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usedtobecooler · 2 years

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smutty stocking stuffers day one - mr quinn x babysitter!reader

Pairing | Mr. Quinn x fem!reader

Warnings | sexual content (18+ minors dni), age gap (early twenties/mid thirties), unprotected piv sex, dirty talk, riding, drooling, breeding kink, bulge kink, glasses kink, and a dumb little fluffy moment at the end.

Word Count | 2.2k

A/N | seeing joe dressed as a literal teacher in his silly glasses did things to me and it resulted in this because i'm a slut!!! happy day one!

Mr. Quinn throws himself down onto the sofa next to you, huffing out a big sigh. He's disheveled, shirt untucked from his pants and rumpled up, dress trousers crinkled where they'd bunched up around his thighs as he sat. Bags under his eyes hidden by his thick rimmed glasses, curly hair as unruly as ever.

"Long day?" You question quietly, pulling your legs up under yourself, elbow propped up on the back of the sofa, hand resting on the side of your neck comfortably. You can't help but think that even like this, tired and worn out, Mr. Quinn is still the most beautiful man you'd ever laid eyes on.

"You have no idea." Joe groans, pushing up his glasses and rubbing his tired eyes until he's seeing stars, letting his glasses slip back down once he's satisfied, "How were the boys for you? Good, I hope?"

"Henry was a bit sad at bedtime so I popped on his little Superman nightlight," You explain and Joe winces, knowing Henry only ever had his nightlight on when he'd had a hard day and missed dad, "Tommy was fine, said he wanted a chocolate bar at bedtime 'cause mummy's babysitter usually allows it, but he wasn't fooling me."

Joe laughs at that, his smile reaching his eyes and it makes your heart flutter, because that didn't happen often. When he was genuinely happy, he was ethereal, like a completely different person.

"So... I know you said you don't do Christmas presents but," You start, and Joe scrunches his nose up at you, getting ready to protest, "shut up, don't say anything. You've been so good to me this year, Mr. Quinn, you've paid me far too much, always left food for me, even let me stay over when it's been harsh weather and I've been too frightened to drive home. So, there's a gift under the tree for you. You don't have to open it til Christmas, but it's just a token of my appreciation for you."

Joe slaps a hand down on your thigh and rubs it a little, a soft gesture he'd done a million times before when you'd gone out of your way to do something you didn't necessarily need to, unaware of how much it made your heart skip and your mouth run dry. He huffs out a little sigh, "I didn't get you anything, darling. This was very unexpected, thank you."

You lock eyes unexpectedly, and your breath hitches. You realised your relationship was odd for a babysitter and parent, you were close - comfortable. Always respectful, a boundary had never been crossed.

But. Joe had heavy eyes, like he was tired and wound up and like he needed... relief. You wonder when the last time was that he'd ever been pleasured by anything other than his own right hand. Hell, you're not sure he even had dealings with his hand. He was a busy man, no time for anything but work and his kids, surely he was overdue some much needed relaxation.

In your daze you hadn't noticed Joe's hand rising higher, sitting snug in the crease of your thigh where your belly met it, comfortable there in the heat, still not pushing any further than that. Joe's hand was a flame and you were alight.

You don't know who closes the gap first but you don't care, Joe's lips slotting with yours like they're meant to be there. The scruff of his beard tickles your top lip and your chin, tinged slightly with the faint smell of leftover cigarette smoke. It's intoxicating, enough to have you lunging forward and crowding into his space, pushing against him until he's knocked back against the sofa arm and you're mounting him.

You rock your hips down into Joe's, only the thin fabric of your panties and his pants separating your skin. You silently thank yourself for wearing a plaid skirt with knee high socks on this particular day, you never usually dressed up so well for babysitting, but you'd had some spare time in the morning to doll yourself up.

"Tell me what you need, Mr. Quinn, I can be so good for you, please," You beg in between kisses, rucking up his silly little sweater and his crumpled shirt so you can feel at his soft belly, trace your fingers down his happy trail to the waistband of his slacks, until he's moaning against your mouth, gripping at your hips.

"Pretty girl, what're you doing to me," Joe's voice is deep, gruff with want and it makes your cunt quiver, "need to feel that pretty pussy, please?"

And who were you to refuse such a pretty man such a simple request? You would usually draw this out, expect to be touched and taken care of beforehand, but Joe's sleepy eyes filling with lust for you, mixed with his little begs were enough. All the other parts could wait for another time, if you ever got another time.

"I've thought about this for so long," Joe gasps, eyes going wide as your fingers dance along the hem of his pants, working the button and zip with ease as if you'd done it a thousand times before, "what would a darling girl like you want with a man like me, hmm?"

Joe emphasizes his question by tugging at your chin with his thumb and forefinger, pad of his thumb grazing your kiss swollen, plump lips, and you can't help yourself. The tip of your tongue slithers out, engulfing his thumb with the wet heat of your mouth. Joe groans, presses down on your tongue until you're gagging. It's filthy, the way he keeps the pressure until you're drooling from the edges of your lips, keening into him.

You let his thumb slip from your mouth, a string of spit connecting them as you pull away, making hasty work of ridding him of his clothing. He tilts his hips up to allow you to slide the offending material down his thighs, leaving them bunched just below his ass. You had no patience; you couldn't wait any longer.

His cock slaps up against his belly, and the sight before you is enough to make your mouth water. He's uncut and thick, alluringly so, and you should've known if his fingers were anything to go by, you'd caught yourself lingering before, on how big his silver rings were, how his hand would engulf a glass. Your cunt quivers, knowing he's going to be a stretch.

You grasp a hold of his cock with your nimble fingers, sliding the foreskin down until the shiny, pink mushroom head is exposed, a blurt of precum dribbling from the slit. It's so pretty, so fitting to Joe and the rest of his body, it clouds your brain.

You slip the head between your slick folds and bask in the way that Joe watches your bodies connect in awe, brown eyes glassy behind the thick rim of his glasses. He's watching your cunt catch on the head of his cock whilst you watch him staring, until you're sinking down on the length in one fell swoop, causing Joe to squeeze his eyes shut and choke off a moan.

"Young thing like you always this wet?" Joe groans, fingertips digging into your hips as you rock back and forth, using his pubic bone as friction on your clit, making you gasp and shudder as you struggle to adjust to his size, "God, darling, never thought I'd get to see you like this."

You moan quietly at Joe's words, throwing your head back as you use your knees for leverage and start bouncing up and down, slowly and barely even letting a few inches slip out, torturing him, almost, "Didn't think you, fuck, wanted me, Mr. Quinn. I was basically throwing myself at you."

Joe's hands leave your hips to roam up your loose sweater, grasping at every soft line of your body, gentle fingertips running along your belly and pressing down until you're gasping for air, "You feel me there, darling?" He makes a point of pressing down again, until you're crying out and your hips stutter, "Deep, right? You take me so well, such a good little thing."

Of course you can feel him, he's so deep you feel like he's in your throat, so thick your walls can't help but clamp down on him, your whole body hot with a prickly heat, "You're s-so big, can feel you everywhere," you cry, bounces becoming increasingly quicker, Joe's hands rising up further to cup at your tits through the thin material of your bralette, thumbing over your hard nipples, making you gasp.

"You want me to come in you, pretty girl? Would you like that?" Joe's voice is almost cruel, and you nod your head fervently, needing to be filled with his release, you want to feel him leaking out of you, you need it, "Fill you with my come and put a baby in your belly, yeah?"

You cry out, hands grasping at Joe's sweater and tugging, your eyes connecting with his own, blown out underneath the thick rims of his glasses, "You can't - can't say that, Mr. Quinn," You moan, the coil in your belly suddenly tightening unexpectedly, the spongey spot inside of you constantly being assaulted as you ride him, "Please, please. Need it, please."

"Gonna pump you full of my come and make you a mummy, yeah? You'd like it, I know you would," Joe's grin is salacious, he knows what he's doing and you can hardly stand it, your mouth opening in a silent moan, overwhelmed by Joe's dirty words and the filthy sounds coming from your cunt sucking him in, your sweaty skin clapping and echoing into the otherwise quiet room.

"Joe, please, I-" You barely get the words out before the coil in your gut is snapping and you're coming with a loud cry, walls spasming around Joe's thick cock as your vision turns white, your ears ringing. It's earth shattering, the way it just keeps coming, your body going limp under his touch.

"Good girl, that's a good fucking girl," Joe's voice wavers, his arm snaking around your back to hold you there as he pistons his hips up from below you, allowing you to go floppy so he can use you how he likes, fucking you so hard you're wailing, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

He comes with a gruff grunt, cock pulsing and filling your aching walls with his load, one hand digging into your thigh and the other gripping at your back so tight you know he's going to leave bruises. You can't find it in you to care, you hope he leaves his marks behind, as a solid reminder he was ever there to begin with.

You lay on top of him in stunned silence, the only noises being both of your panting breaths as they begin to level out, Joe's spent cock slipping out of you unexpectedly and making you hiss. You're not sure when Joe's grip on your back turns into a soothing rubbing motion, but you keen into the touch, like a cat getting stroked.

"That was... maybe a mistake," Joe's quiet voice startles you, and you can't help the sinking feeling in your chest, but you might've expected this to happen, "I took advantage of you there a little, darling. I'm sorry."

"You didn't," You speak abruptly, looking up at him through hazy eyes, unable to stop the clenching in your chest when you notice how soft and relaxed he looks despite his words, "You didn't take advantage of me, Mr. Quinn. I wanted this to happen, I wouldn't of let it if I didn't."

"I think we're well past Mr. Quinn now, sweetheart," Joe tries at a joke, scrunching his nose up cutely, the bottom rim of his glasses digging into his cheeks. You laugh anyway, an embarrassed flush taking over your features, "And, uh about the... baby stuff-"

"I have an IUD, Joe," You interject before he can even finish his sentence, and you have to bite back a smirk at the way his body sags under your weight with relief, "don't worry about it. But I liked the dirty talk, it was nice."

"'Nice'," Joe bristles, grinning up at the ceiling, "Are you free next Saturday?"

You look at him, puzzled, "Joe, I don't babysit for you on Saturdays."

Joe laughs, "Think it'll have to be my mum for this one, seeing as my babysitter is busy, she's going on a date, you know?"

Your eyes widen momentarily before you regain composure and join in on the little bit of banter, "Really? Is she? Who's she going on a date with, is she going anywhere nice?"

"Ach, nobody really, just some worn out school teacher who's a bit of a loser," Joe looks down at you, wiggling his brows and eliciting a gentle giggle from you in return, "I was thinking SoHo, there's this really nice restaurant that does the most incredible beignets."

"Oof, already talking about deserts? A man after my own heart," You fawn, unable to wipe the stupid grin off of your face, "I think she'll really enjoy that."

"Good, that's what I hoped for. I'm kind of wanting her to stick around."

(the biggest of thank yous to @munsonquinns & @chainsawmunson for being my biggest cheerleaders and spurring me on to write and post this 🖤)

#joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn fic #joseph quinn x fem!reader #joseph quinn x female reader #my fanfic #mine #x reader #smut #candy’s smutty stocking stuffers

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billthedrake · 11 months

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HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS

"Russ?" the voice called out as I walked through the big-box store parking lot. "Russ McAdams?"

Maybe it was the dark winter dusk or maybe I just didn't expect to see Coach Stanley, out of the classroom in his casual hoodie and jeans, but it took me a second me a second to connect the voice with the face.

Given how much I'd jerked off to fantasies about my AP History teacher back, I probably should have recognized him immediately. The guy wasn't the only dude I lusted after in high school, my body swimming in teen hormones and my head trying to make sense of it all, but I always thought he was the hottest teacher at Aurora High. 5'11" thick ex-baseball player muscle, thinning brown hair and a clean-shaven face that always seemed on the verge of a five o'clock shadow. Even the way he walked was a little bow-legged and a lot masculine.

He wasn't clean-shaven any more, instead sporting a closely trimmed beard. And he wasn't in his khakis and button down shirt now, but instead had on a puffy winter jacket and jeans, with a scarf that mostly covered a casual sweatshirt underneath.

"Coach Stanley?" I said as I realized who was walking up to me. Ed Stanley wasn't my coach, just my teacher, but all the school called him Coach Stanley or Coach S for short.

"Almost didn't recognize you," he said as he held out a gloved hand. I shook it. "Seems you've done some growing in college."

"Yeah, I guess I have," I chuckled and took his words to be a big ego pump. After I moved off to school and came out, I decided that I'd hit the gym. Hard. I was an athletic kid in high school, on the soccer and tennis teams, but I was slender, and my height made me look even leaner. But it was winter break of my junior year and I'd put on a lot of muscle since Coach Stanley last saw me.

"Well, you're looking good, Russ," Coach S said. I mean it was probably an innocent compliment, but standing a few feet apart from the guy, I got caught up in his blue eyes and bright smile for a second. All those silly adolescent puppy crushes I thought I'd outgrown came flooding back to me.

I know I blushed, but my red cheeks could probably be explained by the cold evening weather. I'd underdressed given I had only planned to pop in for a last-minute gift for my sister. "You running some errands, Coach?" I asked.

The man nodded and gave one of those trademark Coach Stanley smiles. Fuck I was gonna be jerking off thinking of him later, for sure. "I've kind of procrastinated but I'm here to pick up a tree." He gave an embarrassed shrug. "It's a lot of trouble to go through with just me, but you know, I guess it doesn't feel like Christmas without one."

I didn't know Coach Stanley's story. I mean, a few of the girls in my high school gossiped about his hot fiancee, so I think I expected him to be married by now.

"You busy shopping, Russ?" he asked. I half thought Coach would just say hello then go on his way. But I figured a teacher enjoys running into a former student. And I was a good student, I knew - academically successful and all-around "good kid."

"A last minute gift," I replied, holding up my bag. "Guess I'm a procrastinator, too, Coach," I laughed.

Stanley flashed me that bright grin, and it seemed like his eyes couldn't break contact. Fuck. "Well, I guess I better let you get on with your errands," he said. "Good running into you, Russ. Take care."

"I will," I said. "Good seeing you, too, Coach."

He paused and then added. "And if you ever want to stop by the school, say hi... I'm always around."

"Will do," I said.

We both kind of stood in the parking lot, looking at each other. I think we laughed at the same time from the awkwardness.

"All right," he finally said with a nod and turned to walk over to where the Christmas trees were set up.

He got about four paces, but I spoke up. I couldn't believe I was about to say this, but I figured if I made a fool of myself, it didn't matter. I didn't live in my hometown any more. And something about Coach's vibe made me think something was up.

"Hey Coach," I said. The man stopped, surprised, but turned around. I took a couple steps forward. "This may sounds weird," I said with a deep blush. "But if you want some help setting up your tree, I'd be glad to help out."

I could feel my heart pound, and I wanted the parking lot to swallow me, the embarrassment was coming on so strong. Thankfully, Coach Stanley's smile returned. "Yeah?"

I nodded.

He seemed like he was trying to check some emotion. "I'm sure you have better things to do, Russ," he said.

I had no inclination that Coach Stanley even thought about guys, but those words were when I knew he wanted me.

"My parents have some holiday party to go to, and I don't have any plans," I said. "I'm happy to help. Honest."

Coach paused then agreed. "All right. Maybe I can give you my address and you can meet me over there?"

We made a plan.

I went back home to drop off my shopping and to grab a quick bite. I had a quick change of clothes. I felt weirdly nervous, like I didn't know what Coach Stanley went for. It was a weird thought and unexpected I'd even be thinking this on a Saturday night before Christmas. I took off my sweats and slipped on a nice pair of jeans. A long-sleeve gray T and a layered T-shirt with my college logo on it seemed to be a nice jocky-preppy outfit and the snug size showed off my body pretty well.

"Hope you like it, Coach," I laughed in the mirror.

I went down to find some leftovers for dinner.

My dad was in the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of wine he was taking to the party. I told him I was thinking of going over to hang out with one of my friends. And maybe staying over if that was Ok.

Dad was the softer touch of my parents, but Mom probably didn't care. I was responsible, and they had a lot of me time over the holidays. "Just text us when you know your plans for sure," he said.

"Will do, Dad," I replied. "Have fun at the party."

"Be safe," he added, as went to get his coat, just as Mom came down the stairs.

They left pretty soon thereafter, and I cleaned up from my quick dinner.

By the time I got to Coach Stanley's place, I was feeling nervous, real nervous. I parked my car and walked up to the front door of the modest colonial house in a decent but not overly fancy neighborhood. I started second guessing myself. Maybe I'd been misreading the cues, but even if so I'd have some quality time with an incredibly hot man. I figured I'd just enjoy that for what it was worth.

When Coach answered the door, I was so turned on. Gone was the puffy coat and the scarf and the sweatshirt. My high school history teacher stood before me in a pair of jeans, sock-clad feet and a loose, thin cotton T-shirt of some fundraising road race. This shirt was a little loose but somehow draped perfectly over the rounded shoulder muscle and strong pecs. Even if it wasn't snug, I could tell Stanley kept his midsection flat and trim for a dude in his late 30s. I don't know why this was a major turn on, but Stanley wore a thin gold chain necklace around his corded neck.

"Glad you could make it, Russ," he greeted, his mellow tenor voice gaining a friendly edge. "Come in. I've just put the tree in the stand and was about to start on the lights."

I did feel kind of dumb. In my imagination, I'd come over and right away would be having sex with my former teachers. But here I was to help him with his tree. I took off my coat and followed him to the living room.

There were a few wrapped presents set to the side and a few family photos in frames. And there was a big bookshelf with hardbound books. But other than that it was very much a bachelor home. Sparse and clean, but not homey at all. I kind of liked it as a glimpse into Coach's personality, but it kind of felt lonely, too.

I set my coat down and followed his directions, holding the string of lights as he wrapped it around.

It was all business, but having two men at the task made it go more quickly. Next was the garland. Then there were a bunch of ornaments to put up - a couple of boxes.

"We don't need to do all of these," Coach said, handing me one.

It was a little frustrating being so close to this hunk in his own home. But it was a good kind of frustration. Sneaking looks at him. His handsome face, his serious demeanor, his hunky body. It was like every sexual thought I'd had sitting in his third period class all junior year came back to me, only it felt more powerful. Closer, more real.

At that point I wasn't expecting anything to happen. Maybe Coach was lonely at the holidays and just wanted some company. If so, I was happy to give it.

Then I felt his hand on my shoulder. "Let me just get by you a sec," he said. He reached up over my shoulder and hung an ornament in a bare spot. And just as quickly his hand left.

I wouldn't think anything of it, only two minutes later, he repeated the action. I paused and savored the grip of his hand on my shoulder as he placed the ornament.

My heart was pounding now. I waited a few more minutes, feeling this strange energy in the room. I really didn't want to misread things, but something was up. As Coach reached over and put a ball on a branch, I stepped beside him, almost behind him and put my hand on the middle of his back. Coach Stanley had one hell of a strong back, I could tell, and up close I could smell his aftershave.

"Mind if I get in here, Coach?" I asked, reaching up to the top. I had a good four inches of height on him.

As soon as I placed the ball, my eyes dropped level again and I saw those mesmerizing blue eyes. Quietly expectant.

I gently massaged that spot in his back, through the T-shirt and leaned in.

Coach's lips were soft, almost chapped, but they parted and I felt the tip of his tongue graze my own lips. As I parted them, our mouths connected fully in a kiss.

In my imagination of how this evening would go down, nothing compared to the thrill of that kiss. I was a young guy still, just 21, and I was realizing then that none of the guys I'd been with really knew how to kiss. Not like this.

Stanley's look was all serious when we finally broke for air. My heart was racing and I just sensed his was, too.

"You OK with this, Russ?" he asked softly. "I usually don't do anything like this."

I ran my fingers along the small of his back. I may not have had Coach's kissing skills, but I enjoyed being physical and handsy-flirty when I hooked up with a guy. It was something I learned from a frat boy I sorta-kinda dated and now something I consciously worked on.

Coach seemed to like it, and I could see his nostrils flare as my fingertips slid under the hem of his shirt to touch his bare flesh.

"More than OK with it, Coach," I grinned. Just being close to him I could tell how solid his body was, and that was turning me the fuck on. But I noticed Coach S wasn't making much move to touch me or feel my body. "More to the point... are you OK with it?"

He cocked me a little grin. "Yeah, Russ... it's just... part of me thinks I shouldn't be doing this."

"I'm not gonna blab to anyone, Coach," I said. "Promise." I ran my fingers up higher along his lats. Rock hard solid muscle that was more dense than bulky. I could tell the man was gonna give me new workout goals, already. "Come on... I want this so bad."

That made him smile. "I want you, too, Russ," he whispered, getting that serious look on his face again. And I was now getting my second Ed Stanley kiss, almost better than the first. And the man's hands were now on my waist, openly feeling me up as he pulled me into his body.

We made out, right in his living room, right in front of the Christmas tree, and our hands moved from gentle exploration gradually into groping. It was like we were copying each other's moves, and one-upping them.

The look on Coach S's face when he pulled back was adorable. I could see a crazy amount of lust but also the desire to fight it.

"I like to take things slow, Russ," he said as his blue eyes swept up my taller form.

"Works for me, Coach," I muttered, my voice cracking with lust. I mean, my normal MO would have been to go hard and heavy with a dude like this. But I didn't want to see the impatient young guy I really was.

He cracked a smile. "How bout some make out time in the bedroom?"

I nodded and followed him. The master bedroom was somehow even barer than the living room of Coach Stanley's house. But it smelled like Coach's aftershave and the scent hit me like pheromones as I watched the man pull the covers down and get up on the bed, still in his stocking feet and clothes.

Normally, I'd be stripping down, ready to get it on, but I followed Coach's lead and kicked off my shoes before joining him.

"Thanks for coming over, Russ," Coach said softly after a kiss.

My hands were on his chest. I was doing my very best to be a good boy and not grope the man too much but fuck he felt nice. I'd hooked up with some hot guys before, but Stanley was probably the hottest I'd scored. And the fact that I had some lingering high school fantasies added to the thrill. I was rock hard in my jeans as we lay on our sides, face to face.

"Not how I was expecting my evening to play out, Coach," I said. "This is a fantasy come true, to be honest."

He chuckled softly and ran his fingers along my flank. "It's Ed, Russ," he said. "You can call me Ed."

"All right, Ed," I said. "But I'm probably still gonna think of you as Coach."

He shook his head gently. Maybe mildly bothered by the fucking with his former student thing, but owning up to the dynamic. "Probably to be expected." Then he added, "You really better not fucking tell anyone, Russ." It was the first time I'd heard my former teacher swear, but the gruff tone was in gest, even if I knew Stanley had real anxiety about what we were doing.

"For real, Ed.... whatever happens stays between us." I took a deep breath and felt my heart pound. I was not good at doing the patient approach. "I know you wanna take it slow, Coach, but you make me so fucking horny."

That made the man laugh. "All right, buddy," he grinned. He pulled back and kind of sat up. I watched him pull his T-shirt off over his head.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" I gasped, my thought going straight from my head to my lips. Coach's body was just incredible. Meaty and thick, but also in shape, even with knotted abs. He had a lot of brown fur on his chest, swirling over his round pecs capped with thick brown-pink nipples. And to top it off that gold chain clung around his neck.

"What?" he reacted with a laugh.

"You, that's what," I said. "That body is insane." I normally didn't verbalize my reactions to men when I hooked up. Then again, normally with my hook ups both men would have gotten off by now and be getting dressed to go our own ways.

Stanley seemed pleased with my compliment. "You're looking in fine form, too, Russ... come on, show me what you got."

I felt inadequate but I wanted to get the party going, so I stripped my shirt off, and raised the ante by undoing my jeans and pulling them down over my legs.

Already, Ed's hands were on my semi-naked body, feeling me up. Seems that Mr. Take it Slow was getting horny himself.

"Damn, Russ, you're not one of those Corbin Fisher guys, are you?" he teased.

I was eating his praise and his touch, too. After I kicked off my jeans I spread my legs to show off the hardon in my boxer briefs. I wasn't porn hung, but I measured up pretty well against most guys I'd been with, and I was certainly rock hard right then.

"You watch that stuff, Coach?" I laughed.

"I won't lie, Russ. That stuff's gotten me through some pretty lonely nights." His blue eyes met mine directly, communicating not only his desire but his vulnerability. For some reason, that made my cock twitch.

"No need for porn tonight, Ed," I replied. Then with an impish smile, I added, "Unless you wanna have it on."

He shook his head with a laugh. "No. No porn." He took his hands off my biceps and reached down to undo his jeans.

I swear my breath stopped as I watched him peel them down. I swear I don't know how and why I didn't realize that Ed Stanley had gone commando. As the jeans slipped down, I saw the thick brown hair of his lower belly, then a solid erection eager to poke out.

Coach was of average length. Totally average, yet thicker than normal. His cock was girthy and beautiful and seemed to fit him.

But his attention was on me, and as he scooted up back close to me he ran his fingers along the waistband of my underwear. "May I?" he asked.

"Oh yeah," I replied. Like a kid unwrapping a present he peeled them off over my boner and then jerked them down my legs. My prick stood up and jerked in excitement.

"That's a nice tool, ya got, Russ," he growled. He stared at my cock then looked up to my face again. "You definitely could be in one of those Corbin Fisher videos." His fist wrapped around my hard meat and almost instantly his palm was smearing my pre cum down the shaft with its regular strokes.

I touched his dick, now, too, feeling like I had permission. He hissed, and I watched his face react as I did my best to adjust my touch and approach. "You into college dudes, Ed?" I asked. Maybe it was nosy or forward to ask. Coach wasn't old or anything, I'd guess mid 30s, but he seemed very much into my collegiate body.

He nodded. "If I'm honest with myself... yeah. I guess I think and wonder what if I'd done stuff back then."

I felt back for Coach S and also weirdly protective of the man. I let go of his dick and held up my arm. "Come here, Coach," I muttered.

He took the invitation and scooted into my embrace, nestling his warm furry body against mine. For a man in his early 30s, Ed Stanley was as hairy as a man in his late 40s. I wrapped my arm around his back and he held me in a similar grip. We humped our hard dicks together, slowly, but didn't really escalate the sex. Not yet. Ed just rested his head in the crook of my neck and held on to me.

"Feels nice, buddy," he said. Then, nervously, "you must think I'm a mess."

I patted his back. It was incredible how solid his lats were. "Not all, Coach... Ed..." I heard him laugh. "It bother you that I'm still calling you 'Coach'?" I asked. "Old habits and all."

Stanley pulled back. Up close his face seemed less youthful but he was even more handsome. I tried to memorize the soft lines in his rough-skinned face and the close trim of his beard. "It's probably not making me feel less like an old pervert, but it's all good, Russ."

He'd asked me to take things slow and we were just in this quiet emotional moment. Which is why I was surprised by the sudden move Coach made to roll me onto my back, with him on top of me. He was 5'11" and shorter than me but he easily weighed as much. I loved feeling every bound of his hard body on top of mine.

We kissed, and Ed was no longer doing the soft, gentle kiss. It was more the hard sexual kissing I was used to. Coming from this man, it drove me wild. Roughly he thrust into my crotch with his. I never was into frottage, and this wasn't gonna get me off. But as foreplay I fricking loved it. Feeling Coach S's athletic ex-jock body on top of mine, working up his own sexual heat to match mine as we sucked each other's tongues and then took turns plunging in and out of our mouths with them.

This whole evening had been unexpected and had played out with surprising ease. Only I realized I didn't know Coach Stanley's deal. On the apps, you know from the get go what the guy is looking for. I didn't know if Coach was a top or even if he was into fucking. For my part I was pretty vers and while anal was my favorite thing, giving or receiving, practicality mean that an oral hookup was more common.

The way Ed was putting his whole body into our intensely sexual make out made me half expect the man to kick my legs apart and ravage me. Instead he slowed his hips and paused, pulling back with a big fucking grin.

"Please tell me you suck dick, Russ," he hissed.

I chuckled. "Yeah, Coach."

That was all he needed to hear. Gone was the patient man. Instead he quickly scooted up and lined up his dripping cock to my lips. I mentally prepared myself, hoping Stanley wasn't the type to go into rough facefucking mode. I opened my lips and felt his prick press past them.

Thankfully after Coach pushed in three solid inches, he let me do the work. I didn't have a great angle or a lot of room for move my head back and forth, but that was OK. Stanley didn't need a pro blowjob, it turns out. After a minute of my awkward bobs, I felt his quads tense and his voice get real strained.

"That's it, Russ..." he hissed. His sexy masculine voice now needy. "Right fucking there, buddy.... so close... Yeah, keep sucking! Oh god, oh fuck... UNGH!"

His cum was hot and the load thick. The angle made it shoot against the roof of my mouth so it was a half second before I tasted him. He was salty and sweet and I was instantly hooked. I swallowed that ejaculation and moved my mouth back and forth, adding suction to coax out a few more jets. Other than the my sorta frat-guy boyfriend and a 20-something dude I went out with for a few months, I didn't have much relationship experience. And in my one-off hookups, my dick size meant I was more often then not being serviced orally. But damn, I loved this feeling of a man cumming in my mouth and down my throat. Particularly because it was Coach S.

He finally pulled back, a huge smile on his face. "Thank you," he muttered and patted my cheek. Then, he said, "your turn."

I watched as he quickly scooted down to get on all fours between my legs. I had been so focused on blowing him, I almost forgot how eager I was to get off myself. Coach was reminding me now, the way he licked up my boner, one side then the other.

Maybe Coach was closeted, I don't know. But the man knew how to suck cock. He had a good technique as he took me into my mouth and started working me up and and down. But the most amazing thing was his enthusiasm. Even though he'd already gotten his rocks off, the man was so clearly into this. Into sucking dick. My dick.

I watched him and enjoyed him, not overly urgent in my need to cum.

But, fuck, I felt Ed's fingers nudge my ball, and the urgency hit me. I thought of trying to hold back but I worried I'd mess up a perfectly great orgasm.

"Coach!" I hissed. "I'm gonna cum.... oh SHiT!"

I could hear Ed gulp as I pulsed my seed into his mouth. Then on my second spurt, he let out a deep, excited moan.

I leaned my head back and just enjoyed every wave of pleasure that coursed through me. I could get used to Ed Stanley's skills, for sure.

Finally, the man relinquished my prick and gently kissed up my belly and chest. I felt a little ticklish after the intense cum, which made him laugh softly.

"Thank you, Russ," he said, now raising his weight above mine, our soft dicks pressed together but our torsos not touching.

"Man... you're the one that's letting me live out my high school fantasies."

I could see him wince a little at that but he just nodded. "Well, I'm glad." He gingerly scooted off to the side, resting on the bed beside me. "I'll be honest, Russ... I don't know the etiquette in these situations."

"What do you mean, Coach?" I asked, turning toward him and running my fingers through the hair on his chest. I wanted to memorize the look and feel of this man.

He seemed shy now. "Sometimes guys seem to want to split once they get their nut. And sometimes they seem mad if I don't ask them to stay."

"I've done both, Ed," I assured him.

That seemed to relax him. "Well, you wanna stay for a bit? Maybe we can light the tree, enjoy some egg nog?"

I nodded, a smile on my face. "Yeah," I said.

That made him happy, I could tell. It seemed strange a man as hot as this could be so lonely, but I was happy to be his stand-in boyfriend or whatever for the evening.

We kissed some and then got up to get dressed again. As we padded back into his living room, I had to ask, "So... there been a lot of guys for you?" Maybe it was a sore point, but I figured if Ed wanted to some quality time, we could talk man-to-man.

He shrugged. "About ten. About half of those in the last year," he explained. "I guess I'm still figuring some stuff out."

I nodded, sympathetic. I had a different journey than Coach, but I understood some of what he was going through. "Well, I'm real glad I ran into you, Ed."

He smiled. "I'm glad too, Russ."

#drakestories

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dimepdf · 2 years

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★ 𝐒𝐎 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐄𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐎𝐏 𝐎𝐑 𝐈'𝐌 𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐀 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄! + 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

masterlist. / taglist. / any request? synopsis. treat ya girl right or toji will snatch her up for the holidays!

─── ☆ notes. oh brother another cuck fic .

─── ☆ genre and warnings. +18 nsfw under the cut. minors dni, drabble, dumbifcation, degradation kink, age gap, cheating, toji always gets megumi’s girls, brotha is starving, head pushing, don't cheat! | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

Toji was a genius, or maybe it was you that was just a little fucking stupid. You were convinced that it wasn't cheating when you would sneak around behind Megumi’s back to suck his dad’s dick behind closed doors.

He would convince you that he wasn’t just some 40 something year old man perving on his son’s 19-year-old girlfriend and that you were just "practicing" new things, that he was just the best dad in the whole wide world for "teaching you how to be the perfect girlfriend" for his poor old innocent son.

So you'd let him show you how to drag your tongue flat against the underside of his dick, how to massage his balls with just the right amount of pressure that had his eyes rolling and hips shifting farther into your grasp, how to twist your wrist just the right amount, and if you were lucky, you might even get a praise or whimper or two out of him.

He had been training you for months after Megumi made the first mistake of introducing you to him and seeing your doe-eyed glance staring up at him and giving him that stupidly cute little smile.

You'd get too comfortable spending the night bouncing around on your heels, parading yourself through the halls of his home like a Christmas gift waiting to be unwrapped, thinking you were the only one in just one's home, leaving you in Megumi's shirts and pants to cover your figure.

It's not like you were doing it to purposely get his attention, thinking his old ass wasn't home. Toji was as usual too busy taking another shift, hiding away from his family, and drowning himself in his work, while your boyfriend was too busy on his PS4 gaming with his friends to pay attention to you.

You were both very wrong. The same night, your panties were pushed aside with your thighs pressed against your chest while Toji didn’t even bother to cover your poor little whimpers.

In fact, it seemed like neither of you really cared as you moaned out his name like prayers despite Megumi just being down the hall.

You were just so alluring without even trying that you would come crawling to him any moment that you would usually spend trying to entertain yourself while Megumi sat in his own world while his girlfriend was busy in his dad's bedroom, kneeling between Toji’s thighs, fisting a handful of your braids, guiding you until he would hit the back of your throat.

And you would take it because Toji was just being a good teacher, and who are you to reject a free lesson?

tap here to be added to taglist.

#[ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ ★ — t.wrks. ]#toji x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk toji #fushiguro toji #toji fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #toji fushiguro x reader

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gemini-sensei · 2 years

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New Masterlist

Girls Masterlist || Eli "Hawk" Moskowitz Masterlist

Updated: 4/15/2023

Demetri Alexopoulos

Demetri Alexopoulos x Chubby!Reader Headcanons

Demetri Alexopoulos x Chubby!Reader NSFW Headcanons

Demetri Let's It Slip

FWB Poly!Miguel x Eli x Chubby!Reader x Demetri || Breeding Kink

Praise Kink || Breeding Kink ||

Demetri and his kids ||

Demetri x Chubby!Reader x Girlcock!Yasmine ||

Sex Fiend Demetri || cockwarming ||

Make out Session || Being Demetri Alexopoulos' Girlfriend ||

Upset | Demetri Alexopoulos x Chubby!Reader

First Time | Poly!Boypussy!Eli x Chubby!Reader x Demetri Alexopoulos

Poly!Boypussy!Binary Boyfriends x Girlcock!Reader || Part Two ||

Boypussy! Demetri | Headcanons || More ||

Demetri Alexopoulos x Pregnant!Reader

For Mommy | Poly!Hawk Moskowitz x Chubby!Reader x Demetri Alexopoulos

Poly!Hawk Moskowitz x Chubby!Reader x Demetri Alexopoulos NSFW Headcanons || MORE ||

Rough Boys | Poly!Demetri x Reader x Eli

Yasmine and Reader fight over Dem *wink wink* (poly)

Yasmine x Girlcock!Reader x Demetri w/ sensei venus

Poly!Yasmine x Chubby!Reader x Demetri NSFW Headcanons

Poly!Sam x Chubby!Reader x Demetri NSFW Headcanons || Mini SFW Headcanon ||

Demetri Alexopoulos x Single!Pregnant!Reader ||

Demetri's Monster 🍆 || and again || more || thigh fucking || first time ||

Eli Moskowitz x Chubby!Reader x Yasmine x Demetri Alexopouos ||

Demetri's Wife || Demetri's Pregnant Wife ||

Monstercock!Demetri x Chubby!Reader Onlyfans Headcanons ||

Monstercock!Demetri x Popular!Reader ||

Monstercock!Teacher!Demetri x Pregnant!Librarian!Reader || Part One ||

Monstercock!Alpha!Demetri x Chubby!Omega!Reader NSFW Headcanons ||

Demetri Alexopoulos x Popular!Chubby!Reader ||

Demetri Alexopoulos x Chubby!Pregnant!Reader || Fluff!

Losing his virginity || ft. Hawk x Reader

Looking for more poly!Demetri x Eli? Check out the Eli Moskowitz Masterlist.

Miguel Diaz

Miguel Diaz with a spit kink

Gift Exchange with Miguel (Christmas "blurb")

Dad!Miguel Headcanons

Miguel Diaz with a Breeding Kink || 😏😏 || More || And More || And Again || 95% || Hehe || Here We Go Again ||

Miguel Diaz x Chubby!Reader NSFW Headcanons || 👅💦

Miguel with an Overstim Kink

Poly!Hawk Moskowitz x Chubby!Reader x Miguel Diaz NSFW Headcanons || 😩😩 || Degradation Kink ||

Miguel x Reader with Chronic Migraines

Fluffy Miguel Diaz x Reader Headcanons

Car Sex with Miguel

Sub!Miguel x Dom!Reader w/ Overstim

Lactation Kink || Spit Kink -> again ||

Learn to Get Along | Miguel Diaz x Chubby!Reader x Robby Keene

Spicy Dream & More |

In His Shirt |

FWB Poly!Miguel x Eli x Chubby!Reader x Demetri || Breeding Kink

Robby Keene

Robby Keene x Chubby!Reader x Hawk Moskowitz Headcanons

Poly!Robby Keene x Chubby!Reader x Tory Nichols Dating Headcanons

Poly!Robby Keene x Chubby!Reader x Tory Nichols NSFW Headcanons

Robby Keene Cuddling Headcanons

Learn to Get Along | Miguel Diaz x Chubby!Reader x Robby Keene

Poly!Robby x Fem!Reader x Moon

A Little Help ||

Multiple

Nip Slip Headcanons | Robby, Miguel, Demetri, Hawk

#masterlist #robby keene x reader #miguel diaz x reader #demetri alexopoulos x reader

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customizedstore · 1 year

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Christmas Teacher Sweatshirt, Christmas Gift For Teacher, Teachers Day, Teachers Life T-Shirt

#Christmas Teacher Sweatshirt #Christmas Gift For Teacher #Teachers Day #Teachers Life T-Shirt #Happy Christmas #Merry Christmas #Most Wonderful Time #Christmas Gift #Christmas Tree #New Year Shirt #Farm Fresh Truck #Family Christmas Tee #Christmas Squad #dead inside shirt #skeleton christmas #ChristmasShirt

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noisycowboyglitter · 2 months

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"Spread Holiday Cheer with Christmas Oncology Hematology Nurse Squad Tees"

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Our Christmas Oncology Hematology Nurse Squad Tee is more than just apparel; it's a symbol of unity, camaraderie, and the unwavering commitment to patient care. It's a conversation starter, a morale booster, and a perfect way to show appreciation for the incredible work done by oncology and hematology nurses.

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Show your appreciation for your child's teacher with a thoughtful Christmas gift. From personalized items that add a personal touch to practical presents that cater to their everyday needs, there's something for every educator. Consider their interests and style when choosing a gift. A heartfelt message or artwork from your child can make any present extra special. Practical options like cozy blankets, gourmet coffee or tea, or gift cards to their favorite stores are always appreciated. Remember, the best gifts come from the heart and reflect your gratitude for their dedication.

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moonchildreads · 9 months

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small town

Chapter 24 - Up Where We Belong

IN THIS CHAPTER: Graduation gowns, strawberry milkshakes, and Wayne asks a question [9.9k]

WARNINGS: dealing with grief (nancy, dottie, eddie to a less extent), writer not knowing how graduations are in the us

A/N: happy new year!!!! i hope everyone is having a wonderful start of 2024, here's your belated christmas gift from yours truly. if you read this and think "that's not how that works", then i don't know what to tell you bestie but i tried. i watched a TON of graduation ceremonies on youtube and i pulled heavily from those, aside from borrowing things from my own not-american graduation. i hope you enjoy it anyways! (and let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist!) <3

masterlist - prev - next | playlist

All we have is here and now All our life, out there to find

Friday, June 13th - 1986

Wayne Munson had walked the halls of Hawkins High School several times throughout recent years courtesy of his nephew’s misbehaving, but never making it past Principal Higgins’ office was turning out to be a problem. Resigned, he stomped on his cigarette gently before following a family that looked like they knew where they were going, regretting not taking up Eddie’s offer to escort him inside before he disappeared in search of his friends and fellow graduates. Graduation. Ain’t that a funny thing to think about, Wayne mused. The auditorium, he noted as he finally found it, was decorated in bright orange and calming forest green, a Class of 1986 paper banner hanging from the dark curtain that was doing its job as an unassuming background at the very back of the room. On the stage, there was a regal-looking wooden lectern, and a small table with stacked up rolls of paper tied with orange and green ribbons; next to it, a bunch of black chairs where teachers would probably be sitting during the event had been carefully lined up into a single row.

Excitement filled the air. It was in the murmurs of the people taking their seats, skimming their programs to proudly find the names of their kids printed on the semi-matte paper. It was in the way the school’s faculty could not stand still, barely having time to say hello to everyone walking in before they were off to check yet another little detail so everything could go as smoothly as possible. Wayne walked down the central aisle trying to find a good spot to sit in while feeling a bead of sweat go down his back. The last time he’d worn a suit, any suit, had been to his mother’s funeral eight years before; in fact, he still only owned that one suit. The temperature in Hawkins was steadily rising as June turned into July, and Wayne felt incredibly stuffy in his clothes but he didn’t dare wear anything less for such a special day. Eddie had defied all odds and was now a High School Graduate, the first Munson to walk to stage in three generations. Truth be told, his Uncle was willing to bet that he was actually the first one to do so in their entire family history, and thus, Wayne wore the suit, and the shirt, and the tie, and searched for a seat near the front to witness his nephew doing the exact opposite of what the whole town had always expected him to do: succeed.

Bianca, Donny’s mom, was fussing over her youngest grandson, Francesco, when she saw Wayne looking a little lost in the crowd and waved at him to wordlessly invite him to sit with them. The eldest Munson approached them with a smile, settling himself on the row behind the Vitale family who was so very busy trying to keep little Francesco and his (barely) older cousin Marco from running down the aisles and bothering other families.

“Good to see y’all made it,” Wayne commented, shaking Donny’s dad Angelo’s hand before turning to Vittoria, Donny’s heavily pregnant older sister. “Though I coulda sworn I heard you were on bed rest, missy.”

“I am, but what my doctor doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” she laughed, hand resting over her swollen belly. “This little lady hasn’t stopped kicking me all day, I think she’s more excited than I am to finally be outside the house!”

“It’s a special day, I’m sure the doctor won’t mind too much as long as we take it slow,” her husband said, kissing the side of her head. “Say hi to Mr. Munson, Marco.”

“Hi!” the little boy said, standing between his parents’ seats. “Whose Grandpa are you?”

“Marco!” his dad exclaimed, but Wayne laughed loudly.

“That’s not a grandpa, you dummy! That’s Eddie’s dad,” said Francesco, before grabbing his cousin’s hand and leading him towards Nonna Giulia down the row in search of the candy she always kept in her purse.

“I’m sorry,” Vittoria said with an apologetic smile. “They read this picture book about families at pre-school and now he thinks all men with white hair are grandpas.”

“Ah, it’s fine. I know I’m not gettin’ any younger,” Wayne joked, his eyes straying to the side of the auditorium where the seniors were finally getting ushered into formation.

The Vitale family craned their necks to see their boy, and Wayne in turn searched for his: Eddie was standing near Jeff towards the middle of the line, the two of them engaged in conversation as they waited for everyone to get into their respective places. It wasn’t that Eddie wasn’t paying attention to what his friend was saying; he was clearly answering back and keeping the chat going, but it seemed to his Uncle that he was searching for someone in the crowd, eyes scanning rows of unknown family members for a face he hadn’t yet found. Wayne was about to lift his hand to let him know where he was sitting, but it soon became apparent that Eddie hadn’t been looking for him - he had been looking for the short haired girl who had just ran into the auditorium with a panicked look on her face and an askew cap on her head.

Dottie hurried over to where her classmates were standing, enveloping a curly haired girl Wayne wasn’t familiar with at the very back of the line in an enthusiastic hug before doing the same with Donny. Wayne saw with an amused smile how Eddie waited patiently for his turn while she hugged Jeff, and how all his anxiety looked like it was melting away as he embraced her, eyes closed and face buried in her hair. After saying their hellos, Dottie kept walking to the front of the line where she greeted a strawberry blonde girl with excited hops and shared an equally loving hug with both her and Gareth. Her dad watched her with a fond smile from his place near the doors, a program held tightly in his hands. Taking pity on the poor man who Wayne knew was attending the event alone much like he was, he motioned for James to join their mismatched group who gladly took the offer, walking briskly towards the still empty seat next to Eddie’s uncle. James greeted Donny’s family before getting comfortable on his wooden chair and let a long breath out. Finally.

“Long morning?” Wayne asked, knowingly.

“Be grateful you don’t have a teenage girl in your house, Wayne. It was near impossible to get here on time,” James scoffed.

“Can’t be worse than Ed’s allergy to his damn alarm clock. It went off for a whole 15 minutes before he got up today.”

“Did it wake you up?”

“Nah. Was already up reading the paper but I wasn’t about to turn it off for him. He just rolls over and keeps sleeping if I do,” he said, and James shook his head with an affectionate smile on his face.

“Teenagers, right?”

“Yup. Teenagers.”

Over the few short months Wayne and James had known each other, they had learned to appreciate the quiet but hard work the other did for their respective kid. It wasn’t easy to be a single father, and even though Wayne wasn’t Eddie’s biological dad, there was no doubt in James’ mind that he fulfilled that role wonderfully in the boy’s life and heart. The Munsons and the Burkes had gone through a lot over the years, that much was undeniable, but on that hot Friday morning both fathers could be proud that their kids had made it to the other side relatively unharmed, all the while somehow finding each other to rely on along the way. If Dottie and Eddie were going to be inseparable all summer as they had been since the day they met, it was only fair James and Wayne got to compare notes on parenting and commiserate over the little annoying things they’d miss once the kids had left the comforting safety of their family homes.

Before they could continue their talk however, teachers began herding the seniors into a neat single file and getting into their places on the stage, Principal Higgins taking his spot behind the lectern. Excitement amplified as the crowd hushed - only suppressed coughs and a few little children’s voices could be heard in the quiet room. Wayne saw Higgins approach the mic and took a deep breath letting the pride he’d been feeling all morning take over him. The heat of the almost-here summer was forgotten outside in the parking lot, along with his smushed cigarette butt and the heavy weight he’d been carrying since a CPS agent left a scared 8-year-old Eddie on his doorstep all those years ago.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Hawkins High School Principal Thomas Higgins,” the man began, voice booming across the room with the aid of loudspeakers; Dorothy peered at him over the shoulder of the taller girl standing in front of her. “On behalf of the faculty, staff, and administration of Hawkins High, we’d like to welcome family and friends, and most importantly, to our seniors to the Commencement Exercises of the Graduating Class of 1986.”

Higgins paused for effect and the crowd followed his cue by breaking into happy applause - the aforementioned seniors gleefully waved to the few family members they could find within the sea of heads straining to look at them. The Class of ‘86 stood patiently to the side towards the back of the auditorium, waiting to be called into the main aisle where their names would be announced one by one and they’d go up the stage, accept their diploma, and go back downstairs to the rows of chairs at the front left that had been reserved for them. The full graduating class was small, no more than 40 students, and Dottie wondered how different things would have been for her if she were graduating with her New York classmates in a year that comprised around 400 kids instead of doing it in Hawkins, Indiana.

“Please, rise from your seats and join us in singing the National Anthem, followed by the Hawkins High School Spirit Song,” Higgins announced, and the sound of creaking wooden chairs filled the air as everyone followed his request.

Dottie sang along to the National Anthem without thinking too much about it, but when the first notes of the Hawkins High school song came through the speakers, she realized she had no idea what the lyrics were. No one had told her they’d be singing it during their only rehearsal, and certainly no one had spared a moment to teach it to her in the last six months. She wasn’t even sure she knew a spirit song even existed before that very moment. Eyes surveying over the crowd of family members, she saw that most if not all were singing along - the only ones not joining in were probably those who hadn’t attended Hawkins High and lived in a different town, perhaps even in a different state altogether. Heat rising up her chest under her dark green gown, she turned her head to the front, feeling very much like an outsider amongst her peers for the first time in months. Bryan Butler right behind her sang louder as the song was ending and she tried to not call attention to herself to let him take the spotlight. Once the music stopped, Principal Higgins neared the lectern to continue his speech.

“Thank you, you may be seated now,” Higgins said, and the wooden creaking resumed for a second as everyone sat back down to watch the rest of the ceremony. “The Hawkins High School Class of 1986 has experienced many memorable moments over the last four years, and Hawkins is proud of how these young graduates have worked and persevered through hard times to get to this day. We as faculty could not be prouder or more thrilled to celebrate with them, and we look forward to sending them off onto the next chapter in their lives. Parents, grandparents, siblings, aunts, uncles, and other family members, we are honored to have you here today as our guests to celebrate our graduates and we thank you for your support. Please clap along as the Class of 1986 proceeds to their places.”

The speakers began playing Pomp and Circumstance March No.1 in D and the crowd broke into fervent applause once more, Michael Allen leading the way for his fellow seniors to stand in the central aisle right below the middle set of stairs where they’d wait to be called to the stage. As they fell into their designated spots, Dottie finally recognized who had been assigned to stand right in front of her; it was Robin Buckley, the shy band nerd she had met at Family Video a few weeks earlier and briefly bonded with over their shared love of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. She was wearing white Converse sneakers with little drawings in blue and black ink, and the edges of her black rolled up jeans could be seen poking below her gown. She’s so cool, Dottie thought, not knowing that Robin was desperately trying not to scan the audience lest her nerves paralyzed her. Not even painting her nails bright orange had saved them from being chewed on this time around.

“Hawkins High School’s Class of 1986 was given the opportunity to choose a member of our staff to read their names as they cross the stage today,” Principal Higgins explained as three people already on stage stood from their seats. “I am honored to announce that this year, our Assistant Principal Mrs. Elaine Chandler will present the diplomas to our newest graduates. Mrs. Suzanne O’Donnell, Mr. Leopold Hauser, and myself will present them with their diploma cover, graduation medallions, and honor cords if applicable. Elaine?” he motioned for her to switch places with him.

“Thank you, Principal Higgins,” said Assistant Principal Elaine Chandler, adjusting her glasses on her nose as she looked down the list of names in front of her. “Allen, Michael,” she called first from behind the lectern, and the crowd clapped as Michael went up to her and received a hug and a rolled up certificate before moving down the stage towards the other teachers to shake their hands.

Dottie’s palms began sweating as more names kept being called and her time as a Hawkins High student slowly came to an end. Even though she had felt very much like an intruder looking in through a window during her first few months in the town, she had to admit that was happy here now - certainly much more happier than she’d ever been back in New York. Here all the teachers knew her name without having to read it from a file. Here she had a group of friends she’d go to literal Hell and back for, and she had a boyfriend who loved her the way she’d always thought love should be: easy and gentle. Here she had attended the best prom of her life, and her face would be permanently attached to a club that had given her the safety she’d never gotten anywhere else to finally, truthfully, be herself. Here Dottie had been at home.

While Barnes, Kathleen was getting her extracurricular honor cords for being part of the cheerleading team, Mrs. Chandler called upon Buckley, Robin and Dottie suddenly found herself at the front of the line. Robin climbed the steps with as much grace as she could muster while being pretty much mortified, and Mrs. Chandler soothed her with friendly pats on her back before presenting her with her diploma. The tall girl accepted it with shaky hands, her rings glinting under the stage lights, when a loud cheer rang above the polite applause of the crowd. Robin laughed, half embarrassed and half grateful, and when Dottie turned to see where the sounds were coming from, she found not only Dustin and Erica hooting and hollering besides a couple who were clearly Robin’s parents, but also that Steve guy that worked at Family Video with her, the one that Robin had described as her strictly platonic best friend with a capital P. It looked like retail did bond you forever after all.

Mr. and Mrs. Buckley looked between confused and amused as Steve pinched his bottom lip and let out a loud whistle - a chortle escaped Robin’s mouth while a cheerful Mr. Hauser, who had been her favorite teacher all four years of high school, put her graduation medallion around her neck, nerves all but forgotten before she skipped her way down to Mrs. O’Donnell to receive her extracurricular honor cords for being in band. Huh, that’s curious, Dottie thought distractedly. Didn’t know Dustin and Erica were such good friends with her and Steve. I wonder how they met.

“Burke, Dorothy,” called Mrs. Chandler through the speakers, jostling Dottie out of her musings.

This was it. The moment of truth. Dottie climbed the stairs and accepted a hug from Mrs. Chandler, hearing her friends cheering for her loudly in the background when her damp fingers came into contact with her diploma. She glanced at the crowd and time seemed to stop when her eyes found her Dad, a proud smile on his face and his program tucked under his armpit so he could clap loudly for his daughter. She waved at him and Wayne, who had also stood up to cheer for her, and time resumed after a blinding flash went off and she was whisked along to where the rest of the teachers were standing. She shook hands with both Principal Higgins and Mr. Hauser even though she hardly knew both men, and accepted her diploma cover and her graduation medallion before turning towards Mrs. O’Donnell. She was about to hug her teacher when the old woman presented her with her own honor cords, entwined green and orange ending in delicate tassels dangling from her manicured hands.

“That’s not- I’m not-” Dottie began.

“You have one of the highest GPAs in your year, besides being involved in two extracurriculars. Congratulations, Miss Burke. You’ve earned this,” O’Donnell said, and it was perhaps the only time in the whole semester Dottie had seen her genuinely smile.

“T-thank you,” she managed to get out, letting the woman drape the cords on her shoulders and rushing to her seat before she began bawling on stage.

“Hey, congrats!” Robin whispered once they were both seated next to each other, shaking her own cords lightly. The ceremony continued with no regards to their little chat.

“You too! Didn’t know I had qualified for any of this, I think everyone saw me have an aneurism up there.”

“Nah, everyone’s too nervous about not tripping down the stairs on their way back, don’t worry about it.”

“Coleman, Gareth,” Mrs. Chandler announced, grabbing Dottie’s attention.

Carver, Jason hadn’t even reached the sidestage stairs to go down after accepting his diploma when Gareth, in his haste to get everything over with, tried to climb two steps at a time and got his feet tangled in his dark green gown. Cunningham, Chrissy, who was right behind him, quickly caught his arm before he could lose balance and hit the floor. He quietly thanked her with red cheeks and embarrassed eyes before he finally went up the stairs, one step at a time. Chrissy went back to the front of the line while other classmates around Dottie and Robin snickered at the little mishap; Gareth accepted his diploma and other paraphernalia, and got the hell off the stage as quickly as humanly possible.

“Thank God that wasn’t me,” Robin muttered, and Dottie grimaced in agreement.

Gareth ended up awkwardly sitting between Jason and Chrissy, but much to his relief, they had all been assigned to the row behind Dottie. Taking advantage of the proximity, he leaned forward to talk to his friend as the ceremony progressed and Chrissy quickly joined, stopping to give Dottie a kiss on her cheek from her seat behind her as a second greeting. Jason watched the scene unfold and asked himself when had his girlfriend started hanging out with people he didn’t know. He thought he knew everything about Chrissy - when had that changed and to what extent? Selfishly, he couldn’t help but think about what the future would look like for them when they left for college. Chrissy was headed to OSU and he would be at Indiana State, almost four hours and more than 250 miles between them. Would this be their last summer together? He didn’t like to entertain that thought.

Davis, Monica, Foster, Kyle, and Hanson, Randall were some of the names they didn’t pay much attention to until Humphrey, Andrew was called to the stage. Jason distracted himself from his anxiety over his relationship possibly having an expiration date by clapping loudly for his best friend. Dottie and Gareth shared a mischievous look: Andy wasn’t wearing any bandages on his nose anymore, but the dark purple shadow under his eye was still very visible with the bright stage lights illuminating his face. After him came Hurley, Marcie, one of Dot’s colleagues from the newspaper club, and Kemper, Lucy, the girl who had sold almost everyone their prom tickets. Morgan, Theresa was on stage when Dottie realized she knew almost all the people in her graduating class by name now, even if they had never spoken to one another before. In New York, she’d never known the names of all the people within a single class, not since elementary school at least. She wondered if they remembered her, but then decided she didn’t care that the answer was probably a resounding no.

When Munson, Edward was called to the stage, Dottie and Gareth stood up to make as much noise as possible, both infinitely proud of the long haired boy with the charming eyes who was accepting the one piece of paper that had seemed so elusive all this time. Dustin and Erica hollered at him, and the rest of the Hellfire Club, still in line waiting to accept their diplomas, joined them in their antics. When Principal Higgins went in for a handshake, Eddie pulled him into a hug; the older man laughed and let it happen, a sort of fondness for the metalhead’s unwavering resilience present in their interaction. He accepted his medallion and his own honor cords for being the Chapter Leader of a student organization, and just before he climbed off, he approached the edge of the stage with a dazzling grin.

“Here it comes,” Dottie muttered, anticipating her boyfriend to give the middle finger to the entire town and bolt as he had declared he’d do on multiple occasions.

What Eddie did instead was find his Uncle in the crowd and bow deeply in his direction as people clapped for him like it was the end of a play. Wayne pretended to not be choking back tears as his nephew got off the stage, lips pursed behind his fingers trying to hide the grin threatening to break out on his face.

“Coward,” Gareth said, and Chrissy hit him in the shoulder.

There was no time for Eddie to do anything more but find his seat, because immediately after him came Patton, Jeffrey, and exactly ten names later, came Vitale, Donatello. The teachers laughed and cooed at his excited nephews jumping up and down the aisle, cheering for his favorite Uncle. One day in the not so distant future, they’d probably be handing them their diplomas too. Just how many faces in the crowd had walked through these same halls, attended the same classes, and some of them even had the same teachers as the Class of ‘86? A much younger and recently married O’Donnell, a Higgins as a History teacher prior to his Principal days, a Kaminski after his eldest son had just been born. Never before had the kids in the Hellfire Club felt as much part of the Hawkins High community as they did now - it almost felt unfair that they had to permanently leave the place to finally feel that way.

“And last, but certainly not least,” said Mrs. Chandler when there was only one person left to climb up the stage. “-Wheeler, Nancy, the valedictorian for the Class of 1986 who will say a few words for us and her fellow graduates after receiving her diploma.”

The crowd broke once again in loud applause as a red cheeked Nancy in her dark green gown and bright orange valedictorian stole greeted all her teachers with a few flashcards containing her speech in her hand. Karen Wheeler looked at her daughter with shiny eyes, infinitely proud of her little girl that’d grown into a smart, capable woman right in front of her. In a few months she’d be far away, following her dreams, and taking a piece of her mother’s hopes with her as she did so, but none of her fears. Holly raised her arms, silently asking to be lifted up so she could see better, and Karen picked up her youngest daughter, pointing at her big sister in the distance so she could wave at her. Nancy took her place behind the lectern and looked at the audience, a carefully put together mask over bittersweet eyes that Dottie had almost become used to seeing on her friend. If she stared into a mirror too deeply, she could recognize the dents in her skin of her own mask, now laying shattered at her feet.

“Honorable guests, Principal Higgins, Hawkins High School faculty, academic and supporting staff, friends, families, and graduates - good morning,” Nancy began, voice soft but pleasantly clear. “It is with great pride that I stand here before you on such a special occasion to deliver this speech, which I promise I’ll try to keep short and sweet,” she lightheartedly smiled at her audience before she grew solemn once more. “However, before I start, I would like to ask you to join me in a moment of silence to commemorate the students and family members who could not be here today with us, and to remember the victims of the Starcourt Mall Fire on July 4th, 1985.”

Not a sound could be heard for a few heartbeats, and Dottie watched the faces of the town she’d come to love morph from amused to weary. There was real mourning here, a deep gash left open in a community that couldn’t heal properly because some wounds were just too deep to scab over. Eddie had told her everything he knew about what had happened, the official story everyone that hadn’t been involved in the tragedy repeated when asked, and her heart constricted when she saw Dustin and Erica in their seats with their heads down. They looked downright haunted. Steve sat next to them, watching over them with such turmoil in his eyes that Dottie had to wonder if there was something they were all missing about what happened. Had Steve also been in the mall with them? Had Robin, who was quietly sitting next to her like she was reliving a horror movie behind her eyes, her fingers absentmindedly tangling and untangling themselves in her honor cords?

Karen, sitting next to her unaware husband and emotionally closed off son, took a few deep breaths to keep her tears at bay and gently kissed Holly’s head before shifting her baby on her lap to hold her against her chest more tightly, like someone could snatch her off her arms at any given moment. Dottie twisted her mom’s engagement ring on her left middle finger and bit the inside of her cheek while blinking away the wetness gathering on her lash line. Not now, she scolded herself. Later.

“Thank you,” Nancy said, breaking the silence and moving onto her next flashcard. “Four years ago, we arrived at Hawkins High as children, and we are now leaving as young adults with our whole lives ahead of us. Some will go on to college, others will enter the workforce, but all of us will take the lessons learned here and let them guide us to become who we were always meant to be,” she turned to look to her side. “I'd like to thank our teachers for sharing their knowledge with us, for being patient and pushing us to achieve great things. With their help, our Hawkins High Mathletes reached their first ever state finals and brought home the silver medal earlier this year.”

There was a loud cheer coming from somewhere in the auditorium that sounded very much like Rick Stewart, exiting Captain of the Hawkins High Mathletes. Some people laughed goodnaturedly and joined in, the teachers clapping proudly at their labor being recognized. Nancy smiled and continued, knowing the applause would only get louder as she read the next part of her speech.

“I'd like to thank our coaches and counselors for making school more than just homework. You taught us about discipline, teamwork, and integrity, which led our basketball team to win the 1A North Central Conference Championship for the first time in 22 years,” the applause that followed was deafening, and it took several minutes for it to die down before Nancy could keep going. “I'd like to thank our families for supporting us in more ways that we could ever count, for chaperoning our dances and field trips, cheering for us at our sporting events, and attending all our plays with so much love and commitment, that our Drama Club was able to extend their winter run of West Side Story with a packed audience every night until their closure.”

The cheers this time were much more subdued, yet polite and sustained enough to not be embarrassing to the Drama Club members and their families in the audience. It was clear, however, where the town’s loyalties stood: Indiana’s love for basketball was known throughout the country, and Hawkins wasn’t the exception to the rule. Nancy looked at her graduating class and grabbed the last two flashcards in her pile.

“No one achieves success alone, and we are truly grateful for the help and guidance we’ve received during our years as Hawkins Tigers. However, if my classmates indulge me for a second, I’d like to ask each of you to think about a moment where you felt proud of yourself. Think about the things you’ve accomplished here, and the challenges you’ve overcome. A great woman by the name of Eleanor Roosevelt once wrote, you gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, ‘I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.’ You must do the thing you think you cannot do. Our time as Hawkins High School students has come to an end. We did it, Class of ‘86. We did the thing we thought we couldn’t do, and we’ve learned that we can take the next thing that comes along, so keep moving forward. I’m proud of you, and I hope you are too. Thank you, and congratulations to us all.”

Dottie followed Nancy with her eyes as she shook Principal Higgins’ hand once more and left the stage towards her seat. Her hands were shaking lightly, and her lips were pursed, but she almost looked lighter, like she’d left significant weight behind that had nothing to do with public speaking related nerves. Nancy’s speech had been beautiful, there were no doubts about that, but it was strange to think about someone like her looking at her high school years as something that had been horrific to live through. She was popular enough to not have been bullied, pretty enough to have been desired and looked up to, smart and well-off enough to never have to worry about not fitting in.

High school was certainly hard for almost everyone, but the way Nancy had spoken about it left a familiar bitter taste in Dottie’s mouth. If Eddie had been right when retelling her the town’s recent strange happenings, Nancy had probably been thinking about her friend Barb when writing her speech. She would have most likely graduated alongside her, maybe she’d be headed to a nearby college where the two girls could still see each other often, or to a completely different one across the country and they’d have to call every weekend with updates on their new lives. Holland, Barbara should have been called up to the stage between Hall, Suzanne and Humphrey, Andrew, but now she was just another name added to the always-growing list of people who ought to have been there, but ultimately couldn’t be.

“Thank you for that inspiring speech, Miss Wheeler,” said Principal Higgins, returning to his place behind the lectern to close out the ceremony. “Graduating is an amazing achievement for these students, and we here at Hawkins High are excited to see the things they’ll accomplish in the future. By the authority vested in me by the Governor of the State of Indiana, Mr. Robert D. Orr, I confer the appropriate diplomas for the Class of 1986. Graduates, please move your tassels to the left,” he smiled at his now former students. “Congratulations Tigers, you can now throw your hats!”

As they had been instructed during rehearsals, they threw their hats directly above them, not wanting to lose them on the way down before they could take pictures with them but in the excitement and elation of the graduates, some caps ended up on the floor, prompting kids to search for the lost items under their chairs while their classmates cheered above them and congratulated one another. Dottie hugged Robin again while Principal Higgins said his goodbyes through the loudspeaker without anyone really hearing him, families eager to leave the auditorium and get into their cars quickly to avoid the inevitable bottleneck at the entrance of the parking lot.

“Thank you all for coming and being part of this special moment,” Higgins said, voice ringing above the loud chatter and scraping of chairs. “Please drive safe and have a good weekend!”

“Dad!” Dottie called upon seeing James talking to Gareth’s family near their cars. He waved at her in acknowledgment and she turned to her friend to say her goodbyes. “I’ll call you as soon as I have my new schedule down, okay? We can go to the movies some day!”

“I’m gonna go see family up North next week, but I’ll call you when I get back,” Chrissy said, arm still tangled with hers. “We have to go see the new Karate Kid coming out soon, Ralph Macchio is so cute.”

“I’m not even gonna correct you on that because I do wanna see it with you, but just know I think you’re crazy,” the brunette said, laughing at her friend.

“Well, excuse me, bad boys aren’t everyone’s type,” the blonde retorted, a secretive grin gracing her fairy-like features before she pulled her into a goodbye hug. “I’m gonna miss you!”

“We’ll see each other soon! You go have a great trip, forget about this boring town for a while.”

After the girls said their goodbyes and went in separate directions, Dottie watched Chrissy greet her family with curious eyes. She didn’t know much about the Cunninghams and was surprised to see that her newest and most unlikely friend had a little brother she had never mentioned before. He must have not been the right age to be in high school yet or he’d probably be under Jason’s overprotective wing, especially if he was athletic like his big sister.

Chrissy might have looked small and dainty, but there was a certain fierceness cheerleaders had in their step - their aura had been painstakingly trained to command a room and demand attention. And yet, Dottie noticed that as Chrissy turned from her unassuming Dad to her elegant Mother, the brightness she radiated seemed to dim ever so slightly, even if her charming smile stayed in place.

“There you are! I was looking for you everywhere,” James exclaimed, her thoughts instantly lost to the wind. “Congratulations, honey. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Dottie melted into his hug, knocking her cap even more askew with his shoulder. “They gave me honor cords, did you see? I didn’t know I had earned them!”

“I’m seeing them now! You worked so hard, good job.”

“Congratulations, sweetie!” Lydia, Gareth’s mom, said, pulling her into a hug. “Have you met Gretchen yet? Gare’s big sister?”

“Hey, congrats,” Gretchen said with a polite smile on her face.

“Thank you, hi! It’s nice to finally meet you, I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Likewise,” Gretchen said, eyes sparkling with mischief as she saw Gareth approach with two more kids toddling behind him. “I’m always really curious to meet any girl who would even talk to my brother in the first place, but you seem normal enough.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Gareth said, and Erica snickered.

“Honestly, he’s lucky we’re nice to him,” the middle-grader joined in, making Gareth groan in annoyance.

“You’re my friend, you’re supposed to be on my side!”

“Congrats, Dot!” Dustin said, hugging the older girl from her right side, prompting Erica to cuddle up to her on the left. “We’re super proud of you.”

“Aw, Dus,” she pouted, leaning her head on his. He really was like the little brother she’d always wanted and never had. “Thank you, you’re so sweet. I’m happy you two could be here!”

“It was fun! We enjoyed it.”

“I saw you guys with that Steve guy earlier, did you come with him?”

“You know Steve?” Dustin said, curious.

“Yeah, he works at Family Video with Robin!” Dottie said.

“You know Robin?” it was Erica’s turn to ask.

“Uh, yeah, we’re classmates? She was sitting next to me throughout the ceremony- wait, how do you know them? What am I missing here?”

“Nothing! Steve’s, uh- Steve’s our babysitter!” Dustin hurried to say. “Did you know he used to date Nancy a while ago? That’s how we met, through Nancy. And we know Robin through Steve. Hawkins is a very small place.”

“W-what? Nancy and…”

“Yeah, she dumped him in front of everyone at a party and he’s been all mopey and sad since then,” Erica said, prompting Dustin to elbow her. “What? Just the facts!”

“Uh…,” Dottie looked at Gareth, dumbfounded.

“Anyway,” Dustin continued, aware that multiple eyes were on him. “He’s our babysitter.”

“Dustin, you’re fifteen,” Gareth laughed. “You’re a little old to still have a babysitter.”

“My Mom’s protective of me, okay? I’m an only child.”

“And he’s a good babysitter?” Dottie asked, amused.

“The best. Steve’s… yeah, Steve’s great. More like an older brother figure than a babysitter,” Dustin smiled, clearly fond of the older boy. “You should hang out with him, I think you’d like each other.”

“Stop. Just stop,” said Erica, knowing where Dustin was headed.

“What?” he shrugged, feigning innocence.

“Alright, let’s take some pictures!” said Lydia, not having paid any attention to the kids’ conversation.

While they were in the middle of taking photos, the remaining Hellfire Class of ‘86 joined the group with their respective families. Eddie snuck up behind Dottie while she was distracted taking a picture with Jeff and picked her up, arms encircling her middle and spinning her around while she giggled unabashedly, hands coming to rest on his forearms when he put her down but didn’t let go. Wayne had to hide a chuckle while he talked to the other parents; his nephew really wasn’t as smooth and mysterious as he thought he was, and Wayne had been around the sun too many times to not recognize what he was seeing between Eddie and his little lady friend. Gretchen, in turn, looked at Donny and lifted an eyebrow at him quizzically.

“What have I missed?” she quietly said, a smirk lifting the corner of her lips. She’d always liked Donny the best out of all his brother’s friends, and was aware that as much of a good confidant as he was, he never shied away from gossip.

“He said he wanted to wait until after graduation to ask her out so I don’t think anything has happened yet,” Donny muttered back, crossing his arms and leaning closer to her friend’s big sister. “They’re totally gone for each other, though.”

“You don’t say,” Gretchen said and turned to Erica who looked very interested in their conversation. “What do you think?”

“I think he’s too chicken to ask her out,” Erica laughed. “But they have been looking really cozy lately. That’s suspicious.”

“Eddie knows she’s into him,” Donny said, making Erica’s eyes widen. “Forgot to tell you about that.”

“You bastard, I thought we had a good thing going and you’re withholding information from me? Nuh-uh, this is betrayal. I want reparations.”

“Oh, she’s feisty,” Gretchen said.

“Come to the restaurant this weekend, I’ll give you ice cream and we can catch up and compare notes,” Donny offered, genuinely interested in keeping his friendship with the fiery younger girl intact. “But it has to be this weekend, Dot starts working with us on Monday.”

“How big is that ice cream?”

“Big as you want.”

“Deal,” she put out her hand for them to shake on it, but it was merely a formality - Donatello Vitale had no intentions of ever crossing the one and only Erica Sinclair again.

As families began saying their goodbyes and heading to their cars, it soon became clear that Eddie and Dottie did not want the festivities to end so fast. They’d already taken multiple photos with everyone and with each other, waved Dustin and Erica off as they climbed into Steve’s red BMW, and even said hello to the Wheelers, but they would just not leave each other’s side, always fluttering around one another no matter what was happening. If James thought anything strange about it, he didn’t mention it, but as Wayne looked at his nephew’s beaming smile, he realized he didn’t have the heart to cut his happiness short when there was such an easy solution to their problem.

“You two have any plans for lunch?” Wayne asked James, finishing up another smoke.

“Not really, no. I was thinking of picking up some burgers to celebrate. Why? You have any suggestions?”

“Well, me an’ Eddie like to go to the diner down on Randolph on special occasions. Thought you might want to join us,” he smiled at the kids who were now both staring at him expectantly.

“Can we go, Dad?” Dottie asked with hopeful eyes. “They have crinkle fries - you love crinkle fries!”

“That’s really kind of you, Wayne, but we don’t want to intrude,” James was saying, but Eddie hurried forward.

“You wouldn’t be intruding, sir. We both graduated today, we can celebrate together!”

“Come on, Dad, they wouldn’t ask if they didn’t want us there.”

Both older men looked at each other with knowing eyes and James sighed theatrically before conceding, his daughter cheering happily at the new impromptu plans. The teens quickly headed in the direction of their cars deep in their own happy little world; their parents amusedly looked as Eddie opened her door for her and helped her in while they talked about burger combinations and debated about their orders.

“Meet you there?” James asked Wayne, also getting into his car.

“You bet. Come on, boy, quit the yappin’. You’ll see her again in ten minutes, she’s not gonna run away from you!”

“Jesus Christ, Wayne!”

Eddie and Dottie had already been to the diner down on Randolph a few times; some of them before they’d begun dating and once after, but never with their parental figures as unofficial chaperones. The booth at the back they loved to sit at was occupied, so they chose a table near the front instead - the diner was bustling with energy as multiple families had had the same idea as them and got a headstart on their kids’ summer holidays. Eddie helped Dottie with her chair, thoroughly enjoying how shy she’d get whenever he did something remotely gentleman-like, and plonked himself next to her, quickly engaging in conversation about the menu she was holding. James had no option but to sit in front of his daughter as Wayne took the seat in front of Eddie, both of them also busying themselves with their own menus.

The teens tried to act normal in front of their elders, they really did, but it was such a lovely day, and they were celebrating one of the biggest achievements in their short lives that it was as if they’d forgotten that friends didn’t usually look so smitten with one another. Wayne took little peeks at them over the bright laminated piece of paper in his hands, catching how Eddie was stroking the side of her arm resting on the table with his pinky finger while she talked; he loudly coughed when James put his menu down and took his reading glasses off, the unexpected sound making them jump and separate instantly just in time for him not to see them. A young and friendly looking waitress approached their table, pad of paper and pen in her hand.

“Hi! Are you ready for me to take your order or are we waiting for the wives to arrive?” she said with a perfect customer-service smile. Dottie blinked up at her twice, her face morphing into a blank expression.

“No, thank you, it’s just gonna be us four today,” James said politely.

Today, he’d said. Like Margaret and Maureen were off doing other things, like working or shopping or attending a jazzercise class, and couldn’t join them for lunch but they’d probably be around later. Like they weren’t gone forever. Like they were still alive. Nancy’s speech rattled around in Dottie’s brain, her eyes glazing over and her ears filling with invisible cotton. James and Wayne ordered their food, and Eddie ordered for both himself and her, very much aware that something was bothering her. Her sight was stuck to her Dad’s hand resting on the cheap laminate tabletop. The gold band that had been there on his finger since Margaret and him had said I do all those years ago taunted her, glinting under the fluorescent lights of the diner. They’d promised each other forever, and what did they get? What did she get?

“Dot,” Eddie muttered, hand sneaking down the table to settle on the exposed skin of her knee. “Darling, can you hear me?”

“Huh?” she turned to look at him in a daze.

Behind him, there was a table where a family sat: a father, a mother and a daughter, barely older than she’d been when she’d lost the most important woman in her life. The baby gurgled in her Mom’s arms, and the woman cooed at her, noses nuzzling against each other’s. Dottie turned her head towards the other side of the diner where a mother was cleaning up a little boy’s face, chocolate staining his chubby cheeks.

She had just graduated from high school and her mother wasn’t there. She hadn’t been there when she got her first period, during her first heartbreak, or when she won a spelling bee at age seven. She wouldn’t be there when she graduated college, when she got her first job, when she got married to the boy who was holding onto her leg with worried eyes. She would never be there, not today, not tomorrow, not ever. It was always going to be just them.

“Honey, are you okay?” James asked, leaning forward.

“I-I’m sorry,” she managed to get out before she stood up and bolted outside and into the parking lot, her chair scraping against the floor in her haste to get out of the diner.

“I’ve got it, sir,” Eddie said before he sped after her, his chains rattling with every long step he took to catch up with her.

In silence, James and Wayne watched their kids through the huge windows next to their table. When Dottie saw Eddie running behind her, she turned her back on him, hugging herself as she tried to keep her emotions together. She lifted a hand to wave at him over her shoulder and said something - probably that she was okay, that she didn’t need help so he should go back in - but as he came closer, it was evident that the storm that had been brewing inside her all morning was on the brink of overtaking her. All it took was feeling his hand hovering on her shoulder for her knees to buckle as she folded onto herself, Eddie instantly rushing forward to catch her and pulling her into his chest, her back rising up and down violently as she sobbed into his graduation gown. He chewed on his lower lip as he held himself together, never one to cry in public where people could see him and judge him for it. He muttered something into her hair, his chin resting onto the crown of her head, gently rocking her side to side as her sobs subsided.

“She was really lonely until we came here, y’know,” James said, breaking the quiet that had fallen on their table. Wayne could only look at his nephew, the gentleness he’d always known he’d possessed perfectly on display. “All her new friends are great to her but Eddie… you’ve got a good boy there, Wayne.”

“They’re both good kids,” Wayne said, matter-of-factly. “It’s a damn shame they’re so young and been through so much already.”

“Yeah, it is.”

In the parking lot, unaware that they were being watched, Dottie lifted her head from Eddie’s chest, an embarrassed smile on her lips as she fanned her face with her hands in an attempt to dry her tears without ruining what was left of her mascara. Eddie, still holding onto her, blew on her cheeks; she laughed, heart feeling equally heavy and light at the same time. There was joy and levity to be found in shared grief, that was something new she had learned from him.

“Sometimes I feel like Eddie understands her better than I do,” James admitted, fingers toying with his wedding band.

“They understand each other in ways that you and I never will,” Wayne mused. “That ain’t a bad thing. Actually, I think it might be healthy.”

“Mhm,” James agreed, half lost in his own thoughts.

Dottie squeezed Eddie one last time like she was mentally preparing herself, gathering strength for whatever came next, and nodded once to let him know that it was okay to let her go. Eddie followed her inside quietly, holding the door open for her as they filed in and sat once again at their table. They both looked very tired, and perhaps even a little bit flustered at having to face their guardians after bolting out of the diner so unexpectedly. Dottie leaned forward to grab a napkin to blow her nose.

“M’sorry,” she said, eyes low. James grabbed her hand gently.

“You okay, honey?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. S’just a lot, you know?”

“I know,” her Dad said, watching her glance at Eddie next to her.

“Can I… is it okay if Eddie and I go to the lake after lunch?” she asked, shy. “We want to burn some cards.”

“Yeah, of course,” James said, knot tightening at the base of his throat and fingers tangling with his daughter’s.

Eddie was silent through the entire interaction, hands hellbent on shredding the paper napkin in front of him to minuscule pieces. Wayne could feel their table shake as he bounced his leg frantically, something he had long understood as his nephew’s tell when holding back tears. The waitress, unaware of what had just transpired, came back at that moment with their drinks and two milkshakes for the teens. Dottie smiled at them with wet eyes, and Eddie had the indecency to look sheepish: she hadn’t mentioned to him she wanted one, but he knew she loved strawberry milkshakes from this specific diner because they made them with real strawberry ice cream and not the powder. He must have ordered them when she blanked out. The simple gesture felt like balm for her anguished soul.

“Well, I’d like to propose a toast,” Wayne said, dissipating the remaining uncomfortable tension at their table. “To the Class of ‘86.”

“To the Class of ‘86,” James joined him, clicking their bottles of Coke together in the air.

Food arrived shortly after, and as an easy conversation sanded whatever edges were still sharp for the moment, Wayne observed the tender behavior of the kids sitting in front of him. It wasn’t as playful as it had been before, no, this felt much more… intimate. Considerate. Muted, yet still softhearted. Not missing a beat in the story she was telling to her Dad, Dottie grabbed the cherry on top of her milkshake and left it on top of Eddie’s. He gave her a toothy grin before popping it into his mouth, and she shook her head at him fondly. Yeah, this ain’t a bad thing at all, thought Wayne, taking a bite out of his food and laughing along with James at the ridiculous gossip Dottie and Eddie were sharing about their now former classmates.

“Okay, hold on a second before you run off,” Wayne said, as his nephew ushered his friend towards his van.

After lunch was done, it was decided that Wayne would drive Eddie and Dottie back to their trailer so they could get Eddie’s van and head to the lake for what they were calling The Card Ritual. The eldest Munson didn’t really understand what it meant, but it seemed that James knew what they were talking about so he didn’t ask too many questions about it - all he knew was that the kids were going to buy some cards at Melvald’s and then burn them, and that Dottie was emotional over the whole thing. If burning some paper brought peace to her heart, then who was Wayne to judge? He’d indulged in far more destructive coping mechanisms throughout his youth, evidenced by his unshakeable smoking habit.

After they’d said goodbye to James, they climbed into Wayne’s truck and headed to Forest Hills, graduation caps, gowns, and his suit jacket now discarded into the backseat. The heat kept rising in the early afternoon and Wayne just wanted to get out of his clothes, drink a glass of icy cold water, and take a nap in his undergarments next to his trusty fan, but he felt like there was a pressing conversation to be had before he went in and could finally relax on his day off.

“What’s up?” Eddie asked, Dottie coming to a stop next to him.

“I just gotta know, kid,” Wayne turned to her. “Does your Dad know about you two or do I have to play dumb with him?”

“W-what? What do you mean?” she asked, nervously.

“I may not be young, but I ain’t blind, sweetheart,” he smiled. “You’re not in trouble, I just wanna know how to act around your old man, that’s all.”

“He doesn’t know,” Eddie muttered, grabbing Dottie’s hand and surprising her with how quickly he confessed. “No one knows, we haven’t told anyone yet.”

“Except Chrissy,” Dottie said.

“Except Chrissy,” he conceded. “She knows because I asked her for advice, but she’s the only one.”

“How long?”

“Huh?”

“How long has this been going on?” Wayne asked, pulling his lighter out of his pocket.

“Uh, like two weeks? We’re not, like- we’re not official yet,” Eddie scratched his neck uncomfortably.

“Not offi- Edward,” his Uncle hardened his stare. “I taught you better than that.”

“Shit, I swear I was gonna do it today! Wanted to wait until after graduation, I’m not trying to be a flake-”

“It’s okay! We talked about it,” Dottie said, hanging onto his arm. “I don’t mind waiting, we just thought it’d be best to keep it a secret for now,” Wayne turned to look at her, wary. “Mr. Wayne, please, I’d announce it at the next Town Hall meeting if he’d let me.”

“We share all the same friends,” Eddie explained. “They’ll wanna know all the details, and I just- she breaks up with me and I’m the biggest loser in Hawkins, you know how those assholes are.”

“Oh my god, stop calling yourself a loser!” she whined.

“Don’t break up with me, and I won’t be!” he argued back, but it was clear he was being silly about it.

“Okay, so what’s the situation here? You two dating or not?” Wayne asked, getting back on topic.

“Yeah,” Eddie said, smiling down at her with hearts in his eyes. “We’re dating. I was gonna ask her to be my girlfriend officially later today but I might as well do it now since you’re so nosy.”

“It’s not like anything’s changing anyways,” Dottie said. “We just didn’t put a label on it, but I’ve kinda been his girlfriend since that party we went to a couple of weeks ago.”

“Hell yeah you are. And I’m your boyfriend, right?”

“No, you’re my private driver,” she deadpanned. “Of course you are, Eddie, what kind of question is that?”

“Just making sure, darling,” Eddie said, and Wayne snorted at how smug his nephew looked.

“Well, then… you two can go now, I guess. I’ll keep the secret.”

“Thanks, Mr. Wayne,” Dottie said, coming to hug him. “We’ll tell people soon, we just want a little bit of privacy for now. The guys can be so nosy sometimes.”

“Don’t I know that, kid,” he chuckled. “I’m real happy for you two.”

“I’m really happy too,” she whispered to him, a bashful smile on her face.

Eddie finally let her into his van, her white sundress and summery sandals a stark contrast against his ripped jeans and chains. They were an odd couple if one only looked at their clothes, but it was so clear that they vibrated at the same frequency that Wayne couldn’t help but think that he should have expected this development sooner. He didn’t know why he’d chosen to believe them when they’d said nothing had happened between them the night of the party. His nephew went towards the driver’s seat when he called to him again.

“Ed, a word,” he was dead serious as Eddie jogged to where he was standing.

“Yeah?”

“You treat that girl right, okay?” Wayne said, voice low so she wouldn’t hear from the van. “I don’t wanna hear shit from her Dad about you bein’ stupid with her.”

“I know.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not gonna fuck this up, Wayne. I love her,” Eddie told him, so sure of what he was saying that it knocked the wind out of his Uncle’s lungs for a bit.

“Love, huh?” Wayne laughed softly, and Eddie shrugged with red ears but looked so very happy. “Go, have fun. And take care of her.”

“I will,” he nodded.

“I’m proud of you, son,” Wayne said, ruffling his hair roughly like when he was just a boy barely taller than his own hip. “And your Momma would be too.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, eyes full of unshed tears. “I’m proud of me too.”

taglist: @munsonology @kurdtbean @every1lovesanunderdog @eg-dr3amer3

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celestemagnoliathewriter · 1 year

Text

The Red Pencil

A not-quite-microfic written for @thethreebroomsticksficfest A Very Harry Birthday mini event! Happy birthday Harry!

Harry steps into his Year 5 classroom, tucking his too-large, dingy white shirt into his equally oversized grey trousers. His glasses slide down the bridge of his nose and he pushes them back, looking up at the colorful calendar next to the blackboard.

“Move!” Harry is knocked to the floor by Piers Polkiss, Dudley’s rat-faced friend. Harry deflates; he expected a Dudley-free classroom, as Aunt Petunia demanded her Ickle Diddykins be placed with Mrs Croft, the sought-after Cedar class teacher. Harry is in the Holly class with Miss Turner, a new teacher, who doesn’t notice one of her pupils is rubbing his scraped elbow.

Harry stands, only to be pushed against the wall by another one of Dudley’s friends, Gordon, who laughs and finds a seat next to Piers.

“Is everything all right?” asks a wispy voice. Miss Turner fiddles with her big, beaded necklace and blinks down at Harry. He peers around her, where Piers and Gordon are eyeing him threateningly.

He won’t say a word.

“Yes, Miss Turner,” Harry replies dully. “I slipped when I was looking at the . . .”

“Calendar?”

Harry nods and turns to face the grid, noticing his name printed in one of the squares.

“Why is my name here?” he asks, pointing to the square. His Year 4 teacher always put his name on the blackboard if he misbehaved; Aunt Petunia would lock him in the cupboard all night.

Miss Turner frowns. “Your birthday isn’t on the 31st?”

Harry glances at the calendar once more. He finds Piers’s name in the square reserved for 28 July. An American film about dinosaurs was released that day; Dudley and Piers went to the cinema for it. They returned to taunt Harry, saying that an animated orphan was far better than a real one.

Swallowing the memory, he counts the squares. If Miss Turner’s calendar is correct, his ninth birthday was only three days later.

“I didn’t know I had a birthday.”

“Everyone has a birthday,” Miss Turner says, confused. “Did you forget?”

Other boys and girls are watching them, falling silent. Harry feels his cheeks grow hot. He knew he had to have a birthday, but Aunt Petunia told him she didn’t know when it was, which is why he couldn’t have a birthday party or presents.

“I forgot,” he lies, as Piers and Gordon snicker at each other. Miss Turner shrugs and nudges him toward an open seat near the front.

The school bell rings only a few moments later, sparing Harry from further embarrassment. He keeps his gaze on the date shown in the grid, memorizing it so he won’t forget. 31 July 1980 is my birthday, he thinks repeatedly, wondering what that day was like for his parents. He knows they died when he was already over a year old.

Had his birthday been celebrated once, when they were alive?

“Harry Potter!”

Harry blinks up at Miss Turner. She holds out a red pencil, topped with a star-shaped eraser, wrapped with a golden ribbon. It has a card attached to it, with “Happy Birthday!” printed in big, bold letters.

“Here you are,” Miss Turner says, handing him the pencil. “We’re celebrating everyone who had birthdays in July and August.” She moves onto the next student, Gemma Rollins, whose birthday was two weeks before the start of term. Harry holds the pencil gingerly, the only birthday gift he’s received (that he knows of). He chooses not to write with it. It’s special, just for him, something Dudley can’t take away.

But Piers can take it away, and by lunch, it’s no longer in Harry’s possession. By the end of the day, Gordon snaps it in half and tears the star-shaped eraser in two. The card is in shreds, carried off by the wind.

Harry knows better than to complain. Now that he knows his birthday, he can tell Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. He won’t get much for his birthday, if Christmas is anything to go by, but something is better than nothing.

It’s much later that day, after Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon have heard about Dudley’s marvelous first day of school, that Harry brings up his discovery. He’s done washing the dishes and finds Aunt Petunia in the garden, trimming the hydrangeas.

“Aunt Petunia?”

“Have you broken something?” she says, snipping a stem with a scowl.

“I found out when my birthday is.” He pushes his glasses up his nose, wishing they fit his face better. “The 31st of July. My teacher, Miss Turner, has a calendar with our birthdays on it.”

Aunt Petunia flinches. “It must be correct.”

“If I know my birthday now, can I get pre—”

“Only good, well-behaved boys get presents,” she snaps, twisting the head of a hydrangea clean off its stem. “Father Christmas doesn’t bring presents to naughty children. Why would naughty boys and girls get presents for their birthdays?”

Harry almost tells her he did get a birthday gift, a pencil, but Piers took it away. “Yes, Aunt Petunia,” he says miserably.

“Go to your cupboard. You’re going to get filthy if you stay out here.”

He shuffles away, avoiding Dudley’s chocolatey smirk and Uncle Vernon’s glare, and throws himself on the thin mattress in the cupboard. He feels something jabbing his side and hopes it’s not a mouse. Turning over, Harry sees the golden ribbon. The red pencil is on his bed, whole and untouched, with its star-shaped eraser and attached card.

With a grin, Harry stores the gift in an empty shoebox at the foot of his bed. He falls asleep, dreaming of flying, a gentle, tinkling laugh, and warm, hazel eyes crinkled with joy.

...

*The Land Before Time (1988) really was released on 28 July 1989 in the UK.

#harry potter #harry james potter #happy birthday harry

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thefrontofmymind · 10 months

Text

12 Days of Christmas: Day 1 - Secret Santa

hello all! this is the first installment of @abiiors 's 12 Days of Christmas !!

NOTE: this is a continuation of Nothing's Changed, a oneshot I wrote a few months ago. i would say you should read it beforehand just so you know what's going on

You weren’t nervous for the faculty secret santa, you’d seen a billion listicles of good generic gifts that could fit just about any of you coworkers.

It was only as you slyly opened the folded piece of paper you drew from the box and read the name, a shock went down your spine and you broke into a cold sweat. Ross.

You could argue it was silly to get so worried. You had your lists! But with Ross…it has to be special. You had to get him something meaningful–this was your first Christmas together, and granted you’d already ordered him a stack of vintage records of albums he loved, but you knew you couldn’t flake out and get him…a box of chocolates, for example.

But you had to be careful, anything too special could set off alarm bells in everyone else’s heads. It was common knowledge that you were friends in uni, and when given the chance you would be glued to each other’s sides, but there were policies about fraternisation between colleagues and you couldn’t lose this job.

You wracked your brain from the Wednesday morning of the name draw, up until Friday afternoon trying to think of something–anything–for Ross.

“You still here?” Lou said, popping her head through your doorway. “I thought I’d be the last one out of here tonight!”

You laughed–your neighbouring drama teacher was known for spending her evenings building set pieces and readying props and costumes for whatever performance her classes were doing next. “Just…milling around…”

“What’s up?” In the few months you’d known her, it seemed Lou always had the knack for sensing when someone was off; she’d know to send a student to the school nurse just with one glance at them.

“It’s silly, really…” You trailed off.

“It’s clearly bothering you, what’s up?” She persisted, taking a seat on the desk closest to your work station at the front of the room–where Ross would sit to eat lunch with you everyday for the past 2 months.

“I just don’t know what to get my secret santa–I know it’s stupid to get all worried about it–just…you know, I need it to be perfect,” you answered.

Lou let out a sigh. “What are you doing tomorrow? We can go into town and I’ll help you find a gift.”

You breathed a sigh of relief at the idea of help. Though, how would you go about with Lou’s help without her cottoning on to the fact that the one reason you were so nervous was that you didn’t want to toe the line of co-workers and romantic partners too much around the people that couldn’t know.

“And maybe I’ll find something for my gift,” she continued. “What do you get Jimmy in Geography, anyway?”

“A map?” You joked.

“Well I imagine he probably has enough of those laying around,” Lou answered with a grin. “Who do you have anyway?”

“Ross.”

“Ah, right, I get it now…” she commented before leaving, calling out a quick ‘I’ll drop by at 10!’ as she strolled out the door.

~~~

It wasn’t as cold as you expected the next morning. The sun had come out and there was a light layer of dew over the outside frames of the windows of your flat. You could even get away with just wearing your coat with a normal t-shirt for once.

You spoke to Ross the night before–he had grading to do before the end of term so he was spending his whole Saturday in a hole in his living room, surrounded by four classes worth of history essays to read. You were grateful he didn’t ask what your plans were, you just left it at a ‘then I’ll leave you to it’ and he seemed satisfied with it.

And in a stroke of rare luck, Lou was at your doorstep at 10 on the dot, with two oat milk lattes in her hands. It was never her forte to be on time, but you were glad your morning wasn’t full of anxiously waiting around for your coworker–and now friend.

“So what are you thinking?” Lou asked as you strolled through the crowded street mall you found yourself in. She pointed to a fancy cosmetics shop. “Cologne or something maybe?”

“Not personal enough, I think,” you answered. “Why couldn’t I just get someone I don’t know anything about?!”

Lou laughed. It made you realise you may have been overthinking it just a little. You’d known Ross for years, you loved him… You just had to go with your gut.

“You and Ross are close, huh?” Lou continued after a few moments of silent strolling.

“In uni…we were inseparable,” you replied. “Like really close.”

She gave you a look, wide eyes. It was a silent question. Just how close? You gave one curt nod in response, a sign that you couldn’t talk about it, but it was clear what the answer would be.

Suddenly you felt like a weight had come off your chest. Finally you were honest to someone about Ross. You realised you didn’t have to completely hide your relationship, you just had to be careful about it. You immediately caught onto the notion that by and large you didn’t need to overthink this all; just go with your heart, and you’ll find the perfect gift for the most perfect man.

Walking past a jeweller, a gold glint caught the corner of your eye. It was a display in the window–a gold chain, not too delicate, but thick enough for you to see it immediately. You made a b-line for it without even looking to Lou. Every link interlocked with each other and laid so smoothly.

You remembered Ross wore a thin chain in university–you remembered it dangling over your face as he hovered above you, begging for him to drown you in kisses yet again. At some point over the years he must have either lost it or forgone it as a growing moment. You missed it tickling your face, hiding within his chest hair like a hidden treasure waiting to be unearthed–you got butterflies just thinking about it.

Sure, it was a little out of the price range for the gift exchange, but you always took those sorts of things as just a guideline. You and Lou walked out of the little family-owned shop with a tiny navy blue bag in your hand and a spring in your step.

~~~

You kept one eye on the small wrapped box under the tree in the staffroom during the staff party. Even though no one, bar Lou, knew what it contained, you were still worried someone would take it or misplace it or mistake it for their own gift. Through drinks and shallow conversations about your holiday plans and picking at the spread of potluck appetisers provided but almost everyone in the room, every so often you would just quickly glance to make sure it was still in it’s spot sitting atop a wrapped cylinder that you could only guess was a candle–it made you giggle to yourself to think that someone panicked and grabbed the first think they could think of, the most basic gift imaginable.

You spent most of your time glued next to Ross. He looked so…beautiful in his knitted red sweater with his hair pulled back like usual. You just couldn’t wait for him to open his gift. You couldn’t help but stare at the glint in his eyes as he chuckled along with the group at Kerry from biology’s story about her sons’ antics.

After about an hour and a half of mingling, it was finally time for the gifts. You all sat in a big circle around the staff room as Principal Janine handed out the wrapped presents. You giggled at the gag gifts, smiled at the sweet gifts, and tried to hide your confusion at gifts that were clearly some kind of inside joke you weren’t privy to.

Janine finally picked up the box for Ross. “And this one’s for…Ross!”

You could barely contain your excitement as he began to tear at the corner of the wrapping. You could tell he was being gentle with it, trying to ignore the spurs of “rip it!” from the group. He looked inquisitively at the small velvet box once it was free from the paper.

“Open it,” you whispered from beside him. You almost missed the glint in his eye as he slyly glanced at you. You knew you’d already given the game away–he knew it was from you.

The gold chain didn’t sparkle as much as you hoped under the fluorescent lights of the staff room, but it still caused a mist in Ross’ eyes just the same.

“So who do you think it’s from, then?” Lou asked with a grin–after all, she was there with you when you bought it.

“It can only be from one person, I reckon.” He smiled and placed a firm hand on the back of your shoulder.

You could’ve melted under his touch then and there. Even with all the private escapades you had gotten up to, nothing could compare to the adrenaline rush you felt at the tiniest amount of affection you could show each other in public.

“Well, I noticed you don’t wear one anymore! I thought you could get a little nostalgia from it!” You were smiling so wide, it looked like someone had stuck a clothes hanger in your mouth.

You noticed that underneath the tree was beginning to get sparse. Only about half a dozen gifts were left, you wondered which one was yours.

Janine grabbed a bulky, square-shaped, wrapped box and read the nametag on it. She joyfully passed it to you.

You couldn’t help but immediately tear the wrapping, making just an ounce of the mess you used to love making on Christmas morning when you were a kid.

It was a bottle of perfume. Not just any bottle. Britney Spears’ Midnight Fantasy. You let out a deep chuckle once you’d registered what it was–the perfume you were just about addicted to in uni, you pretty much had a stockpile running of them for your full 3 years there.

You heard a laugh from beside you. Ross had a smile just as wide as yours, his cheeks had all bunched up and he got those little creases at the edges of his eyes that you loved so much.

“Of course!” You bellowed. You realised everyone else in the room looked confused, you thought it’d be kind to clue them in. “I was obsessed with this perfume in uni, like, I don’t think I ever wore another perfume then.”

“Never! We knew you’d be coming when we could smell it while you were still a mile up the road!”

~~~

Ross’ cheeks were lit but the LED tealights surrounding your flat. You set up a picnic of sorts–inside, of course, no one in their right mind would stay outside in the freezing temperatures for longer than necessary–with an Indian takeaway.

It was small moments like this, the intimacy, that made you appreciate Ross even more. You’d thought it out and come to a conclusion; you didn’t mind that you couldn’t be all love-y with each other in public, it was the private times that counted, and with each interaction you could feel yourself falling further and further.

“I hope you like it,” you said, when discussing your secret Santa gifts–coincidentally to each other.

“Are you kidding, love? You’ll have to wrestle it off me now!” He smiled, a little wonky from the two bottles of wine you’d shared that evening.

You giggled. “I’m glad, and likewise with the perfume I…I can’t believe you remembered the exact one.”

“Of course I did!” He replied. He placed his plate on the picnic blanket that was sprawled out on your living room floor. “I actually have something else–to go along with it…”

He shifted and turned to dig through his bag, normally filled with supplies for school and his laptop. He retrieved a brown paper binded scrapbook.

“This was the-uh-second part of the gift,” he continued. “But I couldn’t quite give you this bit in front of everyone else.”

He handed you the book, and you finally got a good look at the cover. There was a picture of the two of you back from some university party back in the day–probably scoured from someone’s Facebook memories. You tried to hide your cringe at your outfit, not quite something you would wear today.

You began to flip through the pages. Photos from your year together, tickets to the films you saw at the cinema, a concert ticket or two as well. Each page had a little paragraph written right onto it in Ross’ scribbly yet concise handwriting–sometimes explaining a memory of a day in the fall when you got excited to watch Hocus Pocus with him, or a poem about snow falling down on you and resting in your hair.

You flipped to the last page, there was a lengthy letter written.

My love,

If all is going as planned, I’m watching you read this right now. I could stare at you forever, you know that?

You looked up to see Ross smiling at you, you couldn’t help but let out a schoolgirl-like giggle.

Even though you’ll vehemently deny it, the truth is you are the most beautiful sight in the world. Ever. I will never get sick of being graced by those eyes, the curve of your neck into your shoulders, your arms that you swear dangle just a little too far to be proportionate, and those hips–my word, those hips.

I could go on about your looks forever, but that is barely the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the marvel that is you. You’re always so kind, so caring, and you’re the smartest in most rooms you’re in.

For a long time I thought the only chance I had with you was gone when we split so long ago. I must’ve accrued some bloody good karma to give me a second chance at loving you. I know it hasn’t been that long this time around yet, and I know we’re bound for a hassle the longer this goes on, but I want you to know that I’m in it. Whatever it takes, you are staying in my life and there’s not a chance I’m letting you go again.

All of this to say, I love you.

Your Ross

P.S. Don’t feel pressure to say it back or anything. It’s just important that you know.

You couldn’t stop the grin on your face. There was heat spreading all across your face and neck. You realised you hadn’t looked back up at Ross yet–you just couldn’t help but re-read the last few lines of his letter. I love you. I love you. I love you.

When you finally looked back at him, you could see his smile had faltered just a little. He was worried about your response.

You tried to find the words to tell him how you felt. How perfect this all was.

“Sorry if I…overstepped,” he started. “I just had to get it out, you know? Like there was this-”

You cut him off with a kiss. A deep kiss. The kind that did all the talking for you. The kind where you didn’t care that your teeth hit each other on impact and your neck was craning in an awkward position and all of Ross’ weight was settled on one hand leaning on the carpet and it was beginning to aggravate the skin on the palm of his hand.

In the end, none of that mattered. Because you loved each other, and after so long without one another that was the most important thing in your life.

#christmas75 #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald imagine #ross macdonald fanfiction #ross macdonald fic #ross macdonald blurb

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thesensteawitch · 1 year

Text

Signs confirming you're on the right path🪐🍁

🌙Pick A Pile Reading🌙

Deep Breaths...Now Choose!

{Left to Right--- 1, 2, 3}

Pile 1

Signs of confirmation: An old lady, green colored drink, a spilled drink, roses, a weighing machine, goosebumps, a cock, a bridge over a water body, coming across a man wearing a collared green or blue shirt, horse, two fishes together, Christmas tree.

Note: You may see any of the above signs in your dreams as well.

Meaning of the signs:

An old lady: A breakthrough is coming

Green-colored drink: You are protected

A spilled drink: A truth will be revealed

Roses: You will find something that you're looking for.

Weighing machine: Luck is in your favor.

Goosebumps: The coming winter will ask you to declutter and release what doesn't serve.

A cock: There's something you need to be cautious about when it comes to your career.

Bridge over a water body: You are being asked to give someone a chance and move beyond toxicity.

A man wearing a collared green or blue shirt: A teacher, boss, or someone you look up to may be important. Thank them with a gift.

Horse: Buy oranges.

Two fishes together: You need to balance spirituality and practicality.

Christmas Tree: Make a wish while looking at the stars.

Pile 2

Signs of confirmation: A coin on the street, a rabbit, a gift from someone, stars, a proposal, sweet corn, an old blanket, A huge chair, Twilight (movie), purple color, sheep or a goat.

Note: You may see any of the above signs in your dreams as well.

Meaning of the signs:

A coin on the street: Have patience

A rabbit: It's okay to splurge sometimes. You deserve it.

A gift from someone: You are being blessed for the good deed you did in the past.

Stars: Whatever you are creating will bear fruits in the future.

A proposal: Your aura is becoming a magnet. Think twice before you make a wish.

Sweet corn: An appraisal or a job offer is coming your way.

An old blanket: You are being advised to rest or go on a vacation.

A huge chair: Take responsibility for your finances.

Twilight (Movie): Your thoughts are running wild. Calm down. Write down your ideas or you may forget them.

Purple color: Angel numbers will be popping out of nowhere signifying that a new start is coming for you but you must pass a test first.

A Sheep or a goat: Do not get involved in arguments.

Pile 3

Signs of Confirmation: A fireplace, a broken tap, a trophy, a lightning strike, butterflies, a competition, people arguing, a blind man, white pebbles, blue color.

Note: You may see any of the above signs in your dreams as well.

Meaning of the signs:

A fireplace: You need to delegate some tasks as you are on the verge of burnout.

Broken tap: News that will make you overwhelmed.

A trophy: You are winning even though you may not see it.

A lightning strike: A rush of downloads from the divine are coming.

Butterflies: The change first happens in our mind.

A competition: You are your competitor. The crowd cannot defeat you.

People arguing: It's fruitless to watch them. Walk away.

A blind man: Home is near.

White pebbles: Angels are very very very close.

Blue color: The aroma of fresh air will bring clarity.

Thank You For Reading!

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percervall · 10 months

Note

Ms Mar, my favourite list-maker, would love to know your thoughts about a liverpool Secret Santa exchange, since all we got for a Christmas video on best present was kinda boring lol.

who would get who, and what would they gift each other? 🤭

Okay, after messaging @curiousthyme to brainstorm we quickly discovered that this was accidentally sent on anon. oopsies 🤭 So thank you Ives for this brilliant ask!

In true teacher fashion, I used a name picker wheel to link players and then went from there. Some of them were just too good, honestly this wheel is a Liverpool girly

Putting them all under a read more because it's a long list

Lexi → Virgil - a personalised maté set, similarly to the one he gifted Ibou (whom I have seem to forgotten to include in this 😭 my poor petit)

Virgil → Alisson - a gift card for a spa day (+ a "we're sorry for fucking up so much" card signed by all our defenders)

Alisson → Wataru - a gift card for a local Japanese restaurant, for Endo to enjoy with his partner on a double date with Ali and his wife

Wataru → Pep - a new set of whiteboard markers and magnets shaped like football kit for all his tactical planning sessions

Pep → Cody - (like I said, this wheel was just being so kind to us) Pep would give him a Christmas ornament shaped like a Bossche bol (shout out to the 2 Dutchies who follow me and know what this is) to remind him of home

Cody → Lucho - seeing as Luis' partner is about to give birth to their second child, a mobile to hang over the cot. Maybe even Liverpool themed with tiny felt jerseys 🥰

Lucho → Joe - Joey would get a picture frame key chain so he can take his family with him wherever he goes

Joe → Ryan - A Scouse dictionary and an FC24 game but with Ryan's face photoshopped onto every player on the cover 🤭

Ryan → Joël - New shower curtains with Virg's face all over them to push the bromance agenda, and a friends mug

Joël → Darwin - A DVD set for friends to help him with his English and a little pin that says "chaos demon"

Darwin → Mo - A t-shirt with Darwin's cutie lil face as he says "thank you for support" + that photo in a frame. You know the one, where Darwin became Mo's bodyguard/sleep paralysis demon

Mo → Kostas - Some weights and a DVD on how to get abs + a t-shirt with a photo of Mo's abs printed on it in the meantime

Kostas → Thiago - (I told you the wheel is a Liverpool girly) Maui and Fuerte in cuddly toy form for their the new baby + a donation to Thiago's charity

Thiago → Domi - a beard care set, like one of those high end ones, and the game werewolves (iykyk)

Domi → Trent - (y'all, we were YELLING) a chain necklace "because that's what the girls like" + Hungarian schnapps/pálinka + a temporary tattoo of the CL trophy because his mum said no to the real one 🤭

Trent → Andy - (SCREAM) a BFF necklace, a Dua Lipa album, and his fave biscuits

Andy → Klopp - Andy would give Klopp the Scotsman treatment: full kilt + a set of bagpipes (bonus: Kloppo promising to wear the full get up when they win the league)

Klopp → Diogo - An annotated copy of Cruyff's book about football because Jots wants to go into coaching after his playing career

Diogo → Lexi - a personalised gaming chair with a maté holder, and a personalised game controller

This was so much fun, thanks babe!!

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rosewaterandivy · 1 year

Text

8. scarves of red

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

Warnings: No use of y/n - reader goes by the nickname Trouble instead, cursing, hospital mention, family medical crisis, sad girl hours continue, Meet Me in St. Louis call out, Modern!Teacher AU, English teacher reader, History teacher Steve, slow burn, friends to lovers, romance.

A/N: Hurt my own feelings with this one 😞😞😞 Here’s 5.9K of soft!Steve and conflicted!reader - reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated, let me know what you thought; enjoy! 💜

series masterlist | playlist

Trouble’s gift for Steve: rebel without a clue

previous || next

Then, December, Christmas day, Carmel-by-the-Sea, CA

It’s these moments you cherish the most. The quiet still of mornings when it feels like you’re the only person awake, able to catch auroras that break across the sky heralding a new day. Tangled up in shades of fading blue, rumpled sheets, and him.

One arm thrown across his eyes to block the growing light, the other wound loosely around your waist having sought you out in deepest sleep. His warm right hand and fingertips. His pulse measuring itself in steady breaths, puffs of air that escape his lax lips.

It’s in the liminal moments— when he’s suspended in between dreams and waking— that you face the truth. The one you’re so desperate to escape. A shadow drifting through a haze of incandescent light. Heart clenching at the thought—this is where you love him the most. You trace his outline with a finger, igniting the glorious gold shape of his body. It stirs him back to you.

“Mornin’.” Raspy and low, whispered into your ear and your very soul shivers. “Merry Christmas, honey.” He smiles when he looks at you, arm falling to his side.

Curling closer to the heat of his body, you smile. “Merry Christmas, Stevie.”

Your palm pursues a dip of muscle, Steve presses his lips to the crown of your head before drawing you to him, as if you could fade into him like a band of light. Would that you could. Blinking the tears away before they can fall, you smile into the curve of his neck smothering the urge to taste and touch him.

Hushed tones and footfalls hint that you’re no longer the only ones awake. Steve squeezes you once more for good measure before rising from the bed, with a yawn and a stretch. You follow suit not long after, waiting until he’s left the room to get up. Treading carefully, you unzip his bag and your fingers happen upon his presents, hastily packed away before leaving.

With a small smile, you turn on your heel at the sound of your dad’s Christmas playlist blaring through the speakers. Cheered by the chorus of voices from the kitchen, you move to join them finding Steve ready with a mug of coffee for you as he leans against the counter.

He’s pulled on an ancient Hawkins Tigers shirt and dispensed the proper portion of creamer for your coffee. Trading barbs and jokes with your mother while she teases him about the competing cats of his outfit, tigers versus leopards, a tale as old as time.

Greeting your family, you make your way to the tree and stow Steve’s presents under it. Hearing that he’s been pulled into conversation with your dad, you take the slip of paper from your the pocket of your shorts and sneak it into his stocking, hung right beside yours.

A bump to your hips, a familiar chuckle as you turn to see your brother with a mug extended toward you. “Steve’s orders,” he says, sipping from his own mug. “Said you better not let it go cold.”

You clink your mugs together and settle on the couch, waiting for the festivities to begin. Someone passes a plate or cinnamon rolls your way and sets a champagne glass behind you on a table. Steve bullies his way onto the couch to sit with you, forcing you to the center of the sofa.

“Well, that looks familiar,” your dad chuckles catching sight of you, nudging your mom to look on. “Trouble in the middle, like every road trip we ever took the three of you on.”

“Not for lack of trying,” you mutter, recalling the antics Steve and your brother would get up to on those long rides to campsites or out-of-state. Mostly them playing keep away with whatever book you’d brought along and making you play I-Spy, the license plate game, or your least favorite, punch buggy.

You roll your eyes at the ensuing laughter, your mom looking at you in sympathy with a pout. Steve taps his knee to yours as you dig into breakfast, an indignant huff when you elbow him back. “Not very nice of you,” he grouses, “Think we’ll have to move you to the naughty list.”

“White Winter Hymnal” is on, blaring through the house. Robin Pecknold croons sweetly, longingly, ethereally about a pack of foxes making their way in the snow in a dreamy cadence. Steve hears your voice as you carol along, impossibly cute. Catching your curious expression at what is most likely his prolonged staring at you, he gives a dramatic roll of his eyes to cover.

“Woah there, cowboy,” you say through a mouthful of pastry, “If you keep rolling your eyes like that, they’ll get stuck up there.”

“Yeah,” your brother chimes in, “Looked pretty impressive there, Steve-o.”

“Well, what can I say?” A waggle of his brow while he sips from his mug, “I learned from the best.”

Thankfully, your dad takes over and begins handing out stockings and presents from the tree, a trash bag at the ready for wrapping paper and paraphernalia. There are more gifts than you’d anticipated, what with this trip being a surprise, but lo-and-behold, you're given an expertly wrapped box from the Harringtons.

“Did you know about this?”

Steve looks to you, confusion evident on his pretty face. He shrugs, eyes glancing to the package in your lap.

“Oh Steve, your mom had those sent over, we’ve been in touch,” you look at your mom as if she grew a second head. “What? We talk, not everything is about you,” she says casually.

“Mmm,” you say primly before your dad reminds the three of you to get the ‘shebang’ started, stockings first, naturally.

Finding a quiet moment, Steve steps away to call his parents. They exchange a few pleasantries and he thanks them for sending the gifts here rather than the loft. He dodges their question about his last gift for you, simply because he hasn’t found the right time to give it to you— knows how you can get about having all eyes on you in situations like this, not terribly fond of unwanted attention.

Before he can get back to the movie marathon you’d started in the living room, your mom steps into the room. She ducks her head with a smile mouthing ‘sorry’ seeing that he’s still on the phone, and he can see so much of you in her at that instant, Steve completely forgets what he was saying.

“Yeah, I gotta go,” he drawls, head devoid of thoughts about the previous conversation. “Talk later, love you too Ma.”

Comfy on the chair next to the windows, your mom turns to him with a smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No worries,” Steve sits in the chair across from her, “They had to get going, anyway.”

She nods, knowing all too well the perpetual rush his parents were in, steeples her fingers and takes a breath. “So.”

Steve only appears slightly abashed at her tone, that needling you-know-better register it seems only mothers can access. He sighs and palms the back of his neck, “I know, I know.”

Another knowing smile. “You’re still planning to give it to her?”

“I mean, I was…” He leans forward slightly and rakes his hand through his hair frustratedly. “And then my dad got in my head about it, saying it’s too similar to a proposal—”

An inhalation of breath. She kisses her teeth with a shake of her head, “Steve, you know her better than that I’d wager.”

She scoots forward in her seat and reaches to take his hand, thumb moving in comforting circles across his bruised knuckles. They’re still sore, and he hisses when she brushes a particularly tender spot.

“Sorry sweetie,” she soothes. Her eyes wandered to him, warm and maternal. “I heard about what happened, she told us after patching you up the other day.”

Steve finds it hard to meet her gaze in that moment. Clearly, you could hold your own and take care of yourself. There was no reason for him to get involved save for his own sense of pride. Regret roils like acid in his gut as he waits for the I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.

“I should thank you,” is what your mom ends up saying with a mischievous smile. “I’ve been wanting to pop him one for years now and you beat me to the punch, quite literally.”

Steve squints a little, understanding when he sees her trying to suppress her laughter. He cracks a smile and squeezes her hand, responding with a laugh.

“He just had such a punchable face, y’know?”

“Oh, do I.”

They fall into easy conversation after that, her confiding in him about your recent predicament and worries for you. He serves as her sounding board, offering up nods and reassurances that you’re doing well, anecdotes about work and the loft.

Eventually, she turns to glance out of the window. “You’ve always taken such good care of her Steve.” Her voice is thick with emotion, she frees her hand from his to wipe at her eyes. “We’ve never had to worry about her with you,” she laughs as if she can’t believe it and stands to face the ocean view.

He rises slowly, knowing whatever she’s about to say is something she has held close; a private hope for her daughter, too fragile to be spoken aloud. “I know you would do anything for her,” her voice is barley whisper in the still of the room, “And she’d do the same for you,” a slow turn to face him once more, soft smiling tugging at the corner of her lips, “You have to know that. I mean, of course you do, you’re devoted to one another.”

Steve nods, hands grasping her shoulders and pulling her into a hug. She falls into him with a wet laugh, he perches his chin on the top of her head while she pulls herself together. Her arms wind about his waist squeezing him tightly, “All of this is to say,” her voice steady once more, “Would the two of you please get your shit together?”

His bark of laughter surprises him, “Sure, I’ll get right on that mom.”

She claps his shoulder and shoots him a rougish glance, “No pressure,” she goes to leave the room, “It’s not like we want grandkids or anything,” she teases.

He pouts petulantly and follows her out, “You,” he says with a sigh, “are trouble.”

“Mmm,” she agrees, leading him to the kitchen, “Well, the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree y’know.”

Steve listens to the playlist you’d curated for him as he walks to meet you at the beachfront. In your typical fashion, it was an incredibly thoughtful gift— a custom pressed splatter vinyl, a mix your favorite color and red, which is his— and he was speechless for a moment after unwrapping it.

“D’you like it?” You’d shyly asked when he hadn’t said anything or given a hint as to his reaction. “It’s a vinyl pressed with a playlist I made you.” You went on to explain that you had a Spotify version too, since there wasn’t a record player at the house for immediate use. He set the gift down carefully and pulled you into a bearhug, settling your legs on either side of his so you were seated in his lap facing each other.

Coloring in embarrassment, you rest your forehead against his, bright eyes glancing up through long lashes to study him. The smile he gave you nearly split his face in two, “You’re amazing and I love it.” You teased him, pointing out that he couldn’t say that since he hadn’t heard it yet. Then frowned, spotting the flash of your dad’s camera going off, and attempted to clamber off of his lap.

Loud scoffs as you critiqued your dad’s photography skills, and your brother piped up that he got a shot of the pair of you as well, should the other picture not be sufficient. Steve let you slide back to the center of the sofa, one arm wrangled around your waist as you leant against him for the rest of the gift exchange, head tucked into his neck as his fingers ran through your hair.

Apparently, you’d gone out on a “sad girl” walk not long after Steve had gone to call his parents. Your dad was mindful to relay your sentiments, “Woke up from her sugar coma and said ‘peace out girl scout, time for sad girl hours.’ Whatever that means.”

Steve left soon after, added the playlist to this ‘likes’ and told them he’d be back with you soon. He shoves the phone in the pocket of his jacket and checks for the ring with his opposite hand. Fingers running over the crushed velvet, he reassures himself that it’s there and intact and begins his downhill trajectory.

His mind floods with memories with the opening songs, burned CDs and playlists you’d demand played at max volume as he drove around Hawkins while you sat shotgun in his car. You had a knack for this sort of thing, the ability to curate a playlist around any theme or request impeccably. There was a reason you threw together the soundtrack for any party he’d thrown since high school, why you were in charge of the AUX of every car he drove— much to Eddie’s chagrin.

Descending the hills of the suburbs, he walks through the nearly empty arcade of shops and restaurants of downtown. There are a few people milling around at the water’s edge, but not many. He treads the wood boards of stairs leading down to the sandy beach, head bobbing and singing along “Timberwolves at New Jersey.”

Steve smiles and nods at the various couples and families he passes by, wondering where you are. He’s about to text you after a few minutes of fruitless searching, when he spies you perched atop a hill, chin resting against your knees as you hug your legs to your chest. You’ve got your new headphones on and his raybans, because when are you not rifling through his shit and taking his stuff.

He scrambles up the hill, feet sinking into the sand if he lingers in one spot for too long. Makes his way to your side with mumbled curses and something about being subjected to finding sand in his shoes for the rest of his life. Plops to the ground at your side with a forceful exhale and knocks a knee against yours.

“Hey,” he says after pausing the music and removing his ear buds. You nod at him, grimace pulling at your lips, and eyes red.

Wordlessly, he drags you to his side and tucks your head under his chin as you take trembling breaths. Hears the unmistakable sound of Taylor Swift and decides that it’s time to put the headphones away for today. Hands gently lift the speakers from your ears and rest the band against your neck. You sniffle and wipe the tears from your face, moving to sit up.

Steve cradles you to his chest, thumbs brushing errant tears you’d missed from your cheeks. You allow him to silently comfort you, hands winding under his jacket seeking warmth and touch. He settles you on his lap, arms holding you close. The scent of his aftershave wraps around you, a resounding sense of home as you cry.

How easy it would be if you could rid yourself of the memories and grief that torment you day and night.

The waves crash against the shore, drowning out your thoughts of him and the life you almost had— a May wedding, a house and a dog, eventually children running through the yard, sprinklers, popsicles melting sticky sweet in the summertime.

How easy it would be if you could just move on.

Your eyes slip close as you take slow breaths in and out, Steve whispering encouragements into your hair as it whips up in the sea breeze. Notes of salty brine mixing with the cypress of his cologne. His fingers slide down your jaw, moving you to stare up at him. Your best friend looks as if his heart is breaking in front of him and there’s nothing he can do to prevent it.

It’s enough to chasten you, tears drying on your face as you sit up straight. Thumbs running up and down the length of your arms and a small smile, eyes clouded with concern. A shake of your head to let him know it’s okay, that you’re okay or at least trying to be.

Placated, for now, Steve offers you his hands to help you stand— fingers grasping his palms, you counter your weight against his and rise, dusting sand off as you go. Once he sees you’ve settled, he sits back on his heels and looks up to you. Pulling a box from his jacket pocket, he drops it your open palm, “One last present for you, Trouble.”

Curiosity piqued, you open it while he stands, grains of sand falling from his form. A gasp flies from your mouth. Nestled inside the box is a familiar ring, one that’s plagued you with guilt for the better part of a decade since you’d lost it.

“Steve, I—”

He shrugs, arms falling to his sides, “C’mon now, it’s not a big deal.”

“Of course it’s a big deal!” You smack his chest, “It��s a huge deal, how did you do this?!” You take the ring out of its box and marvel at it in the light: center stone of Alexandrite flanked by bright diamonds sparkling in the evening light.

“Your mom was huge help, actually.” He plucks the ring from you hand to slide it on the fourth finger of your left hand. “Had to use your uh, former ring for size, and some family pieces from your aunts and grandmothers, but we can change it up if you don’t like it.”

Steve keeps his eyes on your hand, mindful not to meet your gaze, a blush creeping up his neck and face. And you’re too shocked to do anything but gape in awe at his sweet, thoughtful gesture from your charming and dearest friend.

“No Steve,” you breathe and echo his earlier sentiment, “You’re amazing, I love it.”

The two of you stand there, his hand holding yours for what you swear are eternities. Hazel eyes drawing up to meet you, more green in this light, and impossibly fond. With a pull of your arm, he falls toward you, quick to wrap his other arm around your hips and press a kiss to the crown of your head. “Merry Christmas, doll,” the timbre of his voice sending you into shivers.

“Oh.”

A brief, quizzical glance to Steve at the sound of someone approaching you. He turns slightly to see who’s there. An older woman pauses with her hand to her lips, as if she’d interrupted a private moment meant for the two of you.

“I’m so sorry,” she continues, voice light and apologetic, “But you just make such a beautiful couple.” You feel Steve bristle at her interpretation of events. “I just wanted to offer my heartfelt congratulations!”

“Oh, we’re not–” he begins to say. You swat at him to get him to shut up, smile wide and bright when he turns to you confused.

More footfalls through the beach grasses as her husband comes to a stop beside her. A comforting hand falling to her shoulder with familiar ease, “So, how long have you been together?”

“Oh, feels like forever,” you say with a smile, discreetly elbowing Steve before he can correct you. “Childhood sweethearts, we grew up next door to each other.”

His wife beams, “You don’t see a lot of that anymore.” And prattles on, chatting with you about young love while Steve steals ardent glances of you.

The man observes him briefly, reminded of his own proposal in another lifetime. The undeniable look of a young man in love, infatuated with a girl and the shimmering promise of what’s to come. With a brief squeeze of his wife’s shoulder, he steps forward a few paces sending a nod to Steve. He catches the man’s meaning and walks away from you, arm extended back to hold your hand for as long as he can.

His arm drops to his side with reluctance, finally out of earshot and admiring the sunset with the gentleman to his left.

“A bit of advice, son?” the older man asks, catching your indulgent smile to Steve’s back. “From one old codger to a young whipper-snapper,” he drops a wink to Steve, who responds with a chuckle. “Relationships aren’t fifty-fifty and whoever said that was a colossal dumbass.”

Steve laughs, brilliant peals of it lost against the crashing of waves on the shore. Shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels as the man continues.

“If all she can give is twenty percent, on bad day, take up the slack and bridge that eighty percent for the sake of the partnership.” The man looks him in the eye with a slight smile, claps a hand on his shoulder, “Just some advice from a thirty-year veteran of a good marriage; it’s not always fair and easy, but it’s worth it.” Steve nods politely, eyes flicking toward you at the sound of your laughter. “Though, I s’pose this might be something you already know.”

They shake hands and the man turns back to call for his bride; she blushes making her way back to him. You take Steve by surprise, looping your thumbs through his belt loops and pulling him back against your chest, chin resting on his shoulder.

“C’mon buttercup,” you rasp, breath ticking the hairs on the back of his neck. “We got things to do and people to see!”

Waving goodbye to the well-wishers, you take Steve’s hand in yours and make your way back home. The receding sun colors the sky in bands of peach, pink, yellow and lilac. You comment on the cotton-candy hues turned back and facing him to take it in, small hands clasped in his larger ones as you walk backwards up the path.

And he knows he should turn to sneak a glance, take a picture to remember this moment by. But he can’t tear his eyes from you— light and bright in the dark of the tree covered trail, eyes flitting this way and that taking in the scenery, tongue darting out to wet your bottom lip before you fix him with your signature grin.

And like a moth to a flame, Steve will circle and orbit your radiance until he’s torn asunder. It is enough to love you from afar, for it to bloom and unfurl in the secret, dark recesses where your light cannot reach.

It has to be.

That evening finds Steve in a mild panic.

The walk back to your aunt and uncle’s place had been a vertical armageddon, just one brutal hill after the next, his thighs were still burning and he honestly didn’t know how you made it without your usual complaints.

But no. Handling the rigorous climb with your usual nonsense, you’d pestered him with every thought that ran through your head.

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

The question takes him by surprise. Rummaging in your pockets until you’d produced a granola bar, you chomp and chew, crumbs decorating your lips.

Steve frowns and extends his hand. “No. And gimme.”

A granola flake sticks to your chin. “Oh, well, that’s a shame.” A quirk of his brow to egg you on, train of thought having already left the station. All these years of knowing you and he still doesn’t know a damn thing.

“I’m it,” another bite before you hand it off. The wrapper slips in his hand, the bar near to tumbling on the pavement. “I’m your soulmate.”

A cough. Steve chokes on the granola in his mouth and it comes out of his nose.

Footfalls approaching you at a quick pace, your brother jogging in place as he observes you thumping Steve on the back repeatedly to varying levels of success while he hacks and coughs.

“Good god.” You older sibling complains before leaving on an evening run, “You idiots were made for each other.”

And Steve doesn’t think he’s wrong.

Especially after cycling through the playlist twice over now. He hadn’t thought much of it, at first. You did stuff like this all the time: “Here, this made me think of you,” said with a hastily wrapped gift, “Special delivery!” accompanied by your bright smile and a breakfast tray of his favorites, “Let me know when you get there,” thrown over your shoulder as he’s on his way out of the door.

You’re such a considerate dope, he’s lucky to have you.

But this feels different. More intentional.

Not that you don’t put thought into things, you’re an English teacher for fuck’s sake; you can pick up on nuance and dissect a narrative like it’s nothing. Appreciating the varied layers and intentions of storytelling, teaching your students to do likewise— he hears it from them all the time (“I can’t read mindlessly anymore,” “I know, right?!”, “I’m so invested in these characters, it’s, like, bad.”).

He’s probably overthinking this.

It was just a kiss.

It’s just a Christmas present.

Albeit an incredibly thoughtful one.

Steve decides to cut his losses and stop wallowing. He grabs his things for a quick shower, hoping to wash off the last of the sand and sweat from earlier. The music continues to play, echoing against the tile in the bathroom.

“Tonight the headphones will deliver you the words that I can’t say.”

The refrain of “Homesick at Space Camp” mocks him.

Dinner was a catch-as-catch-can affair, you’d scored some cinnamon rolls from breakfast and whipped up a scramble as a quasi breakfast for dinner situation. Afterward, you joined your dad on the couch for the annual viewing of Meet Me in St. Louis.

Grabbing the remote, you press ‘play’ and settle in beside him with a glass of wine. From the corner of your eye, you see him tilt his head to the side, gaze focused on your left hand.

“Is that…?”

You offer him a small smile, “Present from Steve.” Setting your glass on the table, you go to move the ring to your right hand. “He didn’t— we’re not—” You stumble over the words, your dad’s grin growing. “Mom helped him with a replica of Grandma’s ring, that’s all.”

“Ah.”

Sliding the ring home on your right hand, you feel his knee knock against yours. “Not for nothing,” he begins to say, “But there aren’t a lot of guys like Steve, are there?”

You hum and turn your focus to the film rather than answer that particular query. And you know he means well, everyone does. Besides, you have a history with Steve and it’s the sort of story people like to see wrapped up with a tidy bow. All that aside, he’s still your oldest friend, your partner in crime. Why would you risk fucking that up, ruining the longest relationship of your life?

The movie unfolds, a comforting silence falling between you and your dad. Not as verbose or vivacious as your mom, but sturdy and reliable all the same. The quiet traditions you share have only grown in meaning over the years, even more so after recovering from a stroke he suffered during your sophomore year of college.

You recall your mother calling you as you readied yourself for work, voice quiet and restrained. “Dad is in the hospital, he had a stroke, they were airlifting him to a larger hospital in Indianapolis— can you make it?”

A tension in your jaw as you grit your teeth, your ex had taken your car for work that day since his broke down (again) and you were carpooling to work with Nancy.

You’d said yes before having a plan and told her you’d call her from the car. After a panicked call with Nance, you dialed the first number that came to mind— it’d been memorized for years, the Harrington landline.

He answered on the first ring, voice low and laden with sleep. “Hello?”

Steve was crashing at his parent's place for the weekend, something about overseeing pool maintenance for his dad while they were out of town.

You couldn’t quell the rush of tears that flooded down your face and took in a trembling breath. “Stevie?”

“Trouble—” The rustling of bed sheets as he sat up. “Honey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“D-dad’s in the hospital, a stroke, I—” Your brain was short-circuiting, kept your cool through two phone calls and were now losing it on Steve. You needed to get your shit together instead of gaping like a fish.

“What do you need?” It sounded as if he’d moved the cordless, maybe cradling it between his face and shoulder as he pulled on his jeans. “I wanna help you, but you gotta say somethin’ here, honey.”

“A ride to Indianapolis, the University Medical Center.”

It would be an hour and a half drive and a huge imposition, midterms were coming up, and you knew he’d planned to study this weekend.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he intoned, “Take some breaths for me, okay?” You did as he requested, liable to hyperventilate otherwise.

Mind racing, you braced yourself against the dresser and willed yourself to pull it together. He’d be fine, he has to be fine, he’s only fifty-four for fuck’s sake! Thoughts flew to your mother, alone and scared at the local hospital, having called 9-1-1 after your dad’s frantic warning (“I think I’m having a stroke,” because, of course, he's considerate enough to self-diagnose as he collapsed).

“Steve,” you choke out, “He can’t— It’s too soon.”

A garage door opening, car chirping when he unlocks it. “He won’t,” he assures you, voice level, “It won’t come to that, honey.” Steve then calls you from the car on his cell, staying on the line while you change from your work clothes into something comfortable.

You have half a mind to grab a few things for you mom, but that would only take up more time that you don’t have. He uses his key to let himself in as you race down the stairs and fall into Steve’s open arms, wetting his sweatshirt with your tears and snot.

A damp kiss to your temple, a sharp sniff as he grabs your duffle with one hand and leads you to the car. Of course. You were such a self-absorbed idiot, hadn’t even considered how this might affect Steve, who loved you dad as if he were his own.

Three squeezes from your hand to his, the sole thing linking the pair of you together, are you okay?

He pauses, sitting behind the wheel of his car, dreading letting go of you. A shake of his head as he starts the car, and shifts it into gear as the sound of your dad’s favorite song surges through the car.

Steve’s hand finds yours once more after pulling onto the freeway, you sniff back your tears, chancing a look toward him. Red-rimmed eyes and bedhead, impossibly handsome despite it all. Bitten and chapped lips mouthing along to the words, I have these pictures and I keep these photographs / To remind me of a time.

He’s been there, all this time.

“You alright?” Soft. Quiet. A language only for you.

A shake of your head, because you’re not. Even now, you’re crushed with a sense of something old, forgotten vestiges of a time long since past. You close your eyes and let the car lull you to sleep.

Something nudges against your knee, bringing you back to the present. Your dad’s comforting arm, drawing you to his side as Esther and Grandpa dance at the ball. “Hey kiddo,” he says with a slight rasp, “Lost you there for a minute, you okay?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, and blink away any tears, nuzzling into the warmth of his shoulder, “All better now.” He chuckles, hand falling to rest on your elbow.

He clears his throat briefly, preparing to say something important. “You’re doing fine, Trouble. With all of, well, this,” he gives you a hearty squeeze. “And I know it can’t be easy, but I’d like to let you in on secret, if you’ll let me.”

“Sure dad, lay it on me.”

He sits up slightly, taking you with him. You glance up to his kind, weathered face. “One day, you’re going to wake up and think, ‘I’m so thankful I didn’t end up with what I thought I wanted.’” He pauses, letting it sink in. “Right now, it’s the pits— it’s hard and it sucks, I’m sure, but you’ll pull through, we’ll pull you through if we have to.”

You find yourself becoming emotional once more.

“Just— trust me, kiddo.” He kisses your temple as Judy Garland sings about next year’s troubles being out of sight. “We love you and we’re so proud of you,” he whispers to into your hair, “You’ll build an amazing life for yourself, you just gotta have a little patience.”

“Thanks dad,” you sniff back your tears, reaching a hand to brush under your nose before turning back to the movie.

He looks at you lovingly, brushing back your hair, “Merry Christmas, my favorite daughter.” Your bark of laughter startles you out of your melancholy, a soft tread on the stairs alerts you to someone’s presence.

Steve.

Freshly showered and slightly damp, leaning against the bannister, a grin on his face. He nods to your dad in greeting, “Anyone need anything?”

It’s too much and not enough, your heart clenches and you attempt to school your features into a semblance of calm. It feels so foreign; you haven’t had to guard yourself in front of him like this for years. Sinks low and turbulent in your gut.

You try to ground yourself, but it’s hard when the very ground you stand on trembles at the thought of him. The more you’re around him, the more you slip. “Nope,” you finally respond, “All good here, should be up in a minute.”

Just once, he’d like to tell you how he really feels. How he loves you. Like storybooks write it—how kids describe it.

Like pure, simple truth. Like the only truth he’ll ever know.

He wants calls your name, sigh it out in a voice that’s pitched carefully, light and airy, yet the heaviest sound he’d ever make. He wants, desperately, to say it. Say it over and over until it stops making sense because it really doesn’t make any. If he’s in love, he should be able to say it. To shout it.

Instead, Steve sends you a soft smile and murmur of ‘okay,’ as he heads back upstairs. When the door shuts, you and your dad’s voices retreating in the distance, Steve’s too exhausted to hide it anymore. He stumbles into the bathroom, splashing cold water and soap over his face in a futile pursuit to get his shit together.

In the mirror, staring back, are his tired eyes, tracking every fraction of movement that gives him away. He can’t let those happen. He needs to be stronger than what he wants.

He closes his eyes.

He whispers your name.

#steve harrington #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #reader insert #modern!steve #teacher!steve #the kids aren't alright - rosewaterandivy

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