and the light that emanates from you, even if it is gray or dull, it still draws me like a moth in a flame" Again you heard the longing in his tone of voice, full of torment and a kind of pain.

"Tell me, do you long for this too, or do you even understand it? The attraction to the forbidden, that which must not be touched or possessed, but I want to do it… Is it just my delusions in a maddening dance called love?" Makime fixed his eyes on your lips and ran his right thumb over them. You were so caught up in the shock of seeing him act so out of character that you didn't even care about this.

You were weak, foolish and pathetic in his eyes, but somehow he craves that warm touch of softness. You don't show him that you fear him so openly and you don't give in to disobeying him either, his control for the first time doesn't work on someone: You.

"Makime-san, I" Your words were caught in your throat as Makime crashed his lips to yours, desperately and obsessively. It was as if he was trying to mark you as his, to make it clear that he wouldn't let anyone else have you. It didn't matter if that went against the feelings you both felt at the moment.

The kiss was wild and charged with forbidden passion. You could feel his voracious hunger and his need to possess you, you awakened his darker and more bestial side, you knew that being in this state he was capable of more than just a game of cat and mouse.

As the kiss continued, you were torn between excitement and fear. On the one hand, you were attracted to the intensity of his emotions or the way he wanted you. On the other hand, you knew that being close to him was dangerous and that his perseverance in his goals could trigger terrifying consequences.

Makime slowly parted, leaving a trail of heaving breath between you. His eyes were filled with a mixture of lust and madness, you could see the internal struggle in his expression.

"What are we in the midst of this chaos?" whispered Makime, his voice laden with possession and despair. "I can't resist how I feel about you, even if it's my own contradiction. But I understand if it scares or disgusts you… You know puppy though, I don't care."

As you struggled to catch your breath, you faced a difficult choice. Makime was dangerous and ruthless, but he had also awakened something in you that you couldn't ignore, your love frustrations of a virgin girl.

You knew you couldn't turn your back on his behaviors. But carnal desire blinded you by making you love him and you were scared of what that meant.

You put your hands on his chest trying to separate and lengthen the distance between the two of you, after all he had already kissed you, though your voice sounded shaky but firm. "Makime, this can't go on like this," you said, trying to set boundaries. "I understand your feelings, but I can't let this consume me. I need you to respect me and understand my concerns."

Makime looked at you with a mixture of surprise and frustration. He didn't like you rejecting him, but his playful side took this as a challenge that he gladly accepted. Little by little he took control, even when you tried to push him away. You had long since forgotten that you were in the hallway next to the bathrooms, you hoped this would end soon, you didn't want to give in or be embarrassed.

"I see you still don't get it, there's no choice here, come on there's no denying it… I want you so bad!!!" Again he grabbed you kissing your neck and starting to suck it. "Fuck! If it wasn't because that bastard Himeno drank the wine I brought for you, you'd be just as horny if not hornier than me" He whispered between sighs and then licked your left ear lobe.

You couldn't help but moan in response, his warm tongue sliding down your neck and your earlobe making your whole body shiver. You had to admit, he was doing it very well and your body was starting to respond.

"If I had known that bastard would drink the wine for you, I would have put aphrodisiacs in your juice… Hum! But it doesn't matter" he replied arrogantly. "Fuck, look what you provoked, I can't believe he actually did it… Drinking your gift, pathetic."

His hand moved down, reaching for your ass, while his mouth nibbled and licked the tender skin of your neck. Then, without warning, he caught you off guard again and rammed you by grabbing your thighs in the direction of an empty Karaoke booth. After all, he had already planned this.

"Hey, put me down," you protested, trying to stop him, but his strength and will were too strong, so he easily carried you away.

"What are you doing? I thought you said you understood and respected me?" you growled in protest.

"Yes, but not everything can be taken into account in a situation like this," Makime replied as he closed the door to the small cabin.

"Did you really think I was going to accede to your pathetic requests after your little games? Ahh you really are a thing, my sweet silly doll."

You felt trapped and frightened by Makime's attitude. You didn't like how he was treating you and wondered how you had gotten into this situation. You tried to break free, but his hands were still holding you tightly.

"I don't want to do this, Makime. Please let me go," you pleaded, trying to hold back tears.

But Makime didn't seem to hear you. She approached you with a lustful look in her eyes and began to rip your blouse. You felt vulnerable and exposed, not knowing what to do.

At that moment, when you both saw the shadow of someone you felt emotions running to extreme edges. On the one hand, Makime felt excited at the thought of those sons of bitches you call friends seeing you in this intimate position and on the other hand…. You just wanted the earth to swallow you up. Apparently Denji had been looking for you, since you had disappeared, but a still drunk Himeno told him to forget it, so they left, leaving your heart more nervous than relieved.

Makime smiled when he felt you tense up, laughing at the situation.

"What's the matter, my little puppy?…. I know, you feel self-conscious because we are here in a public place right?", Makime teased.

You felt humiliated by his attitude and backed away from him, trying to cover yourself with what little was left of your blouse. You couldn't believe that you had fallen for his tricks and had allowed him to lead you into such a dangerous situation.

"You should shut up and play along, after all, we are still in sight no matter how dark the cabin is," Makime continued to mock you as he pulled you back into the small armchair in this cabin which is considerably smaller than the previous one where the others were getting drunk.

But you had had enough, so you struggled even though this only made the demon laugh and he bit one of your hands stopping your struggle, you looked at him indignant and blushing.

"I'm not going to play along, Makime. I already told you I don't want to do this," you told him firmly.

Makime seemed annoyed by your reaction, but finally stopped laughing. Then he turned you completely around because before you were on his back touching his chest and feeling the bulge between your buttocks.

Then the redhead threw you down on the couch pinning you down, he started to take off your clothes while talking to you with a tone of irritation and jealousy.

"I know you love it, that's why you were going from bed to bed, surely Denji or that idiot Powa buried his dick in you".

Makime looked at you with a smirk, her fingers rubbing your clit as her fingers slowly sank into your wet entrance.

"Ahh-! You're wrong," you groaned. "I-I was never with anyone, sleeping or waking up with them meant nothing- NHHH!!!" You almost arched your back as he buried his fingers closer and so far into your sensitive G-spot. It was fucking painful.

"Oh, are you sure, because from what I can see you want lots of men to fuck you and turn you into their little slut. Even with the fact that you don't look like a girl who likes to fuck a lot" Makime commented. in a sly voice "Fuck! You're so fucking wet and tight, ahhh this is a good thing for me, your pussy is going to be perfect."

"Makime-san, it's not what you think! Please let me go. It's supposed to be my birthday" You screamed as he pulled out his fingers and squeezed your clit with them. Then he lifted your legs and ripped off your clothes completely, like a dessert to be tasted in his eyes.

"Oh, of course it's your birthday, my sweet bitch…. I'll use my cock to poke that little pussy of yours, it will be my second present tonight just to remind you who you belong to" You started to cry as he swallowed your juices and licked your pussy like candy. You felt depraved, disgusted but lust clouded your judgment. After all, you were human.

You tried to move, but your body no longer obeyed you. Makime had enchanted you with his control and for the first time carnal desires blinded you both.

"Fuck! I'm going to make you mine, (T/N)…. You have no idea what you are doing to me" You heard his voice, full of lust and malice, it was as if he was talking to himself, as his mouth continued to devour you, he pulled his fingers out of your pussy and grabbed his cock, which moments before he had pulled out of his pants.

At this point you stop caring about the leather sticking to your skin making it uncomfortable or the strange angle of your neck with Makime's movements.

"That's it… Spread my legs, my little whore" you heard him say as you felt his cock thrusting into your entrance, you knew it was quite plentiful from the many times he pressed against you playing those games of his. It was big and thick, even though it was only a few inches, it scared you and more so when you and this body were virgins.

"Makime! Please…Stop," you moaned, feeling the pressure of his cock in your pussy grinding against you.

"Oh! My love, I can't do that…. Not until you beg for my cock" The next thing you knew you felt him enter you and a mixture of pain and pleasure hit you, you gasped for air as he went deeper and deeper.

"Ahh, you're so fucking tight!"

"Stop, stop, it hurts!" you moaned, closing your eyes, feeling the discomfort.

"What the fuck are you doing? Stop moving around like it's going to kill you to have me inside you…. OH GOD, are you trying to make me cum before I get my entire cock inside you?" You inadvertently squeezed your legs and loins together, this caused a grunt to come out of him as you felt his cock against your walls.

"It's so big I don't know if I can handle it" you replied, between sobs. Makime then moved on to kiss you again, you couldn't help it, his kisses were addictive and his tongue was as powerful as he was.

"I already told you, you are mine. If I wasn't so impatient, I'd take my time and enjoy every part of your pussy, whether it was with my cock or my tongue," he moaned, sticking his tongue out and licking his lips. "Fuck! I'm going to fuck you, so you know who you belong to, no one else is going to fuck you again after this" Makime just gyrated from there. He lunged, bit and clawed, just as you, you re-sanguinated his back to withstand each onslaught.

You had never been more aroused, the thought of him taking you as his own affirming his dominance over you made you even more lustful and even though your logical side screamed otherwise, you no longer cared.

"Look how much you want me, look at all this cum you're giving me. Are you ready for my gift, slut, are you going to beg for my gift?". He looked at you between bites, his eyes and yours lost in lust.

"Gift?" You looked lost, again a sense of nervousness and fear.

"Yes, my little puppy…. Don't be afraid, this time I'll be good even if I have to punish you for running away from me" You moaned, feeling it come out of you, it was so sudden and unexpected that your body seemed to collapse too.

Then the redhead pulled your legs down and sat you up, helping you not to fall down from exhaustion, then he licked your wounds before rising again and placing your entrance over his cock, both of you sitting with you on top of him with your buttocks in the air. Makime began to smack you like a parent would a misbehaving toddler as he rammed you then grabbed one of your breasts sucking on it, the other he squeezed digging his nails into it.

"W-what are you doing?" you moaned in pain as his other hand left your breast and went to your clit, his fingers pressed and caressed it.

"Makime, please don't hurt me…. I'll be a good girl, I swear." You were about to start screaming again but that didn't stop him, on the contrary, he moved from your right breast to your mouth, his lips glued to yours, your tongue dancing with his, his tongue exploring every part he could. allowed.

"Ahh! I'll make you understand what happens when you run away from me, if you don't want me to stop, if you want to be my good girl then say so, my dirty needy bitch" he growled digging his nails even deeper into your left breast and then his right index finger rubbing faster against your clit.

"Ngh! Ahh-MAKIME!"

"Oh! You want me to stop, you want me to release that point of pleasure that I know is the right thing to do? But I won't. Beg, beg, beg me to stop, I won't until you suck my cock with your lips."

"Ngh! Ahh- No, no, please…. MAKIME."

"That's not the answer I wanted to hear my dear bitch."

"N-no, don't hurt me…. I-I-I… AHH!"

"What's the matter with you, don't you want it? Tell me!"

"I-I… I… want-NGHH!"

"Say it, say what you want me to do to you."

"I want more… I'm not satisfied… I need more!"

"Fuck! This is… Ahhhh" growled the redhead as his right index finger and cock began to move at a frantic pace, so fast it felt like a blur, making your body tremble with pleasure, your breathing ragged as you neared orgasm.

"Ahh! I'm going to cum…" You moaned almost passing out from the pleasure.

"Good girl… Let it out" Makime replied, his finger pausing to leave you with a sigh of relief and then continuing to rub your clit, but gently as his cock filled your pussy.

Then you both cried out, falling tired, more you than him as Makime is a demon and therefore more resilient.

"Makime-san… Why?" you asked angrily having regained your consciousness away from lust still panting, but this only made him smile.

"Well, if I tell you it will be boring and you'll go back to avoiding me, besides I'm glad to know I was your first time." You were so confused by his words and the feeling of the semen inside him that you couldn't articulate words.

"Do you really think I don't want you even after all I've done to you? Haha, ahh…. Let's change, you don't want to look like that in front of the others…. Although I'm sure they're still drinking. For this occasion I'll reserve your oral fucking" Makime got up from the chair pulling on his clothes starting to put them on. Then he left the karaoke booth and as you were reaching for your panties, you noticed…. FUCK!!! That bastard had stolen them from you.

You quickly put on your clothes and ran after him, while he laughed at the scene, ignoring you even when you grabbed his arm pulling him on nonchalantly. You had to put on his jacket, at least he was aware that he tore your blouse.

"What's the matter? Don't be so rough little dove, you're not going to deny that you like me?" He asked arrogantly getting close to your face, almost playfully kissing you. You felt disgusted and embarrassed by past events.

"You…!"

"I what?", He said as he walked back to the party with you trying to retrieve your panties. It was disgusting of him and uncomfortable for you to walk around without them on.

"Don't look at me like that, I know you like me …. And you should let me go, everyone is looking at you. By the way, from now on, be careful that in the future I find out who you fuck, you're mine. "You blushed when he mentioned it again, embarrassment ran through your being as you felt his hand near your buttocks.

[Well… like I said, I'm horrible at writing NSFW, I'm a virgin and even if I watch porn or whatever to inspire me, I honestly suck. I hope the sex made sense, I'm sorry if there are errors in narrative, coherence or any inconvenience].

Tag List:

@potatofriesthings @cyppelizabeth @hana-no-seiiki

If you want to be tagged, let me know.

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lokiprompts · 2 years

Text

Appropriate - Chapter 7

"Bubbles"

Summary: Loki x Female reader; Loki is banished to Midgard and he has to live an average life as penance...and you, a social worker, is there to help him along the way. Rom Com/Comfort vibes. Pinning; emotional edging until we can't take it anymore.

Chapter Summary: Loki makes a new ally...and he learns to do the laundry, with interesting results.

Words. 8.7k I could have broken this one up, but I didn't want to. You're welcome.

Warnings: Angst. Jealousy. Crying. Mentions of childhood trauma.

Song to listen to while reading: It's a Shame

AN: I am opening up my tag list again, but if you are not interacting/reblogging, you will be removed. If you would like to be added, please let me know!

Previous Chapter Here. Next Chapter Here

The library felt even more empty now that you had left, leaving Loki standing in front of the doorway with a stretched-out arm beckoning you back. For a moment, Loki debated chasing after you, to say what he didn’t know, but he wanted to make things right. Yet, his feet stayed put. The events of the day had his mind reeling and questioning every interaction he had with you.

Loki dragged his sullen form back to the couch, plopping himself down on the overly plush cushions, where just moments ago he was blissfully watching you sleep. Leaning back, he turned his head to the spot next to him and gently, he reached out and caressed the fabric. The heat of your body still lingered there, making him sigh. He turned his gaze back to the ceiling above him.

“Norns, can you do anything right?” He asked himself. For the first time in a long time, Loki wanted to care for another person for unselfish reasons. He simply wanted you to rest. To not have to carry the many of burdens that seemed to be weighing on your shoulders, day in and day out. The mere suggestion of taking a break had you breaking down in front of him with an emotion he often saw within his own mirror reflection.

Did you think that you were not deserving of rest? Loki’s long, elegant finger rubbed against his lower lip as the thought wreaked havoc on his mind. How? Someone like you shouldn’t worry about feeling deserving, or worthy. No, that should only be a problem belonging to monsters like him. What could make you feel this way?

The only possibly answer the god could come up with is some unknown variable that he had yet to discover. Some sort of harm to your precious heart, that had Loki clenching his fists.

The once posh prince, one who was used to never having to ask for anything, suddenly had to ask for everything. When it came to material things, he had nothing. When it came to his powers, he had less than nothing. But there was one thing that remained, one thing that remained unstolen.

His mind.

And now he was determined to use it to do whatever he could, so you would know that you were deserving of all the good things the Nine had to offer. A small smile crept on Loki’s lips. Quickly, he stood and left the library and back to his apartment to make plans.

Plans that seemed to be assisted by the grace of the Norns, because his first opportunity quickly presented itself the very next morning. It all started when he first woke up to the loud tapping of rain against his bedroom window. Slowly, he sat up, letting the scratchy comforter slide off his bare chest as he stared at the rain drops rolling down the glass. And just like most mornings since meeting you, his thoughts immediately went to you.

Were you traveling safely? Were you warm and dry? The questions made him frown and worry enough to drag himself out of bed and into the lion’s den otherwise called the Stark Tower lobby.

Every time he came down to the lobby with you, he would feel all the eyes that followed him. Some would watch with terror, others disgust. He felt them all and it made his skin crawl. If it wasn’t for your presence, he would have immediately retreated to his room each time he stepped into that hellscape. Back to a place without judgement, and only understanding. Back to a place where he wouldn’t have to explain his mind control and torture by the Titan, just to get the stares to stop. But, even then, the stares often turned into looks of pity.

But Loki wanted to see you. He wanted to make sure you were alright, especially with how you left yesterday. So, with the emotional armor of a good book in his hand, he perched himself on the bench closest to the door that led to the parking garage connected to the tower. During, the very early morning hours, there were only a few staff that lingered about the lobby and much to his surprise, they hardly paid him any attention. Some guards and secretaries’ eyes would periodically wander over to him, mostly with looks of confusion, before carrying on.

To everyone else, it looked like the stoic god was enjoying his book, but really his eyes stayed trained on the door that remained uncharacteristically closed. Looking around the lobby, Loki noticed it wasn’t as busy as it usually was most mornings when he came down here with you. If anything, people were filing in very slowly through the front door. One by one, Stark employees and guests alike were scrutinized by security. Each person was wanded for weapons and had to present valid ID before even entering the building.

Strange, Loki thought. It was enough to make him stand from his place on the bench and peer out the long line of windows that made the front wall of the tower. The sidewalk outside of the building was lined with people waiting to gain entrance, and every single person was soaked. Including you.

There you stood, amongst the other shivering wet people, with your hair matted down to your face and periodically furiously swiping at the rain that blurred your vision. You stood out like a sore thumb with your obnoxiously bright yellow coat. Why don’t you have an umbrella? Even though there was a great distance between you and the front door, Loki could still see your body tremble from the chill of the rain. It was enough to make Loki beeline to the reception desk in the center of the lobby.

“What is taking so long?! The people outside are freezing!” He snapped at the unsuspecting secretary. The secretary, who Loki discovered was named Kimberly from the nametag attached to her chest, at first looked terrified at the god who towered above her, years of pompous entitlement burning in his eyes. Maybe it was the midday hump, or the sad empty cup of coffee that sat on her desk that made the ‘just a few more years until I can retire from this hell hole’ admin steel her gaze and face a god with no fear. The screaming of ringing phones amplifying her customer service battle cry.

“Excuse me, Sir” she spat back with just as much venom as he gave to her, “But due to a high security event at the tower, everyone must be thoroughly checked for safety measures. The security staff are managing it as fast as they can.”

It was then that Loki spied the umbrella behind Kimberly’s desk. A smile grew on Loki’s face, along with a scheme.

“Apologies, Lady…” Loki purred, making a show of leaning forward to peek at her nametag, even though he noticed it already, “Lady Kimberly, but it seems we got on the wrong foot. Might I borrow that umbre-“

“No.” Kimberly quickly cut off his much politer request and picked up one the many screeching phone lines, blatantly ignoring him.

“Hello – Annie, Hi, sweetie.” The older woman let out a sigh of relief as Loki still hovered by her desk, keeping his eye on you who still stood in the line that had slowed down to a barely moving crawl. Loki looked back to the umbrella. It would be easy to steal, but with these damn dampeners, how would he get it to you?

“Yes, they have me doing this ridiculous digitizing project too. Stark has a nano suit, but he still wants us to scan all these old files manually?” Loki could hear the distain dripping in her voice about the project.

“It’s a power trip, I tell you. It will take hours, HOURS to do this. If he expects me to stay late to finish this, I swear. I have BINGO tonight!”

Ding.

Loki’s large hand gingerly tapped the call bell that sat on top of Kimberly’s desk. She immediately paused and gave him a look that made him flinch.

“Hold on, Annie,” She cupped the phone with her hand, “Yes?” Her tone was clear. She loathed project that was forced upon her, but at this moment, she loathed Loki more.

“I believe we got off on the wrong foot. I have a proposition for you, Lady Kimberly,” Immediately, her eyes rolled as Loki spoke, but he carried on with his bargain. The sight of you shivering driving him through the receptionist’s icy stare. “This task…this digitizing project. It sounds tedious and dull, something far below someone of your caliber.”

The honey he laid was thick, and the slight uptick of Kimberly’s lip boosted his confidence. “I propose that I take on this task for you, freeing you for….” Loki flashed her a tight lip smile, “Bingo.”

Kimberly grinned, now placing the phone in the crook of her neck, so she could place her chin in her free hand, “And what do you get from this exchange?”

Loki looked past her and pointed at the umbrella that sat propped up against her desk, “To merely borrow that umbrella.”

The wrinkles on her forehead deepened as confusion swept across her face, “And why on earth would you need an umbrella? You can’t even leave the building.”

Her bluntness made Loki wince. She had a point. Even his quick-witted mind couldn’t come up with an explanation, except for the truth.

He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the tall desk in front of him, and got closer to Kimberly. The action normally would have people pulling back in fear, but not Kimberly. Oh no, she was another kind of beast. Someone who worked her whole life in customer service and what little remained of her soul, didn’t scare so easily. But Loki didn’t want to scare her, merely whisper one of his greatest secrets to this old, Midgardian woman who looked like she wanted him dead.

With his heart hammering in his chest, he pointed to your trembling body that was still nowhere near the front of the line. Your arms were wrapped tightly around your body for warmth, but your chattering teeth showed that it was in vain, “The woman in the yellow coat. I wish for her to have it.”

He looked back to Kimberly, who was now watching him intently. There were so many emotions swimming in Loki’s eyes that told his greatest truth and secret; he cared for you.

“And if we could bring her to the front of the line and out of the cold…” Kimberly held her palm up, effectively stopping Loki’s request. The god frowned, already feeling defeated. Ever since coming to the Tower, Loki had felt nothing but helpless. He had no possessions. No powers. No connection to the outside world.

A once powerful God brought to his knees, begging for an umbrella.

“You are quite lucky that I adore Y/N. She is likely one of the kindness, sweetest people to ever exist on this planet.”

Loki’s expression softened, a grateful smile spreading across his features, “She is.” And he believed that, more than anything. Kimberly reflected a smile right back at him, but hers was more knowing.

“And frankly, the office drama lately is quite boring, and I am a sucker for a good romance.” She winked at him, and Loki blanched.

“I – uh, I don’t know what – I mean,” He stammered, his hand rubbing the back of his neck under his long, black curls.

Loki’s rambling stopped immediately after Kimberly patted his other hand that still laid on his desk. The tender gesture brought a sense of calm to the god, and in Kimberly’s eyes, he saw years of wisdom and compassion that reminded him of his own mother. In his thousand years of life, Loki made it his business to learn about people, their motives, to the point where he could understand someone quickly, even after just meeting them. And what he knew was that Kimberly was someone he could trust.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell her. I can’t move her up the line, but I can give you the umbrella. In exchange, you will help me with my project.” She pointed his finger at him, for emphasis, “And you will help my friend, Annie, down in the labs too.”

“Of course.” Loki agreed immediately. Never would he thought that he would trade labor for something as trivial as an umbrella, but every time he stole a glance at you, he knew it would be worth it. Frankly, you looked like a drowned rat, and every moment that passed by, Loki became more convinced that the chill of the rain would quite literally, freeze you to your bones.

With yet another wink, Kimberly said goodbye to Annie on the phone, and hung up the phone to scoop up the umbrella. She left her desk and walked to the front door, leaning up and whispering in the ear of one of the security guards. The guard let her through the door, and she immediately popped open the umbrella. Kimberly made her way down the long line of people who clung to the side of the building in search for some sort of reprieve from the onslaught of chilled rain. Person after person, she passed by until she finally reached you and your sunny, yellow coat.

Loki watched on from the lobby, unaware of the conversation happening between you and Kimberly. There were smiles and laughs exchanged, and Kimberly handed you the umbrella. You were quick to get under, but you were also quick to pull Kimberly under with you. The gesture made him smile. Of course, you would.

But then Kimberly was pointing at him. His eyes went wide, and he looked around him to verify that the receptionist was actually singling him out. The withered, old hag has betrayed me…Then, when your eyes met his, all he could do is gulp, and sheepishly wave at you with a tight, awkward smile. You gave him a little wave back, a soft smile gracing your beautiful face, and his heart all but exploded in his chest at the small gesture.

A few moments later, Kimberly was back at her desk. The screaming phones remained unanswered, as she remained unbothered.

Loki was quick to lean over the side of the desk, as soon as she sat down, “I thought we had a deal?! Why would you tell her about my affections?!” He whispered screamed at her. More and more people piled into the lobby, and eventually, you would be too, and Loki would have to explain his token.

Kimberly smirked at him, “Well, well, you do got it bad.” She laughed a little, and Loki glared at her, “Don’t worry. I didn’t tell her about your affections” She waved her hands about, and her tone told Loki that she was teasing, but his deadly stare didn’t alleviate.

“I just laid some groundwork for you.” Her grin widened, “You’re welcome by the way.”

“Thank you,” Loki sneered. Even though the scowl didn’t leave his face, Kimberly’s expression softened as she leaned closer to him.

“Be good to her. She has been alone for far too long, and she deserves happiness.”

Every bit morsel of frustration, annoyance, and anger left his body was instantly replaced with confusion. It was clear that this woman knew who he was, the villain who tried to take over her home, yet she was helping him win your heart? Surely, she wouldn’t think someone as pure as you, should be with someone as monstrous as him. The question was leaving his mouth, before he even had time to truly process it.

“I know that sometimes things aren’t always as they seem. There are more to our stories than what we choose to tell people and that umbrella….” Kimberly peeked over her shoulder to the front entrance, where you stood, drenched, while being processed by security, “That umbrella is very telling. Now, look alive, Prince Charming!”

“Hi, Kimberly. Hi, Loki!” You chirped, suddenly at the desk and at Loki’s side, making him jump. He looked down at you, taking you in now that you were finally up close. The umbrella was closed and held tightly in your hand, and every bit of you was thoroughly soaked. What little makeup you wore, was running around your eyes. Every strand of your hair was matted to your head. There was still a slight tremble to your body from the cold that remained in your bones. But the worst of it, the part that Loki tried his hardest to ignore, was how the normally modest fabric of your office wear was clinging mercilessly to every curve of your body. The hardened peaks of your nipples and lines of your lacy bra showed through your drenched shirt, leaving little to the imagination.

All Loki wanted to do was sweep you in his arms, warming you in his embrace. He would steal you away to his room, and strip you of your wet, cold clothes. To warm you, of course. But soon his arms would find their way around you again as he held you close. With your breasts pushed against his chest, he would tenderly wipe away the remaining makeup that the rain hadn’t washed away. You never needed it, anyways.

“Hello, earth to Loki!” You giggled, waving your hands in front of the daydreaming god, effectively snapping him out of his fantasy.

“Apologies.” Loki shoved his hands in his dress slack pockets to stifle his nervous fidgets, “I am glad you are finally out of the rain. Hopefully you weren’t waiting for too long.”

You groaned and rolled your eyes in exasperation. Norns, you were adorable.

“I was waiting for almost an hour! I get here, park, and they won’t let me in, so I have to go around the front and wait.” You puffed out a breath of air, as you tempered your annoyance, “But it’s fine, really.” The shiver that wracked your body told Loki that it, in fact, was not fine.

“But then I was given this umbrella,” You held up the umbrella like a prized trophy, “Thanks to you, Loki.”

The blush that swept across Loki’s sharp cheek bones was instantaneous. Suddenly, his shoes became very interesting as he tried to look everywhere, but your sweet face.

“It’s nothing, truly. It isn’t even mine.”

As soon as he felt your hand on his bicep, his eyes snapped back up to yours. The gentle caress of your thumb against his muscle was starting to become familiar; a comforting gesture that he craved.

“Regardless, you were kind and thoughtful of my wellbeing. That isn’t anything to downplay. I…I sincerely appreciate it.” Your hand remained on his arm, both of you lost in each other’s eyes.

Kimberly cleared her throat, and both you and Loki stepped away from each other now that your bubble had burst.

“So, sorry, Kimberly. Here’s your umbrella. Thanks to you, too.” You offered it back to her and she took it, smiling ear to ear that made you quirk your eyebrow in confusion. Silently, Kimberly’s eyes flitted back to Loki, then back at you, before they widened. Loki noticed the exchange right away and immediately stepped in front of your line of sight.

“Lady Y/N, do you have a change of clothes? I would hate for you to become ill from the cold.” Loki looked expectantly down at you, and the puddle that formed underneath your dripping clothes. Even though the view of your clinging clothes was delicious, the god was becoming more and more worried by the minute.

And when another chill swept through you, making you violently tremble, you relented. But not after you rolled your eyes, which make Loki’s lips twitch in amusement.

“Yes, I have something in my office….” You turned to leave, but you hesitated and looked back up at Loki again, “Will you tag along? I would like to talk to you.”

Loki nodded a little too excitedly, but at this point he couldn’t care less, “Of course.”

With a final wave to Kimberly, you turned and headed towards the elevators that would take you to your office. Loki was quick to follow you, but before he left, he turned to his new ally and mouthed a true ‘thank you’. The receptionist instantly beamed back at him, her joy shining through all her smile lines that graced her face and giving him two very enthusiastic two thumbs up. But she made sure to lift a stack of papers and wave them around as a friendly reminder of his bargain before he left.

With long strides, Loki easily caught up with you, and you both entered the elevator together. There was a thick tension that hung in the air, and it made Loki’s heart race about what you might want to speak with him about. You refused to meet his eyes, keeping it trained on the metal door in front of you. But, in the tiniest calculated movement, you brushed your shoulder against his. The touch was so light, it easily would have been perceived as an accident by any other. The slight upturn of your lips gave you away.

The elevator dinged, arriving at the floor of your office, and you both made your way down the hallway. Soon enough, you were unlocking your office door. You flipped on the light, and Loki was able to peek in. The room was in a state of disrepair; frankly, it looked like a tornado ran through it.

Sheepishly, you peeked over your shoulder, “Just give me a minute to change and we can talk.”

“Of course.” Loki gave you a soft smile, before closing the door of your office and giving you privacy. He shifted on his feet, trying to think about anything besides the fact that you were disrobing just beyond the door. How the rain droplets would moisten your soft skin, dripping down every one of your sweet curves. The sodden slacks that you wore would be stubborn, refusing to move down your body and surely getting caught on the globe of your ass.

Loki quickly swiped a large hand across his face, “Norns, get it together.” He whispered to himself.

The door then whipped open, exposing your wide, smiling face and much dryer body. The outfit you wore was certainly casual, just a plain, loose-fitting t-shirt and jeans that hung loose against your body. But, one thing that stuck out about this otherwise plain outfit, were the splattering’s of paint all over the fabric. All the colors of the rainbow graced the material; a vibrant decoration for the artform that is your perfect body. It was perfection, and it made Loki smile.

“Come on in, Loki. Thanks for waiting.” You stepped to the side, letting him into your messy and eccentric office.

Again, silence fell between the two of you. Loki quietly watched you, as you tried to look everywhere but at his face. Even fidgeting with a few errant papers on your desk, before finally mustering the courage and looking Loki in the eyes. The smile he rewarded you with was instantaneous, and he watched puff out a breath.

“I wanted to talk about yesterday,” You started, “I am sorry for how I acted-“

“No apology necessary,” Loki cut you off and your face went stern.

“No, Loki.” You pointed your finger at him to prove you point. You seemed to do that a lot and it made Loki smirk, “Let me finish what I was saying. Please.” Your politeness always won, though, as tough as you tried to be. Mighty, yet sweet, Loki thought.

Suppressing his growing smirk, he clasped his hands behind his back, bowed his head, and nodded for you to continue. The thought of you taking charge, the sweet thing you are, did things to him. The god schooled his gaze, tempering his newly ignited need to be at your mercy; to be absolutely, and entirely devoured by you.

“I am sorry for how I acted yesterday. I admit, I was a bit overwhelmed, and you were just trying to help, and so I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you. But I think, there were some boundaries crossed.” You sighed, finally breaking eye contact with him.

Meanwhile, Loki’s heart thudded wildly in his chest. All lusty thoughts gone and replaced with fear. Where were you going with this? Would you stop seeing him?

“I think we just need to….” You sighed, yet again, “We should keep it in mind. Okay?”

Loki let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in, and met you gaze again. He found himself mirroring the soft smile that you gave him, the feeling of relief washing over him instantly.

“Okay,” He breathed out a whisper, “I can do that.”

And there it was again, the unspoken tension that always found its way between the two of you. Swirls of unsaid emotion rapidly flashing between both of your eyes; each of you replaying all the tender moments from the past few days like a nostalgic home movie of your favorite memories. Your matching smiles grew wider.

Clearing your throat, you broke the connection and flitted your eyes away, “So, if you are available, I would like to set up a meeting you later today.” You turned towards your desk and scribbled somethings on a post it note and handed it to him. It was a room number on the tower, with a time, and a set of messily scribbled instructions.

“Meet me here, at that time.”

Loki grinned, “And why can’t we meet now?”

“I have a meeting in a few minutes.”

Loki grumbled, “Ah, the solider.” The distaste was positively dripping from his voice,=.

“Now, Loki,” You chided, “Be nice.” Again, your hand somehow found his way to his bicep, giving a gentle squeeze.

“I will see you later.” It was barely enough of a reassurance for the burning fire of jealousy to be calmed. For now.

Loki insisted he walk you to the elevator and carry your bag. Even though you rolled your eyes at his chivalry, you let him. Again, you rode the elevator to one of the main common areas and when you exited, Bucky was practically on top of you, ready and waiting.

“Miss Y/N. Nice outfit.” The former winter soldier beamed at you, but that wide smile faltered as soon as he laid on the god of mischief who was grumbling by your side.

“Loki.” Bucky growled underneath his breath.

“Barnes.” Loki snarled right back.

Clapping your hands together, you did you best to diffuse the tension, “Okay! I will see you later, Loki. Bucky, let’s go.”

And off you went with the grinning, triumphant super soldier, leaving Loki behind who was burning holes into your back, and silently wishing curses on your temporary companion.

“You may have her for now, Barnes, but it is I that will win her in the end.” Loki muttered under his breath, before turning on his heel and making his way back to his apartment prison. Once inside, the sickening sea of beige greeting him like a friend who overstayed their welcome.

“The Midgardian furniture can’t come soon enough. This is atrocious.” He groaned. Digging in his pocket, he pulled out your note and the way you curved your letters warmed his heart. It was an artist’s penmanship; elegant yet chaotic.

He looked over your note with intense concentration, not wanting to miss any minute details of your instructions.

“Bring your dirty clothes?” He furrowed his brows, and scrunched his nose up, “What?”

But he did as you asked after a few, long, and very agonizing hours of waiting. He made his way down to the room in your instructions, large laundry basket in his grasp. The god was punctual to a fault, and he was glad he did leave early, because it took him awhile to find the exact location. Being the recluse he is, he had yet to explore the tower and he tried to ask other people wandering the tower for directions. But they all scurried away in fear as soon as he approached them. Even a laundry basket couldn’t soften the god, apparently. Still, he was almost an hour early to your scheduled meeting. Yes, punctual, instead of anxiously worrying about your meeting with another man.

Loki instantly regret that decision. All he had to occupy him was the monotonous ticking of the wall clock, and the jealous thoughts that haunted him. The soldier wrapping you in his arms and kissing the top of your head as you swayed together in the kitchen bathing in domestic bliss. Then his hands would roam, clunky and rough. They wouldn’t appreciate the softness of your skin, the suppleness of your lips, and the fragileness of your heart. Loki frowned, thinking of how Bucky could easily shatter you. How little he would appreciate the care and attention you give to others and worst of all, how he would fail to care for you.

The soldier would selfishly soak up all your light and do nothing to replenish it. He would take all the goodness of your heart, bit by bit, until you withered away into nothingness.

“Loki? Are you in there?” Your cheerful voice broke Loki from his thoughts. The sweet sound that saved him from the spiraling descent of his mind.

“Apologies, Lady Y/N. I am here…” He turned his head to his basket of dirty laundry, with an amused expression, “With my soiled clothes, as requested.” He was tempted to ask about your meeting with the solider, but the idea of you speaking Barnes’ name was enough to stifle the request.

You clapped your hands together, “Perfect! Have you done the laundry before?”

The prince scoffed, ready to tell you ‘Of course’, but then he thought about it. Really thought about it. He hadn’t. When he lived on Asgard, he had servants and maids to take care of his every need. If he wanted new leathers and tunics every day, he would have it, no questions asked. Then, when he was….elsewhere, he would rely on his seidr to clean his clothes. Never once did he have to do physical labor to keep his clothing clean. But today, today is the day for a prince of Asgard to learn.

“I uh…” He stammered, now slightly embarrassed to be admitting his lack of experience on such a simple task, “No. I am afraid not.”

“Well, no worries,” You flashed him a smile, and he knew you held no judgement for him. You never have, and that fact still shocked him. “So, first we divide up the clothes. Some colors shouldn’t be mixed, especially if you want them to last longer. Different clothes require different settings on the machines or need professional cleaning that can’t be done here.”

You grinned, “Because, of course, someone just had to purchase the finest on our shopping trip, and so we may have to link you up with a dry cleaner.”

Loki instantly shot you an incredulous look, clearly eyeing the paint-stained clothes you were still wearing, “Pardon me, my lady, for enjoying the quality of fine garments. Perhaps you should try it.”

It was a teasing comment, but the unintentional bite had Loki backpedaling, “I mean, your clothes are fine. More than fine! Absolutely endearing. And creative! And looks quite comfy and-”

You raised your hand to stop his rambling. The god clamped his mouth shut, well aware of how his cheeks burned in front of you.

“You are fine, Loki. I know what you meant.” You giggled, and Loki noticed that your own cheeks were painted pink. Maybe he wasn’t the only one flustered.

So, you and Loki went through his basket, separating his clothes and throwing them in various washing machine that lined the large in-house laundromat. Conversation flowed easily between the two of you, as you completed this domestic task. Loki found himself enjoying it more than he thought he would. Not the act of doing laundry, no, but doing it with you? It felt warm. Comforting. Homey.

It made him, perhaps, too comfortable, as he asked his next question to you with little thought, “So, why were you so overwhelmed yesterday?” He asked you so casually as he loaded the washing machine, pouring in the soap as you had showed him. Casual, like you were long time lovers chatting about your day while doing the domestic chores of a shared household.

“Um…” You started, clearly at a loss for words, as you tossed one of his t-shirts in the pile for ‘dark’ clothing. The sight of you having his shirt in your hands had Loki yearning. Yearning, for something more. Something more than just constantly daydreaming about a life with you.

“I am not sure if I should discuss that with you.”

It was enough of an opening for Loki to try and push you a little more. Do you have someone in your life to share your troubles with? The thought of a secret lover waiting for you at home outside of the tower made him shudder.

“Can you tell me…without actually telling me?” It was a risk, Loki knew that. Either you would take the invitation and finally open up to him, or you would shut him out like you have since you first met. The god leaned against the now rumbling washing machine, as you contemplated his question.

Turning back to the laundry basket, you avoided his gaze and for a moment, Loki thought his calculated move was a poor choice in the chess game of unlocking your heart. Then, you spoke.

“So, there is this young girl that keeps coming into the hospital where I work.” You started, still avoiding Loki’s eyes who watched you intently. He noticed how you continued to sort the clothes, but at a glacial pace as if to give yourself more time.

“She has powers. Gifts. But they are uncontrolled, and she keeps hurting people and hurting herself, but it was never intentional. They were always accidents.” You made sure to look right into his eyes when you stressed how this anonymous child didn’t intend to harm others; facing your fear of baring your emotions to the god in front of you to protect the integrity of a child he didn’t know. The raw feelings Loki had for you deep in his heart bloomed even more.

“She would really benefit going to Xavier’s school, a school for children with gifts like hers,” You clarified, “but her mother will not permit her to go. She acts like her daughter doesn’t even have these gifts, and just buries her head in the sand all the while, she keeps on getting worse and worse.”

Your speech sped up as you became more passionate; ripping out and presenting your breaking heart to the Asgardian prince who hung on your every word. But, as soon as he saw the tears welling in your eyes, he was at your side.

“Can’t you just…take the child?” He offered a solution, yet years of diplomacy told him that the answer wasn’t that simple. It never was.

“There are ways, yes, but there as laws and procedures we must follow. We have to show that her mother is not acting in her best interest and because her daughter has powers and is harming people, of course the government has taken an interest in her. And the more we go through this court process with her, the more upset she becomes, and the more incidents happen.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, despite your frantic attempt to choke down your burning emotions. Again, without thinking and like it was the most natural thing in the nine, Loki reached up and wiped away the tear. His large hand still cupped your cheek and the warrior roughness of his thumb swiped against the softness of your face in soothing strokes. To his surprise, you didn’t stop him.

“I mean, why can’t she just let her go?!” You were frantic now, as your emotions spilled out of you like the splattered paint on your clothes, “Soon, she will do something that can’t be undone and- and – and they will send her to the raft, and she doesn’t deserve that horrible place!”

Tears were freely coming down your face now, the flood gates of your heart fully open. Loki threw every bit of caution to the wind along with the fear of overstepping and losing you completely, and pulled you close to his chest in a tight embrace. Sobs shook your body, and he held you impossibly tighter. A part of him took sick pleasure in how good you felt to finally have you in his arms, but it shouldn’t be like this. Never like this.

He stroked your head, and he had to stifle the gasp that threatened to leave his mouth when you nuzzled your nose into his chest, inhaling his scent deeply. The earlier conversation about ‘boundaries’ long forgotten.

“Love, you are doing what you can. You can’t control everything.”

You whipped your head up to look at him, your eyes now red and puffy from your tears. Loki thought you were about to chastise him about his use of pet name like you always have, but you continued to surprise him. “I-I can do more. I can try different things…try to talk to different people. Try to-”.

Loki was selfishly reluctant to deny you the comfort you sought from his body, but he needed you to understand. Pulling away, he cupped your face with both of his hands, forcing you to look directly into his earnest eyes.

“You are doing everything you can and that is enough.”

“No…it’s not.” You whispered.

“Yes, it is.” He argued back, desperately trying not to get lost in the vivid colors of your glassy eyes.

“No. It’s not.” You squinted at him, your words sterner as the torrent of emotions started to ebb away.

Loki couldn’t help but laugh and thankfully, a small chuckle bubbled up from you as well.

“Stubborn, little woman! Yes! It is!”

Feeling a bit more in control of yourself, you pulled away from the god’s arms and Loki would be lying to himself if he wasn’t silently mourning the loss of your warmth. The sweet, selfish comfort of your small body tucked perfectly against his.

“You can’t tell anyone I shared that with you.” The enduring waver in your voice told Loki how serious you were, and he hoped every bit of faithfulness he had in his body conveyed through his eyes. Loki was not known as a trustworthy person, but for you, he would carry your secrets to Valhalla.

“I won’t”

You took a step forward, still so close yet so far away from his arms, “I mean it, Loki. The government is involved with the children I work with. It would have serious consequences if anyone knew I shared anything at all-”

Loki reached for your hand and gently squeezed it, making your words die in your mouth.

“You can trust me, Love.” The look in your eyes told him that you believed him. You truly trusted the God of Lies and it shook him to his core. A flicker of guilt about how your relationship, professional or otherwise, was based off a lie. A tight-lipped smile broke through his fractured heart, even when you pulled your hand away. Loki could feel the walls coming between you yet again, brick by brick.

“Thank you, Loki.” You turned to the lingering bits of clothes that still needed to be thrown in the wash, “Let’s finish up, shall we?” The professional mask you always wore, now fully on.

Loading the rest of the washing machines went very quickly now that you weren’t stalling for time. Loki, on the other hand, was trying everything he could to not end this meeting with you. To have that piece of the real you back in front of him and not the façade you showed everyone else. As soon as you commented on how quickly he was learning, and how he would ‘graduate’ from your program in no time, all rational thought left him. It was like the ever-clever god of mischief forgot everything you showed him earlier. The machine’s buttons were foreign, and he had somehow forgotten how to measure the soap and where it went.

The shrill ring of your cell phone, a sound that Loki silently cursed, interrupted your re-explanation of dividing up the clothes. You excused yourself to take the call in the hallway, leaving Loki who grew more frantic about the idea of losing you. The war between his need to selfishly have you, and the guilt he felt for continuously lying to you raged within him. The consequences be damned if it meant that he could have more time with you. Anything for more time.

In a fit of desperation, he grabbed all the boxes and bottles of detergent he could see and dumped them all into the various, washing machines. He knew the clock was ticking on your phone call, so he acted quickly. He ripped open all the cupboards of the laundromat and found a stash of large bottles of hand soap, adding it to his concoction with little regard for the consequences. Quickly, he closed all the cupboards and wiped any soap spillage, leaving a pristine looking machine while the soapy brew had already started to bubble and foam. Suds started to burst out from the tops of the machines, spilling over onto the floor at a wild rate.

It all happened so quickly. White, billowy puffs of soap filled the floor, the bubbles going almost as high as the tall god’s knees and making his feet almost slip from underneath him.

“What happened?!” You yelled, your eyes wide with shock as you took in the scene before you.

“It seems,” Loki said breathlessly, trying to steady himself on the slippery floor, “It seems I have overestimated the amount of soap I needed.”

There was a long beat of silence as you both looked at each other. The shock was still plastered on your face, and a look of innocence on Loki’s, that he hoped was believable.

And then you laughed. Hard.

You clutched your stomach as the belly laughs took over your whole body, making you lurch forward. Fresh tears came to your eyes, not from the sadness you felt not too long ago, but from unbridled, childlike joy.

You stepped up to Loki, slipping a bit on the way over and still breathless from the onslaught of laughter, “How did you even manage this? I was gone for what? Ten minutes? You’re worse than Thor!”

The look of insult that Loki gave you was priceless, sending you into another fit of laughter, “Hey! There is no way I am worse than that oaf.”

You wiped the happy tears from the corner of your eye, “When I went over this with Thor, he did not fill the room with soap!”

“Take it back.” Loki threatened, stalking towards you with all the intensity of a predator eyeing its prey. Both you and him knew he would never harm you, and that fact became even more clear as he struggled to stay upright on the slick floor.

“No.” You breathed through your laughter, trying to back away from him as fast as you could without falling.

Loki scooped up a large cloud of soap in his arms from the floor, peaking around the white fluffiness with a mischievous grin, “Take. It. Back.”

You crossed your arms and stood your ground, a smirk playing on your lips as you repeated yourself, “No. I stand by what I said. You are worse than Thor.”

Loki then chucked the soap at you, leaving your head covered in suds. Quickly, you swiped at your face and freed yourself from the foam. Both of your laughter filled the room, drowning out the washing machines that still gushed out fresh suds. There was no attempt to stop the machines, as you and Loki played in the ocean of puffy soap like children. Children free of the stress of the world, free of the torments and trauma of the past.

Loki gripped your hand and started to drag you about the laundromat, slipping and sliding as he spun you around with ease on the slippery floor, like you were gliding on an ice rink. Laughter flowed freely from his chest, making his cheeks burn from how brightly he smiled. Yet, he smiled wider still when he saw that you mirrored the wild joy he felt.

You played until you both were breathless, sitting on the floor of the laundromat, still surrounded by layers of soap. The tips of your fingers floated against the bubbles, lightly feeling it’s light texture, before turning to Loki who sat next to you. Amongst the sudsy clouds, he truly looked like what he was, a god, a fact you sometimes forgot about him when you were in his presence. A king above the heavens. The god quirked an eyebrow at your unreadable look, and his confusion only grew when you grabbed a handful of soap and placed it on top of his head; a stark contrast to his inky curls.

Your grin was wide, and full of mirth, “A crown for my king.”

It was so innocent, yet the gesture held so much meaning for Loki. The once forgotten desire to be king, resurfacing with a complicated mess of emotions associated with his past. Yet, all that torment, all the terrible memories, were overtaken by one word.

My.

Did you realize what you said? Did you truly believe that he was yours? Even with all the close, sweet moments that you had shared over this short time, Loki still feared to hope. He feared that come tomorrow, you would cut off all contact with him in the name of ‘professionalism’ and ‘appropriateness’. But still, despite that fear, he grabbed his own scoop of soap and tenderly placed it on top of your head.

“And a crown for my Queen.”

The tension between you was as thick as the layer of soap that had finally settled around you, full of unspoken feelings and fears. The joy that once filled your face, was now replaced with a soft sadness. Carefully, you reached forward and placed a gentle hand on his. Loki dreaded the words that were about to leave your sweet lips.

“Loki…” You started, but the clearing of a throat stopped you and made you whip your hand back in your lap, like touching his hand burned you. Loki’s frowned deepened, and you both turned to the new person who was in the laundromat.

The infamous Tony Stark, and your pseudo boss.

“What’s going on in here? Bubbles, I didn’t think you would take your namesake so literally.” He asked, his tone direct as if he was speaking to a pair of children getting a little too wild in the bath.

Quickly, you scrambled to your feet and wiped your bubble crown from your head, leaving Loki on the floor behind you. He soon followed, brushing off lingering clumps of soap off his dress pants. The crown stayed.

“I was showing Loki how to do laundry, and unfortunately the machines malfunctioned.” Loki turned to look at you, and you kept your eyes on Tony. Again, you were covering for the god of mischief. Perhaps what you were about to say wasn’t going to lead to a heartbreak after all.

“Malfunctioned?” Tony peered over his blue tinted glasses at you and Loki, soaked and soapy. It was clear that he didn’t believe you. “Yeah, sure. Clean this up and we will talk later, Y/N.”

You swallowed thicky at the implication, and Loki noticed. It took all the strength within him not to reach out and grab your hand. You were quick to nod your head and go into the closet in the laundromat filled with cleaning supplies and dig out a mop. Loki followed behind you. Neither of you noticed when Tony left.

Almost an hour was spent scooping and mopping up the floor and dumping it into the sink basin. Barely any words were spoken between you and Loki, save a few instructions here and there. All the joy from earlier had left with the billionaire and it made the god’s chest fill with anger, and resentment.

“Tony is technically my boss,” You suddenly said, breaking the silence as you were wrapping up cleaning. Yet again, you avoided Loki’s eyes as you did during moments of high emotion, he noticed. You busied yourself with wringing out the mop, “He funds the program at the hospital and so, what he says goes. Do you understand?”

The subtext of what you said was clear. Loki looked to the dampeners that still clung to his wrists. For a moment, he forgot that they were there. That he was a prisoner within the tower, and not living a fantasy of domestic bliss with you. There was no way Tony would ever let you fraternize with Loki outside of a professional context. The hero hated him, Loki knew that. No matter what Thor told Tony, the billionaire still saw Loki as the villain. The dampeners were proof of that. A physical reminder of how high above him you were, and how low he was. How unworthy.

“I understand.” Was all Loki could say. The crown on his head had long since dissolved.

After putting away the cleaning supplies and giving Loki some vague instructions on how to save his overly soapy clothes that were still in the washing machines, you left. You left without any indication of when he would see you again, and Loki was alone to yet again, process the emotional whiplash that seemed to come with every day he spent with you.

Gritting his teeth angrily, he twisted one of his soaked shirts over the sink basin. The soapy water splashed down the drain and all the memories of you frolicking in the suds replayed in his mind.

With a wet slap, he threw the garment into the sink, “Why do I even bother!”

Every moment with you was bittersweet. He felt a joy he never felt before. You accepted him for who he is. Played with him. Made him laugh. He felt lighter, and like the future may have a place with him. A place by your side. But inevitably, like it always has, he was reminded that a future with you was not possible. A dream snatched away by the persistent nightmares. Still, he clung to the idea of having you like a drug he didn’t want to quit.

He ran his hands through his still wet hair, “This needs to stop.”

Loki let out a long breath, before emptying out all the washing machines and tossing the mostly drenched clothes in the dryer. He tapped a few buttons, not really paying attention to the settings like you had taught him and left the laundromat. The clothes be damned. He didn’t care anymore.

A familiar heaviness found its way back onto Loki’s shoulders as he made his way back to his apartment. The lightness you gave him was long gone and only regret and loneliness remained.

Unlocking his apartment, he struggled to open the door fully like something was blocking its way. He pushed himself inside and closed the door behind him. His eyes grew wide at the sight before him.

Boxes and boxes of files filled his quaint prison apartment, leaving only a small path for him to walk around. His shoulders slumped even lower.

“Ah. My bargain.” He muttered, as he remembered his deal with the receptionist, Kimberly earlier this morning. Regret raced through him, and his mind struggles to find a way to weasel out of his obligation. There was a computer neatly placed on his tiny kitchen counter, along with a scanner and a note. On one side of the note included instructions on how to complete the tedious task of scanning all the documents, but on the other was a more personal note from his new ally.

This is the happiest I have ever seen her. Don’t give up

Loki smiled. You let him call you ‘love’.

--------------------

Unicorns 🦄: @ozymdias

#loki fanfic #loki x reader #loki x you #loki #loki odinson #loki x female reader #loki fluff #loki fic #loki laufeyson x reader #loki of asgard #loki fanfiction #loki angst #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x y/n #loki laufeyson x you #loki x reader angst #loki x reader fluff #loki odison x reader #loki x female!reader

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multiversal-madness · 6 months

Text

Professor Layton Au - How Things Change Au

Part 1 - Part 2 - ???

(Similarly to Pandora’s Call, I’ve made an intro post for this before but that was ages ago and things have changed so here we go again)

After the five of them die in the Azran Sanctuary, Luke wakes up alone and confused in a forest. With no signs of the others, the sanctuary or even snow, he decides to pick a direction and start walking, hoping to find anything really. Eventually, he runs into a young boy who introduces himself as Leon.

They talk for a bit, Leon pointing out an injury on Luke’s face that he hadn’t noticed and Leon decides to take Luke back to his house to get some help from his parents. Luke agrees to go with him and let’s Leon lead him, but things start seeming off.

Leon’s using slang and phrases he’d usually hear from people several times his age, as they reach a road the only cars present are decades old and when Luke sees a calendar or newspaper or ad dated 50 years ago, he starts to panic (though he tries his best to hide it).

When they reach Leon’s home, his parents patch up Luke’s cheek and Leon’s mother starts talking to him, which triggers the second big realisation. She introduces herself as Detective Valarie Bronev, which means that her son Leon would be Leon Bronev.

The leader of Targent, the man who had stabbed Aurora, the Professor and Descole’s biological father, was the same person as this boy two years younger than him that was now looking at him with concern.

Worried about how pale he was getting, Valarie and Clayton (Leon’s dad) let Luke rest in Leon's room while Valarie goes to see if there's any reports of missing children in the area.

She looks for Luke's parents and where he came from for a long time while Luke pretends not to remember but eventually she has to give up the search. You can't exactly find people who haven't been born yet.

During this time Luke had been looked after by the Bronevs, so when the search remains fruitless, Valarie and Clayton adopt Luke. Luke becomes Luke Bronev, Leon's older brother.

I've added some more details under the cut, mostly what's changed from the last time I posted about this au for those interested:

In the original version of this au, Clayton had died when Leon was five, but after actually designing Clayton and giving him a personality I've grown attached so he gets to live this time

Valarie is a Private Detective instead of a police inspector and Luke won't become a police inspector either, instead he'll be an author who just so happens to also solve mysteries

Luke gets keep both his eyes! Yay! He gets more mental trauma instead

Leon does not encourage Randall's obsession with the Azran, in fact he stays as far away from the Azran as possible ever since Luke was kidnapped

Luke's Targent code name won't be 'Jay'. I don't have an idea for what it'll switch to yet, but Jay doesn't have the right vibes

that's all for now, I'll be posting a lot more about this au in the future (because it has consumed my brain-).

#How Things Change Au #professor layton #professor layton au #Luke Triton #Leon Bronev #my art #multi’s art #cw blood #how do you draw blood #I’ve made more OCs for this au than I have for any other au before-#speaking of #Valarie Bronev #Clayton Bronev #professor layton oc

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nextinline-if · 1 year

Note

I’ve seen people ask authors who they’d ship their characters with, but I’m curious which ROs, from other WIPs, are your favorite? Is there any specific reason?

I absolutely love your story so much! You’re wonderful!

I'm unsure if both of these asks are yours, but I'm sorry it took so long to answer (like months RIP). Screenshot one was recent the other is older. Also thank you anon for your sweet words. <3

I appreciate your no-choice-patience <3 This is such a fun question. I read it wrong for about 4 months and kept stressing about which ROs to ship with mine. My brain was NOT working.

I'm being fucking serious, unfortunately. Please laugh at me in the comments. </3

Here are some of my favorite ROs from other WIPs:

Seven - @infamous-if; I can write a paragraph about why I like Seven but does anyone really want that? Heh. When the game first started, I was SO ready to be like "f you Seven, you jerk!" And then we find out that Seven still has that tattoo. Okay, interest peaked. Well, played. You got me f'ed up. I like to play tropes where it's from ex - to enemies - to lovers. Juicy stuff right there.

Ari - @theoperativeif; There's something really enticing about not just a slow burn but a slow burn that has the extra burn because of the obstacles in the relationship that prevent you from reaching each other. Ouch. I normally don't like slowwwww burns. Like, a little slow is good cause it's realistic but like where I ONLY get to imagine them in my MC's head or in memories? Got me f'ed up. (Again). I think I like this because of the trauma the two characters have faced together. Is trauma bond a tope? Don't know but let's go with that.

Blade - @shepherds-of-haven; On a surface level, you get a character who fights for those he cares for, has strong convictions, and is hard to get close to. I'm a sucker for those. But on a deeper level, I really enjoy the way his story is written and told. Unearthing Blade's past and trying to weave your MC into this complex character's heart. Not sure what trope is going on here but I'll take it all.

Sol - @theabyssal; Yeah, my Death is pretty pissed at Sol right now...but you're telling me that literal sunshine fell for Death? The Abyssal has A+ writing as is, but adding an incredible love story like that really hooks my soppy lil heart. The complexities...THE COMPLEXITIES. I'm on the edge of my f-ing seat here people. I want Sol to suffer and beg my Death for forgiveness. And my Death will make Sol suffer emotionally and then accept the forgiveness :') (she's a weak betch)

Dara - @ataleofcrowns; I mean, I LOVE forbidden/let's romance my general type of vibe. But Dara is an exquisitely written character. The whole game is beautiful but the characters are so full of depth. There's always another layer. Plus, I normally play a shier MC but I like catching Dara off guard. It's so enjoyable. Got me giggling and shit.

There are plenty of other lovely ROs from amazing IFs that I like but these came to the top of my mind and I didn't want to make this too long. I like tropes that f me up emotionally. More tears = better. Rip my heart out. Maybe put it back in. Maybe leave is on the ground. Author's choice.

That said, I go for a lot of different tropes and try to do multiple playthroughs to romance all or most of the cast. I think every character can offer something different and I don't want to miss out <3

#anon reply #thanks for the ask #you're wonderful too anon #I didn't even add my visual novel ROs but I think i answered that a really long time ago.#i love you August #and Markus #and Lucien #and Serin #grabby hands for all ROs

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it-me-sannore · 11 months

Text

I went to see A Little Life at the cinemas with absolutely zero context and I ended up liking it. I like plays and musicals in general so it wasn't totally unbelievable that I ended up there.

But I'm also not an objective critic with refined taste. As such, here's a collection of my biased and random thoughts about the play (with spoilers):

My favourite part of everything was Luke! Not a surprise. I went to see it specifically for him :P

Did not hate on Luke's American accent as much as I feared, phew!

Though there was one scene where I didn't like Luke's accent - it's the scene in the teaser trailer, that made me all "OMG I didn't realise". But it was limited to that so false alarm, everyone. We good.

I really appreciated how tight the cast was - I believed them in their roles and enjoyed how they portrayed their characters

James Norton - Jude. Man, he was on the stage the whole time. Kudos. I kept thinking, does he get a break?? He carried the lead role well. Also, sings well in German haha

Omari Douglas - As JB, what an irritating hipster bro! I liked the vibe he added to the group of friends.

Zach Wyatt - I was gutted when Malcolm died. So shocked.

I had to pause and reconcile in my brain when Luke (Willem) was raving to modern music and I realised it's cos I wasn't used to seeing him doing anything from the 21st century

Elliot Cowan - all the "bad guys", amazing performance. How he made each character feel distinctly different??? I was so impressed by him.

I was expecting to cry a lot and was pleased when I didn't tear up until the end. I was prepared with tissues. It turns out the torture-porn leans more towards trauma and emotional abuse versus heartbreaking sadness so those aren't tear jerking triggers for me.

I liked how people wandered and stayed on the stage when it wasn't their scene

I kept thinking about how the tap and sink must have some kind of reserve of water beneath it since it's probably not hooked up to pipes.

I also kept (judgmentally) thinking that surely Harold actor (Zubin Varla) does not clean as much at home as he must have to do at work right now, with all this blood on the stage.

I didn't understand Andy's role in Jude's life. I think I missed the set up. Or just didn't connect the dots. Was he... a doctor friend? Actual doctor? Guess I'll have to look it up.

I liked how Ana balanced what was happening on the stage, even though she was now only in his head.

I enjoyed seeing Luke take his shirt off, even though I'm slightly prudish. I totally internally grinned.

Jude and Willem's relationship was... good, bad, conflicting, seeing them "happy" and then not so typically happy. Was Jude really "happy" or was it a trauma response? It really was a rollercoaster ride and my emotions were everywhere.

I enjoyed the intermission in the cinema - how the screen ticked down. I stood up and cracked my back loud enough that the stranger next to me was like, "that sounded like a good one".

All the cool effects - like the blood patches, the screen that came down and took Jude into the sky, the use of light to transition when it was opaque or spotlight when he was being chased by the car, the 360 degree stage.

Yay Luke lol. - Which is jarring due to the subject matter but I really did enjoy seeing a new Luke performance.

#a little life #luke thompson #james norton #random thoughts

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acorpsecalledcorva · 9 months

Text

The neuroplasticity (or lack there of) of CDDs is really interesting in how it manifests over time. Because in so many ways I really am still a 5 year old child quietly crying myself to sleep, or a 17 year old girl desperately trying to establish an identity of my own in a world that feels like it has no place for me awash a sea of hormonal changes (second puberty really hits so different and yet so similar). But it also really does afford the room for real growth and change.

That change comes at a cost though, which is that I constantly feel alienated from my past selves. I cannot remember what I used to think, or why I thought it, only what I did and said and maybe what I was interacting with and try to work out my thought process from that. It's like most people are playdough, constantly being reshaped to a lesser or greater degree but still containing all that they were, while I'm Lego, I can be disassembled and reconstructed, but the pieces are solid, adding new bricks as needed and discarding those that are not (or putting them in storage at least).

We are also, of course, products of our environment. When your life is marred by identity uncertainty, we look to our surroundings to give us clues of who we might be. When I was on Reddit and browsed /r/all I would see the occasional tumblrinaction post about the plural community, fictionkins, and IRLs and think "well that's definitely not me. Discovering I was trans and coming to terms with being a marginalised identity, it was discord communities that taught me what that could mean and what I should be ready to fight against. On twitter I was lucky, I found the traumacore/empty spaces community that helped me to process the images I saw in my head that I didn't understand, and use my trauma as a tool of creation.

Taking part in the system community, it was the older focused communities that helped me to understand myself. I honestly don't know what my syscourse stance was back then, if I even had one. There are aspects of the wider online community that just don't vibe with me, some were a little damaging, others were simply incomprehensible to me. Joining Tumblr definitely shoved it in my face though.

The only thing I can imagine is that I must have thought that endogenic plurality was this "other" thing, I knew about DID, what switching and fronting and host and protector and system meant in that context, but endogenic plurality was something else that didn't concern me and I hadn't really come across it yet. So I was absolutely confused as fuck when I came here and saw people using all those "DID" words to mean something else. When anti-endos said "you can't form a system without trauma" that made absolute sense to me at the time because system meant DID and that's caused by trauma, why are people claiming to have DID things and using DID words while also saying that they don't have DID? Actually I do still kinda think the terms should be separate but it's not a battle I can be fucked to argue about anymore.

Because the point is that while online spaces might not change all that much, and there will always be people who join those spaces and be influenced by the culture in them, there are always other spaces that will influence them differently. So while it's absolutely frustrating as fuck to see anti-endos repeating the same horrible origins discourse, and endos saying fucking awful stuff like "I think traumagenic systems cling to trauma as a cause because they feel insecure about being a system", we need to accept that it will still keep happening while the spaces exist and remember that the people from those spaces are the ones with the opportunity to change. To learn, to see things from a different perspective, and most importantly grow.

And if they refuse to? If they keep spouting the same points over and over and over again, refusing to back down or learn, reigniting old arguments and digging stuff up from the past because they just can't let go of it? Just leave them to it I guess, we'll all be off making ourselves and each other better ^^

#syscourse

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monsterhunting · 3 months

Note

I like your fanfic and we share some of the same ships. Do you have any book recs? My tbr list is long but I don't mind adding more books

firstly: thank you so much!!! secondly i have TONS of book recs. honestly i could’ve kept going but i was getting a little crazy so lemme stop here. thank you for asking!!!

fiction:

the lincoln highway by amor towles: bildungsroman, beautiful story, satisfying ending, long but worth it

ask again yes by mary beth keane: family drama, turning point halfway thru that made me gasp and screech

such a fun age by kiley reid: a Black babysitter gets stopped by a grocery store security guard and a video of it goes viral and a bunch of other stuff also happens. lots of really good discussions on racism. her other book that just came out this year was really good too!!!

fantasy/sci-fi:

the last binding trilogy by freya marske: finally read these a few months ago and i loved them so much 😭 great romance great characters exciting plot with high stakes FOUND FAMILY!!

silver under nightfall by rin chupeco (and the sequel court of wanderers)… vampire couple x vampire hunter throuple of my dreams what more can you want

ocean’s echo / winter’s orbit by everina maxwell: queer scifi romance!!!! stand-alones set in the same universe but both are great

station eleven by emily st. john mandel: this is a pretty well known book but it was GOOD! takes place in a post-apocalyptic world and centers on the importance of living as opposed to just surviving and also the beauty of creating and sharing art ❤️

romance:

cat sebastian writes really good queer historical romance, I’ve read like 6 of her books this year. we could be so good and the ruin of a rake are my favorites so far

lex croucher!!! she has three historical novels, one is a sapphic romance (I’ve only read two) and then she has a YA called Gwen & art are not in love that’s a queer Arthurian legend retelling

love hate & clickbait by liz bowery: m/m fake dating where the two MCs are politicians who kinda suck and are trapped in a PR stunt. a better red white & royal blue. i’ve read it like 3 times

sarah hogle is my oomf but also writes great romance. you deserve each other and just like magic specifically

the charm offensive by alison cochrun: the new bachelor falls for the producer of the reality show instead of his contestants. probably my favorite romance ever. also great asexual rep!!

horror:

the lost village by camilla sten: a group of people filming a documentary go to an abandoned village where everyone in the town just up and disappeared one day and were never seen again and weird stuff starts happening. i read this in like 2 days. also i based the town in the stoncy ghost files au off of this lmao

the whisper man and the shadows by alex north: crazy as fuck plot twists that made me close the book and run around my house. he has a third book too but unfortunately I didn’t like it very much

night film by marisha pessl: reporter obsessed with elusive director who’s daughter just mysteriously died investigates director and his family. very good mixed media element and very immersive

mister magic by kiersten white: child actors from children’s tv show mister magic — a tv show that ended suddenly and tragically, with no surviving video footage or evidence of the creative team behind the show whatsoever — gather together for a reunion as adults. kinda like if IT by stephen king was combined with a weird creeypasta and throw in some religious trauma also. sooooo good

graphic novels:

check please! by ngozi ukazu: duh

bubble by jordan morris: guardians of the galaxy esque but also a criticism of capitalism. very fun

hooky by miriam bonastre tur: i DEVOURED these last october. perfect cozy fall vibes. just a cute fun story. they’re technically for children but idc 😭 so many characters and i loved them all, i can’t wait to reread again in the fall

#falsewings #ask #book recs

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romanarose · 8 months

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If You Wanna Be Wild: Chapter 6

Co-written with @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction my beloved Fen, who I could not do this without. Thank you for being my emotional sounding board, my dear friend, my wonderful cowriter and helpful beta reader. I adore you.

Javier Peña x Latina!sex worker!informant!Reader x Santiago Garcia

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Summary: Santi takes Candy out, and Javier gets jealous, but still he defends them both. Drama erupts, and Santi finds something out about himself.

Reader speaks Spanish and has hair. I've decided Candy is just latina bc she's a sex worker in Colombia so this is what I'm doing. Reader also has curly hair and dark skin.

ADDITIONAL WARNINGS!: Santi's panicy trauma response. Santi's mommy issues in full swing. Javier is jealous, lots of arguments. Cumming untouched, titty sucking. We're in for it boys!

THE SMUT WAS 100% WRITTEN BY THE AMAZING @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction i knew i needed mommy kink and he was the one to go to. If you like subby men, Fen, my dearest cowritter, writes great fics esp with Steven Grant <3 What Fen said when they wrote it "Yoooooo, what am I writing Romana? Madness? I think so."

6.7 words (I'm so fucking sorry okay A LOT WAS HAPPENING)

A/N Since I am apparently an incomprehensible writer, please know that the smut scene in the last chapter was not a threesome, it's Javi fingering Candy and Candy flashing back to her giving Santi a reach around handjob. I wanted to compare and contrast the way the two pairs care for and pleasure each other. but it came across as a threesome :(

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***************

Santiago didn’t know why he was so nervous.

“What we need is to get out into the actual field!” Javier exclaimed, setting his mug down loud enough to make Santi jump. “Sorry, Garcia.” He muttered, wiping a bit of spilled coffee with his sleeve.

Santiago rolled his shoulders, reaching back to rub his spine over the scar. The surgery saved his life, but damn did it hurt. “S’alright. Listen, I had an idea, but I don’t know if it’s going to be anything. It does get us out of the office next week.”

“I’ll take it, what do you have, Pope.”

Santi smiled. “Well, the nickname is fitting. It’s a rally for the beatification of Laura Montoya.”

A smile quirked up on Javier’s grumpy face. Unbuckling his belt after a second round of stress donuts, Javi kicked his legs up on his desk. “Of course you would know that.”

“My tia invited me.” He shoved Javi’s boots off, then wiped his hands on his pants. “We know what his family looks like now, maybe they will be there? It’s something.”

Javier agreed, it was something. Tracking Lorea had not gone as well as Escabar had. Not that that was a flawless mission itself, but at least it had traction. Martin Lorea was far less public.

The pair settled into an easy rhythm of planning the event. Santiago would have to avoid his tia’s, he thought. That may be hard, considering he had 4 and several cousins who will likely be attending the event. Colombia doesn’t have a canonized saint yet, and she was recognized as venerable so her potential beautification was a big deal for Colombia. Still, he couldn’t be recognized at the rally, his family would want to talk and talk and talk and ask why he didn’t have girlfriend and talk and ask who Javier was, and Tia Lupe would ask him if he had a ‘modern arrangement’ with Javier which would make Santi sick to his stomach with anxiety and- fuck he felt like the donut he stole from Javi was coming back up.

“Gotta go, be right back.”

“I’ll be timing you.” Javier kicked his legs back up on his desk and closed his eyes.

Over the toilet, Santi dry heaved, unsure if he was really going to puke or just felt like it. What the hell was it with Javier these days that made him so anxious? Things had been going well, their friendship repaired in the months since Javier caught him and Candy together. Other than Frankie, who would always be his number one, Javi was his best friend. He’d die for him the way he’d have died for Will, Frank or Ben… but there was something more. Since the day they met, Santiago wanted nothing more than Javier’s approval, he strived for it… maybe it was that he saw Javi as a father figure, almost 15 years older than him… that wasn’t right either. He couldn’t place it until earlier this week.

The DEA ball was coming up, Javier had asked Santi if he wanted to carpool since they both didn’t have dates and lived near-by… to which Santi said he actually had a date. She was a surprise. So was the fact Javier wanted to go.

The “Oh” that had fallen out of his mouth though Santiago off. It sounded disappointed. Santi couldn’t stand Javier disappointed in him. That’s when the thought happened. ‘I wish we could just go together’ Not arrive together. Go together. As a couple. His first thought was no, that’s illegal. His second thought was no, he’d go to hell. His third was him mami, god rest her soul, would roll over in her grave.

He shook the thoughts away, but ever since then he began noticing the way he stared at Javi, the way his body buzzed with any incidental touch… He had to shove it down.

Certainly, Javier was open-minded, but he would to spend as much time as he did with him if he was gay, right? He wouldn’t incite Santi over for futball games on the tv, he wouldn’t take him with him to get lunch… he wouldn’t even want to work with him. It would all be over.

That’s what made Santi sick.

That, and the anxiety over who his secret date was.

You didn’t know why you were so goddamn nervous.

You had to admit, you were very surprised when Santiago showed up for his regularly scheduled appointment, flowers in hand, asking you to join him at the ball.

“Santi… sweetie… I don’t know…”

His large eyes looked nervous. “It’s a job! I’ll pay you, I’m not expecting anything free! And I I know what you’re gonna say, I don’t care about Javi freaking out. Imean, if you care I don’t wanna pressure you of course! I’m not trying to come between you guys, but I doubt he’ll even show. He hates these things.”

“It’s not that I’m worried about…” You take the flowers, thanking him genuinely, and walking to your kitchen. Santiago anxiously paced your walls, trailing his hands over your posters. “Sweetheart, I know we have a good time, but I am a prostitute, you know this.”

“I swear, I don’t have any notions about us being in love… I just want you there.”

Placing the flowers in the vase, you turn to look at him. “I just… well…” You hesitate, unsure how to not freak the poor kid out. “oh my god, there's no polite way to say this, but, Javier is far from the only DEA agent I’ve slept with. Hell, I slept with the janitor once.”

“Mario’s a cool guy, I don’t blame you.”

“What I’m saying is,” She sighed out her words. “You’re a sweet young man, and I know you’re a lot younger than most of the guys there. I don’t want to cause you any trouble-”

“Candy-”

“And I know I’ll cause you trouble if I’m there. They are going to make fun of you for bringing a hooker to a ball.”

He shook his head. “I don’t care. There’s no one else I want there with me but you, and I don’t care what Javier says, or any of them for that matter.”

You smile softly at the young man. He was earnest, but although you believed he didn’t care about the other guys at the precinct, you didn’t believe him for one second about Javi. Santiago worshiped the ground Javier walked on, it was clear by the way he talked about his partner.

“If you really don’t care, then yes, I’d love to go.”

His youthful face lit up. “Really?!”

“Yes” You giggle. “It sounds like a great night.”

Santiago ran to you, making you squeal as he threw you over his shoulder. “I’m gonna make you cum so many fucking times on my face, Candy, you don’t even know.”

You had to admit you were a little nervous. A lot nervous. He said he didn't think Javier would be there, but you weren’t sure, and hadn’t had a chance to try and prod him for information. You’d asked around, and Javi had been spending several nights with Gabby. This was not unusual, he was known to bounce around women, but he always came back to you. Today, though, it made you jealous as all hell. Santiago made you nervous too.

You wanted to at least make a good impression for him, so you went out and bought a brand new evening gown for the occasion, something classy, showing the curves but not your tits. Your big Farrah Faucet curls that usually accompanied a night with Lorea and his men were dialed down more to a simple look, your make-up more natural that a night on the town with high rollers would see. Still you were beautiful and you knew it. Just less like a hooker.

Javier didn’t know why he was so fucking nervous. He never went to these stupid things, much preferring to spend a night undressed with his cock buried between a pretty woman’s legs than stuff himself into a suit that had only gotten tighter in recent years. But, Pope was gonna be there, he was gonna be dressed up in some overdone suite, Javi just knew it. And his stupid curls would be slicked back and inevitably a few would pop out and he’d spend the night trying to keep them back but they would want to be wild and he’d eventually mess with his hair too much and it’d be all every-which-way and, and, and…

So maybe he was late. So maybe he was a little tipsy. Maybe he had been taking pulls of a flask in the back of a taxi but there was coke baggie and a cum stain on the seat so was it really the worst the car had seen? He pulled up to the dance in his too-tight suit, stumbling out a bit, and attempted to find his way inside. He didn’t really want to see Santi dancing with a girl, but if he didn’t show, Santi would worry, and Javi didn’t like Santi worrying.

Javier hoped she was nice. A nice girl because he was a nice young man. Someone to take care of him in some ways, to let him care for her in others… Javi knew he could take care of Sant. He had when he was sick, hadn’t he? Therein lied the reason Javi was drunk. The burn of the liquor was to press down the feeling he couldn’t ignore sober. He wanted Santiago.

“Buenas noche, amigos. ¿Has visto Santiago?”

Javi asked as he stumbled on a few men from the DEA chattering in a corner

One of the men, Freddy, chuckled, taking a sip of his beer. “Oh, you haven't seen him yet?”

This caused all the men to laugh, but Javier didn’t get the joke. He got the feeling whatever it was, they were laughing at Santi. Javier knew Santi hadn’t really clicked with the men. He was too straight laced, too honest… too good.

“The fuck does that mean?” Javier asked with an obvious bit of bite. Santiago was his to protect.

“Young Garcia came here with a whore on his arm.” Another man, Josue, with a patchy mustache he should just call it quits on attempting to grow replies. “Wonder if he knows what she is, or if he’s going to wake up to a nasty bill in the morning.”

The group laughs, and Javier feels panic rising inside him. No. No way. Santiago couldn’t possibly be that stupid, could he? He was the smartest man Javier knew. He’d never risk her like this…

Freddy continued when he saw Javi’s confused look. “Yeah, Pena, thats what I thought too!” He said with a laugh that Javier knew was not the good natured ribbing he gave Santi. “You know Candy?”

“Uh, yeah, sounds familiar.” The room was spinning, lights and smoke and colors starting to blur.

“The whore on 7th that lets you play rough? Yeah, her.”

Javier snapped to attention again. “What did you just say?”

“Yeah, I can’t believe it either!” He turns to another man Javier doesn’t have it in him to focus on. “I bet Virgin Maria thinks he’s in love.”

Grabbing him by the shoulder, Javier turned Freddy to him. “What the fuck did you say about Garcia?”

“Relaje, Pena. You call him Pope, different name, same meaning.”

But it wasn’t. Santi was Javi’s friend, Javier cared about him. Javier called him Pope to his face and if he thought it upset him, Javi wouldn’t do it. Freddy and the guys were calling him Virgin Maria behind his back, intending on being assholes. It was meant to hurt, it wasn’t true (Santi wasn’t a virgin even before Candy), it was meant to make a mockery of his good nature, his religion, and his morals. The effeminate name was meant to mock his slight build and stature as well as his passive nature. None of them knew the Santiago that Javier knew. They didn’t know the intelligent, compassionate, incredibly capable young former special opes agent who had saved his life multiple times and had given more break throughs on Lorea than he could could.

“Tell me again what you said about Candy.”

Despite the fact everyone was staring at them, you had never seen Santi so happy, so relaxed. He had a few drinks and for his small body it probably left him feeling warm and content. You had opted to stay mostly sober, only drinking one glass of white wine from the open bar; Santiago’s generous and soft smile to the bartender only endeared him to you more.

He was so much fun like this. You loved the time you spent with him in bed, that was fun too, but you’d also come to genuinely enjoy the moments where he wasn’t making you orgasm on his lips again and again. You genuinely cared when you asked him about his day, and had made a mental note of all the names he mentioned at the precinct that were causing him problems that you recognized. You weren’t sure how without outting him, but you’d figure out some way to fuck with them. One who was a massive dick to him, Freddy, was also a massive dick to you too.

Santi was indulging in a cupcake, telling a story of his friend Benny hitting on a woman only to realize her husband was standing next to her.

“It took me, his brother Will, Fish and Redfly to break the fight up. He still won’t go in that neighborhood anymore!” Santi giggles, taking a bite of the vanilla.

You laugh along; he’s an entertaining story teller. “Did he learn his lesson?”

“No! No! That’s the best part!” Santi said as he waved his hands excitedly. “He immediately, and I mean as soon as we cleaned the blood off his face, went and hit on another girl! And you wanna know the worst part?”

“It worked?”

“It work- how did you know that?”

“Women are easy, Santi.” Swaying to the music, you set his cupcake down. He has frosting on his upper lip, just under where his mustache sat.. “We love our men bloodied.” You pull him in close, eyeing his upper lip for the frosting, but he looks like he’s going for a kiss, and who are you to deny such a handsome man?

“Even when they lose?” He speaks, voice soft and sultry. Santi’s eye flick to your lips, his own push pillows parting to receive you.

“Especially when they lose.” You close the gap, taking his lips in yours and licking your tongue over his sugar-covered upper lip, brushing over his mustache. Sweet, just like him. Your sweet man.

For a moment, you are lost in him, the sounds of the Jim Croce floating in the air.

'Cause every time I tried to tell you

The words just came out wrong

So I'll have to say I love you in a song’

CRASH!

Immediately, at the sound of excitement, Santiago is in front of you, guarding your body with his. He doesn’t move, thinking clearly and assessing the situation; looking for where the danger is at and where the best exit points may be. Keep Candy safe. Keep Candy safe. His only goal was her, keep her away from any narcos, terrorists, freedom fighters or drunken men that might be causing a stir. When the center of the commotion was coming from the north, Santiago took Candy’s hand and began to take her to one of the south exits, a lesser used one with less potential for a second assailant, when he felt her tug away.

“JAVI!” She shouts, running towards the danger in high heels, rust colored skirt fluttering just as her flowy sleeves did.

“CANDY!” Running after her, he catches up with ease without the hindrance of heels. Santi tries to stop her, not wanting her near the drunken brawl, but she is on a single minded mission. Javier was under Freddy, who Santiago did not like, and getting the shit beat out of him. If he had a second more, if his focus wasn’t so on Candy, he would have beat her too it… but Candy was quicker

Santiago watches in surprise as she lifts her skirt, pulling a knife out of her garter, getting behind Freddy and gripping his hair hard, knife to his throat.

Everything was a deadly calm, everyone saying so, so still to not disturb the crazy woman with a knife. When Santi looked to Javier to check if he was okay, he saw Javi looking up at her with his big brown eyes, clearly fucking enamored.

“Freddy, get off of him before I tell everyone the weird shit you’re into.”

The next few minuets were a blur. As soon as Freddy was off Javier and Candy’s knife was off him, he was a big man again and the group began arguing. Santiago couldn’t quite pick up what it was about except “KEEP HIS NAME OUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!” From Javi.

They were all three escorted out by security; weapons weren’t allowed at the ball.

Outside the doors, a second argument erupted.

Candy tried to approach Javier. “Javi, baby, are you-” But as her hands reached for his swollen face, the older agent stepped back and turned his attention to his mentee. “Are you fucking stupid, Garcia?!”

Santi and Candy both are taken aback by this, but it’s Candy that speaks first. “Don’t talk to him like that!”

Javier’s anger is turned back to her. “And you! You should know better than this! Than coming here!”

She rolls her eyes. “Javi. It’s literally a part of my job, I’m an escort.”

“FOR DRUG DEALERS!” Javier shouts, throwing his hands in the air and stumbling back. “Not for YOU!”

“So what, he’s too good for me to take out? Dirty whore like me belongs in dirty nightclubs and dirty crackhouses?”

“Oh for fucks sake THATS NOT WHAT I MEANT!”

Instinctively, Santi places himself slightly in front of Candy. “Tone it down, Pena.”

His icy glare turns condescending as a short, drunk, sardonic laugh escapes him. “HA! Do you think you’re in love, Santiago? Do you think you’ll be the magical man that can ‘save her’? That’s not how this works! You aren’t supposed to be bringing prostitutes to government functions, you absolute IDIOT! And you’re especially not supposed to bring HER!”

“ENOUGH!” Candy shouts at him, eyes flashing in anger. “You don’t get to tell him what he can and can’t do, Javi! And you certainly do not have possession over me! I am not yours! Just because we fuck does not mean you own me, and you don’t get to decide who I sleep with. Like you said, I am a prostitute, one of SEVERAL you frequent, so I wouldn’t be getting too high and mighty about being careful when everyone knows Helena nearly died working for you! I am not yours!”

Javier scoffs. “Oh, and he is? You think he’s your little lover boy, someone to play pretend that you are having a normal relationship with? He’s a scared child, he’s terrified of intimacy and thinks a finger in the ass will send him to hell!”

“Javier, fucking stop it right now.”

“He can’t protect you! He can’t take care of you!”

“Oh, and you can?”

“YES!”

Javier’s shouted words hung in the air, dripping with anger and venom. Santi simply watches, watches them like a scared child watching his parents fight, wishing it would just fucking stop, but it won’t. Not between them. Javier doesn’t back down and Candy isn’t scared of him.

Then, Candy starts to laugh. It’s short little laughs at first but grows louder. “Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME JAVI!” She laughs once more before shaking her head, tugging a bit at her hair as she walks a short circle. Candy shook her head, suddenly calm. “Thunder only happens when it’s raining, players only love you when they’re playing.”

Javi blinked, his voice now noticeably slurred. “What the actual fuck was that.”

Santi stepped up, sliding an arm around Candy’s waist. If she said what she wanted to say, he wanted to guide her away from Javier before he could be more hurtful to her. “It’s from Fleetwood Mac, Javi. You’d know that if you cared enough about her to look into her interests.”

Candy turned to him then, surprised, her soft eyes looking towards him; the hint of a smile on her face.

Javier, however, looked bewildered. “Her interests?You. Are not. DATING HER!”

“I still care about her!” Santiago defended himself. “Just because I’m not a sad slut who can’t emotionally attach to anyone anymore doesn’t mean I treat her like she’s not a person!”

Javier looked like he was about to speak, then shook his head. “This is fucking insane. This is not a Hollywood movie, there is no happy ending here, FUCK YOU GUYS and FUCK THE GODDAMN PRESINCT”

With that, Javier stormed off, angrily mumbling about one thing or another and his broad form shrunk down the street.

It was then Santi felt her begin to shake. Thinking quick, he took off his sports coat and wrapped it around her. “Hey, hey bebita,¿Estás bien?”

“Si” She shook her head a bit, then turned to him with an irritated look “He just really pisses me off sometimes, you know?”

Santi chuckled. “I know. He’s an asshole, let’s not worry about him, okay?” He wrapped his arms around her, and Candy allowed herself to sink into him. Santiago felt her relax, laying her head on him. He was angry, so fucking angry at Javier for the things he said to Candy, the way he spoke to her, it was hurting with jaw with how much he was clenching it… but it was clear Candy was upset too. His feelings didn’t matter, her’s did. He needed to be her man, be her strength, so he pushed his feelings aside.

Through the doors of the ballroom they could still here the live music playing, and he felt Candy gasp as The Eagle’s hit song, Peaceful Easy Feeling, began.

“I love this song…” She whispered, beginning to sway to the music. The stars were out, shining on her. It felt like they shined for her alone.

‘I like the way your sparkling earrings lay

Against your skin, it's so brown’

“I know.” Santi whispered against her skin. “I asked them to play it.” He sang the next line into her skin.

‘Y quiero dormir contigo en el desierto esta noche

Con mil millones de estrellas alrededor’

Candy took her head off him to look into his eyes. Fuck, she was pretty. So so pretty. He wanted her with him all the time, even though he knew it wasn’t possible. He wasn’t in love. Santi wasn’t sure he was capable of romantic love, honestly. He wasn’t sure he was capable of a love that was safe. But whatever he had with Candy right now it was good.

“You requested this song for me?”

‘'Cause I gotta peaceful easy feeling

And I know you won't let me down

'Cause I'm already standing

On the ground’

“Of course I did… wanted to make sure there was music you liked.” Santiago stroked her hair, careful to not mess it up, just enough to feel her. He began to dance with her in earnest.

“You’re the sweetest man I’ve ever met, you know that?”

“And I found out a long time ago

What a woman can do to your soul

Ah, but she can't take you anyway

You don't already know how to go”

Santiago twirled her, making Candy giggle.

“You listen to Fleetwood Mac?” She asked him through her laughs.

‘And I gotta peaceful easy feeling

And I know you won't let me down

'Cause I'm already standing

On the ground’

He shrugged. “I didn’t until I saw you had three albums, a Fleetwood Mac poster AND a Stevie Nicks poster.”

“So you… just decided to listen?”

“They're clearly important to you.”

He sings to her once again in Spanish

‘Tengo este presentimiento de que te conozco

Como amante y como amiga’

Candy whispers in his ear. “I enjoy our time together. I hope you know that. I do consider you a lover and a friend, Santiago.”

‘But this voice keeps whispering

In my other ear, tells me

I may never see you again’

Santiago believed her, but the ever-presant anxiety inside him told him this was temperary. Don’t feel safe, don’t feel comfortable. You are expendable. You are only loved as long as you are useful. You are only loved as long as you are perfect and good and right all the time. You can never mess up. If you do, WHEN you do, she’ll walk away just like Javi did. Still, he shakes these thoughts off and tries to focus on her. Focus on Candy.

‘Porque tengo un sentimiento tranquilo y pacifico

Y se que decepcionarás

Porque ya estoy parado

En el suelo’

As the song ended, Santi dipped a giggling Candy down low, admiring the way the dress flowed over her beautiful body.

“Hey Candy, they aren’t gonna let us back in there, wanna hop some shitty bars?”

“I’d like nothing more, Santiago.”

Back at his apartment, Candy and Santi giggled their way into his bedroom. A slightly tipsy Santi flopped down on his bed, sighing out a declaration that this was the best night of his life. When he opens his eyes again, he sees you smiling at him. He thinks that he wants to see you in his home more often.

“You look really pretty in that dress, you know that?” Santi says with a love-sick smile plastered all over his face.

You can’t help but smile back, unable to hamper the little laugh that lightens your chest. He was a bit more tipsy than you’d thought.

He pouts a little, being overly dramatic on purpose as he leans up on his elbows, his left leg half hanging off the bed as you stand watching him.

“Don’t laugh.” He pulls a face that has the opposite effect.

You don’t give him the chance to retort again and poke his foot with your index finger, while you school your face into a mock disapproving scowl. “Shoes on in bed?” You tut, expecting another pout and tease back from him, a shrug and a chorus of ‘Well it’s my bed, I can do whatever I want.’

But instead, his eyes widened a little, a small dusting of light pink blossoming over his brown cheeks and nose and highlighting his faint freckles. “S-sorry.” He mumbles quickly, scrabbling up into a sitting position to undo his laces. He’s pulled off one shoe and dropped it carefully to the floor before you even have a chance to register what he’s doing.

“Hey, hey,” you sit down next to him, your thigh touching his, and stroke your left hand through his curls. They’re a little stiffer than usual from the product he used for the occasion; it hasn’t stopped more than a few rough strands from breaking free though.

Santi leans into your touch instantly, instinctively closing his eyes and sighing, a weight lifting from his ribs. You wouldn’t be surprised if he started purring.

“You okay?” You whisper, continuing to run your fingers softly through his hair.

He nods and hums an affirmative.

You’re about to ask again, unable to stop yourself from double-checking his well-being. That seed of affection for Santi that first settled in your heart weeks ago has now grown and rooted into your chest, its vines and leaves twisted around your rib cage, seeking out your love like sunlight.

Just as the words form on your tongue you notice the not-so-subtle bulge in his trousers and bite back a smile.

Ah.

Not distress. Not panic. Nothing like that at all. Not right now, anyway.

Santi can’t see your expression with his eyes closed. He’s shifted closer, his temple gently against your shoulder as you stroke his hair. He sighs happily, almost dreamily.

It’s nice to see him like this, relaxed into your touch. He too often seems anxious, worried, worrying about his military friends, worried about Javi, worried about his family although those details remain vague. He’s mentioned his sisters lives in the US, Atlanta she thought, his tia’s he saw so often here, and every now and then a brief mention of his mom but only in passing. You place a soft kiss on his forehead, leaving a faint lipstick stain on his skin and he presses closer to you, nuzzling into the nape of your neck.

Languidly you run your free hand up his thigh, just tracing your fingers over his crotch before you squeeze.

The sharp, low moan that escapes his lips is more than worth it, though the gasped word that tumbles out is a bit of a surprise.

“Mommy,”

He freezes instantly, his eyes going wide and teeth audibly snapping shut. In less than a second he’s racking his brain, trying to work out how, why, where did that word come from? What deep, dark recess of his mind forced that word to the surface? Something was wrong with him. Something fundamentally wrong with him, deep down in the recesses of his brain. He was fucked up. He was going to hell.

Maybe you hadn’t heard it. Maybe you wouldn’t notice it. But already Santi knew those hopes were a lost cause. The way your hand had tightened momentarily in his hair the second it slipped past his tongue. He’d had a drink, a few drinks- although they’d mostly worn off throughout the night- that was a good enough excuse right? Oh god. What must you think? What would you-

“You’re my good boy, aren’t you?” Your voice was low and sweet, a caress to his very soul and he shivered in spite of himself, moaning again and squeezing his eyes shut as you stroked his painfully hard cock.

He nodded his head rapidly, not wanting to disappoint you. He’d be good, he’d be so fucking good for you. His breath hot on your neck as he pressed closer, angling his body completely towards you with a soft whimper.

You continued stroking him for a moment longer, pressing the heel of your palm firmly against his thick base before you unzipped his fly and flicked open his trouser buttons. You always loved this, loved how needy he got, how desperate for you.

Santi groaned loudly, his lips against your neck, half muffling his words against your skin as he squirmed into your touch.

“Hmm?” You halted your actions teasingly, waiting for him to repeat himself.

The small sob and bob of his throat nearly broke your resolve, but he pulled his face away from you a fraction to speak.

“Mommy, please,” he whispered.

You couldn’t help yourself, it wasn’t like it was the first man to call you ‘mommy’ in bed, but there was something about sweet, innocent Santi who had blushed his way through your first encounter not that long ago speaking that world that set your blood ablaze.

“Please what?” You teased.

He squirmed again, bucking helplessly against your hand. “Please?”

“You’re gonna have to use a few more words than that pretty boy, or I won’t be able to help you.”

Santi let out an anguished sigh, pressing his face into your neck once more.

Quickly, you moved your hand away from his weeping cock and firmly pinched his chin between your fingers, pulling him back ever so slightly so that you could look into his dark brown eyes as you title his face up.

“If you don’t speak, Mommy won’t be able to help you.”

Santi audibly moaned, his eyes rolling back for a split second before he shut them tight. His dick twitched uncontrollably.

“Yes, please, sorry, I’ll be good, I’ll be a good boy.” His words were all rushed together and there was a hazy look to his gaze when he opened his eyes again, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

You petted his hair gently. “I know you will be, Mommy’s got you, sweetheart.”

He whimpered, rubbing his thighs together with every word.

“Now, tell me what you want.”

“Can I,” he swallowed again, placing his hand on the zip of your dress, “can I undo this?”

That wasn’t what you expected him to say, and you raised an eyebrow at him lazily as you smiled and nodded.

Santi let out a little nervous breath before hastily undoing the dress and carefully slipping it off your shoulders and down to your waist. You weren’t wearing a bra.

He held his breath as he gazed at your chest, his left hand hovering just above your skin as he stared with reverence. As if he hadn’t seen you semi-naked many, many times before.

You stroked his hair again. “You’re such a good buy, aren’t you? Asking for what you need?” You say softly, just to gently break him out of his trance. You did enjoy teasing him, but never for very long. He always listened, always did as he was told, and you were happy to reward him

He nods quickly, never taking his eyes off your breasts. The tip of his tongue pokes out and wets his bottom lip.

Ever so slowly he leans forward, placing a light, sweet kiss to your lips, the corner of your mouth, your cheek, before trailing down to your neck and collarbone. His kisses get messier, wetter, more urgent the further down he goes and you don’t expect him to pause, panting against your skin.

He looks up at you with large eyes that send a shudder of heat through your core. “Can I kiss your breasts… mommy?” He adds the name shyly, looking down momentarily so that his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks.

You keep stroking his hair as you nod, hooking your fingers around the nape of his neck and guiding him towards your chest. He takes the small movement and runs with it instantly, surging forward and covering your breasts in desperate, wet kisses. Switching back and forth between them constantly as if he simply had to lavish each with the exact same amount of attention. He moans as he lightly bites and sucks, his hands digging into your skin as he holds onto you for dear life.

You press him closer, urging him on by digging your fingers into his curls and scratching your nails along his scalp. He rewards you with another muffled groan, the vibrations reverberating along your skin and sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

Santi pushes closer, the force nearly knocking you onto your back as he latches onto your left nipple. You brace your right hand on the bed behind you so that you can keep your balance.

“Such a good boy Santi.” You whisper and he whines, looking up at you once with lazy, lust-blown eyes as he keeps his mouth against you. He sucks demandingly, the sensation almost bordering on too much, but still somehow not enough, and swirls his tongue around your nipple before lapping at it and starting the process all over again. His hips are bucking desperately, but he doesn’t dare ask for attention. He knows you’ll take care of him. You always will.

He sighs, shifting, simultaneously trying to get something and not knowing what he wants at the same time.

You know what he needs though.

You coo at him, soothing and sweet as you pull in closer into your arms, cradling his head as you gently ease him into your lap. He moans so loudly, the sound quickly becoming a whine in his throat as you embrace him.

For a few seconds, he seems to relax into you, all the stress of the day and previous weeks and months draining from his soul and bones as he gently sucks. But then he starts to squirm, his thighs shaking and stomach muscles tensing. He pulls his mouth off of you with a pop and low, desperate groan. His eyes shut tight and eyebrows knitted together as he whines and presses his forehead against your skin.

“Gonna cum.” At the very back of his mind he has a sense that he should be embarrassed, embarrassed that he’s this far gone and going to cum practically untouched. But he can’t fight the pleasure as it bubbles up his spine, doesn’t want to.

“You can cum Santi,” you whisper in his ear. “You’re such a good boy, cum for Mommy.”

He shakes his head, unsure why, tears at the very corners of his eyes, “please.”

“It’s okay,” you soothe, holding him tight and kissing his temple. “I’m here.”

He moans loudly, latching back onto your breast and sucking for all he’s worth.

“Mommy’s here.”

He groans again, pulling away a fraction to get his words out. His voice is breath and high. “Want Mommy to cum.”

The pleading in his voice spikes at the throbbing arousal in your core. “Santi, it’s okay-”

His whine is muffled against your chest as he reaches down, sliding his hands between your legs to caress your body the way he knows you like. You’d taught him exactly how you want to be touched, exactly how you touch yourself. He was an eager learner.

“Santi,” you manage to breathe out through his messy desperate kisses.

“Mommy needs to cum now please,” he murmurs, his speech slurred against your tongue,

Your breath catches, thighs squirming as he strokes you, the movements soft but sure. It only takes an embarrassingly short time before you’re moaning into his mouth and tensing as your release overtakes you in a rush.

When it’s clear you’ve cum, he tenses, his orgasm following through him and bursting behind his eyes. His cock throbs as he empties himself into his pants. You smile softly at his face as his forehead pinches in bliss, your hand still stroking his hair.

There’s a pause, a small moment of quiet just before he sighs deeply, feeling weak and boneless. And then he looks up at you with his dark, dark eyes. The softness, the relief, the adoration… the sleepiness.

“So good, Santiago… you’re so good. My perfect boy…”

Santi sighs against your skin, relishing in the tender moment as you play with his hair. “Was that weird?” He mumbles into your skin.

“Noooo, no not at all. It’s very common, actually.”

He looks up at you through heavy lids and suspicious eyes. “Really?”

“Oooooh yeah.” You chuckle. “More often than you think. I’m not here to judge anyone.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, but he seems to relax. “Okay. Yeah. Okay.”

You opt to not talk about it anymore, at least for the time being. He’s so tired right now, coming hard and untouched, and you decide it’s time to put him to bed. By the time you lay him from your lap to his pillow, he’s half asleep, so you opt with minimal dress. Gentle, you unbutton his shirt and slowly, carefully slide his shirt off. When you take off his trousers and underwear fully, you replace them with sweats. You think he’s asleep, breathing slowly and eyes closed. He looks positively angelic. When your getting ready to zip up your dress again, and make your exit, you hear his voice once more.

“Stay the night?”

You sigh. “Santi, I dunno if that’s a good idea…”

His eyes open slightly, just enough so you can see him. “Please, I’ll pay you whatever you want, I just don’t want tonight to end…”

He looks so vulnerable in this moment… and you don’t want this night to end either. Rules be damned. Santi was different. Santi was better. Santi was good. And you? You deserved some damn good.

“Don’t pay me, I’ll stay.”

Santiago sits up ever so slightly. “No, no Candy this is your job. I don’t expect free-”

“It’s not free, honey.” You begin to strip down, Santi’s sleepy eyes drifting down your naked body, staring at the knife at your garter. “We’re going to sleep, just like I would at home. And tomorrow, you’ll make me breakfast. Sound like a fair trade?” The truth was, sleeping with Santi, actually sleeping with Santi, sounded wonderful. You didn’t want it to feel like a transaction.

So, you slip into his clothes. You wear a tee shirt and sweats and climb into his bed where you think he’s actually asleep this time. He snores lightly. He sleeps on his stomach, so you rub his back. He feels nice.

You want better for him. You want him to have a stable life, a loving wife who wasn’t a whore, kids if he wanted them, his family and friends surrounding him. He should have to live in danger, work a dangerous job. He should be allowed to be happy. It wasn’t a life you could give him, you knew… but you could imagine.

You kiss the scar on his spine.

******************

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for reading!!!!

If you're still hear, please drop a lil HI! It's 12 pm here, inching towards 1 but i promised to put this out so i will!!!

Everyone PLEASE GIVE A ROUND OF APPLOUSE FOR FEN FOR THE SMUT IN THE COMMENTS AND REBLOGS SO I CAN MAKE SURE THEY SEE ALL THE LOVE

I hope everyone is saying as safe as they can be in these temps, my heart goes out to all those struggling but especially those in war zones, poverty, homelessness, or in areas that were previously never this cold and thus unprepared for a harsh winter. I know us northerners joke about how cold we get, but I know its different when your infrastructure isnt equipped to take this on.

So tell me friends

Did Javier have a reason to be mad at Santi?

Or was he overreacting?

TELL ME YOUR THOUGHTS ON THE ARGUEMENT AND YOUR THOTS ON OUR DEAR SANTI

@runa-falls @lunar-ghoulie @campingwiththecharmings @whatthefishh @persephone-girl @criticalarchitecture @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @beelzebeth87 @pimosworld @millerscoffee @heareball @thatwonderouswoman @poolb @meveispunk @lovable-liar @millllenniawrites @read-and-wip @missdictatorme @the-fox-den @milkymoon2483 @k-ra @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @rosellacwrites @legendary-pink-dot @dreamingofbucky @englandsgray @starsthatwatch @fairlyang @alwaysmicado @theywhowriteandknowthings @casa-boiardi @lostfleurs @ninebluehearts @puglover12 @sub-aro @laiisleiite @itspdameronthings @heareball @comfortlessjoy @csarab615 @calaveramangonda @bit-dodgy-innit @stevngrant @kirsteng42 @mrsjavierp @nanfafnan @lovable-liar @axshadows @cookielovesbook-akie @reallyrallyauthor @solar-fics @criticalarchitecture

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