#as i was writing this he yawned about four times. wait five now!!!

[belokhvostikova]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | The realities of life come hurtling down with no mercy, and the progress you believed to have achieved crashed and burned right before you. But for once, Eddie Munson is there to give you the one thing you’ve been yearning for: stability. Because Eddie Munson loves y...

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, yelling, crying, brief alcohol consumption, brief mentions of drugs, depression, bullying, strained parental relationship, mentions of parental abandonment, mentions of parental death, mentions of driving under the influence, and mentions of childhood abuse and neglect.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | And that’s the end! I truly will not be able to formulate the right words to express just how utterly thankful I am to all of you who have shown your support and love on my first series! I am forever grateful, thank you. I love you all! Also, I had my little Breakfast Club moment at the end. Also, I added a small allusion to Shrek, I'M SORRY! I was watching it while writing.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 | One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕𝐈. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭

“Hmmm…”

Surely—only in the logistics that was Eddie Munson’s mind, of course—anyone could decipher the underlying “fuck off” that was spoken into that quiet, drawn out hum that Eddie’s sleeping state grumbled out from the comfort of his bed. But it was evident that his uniquely catered Eddie Munson language got lost in translation, because whoever was creating that grating, jarring, and abrasive knocking clearly was not smart enough to interpret his message, he came to the conclusion. Totally not because it was just a sleepy murmur… totally not. Nonetheless, the corrugated wood of his front door was rattling harshly under the fervent hits of bare knuckles, seemingly also bringing awareness to the repeated request to tighten the door hinges from Uncle Wayne to his forgetful nephew, though that ask fell quite redundant on deaf ears- well, until now, of course. 

Maybe if Eddie waited long enough they’d go away.

No, they didn’t.

“Fuck me, man.” He complained with a yawn. Truthfully, Eddie would like to say his slumber came about under the guise that it had been a long day, I mean, hey, rule number four of the Munson Doctrine specifically states a tired man deserves a restful hours long nap, should it ever be brought up with complaints from another party member. But the honesty of the inner workings of his mind actually proffered the idea of sleep to fill the gaps in which you were not in his company. After you had left his trailer, Eddie had plopped on his bed with a pained groan of pure longing for you to just return and stay with him forever. He missed your pretty face. Your mawkish voice. Your saccharine smile that just made all his insides turn into a mush of gooiness. Sleep gave him the ability to close his eyes and transport his subconscious into another reality where you were laying delicately in his arms, eyelashes kissing your cheeks, lips pushed into a pout as they smushed against his naked chest with little breaths tickling his skin, and you were just losing all your worries in the solace of his heavy arms wrapped around you in protection against all the evils of the world that could hurt such a beautiful person. And also, sleeping through the evening allowed Eddie to stay up all night, which for whatever reason enabled his mind to formulate the most insanely creative ideas of his upcoming campaign, because, honestly, who could conjure up the idea of hooded cultists who hail a so called Lord Vecna at two in the afternoon? Not anyone sane, that’s for sure. The ominous hour of 3:00 a.m was a profoundly better time for ingenious ideas to flow. So, might as well kill two birds with one stone. But that’s all besides the point. 

“Jesus shit, dude, fucking relax.” He aimed against the knocking perpetrator. Eddie groggily stood on wobbly legs, the sensations of pins and needles nestling into his toes, as his bare feet trudged their way through piles of clothes and thrown magazines. 

Reaching the doorway of his bedroom, his movements came to a halt, he needed a good stretch before cursing a neighbor out for disrupting his peace. He had his bets that it was surely the recently converted Jehovah Witness that lived three trailers down, who made it her mission to “condemn the devil within and save him from satan.” One time, Wayne even caught the middle-aged woman sprinkling holy water around the Munson trailer during the time Eddie decided to practice his guitar just a little too loud. His tired muscles burned with the extensibility of his reaching movement; back popping with a deep arch, elbows cracking as his arms turned up to the sky, and a waking yawn to resume his conscious breathing. Padding his way to the front door, his left hand rubbed the dry remnants of sleep from his eyes, as his right hand eased the harsh reddening imprints of his jeans on his abdomen with hard scratches. He really should have taken off his belt before a nearly two hour long nap.

The rapid knocking was really starting to piss him off. It had been reaching the five minute mark, couldn’t people pick up the point that someone didn’t want to be bothered? “Oh, my god.” Eddie sighed with a heavy breath, clinched eyes to attenuate the pounding headrush that coincidentally became worse with every deafening knock. His heavy hand slammed onto the door knob with a cruel twist.

“What the fuck is wrong with- oh.” It was you. Fist frozen in the air, but it had quickly fallen from the opening of the swinging door. You flinched at the sudden ambush. “Sh-shit, sorry, fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was you.” 

“No, I’m sorry, I, uh, I can leave, I shouldn’t bother-”

“No, no, no, no.” The sound of your quiet, nasally voice had upset his stomach with worry. “C’mon in.” His body moved for your entrance. Upon seeing you in the glowing lowlight of the yellow lamps across his living room, Eddie was able to make out the redness of your eyes, followed by your creasing eyebrows that seemed to find no moment of peace to relax. “Is- is everything alright, sweetheart?”

He hadn’t meant to upset you further, but his gentle prodding question seemed to elicit your pent up emotions, and your face immediately crashed into the palms of your hands, as tears began making their pounding way out with choking sobs that you attempted to conceal. Eddie had no hesitation rushing his arms around you, where your stature had just given up in the embrace of his warm body. Your drenched lashes seeped through your fingers, spreading their salty wetness across the expanse of his naked chest, his lips pressing into the crown of your head, where he inhaled the sweetness of your lingering smell that he was just dreaming about merely two minutes ago, and his large hands raced around the canvas of your back to give you the comfort neither of you were ever privileged with as lonely children. 

You were in utter distraughtness…

-

Four Days Earlier

That following Tuesday after your return to Hawkins High you got slapped in the face with the biases of privilege, as Jason Carver smiled at you after leaving the front office from a meeting with Principal Higgins during the school day. Believing your hopes of finally having the world align to the imperative need of justice you felt were deserved for Eddie Munson, others… and yourself came to be too good to be true after Ms. Kelly had called you into her office. Before you, it was Martin Valencia, sophomore, who detailed the accounts of when Jason threatened the boy because he stood too close to jock’s locker. Then, Nathan Werner, senior, lamented the numerous times Jason and his posse would throw bits of food at his lunch table under the guise of just “messing around.” Tracy Owens, freshman, spoke of when unsolicited comments about her body were hurled against her when she stepped out of her comfort zone and wore a dress she felt pretty in. Because of Jason’s words, Tracy never wore that dress again. Then it was you. Ms. Kelly had used the term “anonymous tip” to explain your visit to her office, but Eddie Munson’s name was written all over it. Unless, of course, a bystander had felt bad for the agenda that was being pushed against you before and prior to your suspension, but that wouldn’t occur in the bubble of Hawkins High. No, you knew this nameless hero came forward—completely unbeknownst to him, funny enough—with the purest intentions of explaining your hurt to invigorate the importance as to why he cared so much about you that it reflected in his actions. Why he couldn’t bear to see you pained by the abhorrent actions of angry men, because he’d been there. He’s fallen victim and he’s victimized. But that wasn’t who he was anymore- it wasn’t who he ever wanted to be. So, Eddie Munson spoke. Even though he didn’t want to throw your name out there without your permission, his words were clear enough to pick you out. 

Subtly may not have been in his skillset, but at least compassion was. Even if he was still learning. 

Truthfully, you were wavering between the feelings of anger and relief upon initial arrival. While the notion of speaking to a licensed counselor for the guidance and understanding the troubles within seemed essential for your progress, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being cornered when your name echoed through the intercom. You wanted to speak on your own terms. Choosing when and how. And the abruptness of your visit felt more like an intervention, though Ms. Kelly was firm with her assurance that your personal feelings were not going to be psychoanalyzed without your consent, and you were merely appreciated for any input you could provide about the bullying that was from Jason Carver. 

So, as Eddie Munson had done, you spoke. Finally.

But the reality of life came crashing down as you were humiliated with the fact that all that strength you mustered to be vulnerable about the hurt and pain inflicted onto you by a schoolmate ultimately meant nothing in the eyes of the authorities when Jason Carver ultimately got off scot-free. Despite her best efforts, Ms. Kelly presented the finding of what’s been going on with the rightful opinion of suspension as consequence, but her professional judgment had proved to mean nothing when Coach Monaghan had reminded Principal Higgins of the upcoming semi-finals that their star player couldn’t miss. 

Jason Carver’s suspension declined into two days of detention. 

Reality, too, had devastatingly slapped Ms. Kelly in the face. No title. No profession. Not even her degree could trample the opinion of a white man with a promise to bring home a trophy. She was a woman, a woman of color who resided in the rurality of Indiana. This had been the verity of life for Ms. Kelly. For Chrissy Cunningham. For you. Looped and controlled into an endless cycle of becoming puppets for puppeteers who felt that a total of four inches between their legs somehow made them superior. 

But who were you guys to let them have a say in the show?

Chrissy Cunningham had made her strong decision to leave a relationship that hegemonized her will. You were on the course to liberate yourself from the appalling titles that tried to demean your worthiness. And Ms. Kelly would have her power when principal evaluations would circle at the end of the school year. Retirement would be hurtling early for Principal Higgins. 

“It fucking sucks doesn’t it?” Eddie Munson had found you on the bleachers after cheer practice, as everyone but you began clearing out for the day. Marinating in your sweat under a blistering sun surely would be enough to send you to the showers, but on days like these, simply sitting and reflecting was enough to just be… enough for the day. 

You didn’t even have to ask to elaborate, as he sat down next to you. You understood. “I took a picture of you and your friends and I got a week of suspension, ugh.” You threw your head back, as he chuckled at your exasperation. 

“That was totally out of jealousy, looked way too sexy in that photo, of course, it pissed Higgins off.” That was able to get a sweet giggle out of you, and Eddie swooned at the sound.

“Well, it was a very… nice picture of you.” You smiled, before containing an even bigger grin with a bite to your lip, which had Eddie piquing with surprise. 

“Wait, really?” He sprung up, his back jumping into the straightest posture it ever had been before. “Because, y’know, I was totally just kidding, but you- you just admitted that I was sexy-”

“I did not say those words!” You protested with a bubble of laughter.

“Nah, nah, nah,” Eddie waved his finger in your face, “you can’t take that back, sweetheart, you totally think I’m sexy.” He puffed the lapels of leather jacket, which was surely too hot to be wearing in the spring weather. 

“Oh, whatever.” Your effusive voice too giggly for the faux groan of annoyance you attempted to portray, but the fluttering butterflies stewing in your belly were ready to contradict any reservations you planned on having with him; your body was clearly ready to open itself up to him. 

“C’mon, sweetheart, don’t try to deny it, it’ll do you no good.” He smirked. Soon, a prodding tongue peaked from his lips to indicate his venture as to how he was going to convey his next words correctly without turning into a nervous mess. Maybe it was still too early to ask you his impeding question. Maybe you would flat out say no to his face. Maybe hearing and processing the rejection was needed for his progress. Maybe- just maybe, you would actually say yes and his throat would constrict with anxious nerves. Maybe he should just take the leap. “Y’know, some scientists actually say that tagging along with the ever so devastatingly handsome man you think is sexy to, I don’t know, say, the Hideout tonight at ten, is actually a good way of dealing with, y’know… tingling feelings.”

Oh, he was so close to being smooth, but he was internally dying at his poor choice of words that had you dying of laughter at him. Maybe if he squeezed his eyes tight enough he’d get sucked up into a blackhole and he wouldn’t have to relish on the fact that he just uttered the words “tingling feelings.”

“Aw,” you beamed with amusement, “like a date?”

If Eddie Munson couldn’t suave his way out of embarrassment, he sure could joke his way out of eternal misery. “Woah, no!” He fervently shook his head. “I believe that’s something that happens when two people like each other. And, c’mon, that’s totally not us. We’re buddies!”

“Oh, right.” You nodded along to his sarcastic logic that made you gush inside. “Well, that’s actually really good, because since we’re friends we can tell each other about our secret crushes, right?” Eddie’s lips completely folded within themselves to hide his ebullient smile. “See, there’s this guy, pretty tall, he’s got this whole Van Halen wannabe hair-” you couldn’t contain your giggles as his mouth dropped with dramatic flare, and his hand held his heart with pain.

“Kirk Hammet, this dude would prefer Kirk Hammet.” Eddie corrected matter-of-factly.

“Ugh, he's got this Kirk Hammet wannabe hairstyle-”

“Much better, keep going.” He chimed in with approval and encouragement.

You could only playfully roll your eyes in retaliation. “Anyways, he’s also super funny- oh, a fully decked out metalhead, and, you know, just a little bit… sexy.” Eddie got full merriment from seeing you suddenly shy away from the revelation, just belting a trading laugh at your banter. “So! As a friend, Mr. Munson,” you pulled him back to the topic, “do you have any tips on how to get him on a date with me?”

“Well,” Eddie tittered with a breathy sigh, “hypothetically- theoretically- if it ever were to randomly occur- just in case he were to ever ask you out to, say, the Hideout tonight at ten, I personally think you should go with him.” He rejoiced proudly.

You giggled before sincerely smiling at him. He was so unbearably cute. It stung to have to turn him down. “I’d love to go with you, Eddie, but…” his grin had slowly began to drop, “I’m still very much grounded and confined to my room. It’s school and practice, that’s it.” You despairingly reminded. 

Eddie let out a disappointed breath through his nose, nodding to affirm his understanding, though mumbling a small “prick” at the allusion to your father. 

“I’m really sorry, Eddie, maybe another time we-”

“No, no, no, sweetheart.” He interjected. “Don’t apologize or try to, like, make it up to me, it’s not your job to do any of that, it’s okay.” Eddie managed to speak out with a small smile. Though it wasn’t a direct no, he was accepting it, letting it be spoken without interference from his anger. This was a part of his learning. This was a part of his growth. 

“The day will come for us.” You reached for his hand, and his eyes stayed connected to the delicate movements of your small fingers playing with his ringed ones, as he situated himself in the intoxicating sparkling feeling that was igniting just from touching your skin. “You know, when we can properly go out… as friends who don't like each other.”

Eddie chortled a smile. “Totally platonic." He joked. "Buddies even. Like brother and sister-” Your suddenly scrunched face of cringe had Eddie immediately reeling back his words. “Wait! Wait, no! Too far- too gross, I took it too far, I’m sorry! Sweetheart, I’ve never spoken to a girl before!”

“Eddie!” Your cheeks burned with laughter.

-

Eddie’s chest was heaving heavily under your crying face, as he attempted to minimize his panic for your sake. He had just dreamed of a perfect reality in which you came back into his arms, filling in that empty hole in his heart with all your love and care that he fully intended to return three times greater. But this isn’t what he wanted- how he wanted it to happen. You, pained by some evil that hurt you to the point of sobs, he hated seeing it. His hands raked over your head, trying to smooth the shaking mess that you were, before cupping your hot face and maneuvering you away from the comfort of his chest. “Honey, you gotta tell me what’s wrong.” His thumbs smeared the tears that tainted your cheeks. “Okay? Are you hurt? Something happen? Did someone- did he touch you? Please!” His round eyes frantically roamed your face for answers, but he was only met with sniffling sobs. “C’mon, baby, please just breathe and tell me what’s wrong.”

You fervently shook your head. “I-I can’t go back- back home. P-please, Eddie, don’t make me go back.”

“No, no, no, no, I won’t.” He shoved you back into the warmth of his body, arms cascading around your trembling figure to ease you into peace and safety. “It’s okay, just stay here with me.” He cradled your head into the crook of his neck, where you simply let yourself get lost in the engulfing waft of cheap cologne and cigarettes. “Just stay here with me.”

Minutes had passed where he took responsibility of gently rocking your conjoined bodies side to side with ease in the middle of his living room. He didn’t prod any further, simply letting your emotions cry out in a safe environment, where they would be understood and appreciated for their strong efforts of being vulnerable. Maybe then, he’d ask. When your breathing settled, when your eyes didn’t sting with fuzzy vision, when air could properly heave in through your nose and out from your mouth, when you could gather your thoughts and articulate your words, when you could just be okay. 

Just as you always dreamed. 

It was devastating that a kind person like you couldn't be granted a simple ask: to just be okay.

Eddie felt your lips move, as you mumbled into his chest. He delicately pulled away to see your wet face, “What?” 

“I-I said, um, I didn’t bring- I don’t have anything with me, l-like clothes.” You sniffled, as you wiped your noise with your sleeve.

“Oh, uh, okay, that’s fine, do you want to borrow some of mine- it’s okay, really-”

“I promise it’ll only be for one night!” You worried interjected. “I-I’ll leave first thing in the morning, and I’ll figure something out by then-”

“Okay, no.” Eddie immediately stopped your rambling. “You have to tell me what the hell is going on, sweetheart, you’re scaring me.” His hands firmly gripped your shoulders, so he wouldn’t be tempted to bring you back into his embrace and possibly wash over the issue at hand because he had you in his arms again. As much as he really wanted it, he really needed to know what was hurting you to the point of sobs and desperation.

“Eddie, my dad…” You had begun to blubber with a sense of shame, because in all honesty, you were embarrassed about the unfolding events of your life. Normalcy, why couldn’t you just be someone normal, be someone with a normal life, with normal parents, with the stability of just being loved and understood and not followed by animosity? What- what could possibly be so wrong with you that people hated you? How terrible of a person were you that you were deserving of all this hatred? “He kicked me out, h-he doesn’t want me!”

In a matter of days, your progress- that progress you were so proud of for enduring, was taking a steep hit to rock bottom, where you felt you were just going to rot in the depths of nothingness, where no light of life could revive you. Everything you had ever worked on was slipping into the abyss at high speed, and the breaks were refusing to stop.

You were crashing into despair.

-

Two Days Prior

The balmy Thursday afternoon felt like a breath of fresh air in comparison to what was Tuesday’s scorching humidity that had been suffocating the small town since the coming of spring. Though slugging through Hawkins High’s poor excuse of a courtyard alongside Chrissy Cunningham to reach the end goal of the football field for practice felt exceedingly unbearable, after your confiding revelation brought forward an onslaught of urging requests from your bubbly friend: your father would be going out of town that Friday.

“Come on, just do it!” Her hand tightly gathered around your arm, where you became suddenly aware of just how strong she was, as her insistent movements left you shaking in her grasp. “It’s not like he’s going to say no, he's the one that asked you out first! I mean, your first date together, that’s so cute!” She swooned.

“Not a first date.” You quickly interjected. “Very much a friends hanging out thing.” It may have been easy to joke about it that earlier Tuesday, but suddenly reveling in the idea that it could very well be considered a date—hell, it was—had your tummy stirring with queasiness. 

“Oh, please.” Chrissy laughed. “You guys can tiptoe around your feelings all you want, but everyone knows it’s so obvious. What’s so wrong with admitting it?”

“Nothing’s wrong, it’s just…” Last time the admission of feelings came about, Eddie Munson had drunkenly confessed the entirety of his problems in your bedroom in the dead of night. And while you both have accomplished the responsibility of recognizing that moment of brutal vulnerability as a stepping stone to receiving help, it doesn’t derail from the fact that whatever was brewing between you and Eddie Munson was built on a foundation of troubled minds fueled by hatred and anger. The fear of potentially reverting back to the people you both used to be kept shouting at you in the depths of your mind. It was cemented that as a couple, your relationship couldn’t reflect that of a sweet high school romance- no, you and Eddie Munson were not granted that privilege of peace, and your relationship would be stalked into a corner where all the bubble worlds of Hawkins, Indiana would unite together to yell, stab, slaughter, and shoot you both down with the lasting promise that neither of you were wanted in their town, especially not together. And this wasn’t a matter of if it were to happen- this was going to happen, bound to by the reality of life, and when it does, would Eddie Munson stick by your side or run? “…I just don’t want anything bad to happen, Chris.”

“Okay, look,” she stopped you, and watched every other cheerleader in front of you walk with notice of you two behind, “I know what this is about.” She huffed with certainty. “You’re scared you’re going to end up like me and Jason.”

“Huh?” 

Oh, Chrissy Cunningham, she truly did have a caring heart. “It’s okay, I promise. But I can assure you guys are nothing like me and Jason, so that won’t happen.” It had just dawned on that she actually had no grasp as to what had occurred between you and Eddie. The yelling, the even more yelling after the cafeteria incident, the inebriated word vomit- nothing. She genuinely knew nothing about the gravity of the situation. And it truly was not her fault, in fact, you liked that she didn’t know the extent of it. What happened between you and Eddie stayed between you and Eddie.

So you simply nodded along. “Uh, yeah, I mean, I guess.”

And bless her, she was there to help you. “Look, Eddie is nothing like Jason, okay? He doesn’t care about what people think or say. He tried really hard to make it up to you for whatever he did, I don’t know, but either way he really tries. I mean, he literally hunted me down just to make sure you were okay. What has Jason ever done? Ask you what my favorite color is so he could act like he knows me and win me over?” She laughed with a scoff. “Please don’t let the people in this town dictate your happiness. Eddie likes you for you, and you two deserve to be happy with each other.”

She may not have had the clearest indications as to what was actually pestering your mind with fear, but her intentions of helping did place clarity on the uncertainty that was Eddie Munson. Her words and his actions truly illustrated the assiduous effort Eddie was enduring for the sake of his and your’s stability. Trust is a profoundly scary skill to embark on with another person, but the basis of security and love that would blossom from assurance in one another was a journey so devastatingly beautiful, it would heal the longing within both of you. 

Eddie Munson laid his cards out with a terrifying layer of vulnerability. If he was doing it- working through the painful excursion into trusting you, the least you could do was reciprocate the effort. You were ready to trust Eddie Munson.

“Yeah,” you nodded with a soft smile, “yeah, I know, Chrissy, thank you. I’ll be sure-”

“To tell him?!” She perked up with a squeal. “You’ll tell Eddie that you can go on the date?!”

You chortled in disbelief. “Yes, I’ll tell him, leave the energy for practice.”

“Do it! Do it now!” She begged you, once again, your limbs were taken into her grasp and she was shaking you into oblivion. “Please!”

“We’re literally on our way to practice right now, I’ll do it afterwards.” You giggled, as you dragged her to catch up with the rest of the girls.

“But what if he leaves before us?!”

Eddie Munson had surely not left before you guys. It had occurred in the split second after Coach Hannigan had aggressively blown spit through her whistle to call for a break mid session, that instead of running to the designated drink cooler that became quickly surrounded by sweaty cheerleaders, you instead ignored the blatant thirst that burned your throat to dedicate a couple seconds of your time to run to the football field’s gated entrance. It was then, you caught sight of the still parked van that belonged to your metalhead, heating up in the blistering sun in the same parking spot it reserved when Eddie first arrived at school that early morning. Now, assuming you saw correctly, Coach Hannigan’s watch had indicated the time in which Eddie’s scheduled meeting with Ms. Kelly was surely to be over with. Why was Eddie Munson seemingly hanging around the halls of Hawkins High, especially when he made his disdain for the school very public, you weren’t sure. And with complete honesty, there was a part of you that wished he would have just gone home, so you wouldn’t be faced with the nervousness of having to ask him out. In retrospect, you knew just how much Eddie would like hanging out with you, and that warmed your heart, but the chances of him potentially saying no still lingered on a low chance. And that, in itself, was terrifying. 

Practice had come to a hurtling end far quicker than you had anticipated, and Chrissy Cunningham was wielding all cheer captain authority to make sure you were placed in front of a shower head before they all got claimed by girls ready to leave. She’d even tasked herself with the responsibility of locating where the man was lurking, which evidently came to your dismay when her intelligent skills proffered her return in four minutes and thirty-seven seconds. Your shirt hadn’t even been placed on by then. And as wonderful as it would have been to discredit her “he’s in the drama room, I heard him playing music in there,” with your logical, “that could be anyone, Chris, you don’t know that it’s him,” you knew she was right. One day, you’d thank her for this, but right now, you were urging her to just let it go. 

Chrissy Cunningham had used that newfound strength of hers to all but push you into the direction of the drama room, the one you hadn’t stepped foot in in a little over four years when you were asked to build sets for A Midsummer Night’s Dream for your elective art class during freshman year. And Chrissy had been right. Music was drowning its way through the closed doorway of the prop room, where the distinct screaming voices of men surely indicated itself to be muffled metal music which was in particular interest to Hawkins’ local metalhead. There was no turning back now. Chrissy had even assured to lay your father out with an excuse of “girl problems” to explain your unwanted lateness to the punctual man. 

So you stood in the empty hall, long after the dragging time of school hours, with your fist hesitantly making your presence known to the man on the other side. You opened the door shortly after, where you came face-to-face with a confused Eddie, who’s features quickly melted into a sickly smile upon landing on you. His fingers worked quickly to turn down a dusty radio that had once been squashed under theatrical masks and vibrant feather boas in the corner of the room. “Hey, sweetheart.” And it was then you wondered why you had been nervous all along, when his simple greeting seemed to have placed you into ease with no uncertainty from your body. 

“Hi,” you closed the door behind you, as he stood from throne King Duncan once sat during Hawkins High’s very first—and last—remediation of Macbeth, when Kevin Kavaugh’s baby face held no grip to the fake beard that once belonged to a Santa Claus costume and it had slipped off during Act 1 Scene 2. Not to mention when Lady Macbeth had to die a scene early because Carly Bennett hurled her lunch due to the numerous eyes awaiting her to speak her line. “Um, sorry for interrupting.” 

Eddie Munson wasn’t having any of that, as he rounded the table he was once sat at to meet you in the middle. “No, no, my time has gotten much better since the mere second you walked your pretty self in here.” He smiled down, with a grin that just made your face heat and gain the inability to look him in the eyes.

And it was because you were shying away, refusing to meet his teasing stare, your eyes caught sight of the work he’d been displaying on the table behind him. “What are you working on?” You invited.

“Just settin’ up for my campaign tomorrow night.” He notified, as he sat half of his bottom onto the edge of the table with crossed arms. 

Taking in his words, you finally peered up at him with round, crestfallen eyes. “Oh.” You heavily sighed. “So, you’re going to be busy all night tomorrow?”

“Yeah, basically.” He nodded. “DnD campaigns can last for hours, which is why I’m settin’ up early. Still gotta meeting with Ms. K, so I don’t wanna waste any time. Figured putting everything up would be easier. Finish with counseling and head straight into DMing, y’know, Dungeon Master n’ all.” He proudly pointed at himself. 

And your obvious response of another despondent “oh” had clearly railed Eddie into a small frenzy of concern. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He suddenly stood again. “Are you okay? 

“No, no.” You quickly assured him into ease. “I was just, um- it’s stupid really, well, it doesn’t matter s-since you’re busy and I don’t want to disrupt your plans, but, um, I just thought it would be a good idea to go out- or hang out, you know, tomorrow, like, together or whatever to the Hideout like you wanted.” Mrs. Crosby, your Public Speaking teacher from the tenth grade, who used to parade you around as a model student who spoke so clearly and concisely with confidence, would surely be disappointed at the sentence you just uttered. 

Not Eddie Munson, though. No, in fact, Eddie Munson was grinning ear to ear with a teasingly amused smirk at your sudden shyness, something his insides were melting and reveling in, especially knowing he was the cause of your flusterness. So you surely didn’t appreciate his, “Holy fuck, that was the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Refusing to let him see your heated face, you hid away in the comfort of your hands with a whine. “Stop!” But his snickering laugh was failing to cease. “You’re being mean!”

“Aw, no, c’mon, sweetheart, let me see your pretty face.” He smiled, gently grasping your wrist at an attempt to pull them away.

“You’re not helping by saying that.” Your muffled complaint had him chuckling, as he worked to pry your hands away, leaving your face vulnerable to his lovesick smile. 

“There she is.” And for a split second, everything was quiet. Neither of you spoke, but rather lavished in the couple seconds in which you both peered at each with mesmerized eyes, because though it was never verbalized, neither of you could believe that you had each other. Eddie cleared his throat. “Um, could you ask me that again?”

You giggled in disbelief. “Are you trying to torture me?”

“Of course, not.” Eddie laughed. “But this is quite literally the first—and probably only—time a girl will ask me out- let alone one as gorgeous as you, so c’mon, hit me with it. I wanna bask in the feelings.”

“Oh, god, you’re ridiculous.” You delicately chuckled, but Eddie was still awaiting your invite with a large smile to ease you into your words. You sighed with a grin that matched his, and gave him your full attention as you looked up into his dough eyes. “Will you, Eddie Munson…” you trailed off into a small giggle, “…go on a date with me tomorrow?”

“Yes, absolutely.” And that answer, you weren’t expecting. 

“What? No!” You quickly interjected. “Your campaigns tomorrow, you can’t go.”

Eddie laughed, “Isn’t there a game tomorrow you’re supposed to be cheering at? When exactly were you expecting to go out with me when we’re both busy?”

“Uh, well, yeah, but the game doesn’t start till six, I figured we’d go to the Hideout before then, you know, after school?” You reasoned your thinking, but Eddie still couldn’t contain his chuckles.

“Y’know, you really are so fucking cute, sweetheart.” He smiled. “Nobody goes to the Hideout in the afternoon, it’s a bar, more of a nighttime thing.”

You scoffed incredulously with a lingering beam. “Oh, well, excuse me, you’re the one that suggested it in the first place. I’ve never been, I was just trying to be nice and go along with your request.”

“Oh, I know, honey, you’re just the sweetest.” He softly spoke, as he stepped closer, leaving you to truly crane your neck to meet his smile. “So, after my campaign, after your game, we’ll go.”

“Yeah?” God, Eddie Munson was truly baffled by the idea that you, someone so utterly enthralling who had the purest heart of good and acceptance, was questioning the validity of his statement of wanting to go out with you. He should be questioning you- questioning the world of what granted him the right to get to know or even go out with you. But this was a part of his journey. Eddie Munson was deserving of good things, and so were you. And while the both of you could easily fall into an endless hole of overthinking your worthiness for each other, it would ultimately do no good. As the wise words of Chrissy Cunningham once said, you and Eddie Munson were deserving of happiness. And you both had been put through too much to let that chance slip away because of fear. Eddie was told to face it, and he was. You were strong enough to do the same.

So, Eddie Munson confirmed your questions with an affirming nod that spoke everything he needed to before he took a deep breath. “Are you sure it’ll be okay? I don’t want to put you in a dangerous position.” His fingers gently touched the tips of yours, where they met on the old wood of the table.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay.” You softly spoke with a delicate smile. “I actually wanted to tell you that my dad will be leaving town Friday for work, so… we can have our day.”

“Perfect.” Eddie whispered into the air, and you watched his large eyes flicker to your lips, where they linger just long enough to spark the atmosphere with palpable tension. It had dawned on you just how close he stood, chest puffed to yours, where his wrinkled band t-shirt gently caressed the basic top you had changed into, and this spark was heavily enticing your lips to just finally give in to all desires and crash into peaceful bliss- but not right now. As Eddie’s head slowly leaned in, you had to reel back. For now, at least.

“Um,” Eddie immediately halted his movements from the clarity of the moment, and drew back.

“Sorry,” he cleared his throat, “so, sorry. I didn’t mean to make you-”

“No, no, it’s okay.” You reassured him away from his worries. “But, um, it’s just my dad’s waiting for me.” And the silky curve of your lips proffered him the understanding that you wanted him, too. Just as much. And when it was right, the moment would come. 

“Yeah, okay, so, uh, after my campaign- or your game, whichever one ends first, just meet me by my car and we’ll go on from there. That sound like a plan, sweetheart?”

You could only muster a little “mhm” through your bitten lip before turning to the door. “Unless, of course, you’d like to stop by the game and actually see me cheer? I know there’s absolutely no way you’d actually rather play a nerdy little game surrounded by smelly props.” Eddie could visibly see your sarcasm oozing out of your teasing smile, and it truly made him battle his internal restraints to not run up and swoop you into his arms with a loving kiss. God, you were the one torturing him, and you had no clue in the world. 

He winced before pointing a stern finger at you. “Don’t make fun of me, sweetheart, you’ll make me lose all self-control, and there would be nothing stopping me from dropping down on my knees in front of you and-”

“Eddie!” You chastised with a flustered face of hot cheeks that had him dying of laughter with a shit-eating grin. 

“Oh!” He smiled, “By the way, my freshmen, way smellier than any props in here.”

Eddie Munson was truly a piece of work.

-

Your snotty sobs had deliquesced into the quiet hum of Eddie Munson’s shower, where hot water burned your skin, as it felt like a deemed punishment for what you had just put Eddie through. He had taken it upon himself to reclaim countless times that your visitation was something he welcomed with open arms, and to let out all that was needed for you to be okay, though his reassurance did little to distract you from obvious trauma dumping you just proliferated into his life. It was no different than Eddie Munson bawling his eyes out while his intoxicated mind spewed the pain and regret of his life, in fact, that may have been even more severe than what you had transpired, but it still didn’t derail you from the notion that crashing into him with all of your hurt couldn’t be well for his mental progress, and you loathed the idea of what you were doing to him.

When your tears had finally subsided into small whimpers, Eddie had still held you tightly in his grasp, processing the information of what your life had just turned to- probably thinking far more than you had been able to. 

“Look, I’m really sorry, Eddie, I don’t mean to-”

“Hey, sh, just take a minute, okay?” His hand continued to smooth down the back of your head.

Though, your rampaging thoughts were quickly manifesting into a jumble of words that were torpedoed out of your mouth. “No, really, Eddie, I’m sorry, I swear it’ll only be for the night, or I can leave if you want me to, I-I just- just- can we just be here for a minute?”

Eddie’s arm tightened around your waist, and his hand securely cradled the back of your head, where he just gently whispered, “of course,” into the air, and your arms finally linked themselves around his neck for the safest embrace either of you ever felt. 

Seven minutes had passed by with no interruptance to the peaceful quietness you and Eddie had cascaded between the both of you. Your tears had damped the warm skin of his neck into a sticky, itchy residue that had you wanting to pull back, yet you weren’t entirely ready to leave his body. And it was even more evident he had no plans of letting you leave, as his hands refused the budge from the firm hold they had against you. When you eventually made the decision to carefully move away, Eddie saw how the obliterating uncomfortableness you were currently suffering through: reddened eyes with humid skin that mixed terribly with your drowning tears and sweat from the spring mugginess of the night. Eddie had delicately brushed everything away from your hot face and neck, where he was finally able to see your beautiful face shining past the pain of your expressions. 

Being so exposed, you truthfully felt so gross. The moment of transparency, where you just stared at his concerned face that longed to keep you away from the troubles of the world, made you feel like an utter failure, because for once, you couldn’t solve your way out of a problem. No homework, quiz, test, or exam could amount to the complexity of mental and emotional health, and while you managed to keep your mind distracted from the issues of your life, your efforts ultimately could not lead you straight to being okay, and you felt like a failure.

“I’m sorry.” You harshly rubbed your eyes with a deep sniffle. “I’m such a mess, I don’t mean to drag you into this.”

“No, you’re not, honey please stop apologizing, everything is fine.” He cleaned your face with a heavy hand swiping your cheeks. “I want you here. I want you talking to me.”

With a trembling sigh, your sore voice croaked. “So it’s okay if I stay here- it’ll be just for one night, I promi-”

“Yes, of course, it’s okay.” He cut off your apologetic rambling, because even though you hadn’t explicitly spoken the words I’m sorry, he knew it was drenched in your cramped sentences. “But I’m gonna really need you to work with me here, sweetheart, and tell me if he laid his fuc- if he put his hands on you? Did he, baby?”

“No.” That was the succinct answer he needed to hear, and a small breath of relief washed over him for a second. “W-we, um, we just started yelling and-and got into this big fight, where I just screamed at him, you know, about everything, and t-then he just kept yelling back, and he got so angry.” You heaved heavily. “Eddie, I don’t have anywhere else to go, um, I-I’ll figure something out, I just- I really can’t go back there.”

“No, no, don’t go back.” He ran his hands over his face. “Please, just stay here as long as-”

“No, Eddie, I can’t do that to you or your uncle.” You pursed your lips with slumped shoulders, feeling awful for taking advantage of his living situation for your accommodation, but Eddie would be livid to hear you keep denying yourself safety.

“Stop, don’t even try it.” He firmly stopped you. “Just, for once, let me help you. You’ve done so much for me, you deserve to let me just fucking help you through this, sweetheart. Please.” You relented. There was no point in making this situation harder for yourself, and you desperately just wanted to have some tranquility in your life, and Eddie was offering the biggest hand to you. Closing your eyes, you just agreed to his loving aid with a soft nod of acceptance. You once laid your bed out for Eddie Munson when he was at his lowest, he’d be damned not to give you that in return. 

“What do you want right now? We can talk- or just, like, completely avoid it, but only for a little bit, don’t keep it inside, that’s what Ms. K said- oh, uh, food! Are you hungry? Have you eaten dinner yet? Maybe like a cup of water? I can order some food, you don’t really want me cooking anything, but I have like a shit ton of pretzels-”

“Is it okay if I shower?” You quietly interrupted.

It was hot, suffocatingly hot. The months of spring brought an awful draft inside trailers that were not equipped with the proper protection for the incoming heat wave that would engulf Hawkins, Indiana. When winter hit, freezing families bundled together dreaming of the day warmer weather would mitigate numb toes and shivering bodies, but when that dream would come, sticky skin of sweat and hot flashes that made it feel like you were burning in an oven made the poor civilians of Forest Hills Trailer Park yearn for winter to come back. Just stuck to suffer yearly.

And you were sweltering.

-

Twenty-Two Hours Prior

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Honestly, how crazy would it be for Eddie Munson to rub his Black Ice Little Tree air freshener onto his jacket to mask out any potential bad smell? It’s not like carried his cologne around with him at all times, let alone for dates he doesn’t even go on. Plus, he always wondered if that Old Spice smell was too much. Last time, he became oblivious as to how much he wore, and Gareth Emerson couldn’t stop the ongoing sneezes that occurred whenever had Eddie stepped within a two feet radius of the poor kid. Safe to say, Eddie Munson learned two sprits was enough. But he had only applied his cologne this morning, what if the smell was gone? What if he still terribly smelled like that cigarette he smoked just before Hellfire started? Or what if he smelled like the illegal greens that resided in his lunchbox, after having to spend an extra five minutes rolling joints for Naomi Rahman after she explicitly stated she thought his service came pre-rolled. He knew he should have charged her extra for the free labor. Shit, what about his breath? Was he going to kiss you today?! Were you going to kiss him today?! Does he even own chapstick? And his hair, how come it looked so frizzy in the murky reflection of his rear view mirror? Was it always this frizzy? Why the hell do people let him walk out of the house like this?! 

Eddie slumped back in the old seat of his van with a groan. This was going horrible- granted the date hadn’t even started, but still. He couldn’t do this. How are you even supposed to act on a first date? Shit! This is Eddie Munson’s first ever date with a girl- a gorgeous girl- the most beautiful fucking girl he’s ever seen for crying out loud! How the hell do people do this so casually? You were probably cool as ever.

“Oh, my god, Chrissy help me! I'm freaking out over here!” As much as you’d like to scream, your devices only left you whispering fervently, as you and Chrissy Cunningham had snuck away into the corner of the locker room, where your cheer bag had been precisely fitted with three pairs of earrings, two necklaces, two pairs of shoes, and three dresses; however, despite being intricately picked for the sole reason that they were the best dresses you owned, you began hating them upon closer inspection. It’s lovely how the mind works, isn’t it?

“Would you relax?” Chrissy huffed, shoving her frayed bangs away from her eyes. “You’re stressing me out, and I’m not even going on the date. And it’s not like this is going to be your first, you’ve been out plenty of times.”

“Three.” You sternly corrected, with the high wedges in your hands acting like a scolding finger, as you pointed them towards your friend. “Three is not plenty. And as if I cared what those guys’ thought, this is Eddie. He, I actually do care about.”

“Aw, that’s so cute.” She giddied out a squeal, which could only be met with your eye roll. “No, but seriously, Y/N, it’s Eddie, you know he’s, like, totally obsessed with you, I don’t think he really cares about what you’re going to wear.”

An underlying “I know” was spoken into your sigh, as you put down the shoes, and simply looked at everything laid out on the old locker room bench. “So,” you took a deep breath, “any of these will be fine for the Hideout?”

“Wait,” Chrissy’s eyebrows raised into her forehead, “you’re going to the Hideout? Why’d you bring heels? That place is totally, like, a rundown-beer-old man kinda place. Not a heels and dress type.” She stressed. 

Just when you were beginning to calm down... “Well, how was I supposed to know?!” Came the whisper yelling. “I’ve never been! How do you even know?!”

“That’s where Jason and Andy always bought their booze from for parties. The owner is totally like this desperate guy who always wants money, and, well, he sold so they bought.” She quickly explained, groaning at the memories of having to sit in the back seat with the numerous boxes of cheap beer, because Jason Carver was that much of a douche he made his girlfriend move to the back for his friend to claim the front. “But, anyways, just wear your cheer shoes, it’ll still look cute with your dresses, especially the green sundress one.”

“But my sneakers are so scuffed up, they’ll look messy.” You whined. If only Eddie Munson knew how much thought you were putting in just to see him. He would think it was so cute.

You were then met with a Chrissy Cunningham deadpan that had you snapping back to reality. “Y/N, get real, Eddie’s probably wearing that t-shirt he doodled on with markers. I highly doubt he’ll judge you for a scuff mark on your shoe.”

Eddie Munson’s wristwatch ticked at 10:25 p.m. The last straggle of students, teachers, and town goers were slowly evacuating the emptying parking lot, as the numerous cars prompted the small bit of traffic that would occasionally occur in Hawkins that wasn’t directly correlated to the Fourth of July Fair. With the tiniest bit of a pep talk that honestly made him feel a little lame, Eddie exhaled deeply before making his way out of the car. Four weeks ago, Eddie had walked in on Dustin Henderson intently watching “Sixteen Candles” in the comfort of his own living, after Hellfire’s designated room got invaded by a bombardment of paint cans and set designs for Ms. Kathey’s drama club, insisting that her “Our Town crisis” was far greater than any campaign Eddie’s club had to host. Wanting the brownie points, Dustin took it upon himself to impress his Dungeon Master by proffering his house as an alternative, though when Dustin had muttered the words “mi casa es tu casa” he hadn’t anticipated Eddie Munson to just meander in without a warranted knock, leaving the kid vulnerable with his movie playing loudly in the background. Now, Eddie Munson was still a proudly proclaimed asshole back then, so the situation gave him great leeway to blackmail the freshman into doing his dirty work- by that, he meant his science homework. But now, there was no science homework, and Eddie Munson was instead trying to replay the foggy memory that was Jake Ryan leaning against his red car in the coolest fashion, as Samantha Baker stared in awe. He wanted you to stare at him in awe. He wanted to be cool. With the exception of the cool sports car and confidence, of course. 

But when the back doors of the gymnasium had opened and the harsh light of the beaming lamp post illuminated your figure upon entrance, Eddie Munson had been apotheosized. Long gone was the air in lungs, as when his eyes landed on you, it felt like a sucker punch to his stomach, and any confidence he was trying to willed by mimicking the acts of Jake Ryan had abruptly slipped his mind, and Eddie began fidgeting in place. Chrissy Cunningham had completely gone unbeknownst to Eddie as she waved you goodbye, the janitor, Charlie, who was currently dumping a barrage of trash from the gym was left unnoticed by Eddie, everything- every little thing that wasn’t you didn’t matter in this instance. 

Just you.

You had shyly approached him with a soft smile to your lip that had Eddie’s heart fluttering in his chest. “Hi.” That simple greeting was enough for Eddie Munson to officially say goodbye to the conviction he once held when he flirted with you just yesterday. 

How you were able to fuel his charm with giddiness one day, and then have him melting into a puddled state of flusters the next day was beyond the knowledge of modern science.

“H-Hi.” His voice rasped into the night air, which had you softly giggling. 

“Um, I hope this is alright?” You smoothed down the creases of your dress. “I didn’t know- uh, is this appropriate for, like, the Hideout?”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry.” He cleared his throat, eyes following your body up and down, before reverting back to your eyes out of respect. “You’ll totally be, like, the prettiest girl who’s ever walked in there- well, I mean, way more than pretty,” he awkwardly corrected, “because, um, you look r-really beautiful. You are really beautiful, Y/N.”

Your eyes had lit up and twinkled under the night sky. Briefly looking away to compose the ever growing smile on your face, you finally peered up at him. “Thank you, Eddie.” You delicately spoke, following suit of eyeing him. “You’re really beautiful, too, you know?”

Unfortunately—or very fortunately for your entertainment—Eddie had sucked in a deep breath, far bigger than he had anticipated, out of shock from the words he just heard, leading him to hurtle into a fit of uncontrolled coughing. “Sorry!” *cough* “Don’t know what’s wrong with me.” *cough*

“Are you okay?” You laughed, your hand gently being placed onto his chest with small rubs to ease his derailment. 

“Totally your fault.” *cough* “Why do you have to be so- ugh!” Eddie heaved, as his back straightened, and the clearing of his throat helped alleviate his little fit. But how could someone blame him in the first place? Not once, in the twenty years that Eddie Munson had been alive, has he ever heard someone call him beautiful. It was the great juxtaposition of Eddie’s life, because that’s what society told him. Eddie Munson was far from beautiful. Freak. Criminal. Errant. Disgrace. What would be so wrong with believing the town’s word, that he really was everything terrible in the world? They believed, so he believed it. Eddie Munson spent the entirety of his childhood wondering where he went wrong to continue to be degraded, and then turned his early adulthood into becoming those things, because why try to change the people’s opinion. It was already cemented into the books. Eddie Munson was a shame.

And you had just casually waltzed into his life and ruined that. Ruined his pessimistic beliefs. Ruined is cynicism. Completely ruined the agenda placed against Eddie Munson, because, for once, someone outside of his personal friends and family wanted him.

You wanted him. And in the Munson Doctrine, the newly indicted rule states your word triumphs all. Because you gave him meaning. You gave him a chance. For redemption. For love feelings. For everything. 

“My fault? I have no clue what you mean by that.” You giggled against his blushing state. “But you’re lucky I didn’t have time to call you sexy before your little aneurysm. I was totally ready to sneak that one in there-”

“Okay!” Eddie clapped his hands to cut you off. “You are trouble. Into the car, before you fucking kill me out here.” He left the last part to quietly fuse into the night sky with mumbling lips.

Eddie Munson’s hand had lingered on the small of your back, where he guided you to the passenger side of his car, and opened his chariot for your voyage (his words). Your cheer bag had found the floor of the back side of his van, where remnants of trash you once saw when Eddie Munson graciously stole you away from your house as per your request still nestled in the same spot they were once discarded. Eddie was quick to appear on the driver's side, and his van lit up with the last bit of life it had within her, where he began trailing behind the last of students leaving Hawkins High.

Eddie Munson was going on his first date ever. 

“Wait, stop, go back.” Eddie’s finger halted on the knob of his radio, ending his knit-picking ministries of finding the perfect channel for his music taste. It was always a mystery why he continued this routine. Eddie knew anything from the local channels would never play his preferred choices, but the procedure always developed the same: switch between channels, condemn the local radios, reach for whichever one of his tapes was closest. Except for tonight, of course, you interrupted his precious routine. “Go back, please.” You sang with the most satisfied smile, as Eddie—with his skeptical, squinted eyes—begrudgingly gave in, turning the knob ever so slightly to the left.

It was David fucking Bowie.

“Yay! I love his music! Keep it there.” You gushed, as his voice began drowning into the small atmosphere of Eddie’s van, and he, so predictably, protested your personal taste in music. 

“Nonononono.” His hand immediately reached back for the radio. “I am not losing you to some British dude with weird hair. Pass me my Sabbath tape.” Now, full transparency, Eddie truly could no care to bash your taste of music. In fact, he, himself, occasionally bobbed along to the voice Bowie every once in a while. It was just something about bickering with you that made his tummy tingle, that he just couldn’t help himself. He liked your little offended face.

You gasped an offended gasp, as your hand playfully smacked his away from the premises of the radio. “Um, excuse me, isn’t Ozzy Osbourne just another British guy with weird hair?” You giggled. 

“Woah, woah, woah, now, babe, you better choose your words wisely here, alright?” Eddie chortled. “He’s British metal, it’s the only acceptable form, this though…” he exaggeratedly grimaced, as the lyrics to “Changes” belted out from the speakers, “This is just lame.” He teased, while you dramatically scoffed. “Sounds like it belongs in some weird cartoon movie with, like, ogres and shit.”

You guffawed at the oddity of his opinion. “That’s literally right up your alley, sir. And, in my humble opinion, Mr. Dungeon Master, I believe orcs are far more lame.”

If it wasn’t for your presence in the vehicle, Eddie Munson would have swerved off the road and crashed into the nearest tree. His wide eyes and flushed cheeks swiftly met your laughing face, before distracting himself with the attention of the road, clearing his throat to prevent the impending cough that was inevitable ever since he met you. Your name calling was now sparking another tingling feeling inside him. “You… ugh,” Eddie grinned with red cheeks, “You are trouble.” He bit his lip, as he just took in the sight of your head falling back with laughter. God, you were so comfortable. So comfortable with him. “And for your information, orcs are not lame, in fact, because you said that, I’m changing this terrible song-”

“No!” Your hand had seized his, fingers lacing tightly to prevent his movements, and you locked your entangled hands into the soft plush of your thighs. Eddie Munson’s mouth fell agape. You really were trouble.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll do whatever you say.” He rushingly mumbled out for your amusement. 

“Just enjoy the song, Eddie.” Your thumb caressed his hand, and you felt him tighten his hold on you. “Expand your horizon, and I promise to listen to all the screaming men you want me to.” You turned up the song, but Eddie didn’t have the heart to protest your want. Not when you looked so damn perfect enthusiastically singing your heart out, with your hand in his, with his skin grazing your thigh, with you in the front seat of his car, where he could picture you sitting to the end of time, because it looked so natural.

You and Eddie Munson were natural.  

Chrissy Cunningham had entirely been correct. For the past twenty years since its start up, the Hideout had indefinitely established itself as a rundown-beer-old man-kinda-place. There had been a reason why Jason Carver was so insistent with Chrissy Cunningham staying in the car during their retrieval for cheap beer. Eddie Munson had soon fallen to regret ever bringing you here. Unabashed stares from men had been glued to you the second you and Eddie had made your presence known within the bar. Eddie had wished they were merely targeted at him for the simple reason that the regular goers were shocked to see the metalhead, who dedicated his Tuesday nights playing loud music on the stage, with a pretty girl who they deemed to be out of his league. But it would be stupid to think of that, when the stares had obviously been directed to the young girl in a pretty dress, someone these men had grossly dreamed of. Eddie had attempted to shield you from the many perversions aimed against you, as he directed you to a table farthest away from the small crowd that lingered at the bar. 

He felt like a complete asshole when he watched you coil into yourself, arms cramping over your tummy once you situated yourself onto the rustic chair. “I’m so fucking sorry.” Eddie had leaned in to immediately apologize. “I should’ve put more thought into this, I just couldn’t afford anything like Enzo’s, but we can absolutely leave if you want.”

“No, no.” You assured him with a small smile. “If this is the place you like going to, I want to enjoy it with you, too.”

“You…” His head dropped in disbelief at the person you were- at the person he got to experience this moment with. “You’re too fucking nice to me, sweetheart.” He sighed. “Really, let’s leave if these assholes are making you uncomfortable.”

But you had sternly shaken your head. “I don’t know when it’ll be the next time we get to hang out like this. I don’t want to let anyone ruin our night, Eddie. I-It’s okay.”

Eddie could see right through your smile. You were devastatingly uncomfortable, but your words held so much truth, you genuinely did not want to leave, sacrificing your consolation for a special moment with Eddie. Because this was your chance- your opportunity to be with one another, and given the hardships of reality, who knew when something like this could be offered to you and Eddie again. 

He had immediately shrugged off his jacket, passing the heaviness of leather and denim over your shoulders for you to take lead in letting your arms get swallowed by the sleeve. “Take this, princess, at least.”

You adjusted his jacket around you, before sitting up and beaming at him. “How do I look?” You rhetorically spoke with a giggle.

Eddie Munson was about to cry. His fist clenched tightly out of sight beneath the table, and he blinked harshly to get rid of the invading tears that were about to come forth. Why did he have to react like this? What were you doing this to him? Why did you have to give him the time of day after everything he’s put you through? The sight of you- your hair, complementing the perfection of your features, because you meticulously styled it flawlessly just for him; your eyes, sparkling in the low light of the bar with such happiness, because you were looking at him; your cheeks, plumping with such liveliness, because your alluring lips were curled into a heavenly smile, because of him. Eddie Munson wasn’t deserving of good things, so why the hell were you opening your arms to him? Accept it, accept it, accept it, he forced himself as a reminder. Accept your care. Accept your passion. Accept your love feelings. You were putting your life at risk wearing the jacket that branded Eddie Munson. But you were doing it with the greatest smile he’s ever seen. 

You wanted him- you wanted Eddie Munson.

“You look beautiful, Y/N.”

Your lips folded within themselves to contain your beaming smile. “You’ve already said that.”

“Because it’s true.” He spoke with such conviction.

Your hand snaked under the table, where you met his tense fist, but your delicate fingertips ignited them to unfold and relax with comfort, where fingers just mindlessly played with one another. “Thank you, Eddie. And thank you for asking me out… first, at least.” You giggled. “You know, before you held me against my will to ask you out?”

Eddie let out a guttural laugh. “What are you talking about, princess? You practically hunted me down and begged me- no, pleaded with me to just finally take you out. I’m just for the food, of course.”

“As if.” You scoffed with a playful roll to your eyes. “But, you know, now that you mentioned it, I am desperately hungry for food. What is there to feed me?”

“Alright, Ms. Y/L/N, this fine establishment offers us some very stale nachos-”

“Sounds delicious.”

“Some burgers made with the fakest of meat, and just drenched in grease from a stove that’s never been cleaned-”

“Very appetizing.”

“And, of course, three-day-old cheese fries with, y’know, just a sprinkle of dust for flavor.”

“Ooh!” You perked. “That! I want cheese fries, please.”

“Then cheese fries she will get.” Eddie stood with a lingering chuckle, getting ready to place in your order. “You wanna pick your poison? I can get it for you.” He pointed towards the bar.

“Whiskey old fashioned.” You smiled confidently.

Eddie blinked back in surprise. “That really your usual?” He interrogated with a flabbergasted laugh.

“No, I’ve just always wanted to say that.” You giggled with amusement. “That’s what my dad and his friends say when they come over and invade his liquor cabinet. I’ve never drank before, so I’ll just have whatever is your favorite.”

Eddie Munson had instantly fallen back into his seat with a gaping mouth of shock. “Sweetheart, you let me bring you to a bar, and you don’t even drink?!”

You retaliated with a deadpan shot directly at him, and your hands finding your hips like a scolding mother. “Eddie, how hard is it to believe that I just really want to go anywhere with you, that I don’t care where it is?”

“Uh, very.” He answered too quickly. You could only laugh in return, gently smacking his bicep.

“Just go get my drink, please.” You failed to sternly convey, as your effusing voice spoke too bubbly to be austere. 

“I’d be a terrible influence to let you indulge in beer, and an even worse person for letting your first be from here. How about a soda?” He crooned affectionately.

But you, of course, protested so eloquently with crossed arms. “It’s never a bad thing to try new things.”

Bits of yellow liquid had toppled over the rim of the thick glass, as your cup of beer fell heavy against the wooden table with a loud clunk. Eddie stood smiling next to you, sliding the drink to be perfectly stationed in front of you. He had returned far quicker than you had anticipated. “Here you go, Evel Knievel, go crazy.” He jabbered, urging you with a nod to his head, as an act of support. Your round eyes peered through your lashes and connected with his. With a confident grip of the overly large cup, you brought the drink to your face, getting a whiff of something not too bad but not entirely pleasant, either. Possibly overestimating yourself, your lips engulfed a section of the rim and you happily accepted a hefty swig of the beer. Eddie looked down at you expectedly, because as he prophesied while ordering your beer, your nose had cutely scrunched into a multitude of creases, becoming the biggest telltale sign that you surely did not like it. Eddie had laughed but pitied you as if you were a lost puppy, “Aw, you want me to get you a soda, sweetheart?”

“Yes, please.” You grimaced, though ever so politely. 

“It’s okay, good thing I only got one, I figured you wouldn’t like it.” He chuckled, as he slid the beer over to his side, and brought the cup to his mouth, where his mouth rested upon the gloss stain of your lips. If this was the closest Eddie Munson would ever get to kissing you, he would take it. He gladly took a gulp with no reaction. You envied him. “I’m proud of you for at least tryin’ something you wanted, pretty girl.” He lovingly pinched your chin, before leaving to retrieve your soda.

-

Eddie’s pajamas felt soft in your hand. They were his finest pair—no holes, no stains, no loose threads—coming from the back of his dresser, because five months ago, Eddie had shrunk them in the dryer. Nothing too drastic, but they clung to his body in ways he was too uncomfortable with, and if a certain pair of pants or a t-shirt didn’t provide him the privilege to move about freely, the back of the dresser they went. But he honestly wasn’t kidding, they were his finest pair of pajamas. Entirely because they hadn’t been in Eddie Munson’s possession for too long to be worn to demise. And now they sat neatly folded on the toilet, awaiting to replace the soft towel that was wrapped around you tightly. 

It felt wrong. Having to leave your skin to dry out in the humid atmosphere of the Munson’s bathroom, as you truly left with nothing in your hands, but the clothes on your back and the shoes on your feet. Despite the shrinkage, his pajama pants had still managed to pool around your ankles, even with the stretchy waist clasping at your stomach at an appropriate height. And his t-shirt had been no different, sleeves long enough to get caught in the crease of your inner elbow if you ever chose to bend your arms. Dio, written boldly across and attended with an unsettling depiction of a creature to embody the tone of the album cover. You’d ask Eddie about it some other time. And he would gladly answer. 

Your hand had become coated with a warm layer of water, as it swept away the condensation pestering the hanging mirror. Red, your eyes had still been stained with the dreaded redness of tears and exhaustion. But at least, the last bit of hot water for the Munson’s managed to circulate your blood back to your drained face, and the tiniest sliver of liveliness could be detected if anyone chose to inspect close enough. Eddie Munson would be that person. He always had no problem staring at your face.

Turning the brass door knob, the waft of a cooler breeze from the trailer’s air conditioner cascaded goosebumps along your arms. It’s quiet. Your hands tightly clenched around your balled up pile of clothes, as you begin your slow movements to the kitchen. But the stove light continued to be the only thing keeping the kitchen company, as Eddie was still nowhere to be seen. The washer had been stationed to your left, where the clean clothes of Eddie and his uncle resided in a basket that had yet to be folded. Choosing to follow suit, your denim shorts were folded in half with delicacy, placed onto the metal washing machine, with your shirt joining soon after, ready to grab first thing in the morning. Because that was a promise you were holding, you were truly not ready to take up any more space in Eddie Munson’s life, not when he had his own issues to understand. He didn’t need yours as a cherry on top. Even if his persistence told you otherwise, that he’d have you living with him in a heartbeat. 

Hearing a muffled shuffle coming from the end of the hall, you paddled your way to the doorway of his bedroom, where Eddie had caught you through the creaking sound of his door opening up to your face.

“Hey, um, feelin’ a little better?” He finished up smoothing the wrinkles of the newly spread bedsheets, something he retrieved from the back of his closet. Though, they hadn’t shrunken. He honestly had just forgotten about them, until ten minutes ago. You nodded truthfully, the corner of your lips barely tugging upward, but enough to make your dry skin feel tight with the movement. “Um, oh, your room for tonight.” He opened his arms to showcase the myriad of posters that would be staring you down while you slept. “Clean sheets n’ everything. Hotel Munson, if you will, best service in town. Especially that continental breakfast, don’t miss it.”

That managed to turn your facade into a real smile. Something Eddie loved. “I can’t take your bed.” You spoke so quietly, someone could have thought you were whispering him a secret. “You’re already doing a lot by letting me stay here, Eddie.”

“No, please take it.” He walked up to you with an earnest voice. “Honestly, take anything- I’ll give you anything, Y/N, just please.”

You stared at him with longing eyes that just pulled at the string of his heart. “Will you sleep with me?” You sighed softly. 

Eddie Munson had fervently shaken his head with all purpose in the world. “I’ll give you anything, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Eddie. For everything.”

“You’re the only reason why I’m getting better, sweetheart. Thank you. I’m devoting my life to you.” He smiled solemnly at the breathy giggle he managed to squeeze out of you. Progress was progress, and this was the start. “Although, I checked, and I don’t have any ice cream here to help. But I can go to the store real quick-”

“Eddie, it’s okay.” You assured him with a tender hold of his forearm. “Really.”

“Okay.” Eddie accepted with a sigh. “Um, is it okay if we talk now? I don’t want you keepin’ anything to yourself, honey. I wanna hear your voice.” Eddie's hand had engulfed yours, urging you to follow his small steps to the made bed right behind him. He had dropped with ease, letting you stand between his spread legs, where his other hand had joined your united ones, and both sets of his fingers began toying with yours languidly. “Please.”

You slowly took up the empty space next to him. What was three inches of space closed to be touching thighs, when Eddie had snaked his arm to grasp onto your hip and pull you as close as possible. The worry of whether the move was a step over your boundaries had quickly dissipated in Eddie’s overthinking mind, as the close proximity had prompted you to lay your head comfortably on his muscular shoulder. 

But before Eddie could think of laying against your head in return, you had quickly chosen to turn your face to the wall where a large burgundy blanket had taken the place of an actual curtain over the window. It was behind him, where his back was turned to. Because you didn’t want Eddie Munson to see your face right now. You shielded away. And he would let you. As long as he got to hear your voice. 

“If I look at you I’ll start crying.” You quietly mumbled against his shoulder. Because you look at me with all the care in the world, and my father doesn't. 

“It’s okay, baby.” His lips fell onto the crown of your head and made no judgment to move, even long after his lips had already puckered to plant you a deserving kiss of compassion. “Take all the time you need.”

Come Monday afternoon, Eddie Munson would thank Ms. Kelly for guided lessons on how to be a therapist. Even if that was far from her intended goals with him. But as long as it was helping you, he’d facilitate his newfound skill. 

“Being with you, Eddie…” you took a deep breath,  “…you just make me realize so many things.” Both of your arms had bear hugged his bicep, keeping him as close as humanly possible. “My dad, I wish he would just get help from someone for me.” Like you did. “I wish he would get better for me.” Like you did. “I wish he would just care for me.” Like you did. “I told him. I told him everything. About what he’s done. How he treats me. How I feel. Everything, I finally said everything, Eddie.” Your voice began wavering with a stinging throat. Because even if you had chosen to peer away from Eddie’s sympathetic face, it wouldn’t steer you away from the hurt of losing everything you’ve ever known. “I stood up to him, Eddie.”

“I’m proud of you, baby.” He whispered into your head, his hand working to grab a caring hold of your thigh. “So fucking proud.” I wish I had the strength to do what you did when I was younger. 

But you had finally picked up your head and cried at him with glossy eyes and a frown so deep it felt like a knife in his chest. You harshly began shaking your head. “He yelled at me, Eddie. He screamed so much.” You began choking. “He didn’t want to hear about how I felt. Eddie, he was blaming me. Said it was my fault. For everything.” You agonized. 

“No, no, no, sweetheart, none of this is your fault, alright?” He cupped your hot cheeks securely in his hands. “None of it is. Don’t you dare listen to a word that asshole said, okay?”

“But, Eddie, he’s right.” You sobbed. “I just can’t- Eddie, I should have left you alone that night.” The club picture. Eddie couldn’t believe it. You were blaming yourself for everything that had occurred. You didn’t even have to verbalize it for Eddie to understand. He knew what was about to come out of your mouth. 

If I didn’t bother you, you would have lived your life. 

If I didn’t bother you, the school wouldn’t have been so disgusted with me. 

If I didn’t bother you, my dad wouldn’t have been so ashamed of me. 

Eddie Munson’s face had dropped stunned. So blankly, he just spoke, “Don’t fucking say another word, Y/N.” And maybe that had come out far harsher than anticipated, but he had indicated it with such love, he honestly didn’t care. Eddie Munson wasn’t going to tolerate another hateful word to be said about you. It was the reason Jason Carver still sported a faded yellow bruise on his cheek. It was the reason why he spent hours killing himself over the nasty words he once screamed at you. Eddie Munson wouldn’t dare be alive to hear you speak horribly about yourself. The men in your life had already terribly decided to do that to someone so far from deserving it. Including him. And processing the horrid regret of feeling appalled by his actions, he was going to be the first to understand that hearing these words come from yourself was going to hurt ten times worse. For him. But especially for you. The rage coursing through his body, he was desperately trying to handle it. But someone was hurting you. And Eddie Munson was fighting all restraints to not end up with a murder charge by the end of the night. “If you sit there and tell me straight to my face that he made you believe any of this was your fault, I’m killing him.”

You sat still, blanking your round eyes at him in disbelief. Though jarring, his words- his entire shift in demeanor had snapped some sense into you. Because you believed him. Everything he had just uttered came with a harsh truth. How Eddie had managed to speak the scariest words, yet so clearly convey his adoration for you was truly unbeknownst. To you. To anyone. But not to Eddie. No, because Eddie was beginning to understand his feelings for you were drilling deeper and deeper to the point where he’d jump to any matter to protect you. He would have done anything to go back in time and confess it to you the moment he first spoke to you. But it was too late. And now, all he could do was devote his life to you. Just like he said. It wasn’t a joke. 

So, you whispered, “It wasn’t my fault.”

“Do you believe that?” His eyes frantically scanned yours in search of certainty. “Because everything that's happened has been my fault, sweetheart. Not yours. And I need you to understand that. Do you?” His words were so firm, it felt like a parent lecturing a child. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you that first day in the cafeteria. I shouldn’t have been an asshole the night you took my picture. I shouldn’t have crossed the line when it came to Jason. I shouldn’t have called you those disgusting names. And I shouldn’t have fucking scared you, and dumped all my bullshit problems onto you.” Eddie’s eyes were beginning to burn with a gloss coat of tears, but his face remained stoic, not wanting to deter you from the purpose of his words just because of his emotions. Because he knew you would. Eddie Munson knew you cared about him. “You’ve done nothing wrong, and I’m so fucking sorry every piece of shit person in this fucking town has blamed you for my mistakes, Y/N. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Ed-”

“No. Don’t fucking make yourself believe that it’s okay.” He pleaded. “It’s not. None of it is. I know you’re happy that I’m getting help, I am, too, but if there’s any part of you that still hates me, then hate me, Y/N. That’s okay. It’s okay to be fucking angry and sad about everything me and everyone else put you through. You don’t have to be this selfless person who excuses everything that’s ever been done to you for the sake of normalcy, sweetheart. Don’t fucking do that to yourself. Be mad at me. Be mad at your shit excuse of a father. Be mad at fucking everybody. You deserve to have your feelings heard. And if your dad isn’t going to be the fucking one to do, I will. I swear I will, princess.” He swore with all urgency. “But only if you want me to.” Eddie huffed, as he longed into your sorrowful eyes, and cemented his proposition.  “You’re going to sit here and tell me if you want me to make it up to you. I don’t care if we’ve already been on a date, none of that matters, except how you truly feel. It’s your choice. You get to decide. You choose.”

Eddie Munson had laid out his cards. For once, the decisions of your life were in your hands. Not your father’s. Not anyone’s, but yours. And maybe that was the entire reason as to why you took Hellfire’s picture in the first place. Everyone had made their decisions about Eddie Munson and his friends. Exclusion. Ostracism. Rejection. Everything had been chosen for them. Eddie Munson’s life and character had already been set in stone by the people of Hawkins, Indiana. And you had recognized it when Principal Higgins made his decisions. So you took back that power. You disobeyed the expectations of a small-minded town that bred conservatism and conformity. You made your choice. You took his picture. You did what was right. Everything that has happened has been a result of you making your own choices. No one likes when a teenage girl is capable of breaking the decisions that have been set for her. Because that makes her a powerful woman. 

That makes her you.

So you made your decision. Firmly. “I want you to make it up to me.”

And Eddie Munson accepted it. “I will.” He so effortlessly agreed. “Now, c’mere.”

Eddie had taken a hold of your legs, and moved them around his waist, where your body crumbled into his lap, arms holding on for dear life around his neck. He moved until his back uncomfortably hit the frameless wall, where lumpy pillows only gave him support, but Eddie Munson wouldn’t dare to move. This was him listening. A large hand splayed across the canvas of your back to sooth, and another keeping your head secured in the solace of his neck. This was him making it up to you. Because though you weren’t speaking, your cries were articulating the anger you bottled. “I hate him. I hate him” You choked. 

This was your power. And Eddie Munson was accepting it with loving arms.

-

Nineteen Hours Prior

You’d been laughing for nearly three hours. 

Eddie Munson’s bottom was beginning to feel the numbing sensation of his ass giving out for having been sat for too long. But he couldn’t leave. He didn’t want to. Not when you were uncontrollably laughing at the stupid jokes he made, because he was bringing joy to your life. And it was a real laugh. Not a cute one that would be gently let out for fear of being judged for having experienced pure happiness. No, you were being loud. And sincere. And Eddie Munson loved hearing it. 

“That’s so not fair.” You whined finishing the last bit of cheese fries that stained the lined parchment paper with grease within the basket of stray fries—all too small and soggy to be enjoyed. And there was no dust. “You can’t just casually mention you turn up this place with your five fans cheering you on.”

Eddie had, of course, playfully exaggerated the weekly experience. When asked about Corroded Coffin, he had put on his bravado act, one like the most famous rockstars do during interviews in Hollywood, and braggingly told you how crazy the local five drunks act upon their arrival. “I mean, I’m a total smokeshow, babe, can you blame ‘em? Autographs, pictures, I even have groupies lining up at our tour bus.” Eddie Munson loved making you laugh. 

“What do you mean I can’t mention it, you’re the one that asked about it?” He crooned, as he took a large gulp of the water he ordered after he downed the beer you had discovered to hate. 

‘Well, yeah, but you’re just rubbing it in my face.” You laughed. “I’m bound to my room, I’ll never get a chance to see the Corroded Coffin live. I wanna be the sixth drunk to come watch you perform- well, with my soda that is.”

God, you were too fucking cute. “Don’t worry, baby, I got my sweetheart back home, I’ll bust her out one day for a personal live show from yours truly. She’ll love you.”

“Mh, feel like I’m meeting the parents.” 

Eddie’s face scrunched with a wince. “You don’t wanna meet my parents, babe.” He chuckled. “Everything that’s wrong with me is because of them.” Sometimes if he laughed about it, he’d forget how much the truth hurt. “But, uh, Ms. K, said I shouldn’t think like that- think that I’m like them, y’know?”

You nod your head to affirm him. It’s true. Eddie’s not like them. Even if you’ll never meet them. You know he’s not like them. “Do you believe that?” You quietly asked.

The tone of the night has shifted. “Tryin’ to.” He concisely answered. “I mean, every time I looked in the mirror all I saw was my old man, been thinkin’ I was like him for the last ten years of my life, so it’s not easy to just forget it, but I’m workin’ on it.” There was a small lingering smile on his lips by the end of the sentence. He was proud. Proud of himself. You could tell. 

“That’s good, Eddie.” You softly spoke with a caring smile to let it cement that you, too, were proud of the person Eddie Munson was becoming. “I also feel like I’m like my dad- well, actually I kinda just know I am.”

Eddie didn’t speak for a second. His hand had managed to sneak under your stool, where he had taken a hold of your cushioned seat—torn with its years of usage—and pulled you close until the legs of your chair screeched their way against sticky wood tiles that covered the floor and finally hit his chair with a clank. You were close. “I don’t know if you’re aware, sweetheart, but you’ve never chased me out of your house with murder on your mind.” And luckily his comment was lighthearted enough to keep you at ease with your underlying feelings, providing you laughter where you would usually cry. “I don’t think you’re like your dad, honey. Not even in the slightest bit.” He whispered closely to your face.

And surely, a smile was on your face. Not because this was a topic you loved to rave about, but for the mere fact that you wanted to tell Eddie. You felt comfortable- safe with Eddie. You wanted him to know your secrets, one you hadn’t even told Chrissy Cunningham. “I have a little brother.”

In retrospect, it had been an odd thing to simply blurt out in the midst of a semi-serious conversation, so you didn’t find blame in Eddie when he squinted at you with confusion. But out of respect to you, and with no judgment ahead, he chose to follow suit. “Oh, uh, I didn’t know you did.” 

“I didn’t either, until about two years ago when my cousin, Cassidy, told me.” You admitted, a tight lip smile being the only readable tell to your face. And with a heavy sigh puffing out of your cheeks, you had continued. “She, uh, she said his name is Levi, which I thought was pretty cute. And then eight months ago, my cousin also told me that my mom just had twin girls. Jasmine and Maddy. I know their names, but I don’t think they know mine.” Comprehension was quick on Eddie’s part, as it didn’t take a rocket scientist to dissect your words. Your mother had abandoned you. Started another family. “I’ve always felt like I was too much like my dad- too much of a perfectionist, too focused on work, that I just reminded her of him. It was probably why she didn’t bother coming back for me.”

And Eddie heard it. The small crack in your voice when you finished speaking. You were stopping yourself from explaining any further, because the thrush of abandonment was crashing into you at full speed, and you didn’t want to cry on your first date with Eddie. It was why you took the last sip of your drink as a distraction. It was why your eyes averted away from his gentle gaze and willed all strength to focus on the American flag that was nailed onto the wall above the bar, so your eyes could be strong enough not to bawl. 

But then you felt the warm metal of Eddie Munson’s rings touch the skin of your knee, before the rest of his hand followed soon after to hold a tight grasp of your body. Of course, you looked back at him. How could you not? “Y’know, you’re pretty fucking incredible, Y/N?” He spoke with a profound smile to his face that personified all his adoration for you. “You’re quite literally the smartest person I know, and I know Henderson, sweetheart- but don’t tell that little shit I think highly of him, it’ll get to his already big head.” Eddie smiled, as he watched your frown develop into a giggle he could listen to forever. “And you’re so fucking nice. Like the sweetest thing on this planet. Got such a kind heart, taking that photo of my club, putting us in the yearbook, having the patience for everyone, and…” His eyes burned into yours, as his heavy hand squeezed your knee, “…giving me a second chance when I sure as hell don’t deserve one. Don’t waste your time wallowing on the idea that you could be him. You’re not, sweetheart. And you know it. I was dumb enough to start acting like my old man, but luckily a pretty, little thing whipped me right into shape.” Your blood had circulated to your cheeks, and he could definitively see the effect his words had on you. He was grinning ear to ear. God, how you hated Eddie Munson. “And because of her, I’m not rotting in a jail cell like he is. And I sure as hell won’t be, either. You’ve got too much kindness in your heart, you’re nothing like you dad, baby. Just because you came from him, doesn’t mean you are him. And you’re much smarter than me, sweetheart, so I’m sure that beautiful brain of yours will figure it out faster than I did. You are nothing like your dad, Y/N.”

And you accepted his words with certainty, letting them play on your mind as a reminder that Eddie Munson didn’t see you as everyone else did. There was a time he did, but he’s learned. You’re far greater than the expectation placed upon you by everyone else. You were spectacular in the eyes of Eddie Munson. 

“Eddie,” his name lingered on your tongue for a bit, “um, your dad’s in jail?”

Eddie nodded. And then, he told you everything. 

On the night of January 1st, a mere hour into the new year of 1976, the Munson family had spent their holidays in the cold, sterile atmosphere of Hawkins General Hospital. Eddie Munson, innocent to it all, was supposed to hit double digits that year. Exciting, it was all he could rave about on the way to Aunt Shirley’s house. Something in Eddie Munson’s tiny mind had proffered the idea that turning ten meant he was a man. Someone who was strong, and could grow muscles overnight, and used their strength to fight. A real man. Fight like his daddy… fight his daddy. He was ready for it. But the older Munson, as it typically occurred, had fallen under the influence after he stationed himself amongst the other men of the family around a cooler of beer that was empty by the time the clock struck twelve. Eddie’s mother had been insistent on driving. But when she asked for the keys, his father had made a big show of how a woman oughta learn to stay in her place, and humiliated enough, she didn’t try again. No one stopped him. No one said anything. Then the arguing began in the car. Icy roads and intoxication was a death sentence that the Munson family would learn devastatingly quickly. Eddie remembered nothing of that night except for the last scene that played in his head: his tiny soon-to-be-man hands gripping tightly the worn seat belt, with fear wracking through his small body, as daddy was swerving into the wrong lane. But it was the stop sign that changed everything. Passed with no regards, a pick-up truck had collided into the passenger side. His mother’s side. It was five hours later when Eddie Munson had woken up with a gentle tap on his shoulder. “You okay, boy?”

Uncle Wayne. “Where’s mom?”

At the very least, it was quick. Pronounced on scene. The agony of her life wouldn’t have to continue any longer. “She said you could have a couple sleepovers at mine. How’s that sound?”

Arriving at 10:43 p.m, Eddie Munson hadn’t anticipated keeping you around until 1:30 in the morning. But that was the beauty of it all, wasn’t it? Laughing about the miniscule things in life, sharing interests that drastically revealed how different you were—he was dark, you were light—and confiding about the scariness of childhood that should have been happiness, like little children sharing secrets on the playground. Much to Eddie’s dismay, you began organizing the table, stacking cups with bits of residing beer, soda, and water; stealing napkins to dust off crumbs and soak up water rings; and finishing it off with throwing the numerous balls of paper into the empty basket of what was cheese fries. You were ready to go. And Eddie couldn’t blame you. You had just cheered through an entire basketball game, he should have considered the exhaustion you were fighting against just to see him. But you’re not entirely done with your moment with Eddie. It’s not likely you’ll have another one given your circumstance. 

Standing from your seat, you secured his jacket around you. “Ready to go to your place?”

You always found it amusing how your words could make his eyes bulge, just as they’re doing right now. This may have been Eddie’s first rodeo into the world of first dates, but he wasn’t oblivious to the actions that occurred after the date. In fact, he may have even rented a couple “movies” that followed the same plotline. And they always seemed to end the same way. 

“W-what? Uh- I, um, what?”

“Your place.” You reiterated with a teasing smile. “That’s where you said your sweetheart currently is, and well, I’m pretty sure I was promised a personal live show.

“O-oh, right.” He swallowed thickly. Eddie Munson felt like an ass for having his blood begin to circulate to a particular area of his body, when all you wanted was to hear him play. But also, could you blame him? He didn’t know what he was doing. “Um, you wanna hear me play?”

“Of course!” You beamed brightly. “Like I said, Eddie, there’s a lock outside of my bedroom door bounding me to my room. By the time I leave, you’ll probably be off giving actual autographs, and taking photos, with a long line of groupies waiting for you. You’ll forget about me then. And I want my show now.” 

You were insane. Eddie Munson could never forget about you. Not even if he wanted to. Not even if he tried. You were burned into his mind for life. Just like he wanted. 

Eddie wouldn’t know it unless he asked, but his assumption landed on the fixation that this was probably the first time you’d ever cruised down Mulberry Street to get to Forest Hills Trailer Park. I mean, genuinely, what reason would someone like you ever have coming down to this side of town? But Eddie stopped himself. He shouldn’t think like that. Still, the fear of judgment plagued his mind, as he anxiously took numerous glances to see your face- see your reaction. Because driving down Mulberry Street, there were no meticulously planted trees of uniform formation, but rather invasive species of plants and weeds that suffocated the dark woods. Where a sophisticated sign—lined with an array of beautiful rose bushes, and a bright light that spotlighted the fancy lettering of Pinecrest Acres—named your neighborhood, Forest Hills got nothing, only accounting for rusted trailers and dirt roads that the townspeople would use as an indicator for where you ranked in reputation. Apparently to the civilians of Hawkins, Indiana, poverty shunned you away from the title of an All American Perfect Community. 

But everytime Eddie had briefly gazed at your face, he was met with a small smile of bubbling excitement to the point where your teeth had sunk into your reddening lip for the majority of the car ride over. You seemed too occupied trying to find the perfect rhythm to head bop to the songs Eddie had chosen for the departure from the Hideout—especially after the whole Bowie debacle—to focus on the evident income gap between the two of you. Or, you simply did not care. Either way, Eddie liked both options. And truthfully, you were having a hard time head bopping to the blaring voices of Iron Maiden. One day, Eddie Munson would teach you how to properly head bang, and you would complain of getting a headache, but for now, you were simply arriving at his humble home for what would be the first of many times.

Eddie had huffed out a lung to reach your door before you could. Actually, you saw him ferociously sprinting, and slowed your movements for his awaited opportunity. And you’re glad you did. Because when Eddie opened the door for you, he met you with a beaming smile of proudness for his gentlemanly actions. “M’lady.” He offered his ringed hand. “This is my, uh, castle.” He showcased his trailer with a sarcastic chortle of amusement to the reality that his home was far from a castle, and surely you could see that in the flickering blue light of the wooden lamppost. 

“Thank you for bringing me, kind sir.” No grimace. No scowl. No look of disgust. You genuinely did not care for the elephant in the room. 

Of course, you wouldn’t. Eddie knows the kind of person you are. 

The creaking screen door was held open by the expanse of Eddie’s back, as he worked the house key of his crowded keychain into the doorknob of the front door. And upon the first step inside, you were inundated by the warmth of a cozy home, the snug smells of carpet and blankets infused by the obvious smell of lingering cigarettes, and glowing by golden lights of shaded table lamps. Had you spoken about it, Eddie Munson would have learned you envied his home. Because that’s what it felt like. A home. One where you could tell he had a lot of laughs over meals with the closest he cared for. Your house was like a museum. It’d been three years since you and your father ate at the dinner table together. And it was cold. He liked it cold. You were yelled at for touching the thermostat in search of warmth in an empty house. 

“Sorry, uh, maid took off.” He made a quick round disposing of the trash that decorated countertops. 

“Do you live alone, Eddie?”

“Uh, nah, my Uncle Wayne, remember I told you about him? It’s his place. But he works night shifts at the plant, so, yeah.” He smiled, standing by the trash can with his hands at his hips, watching your eyes circle around living space. Again, no judgment in sight.

“You guys have a lot of mugs.” You giggled, taking a minor step forward to peer at the array of colorful ceramics displayed by the handles with proudness. 

“Yeah, Wayne used to hit the interstates as a trucker, had a thing for hats and mugs. Used to take the piss out of him by just getting him more.” Eddie chuckles. “But then he started expecting them, so now the old man’s got a lifetime supply comin’.” 

Your heart warmed at the sentiment. “Which is his favorite? Yours?”

Eddie’s heart warmed at the question. “I gotta Garfield cup. He’s got an Odie one.” You wanted to learn about his uncle’s favorite. Eddie would one day eventually tell you over breakfast that he actually hates the taste of coffee, but doesn’t start his day without a cup full of that Garfield mug. Something about drinking coffee made him feel like an actual adult. Granted, he was still consuming it out of a cartoon character mug, but the irony is what made Eddie Munson so special. Because he still hadn’t catched on, and asked why that was so funny. A grown man wanting to feel like an adult by drinking coffee out of a Garfield mug.

“Aw, like the bobblehead in your car! You guys must really like Garfield.” God, you remembered. 

“It’s the one thing I would watch when I first moved in with him.” Eddie laughed at the memories. A lazy cat who was enthused about hot lasagna was wonderfully able to ease the pain of his life circumstances. Of course, Uncle Wayne would continue to put it on. 

You slowly walked up to Eddie with an endearing smile. “That’s really cute. I’m glad your uncle is a good guy.” Not a lot of people were in either of your lives. It was an unfortunate thing to be grateful for. But you were. And so was he. 

“He is.” Eddie nodded with a gentle smile. “Gave up his room for me.” He jerked his head to signal down the hall.

And gave him that sweet giggle that melted his worries away. “Is that an invitation?”

“C’mon, sweetheart.” He ardently agreed, as his hand entwined with yours and led you to his bedroom. 

And if Eddie Munson could be objectified as an element of interior design, his room would be the most fitting aesthetic for the Munson persona he loved to flaunt around. Though, if you ever told him that, he’d just laugh and say it was a standard metalhead’s room. But you liked the way you thought of it. How every poster—the ones you would admit were kinda scary, and he’d tease you about it—or clutter of amps and wires amongst the heaps of dirty or clean clothes were personalized to Eddie Munson and unique to his taste, even if it was typical in company with the scene he followed. 

And then you saw it. “Ooh!”

“Wait! Don’t touch her- it.” 

Fingers mid air, you stopped and turned around to face Eddie, who stood with a cringed face that was heavily targeted at himself. “Her?” You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Eddie caught up to where you stood in front of his desk, taking the hand you were about to use to touch his precious guitar, and holding it firmly within his grasp. “No one touches the guitar unless it’s me- or unless you’re worthy.” He declared. 

“Worthy? Who are you, Thor?” You teased right in his face, that had him scoffing and rolling his eyes. 

“No.” Eddie childishly snided in your face. “It’s just that- wait, you read Marvel Comics?” His head tilted back, face churning with suspicion, as he eyed you. 

Now, it was your turn to snide at him, “No.”

Eddie laughed in your face unabashedly. “Oh, you so totally do, sweetheart.” He giggled. “Nerd.”

“Oh, whatever.” You crossed your arms with sass. “It was a long time ago, and they were my dad’s collection. It’s not like I roleplay practicing alchemy with my little gaggle of friends.”

Eddie Munson winced for you. “At least I have friends.” Your mouth dropped in disbelief, and Eddie guffawed loudly in your face. He was kinda right. But he was also kinda the reason why you lost them in the first place. 

Though, you had to hand it to him, you walked right into that one. “You are mean, Eddie Munson!” You joined in on his laughter. “So, so mean. I-” You stopped mid sentence, well, actually it was the faint thud you heard outside that stopped you mid sentence. A thud? Slam? Pound? You don’t know, but you heard it.

“What?” Eddie questioned your sudden confusion. 

“You didn’t hear that?” You hit him back. “The noise outside?”

“There’s lots of noise outside. It’s outside, babe.” He could only giggle at the incredulous look you threw him. “Probably just the neighbors, or Cronkers. It’s night, gets her zoomies n’ all.” But before the question of who Cronkers was could leave your mouth, the front door to Eddie Munson’s trailer pushed open, and that, you both surely heard. Eddie’s head snapped to the door of the bedroom, concealing either of you from the incoming sound of the living room. Eddie had surely made a hand signal to stay, but as if you would, you blatantly ignored his unspoken declaration, and followed right behind, fitting your hand within his with a tight grip. “Hold on, sweetheart.” He quietly whispered, as opened his bedroom door and entered the long hallway of the trailer.

“Ed, how many times do I have to tell ya to fix those damn hinges-” Wayne Munson had stopped.

You and Eddie Munson had stopped. Hand in hand. In the kitchen. Fully seen. 

“What are you doing here?” Eddie hadn’t meant for it to sound so disrespectful. 

“Last I checked, it’s my house.” Wayne huffed back, watching his nephew nod his head in an apology. “What are you doin’, son?” And though the simple question had been directed at Eddie, Wayne Munson’s eyes had fallen on you. Standing shyly behind Eddie, his hand in yours.

“I, um- after my campaign, I just went on, uh- Wayne, this is Y/N.” Eddie simply cut straight to the point. “Y/N Y/L/N.”

Wayne Munson had surely remembered that name. “The girl that nearly got you arrested?”

Your eyes had doubled in size. “What?”

“No!” Eddie immediately blurted out upon seeing your worried face. “No, you didn’t, I promise.” He directed to you before turning to Wayne. “She didn’t, none of that was her fault. That was all Jason’s bullshit- and mine. Not hers, Wayne.”

A pregnant pause linger amongst the three of you. It was painfully awkward. Eddie watched Wayne watch you, while you couldn’t muster a stare back, merely peered at your dirty sneakers where your toes were uncomfortably tensing inside, thanking god you hadn’t chosen the heels you proffered to Chrissy Cunningham. 

“So, uh,” Wayne had cleared his throat, “what are you two doing at this hour? Did I, uh, interrupt-”

“No, sir.” You interjected politely. Your hands had worked fast to peel off Eddie’s jacket, as it somehow felt incriminating, feeling as though it could have possibly alluded to anything inappropriate. It hadn’t in Wayne’s eyes, though as precautionary measures, you still shoved it back into Eddie’s hands.  

“Look, Wayne, um, why are you home so early?” Eddie managed to ask.

“Well, some incident at the plant occurred, just sent us all home until it cleared up.” Wayne shrugged off his work coat to hang along the rack of hooks by the door. The older gentleman had sauntered his way into the kitchen, standing directly in front you. “It’s awfully late, hon, you eat anything, yet?”

“Um-”

“We ate at the Hideout.” Eddie answered for you, grabbing the attention of his uncle. 

“Well, that surely ain’t food, is it?” He rhetorically asked, making himself chuckle with gruff, before turning back to you. “Ya like pancakes?”

“It’s two in the morning.” Eddie chided.

“I wasn’t askin’ you, boy.” Wayne tsked back. And like clockwork, he once again directed his attention to you, humming as a way to ask again.

“Yeah, um, I do, sir.” You meekly answered, attempting to conjure a nice smile that didn’t reveal how awkward you felt. 

“Great, let’s have us some breakfast, then.”

Wayne Munson had lost his intimidation in a matter of ten minutes. Much amusement came about witnessing the atrocity that was Eddie Munson attempting to crack eggs without stray eggshells, then complaining about the icky sensation of gooey egg whites when the inevitable occurred, and he searched for shells within the unmixed batter. You and Uncle Wayne had stood back to watch it play out, whispering teasing comments about the boy, as though he couldn’t hear. He did. Then proceeded to complain about that. Then the toppings debacle came about, one that had you reeling with laughter, as you played along with Wayne. You said “maybe blueberries.” He suggested  “a little cinnamon.” And in the background, Eddie’s small voice offered “chocolate chips.” But in the grand scheme of things, the joke came when poor Eddie was blatantly ignored for you and Uncle Wayne’s entertainment, so when you piqued “ooh, chocolate chips.” Wayne had smiled “that’s a great idea, you should come over more often.” Eddie’s mouth dropped to the floor with disbelief. But he loved it. Eddie Munson loved seeing you with his only family so much. 

“You sure your folks won’t mind you being out this late?” Breakfast had been served in the early hour of 2:27 a.m, and the small kitchen table within their residence had been bombarded with a stack of pancakes with all the fixings. 

“No, sir, they don’t mind.” You lied with a smile on your face, as Eddie watched you from across the table intently. 

“Good.” Wayne stuffed himself with a bite. “I’m not lookin’ to have the police roundin’ us up.” He laughed. “‘Specially not when my boy’s almost graduatin’ this year.” And watched as Wayne smiled at Eddie, providing a firm pat to his shoulder that had his nephew feeling gratified. 

“Y/N’s the real star.” Eddie pointed his fork at you. “Valedictorian and she’s finishing on her first try.” You giggled with a heated face from the sweet attention. 

“Really?!” Wayne turned to you. “That’s incredible, darlin’, I’m real proud of ya!” That felt nice. Too nice, to the point where your heart had suddenly stopped for a brief second to recuperate. “Folks must be real proud, too, huh?” No. They weren’t. Your father nearly screamed at you to tears the day you were suspended because the daughter he raised was becoming a failure. And your mother never cared to stay long enough to learn of the fear you were enduring. 

You could only extend a tight-lipped smile with a small nod, and Eddie’s face dropped seeing you seethe in the uncomfortableness of the reality of your life. Every passing minute that Wayne Munson spoke, your smile grew faker and faker, and Eddie watched it transform every time. But Eddie was helpless. Every diversion of conversation amounted to nothing, as the fact of the matter was that Wayne Munson was a good guy- a genuine one who shamelessly showed his support for nephew in every topic of conversation. Wayne cared for Eddie like a son. Wayne loved Eddie like a son. He showed it when he spoke. So clearly. And it cemented in you deeper that your father couldn’t bear to do the same with his own daughter. 

Eddie couldn’t handle the pain behind your smiling eyes. He called it the second you took the last bite of your pancakes. It was the first time Eddie Munson hadn't finished a meal. His priorities too focused on you to satiate his appetit. “It’s, uh, getting pretty late, I wanna get her home, Wayne, she’s had a long day.” He’d politely interrupted his uncle's question of wanting more orange juice. 

“Yeah, go on, and let her get some rest.” Wayne smiled at you, as you stood from the table. “I’ll take care of the dishes, hon, don’t worry.”

“Thank you for everything, sir.” You sincerely beamed back. “Really, I enjoyed meeting you.”

“Lovely meetin’ you, too, darlin’.” Wayne gathered the litter of plates and cups. “Hope to have you back soon.”

“Hopefully.” Hopefully. 

You hadn’t even been able to process the breath of fresh air you inhaled from the humid outdoors before Eddie began rushing out his apologies. 

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart, was that too much?” He rushed. “I swear I didn’t know he was coming back home early. And the conversation- if anything made you uncomfortable, I’m so fucking sorry-”

“No, Eddie, stop, don’t- don’t ever be sorry about that.” You smiled. A small one, but an authentic one. “I’m sorry that I worried you. You didn’t even get to finish your food.” Eddie sighed, shaking his head to refuse your apology that he felt was unnecessary. “The breakfast was nice- you guys were nice. I loved spending the day with you and your uncle. It made me really happy, Eddie.”

“Really?” He came out so strained with disbelief. But your fervent nod cleared all his worries. You loved it just as much as he did. 

“Your uncle is really kind.” You smiled. “I’m happy you have someone like him, Eddie.” Before he could respond, you took it upon yourself to throw Eddie into a secure hug that had him immediately snaking his arms around your waist tightly. “This has been the greatest night ever. Thank you for letting me learn about you.” Your lips brushed his ears in quiet whispers. 

Eddie closed his eyes, inhaling a sweet smell of your perfume, enclosing his arms stronger. 

Eddie Munson had just gone on his first date. 

-

“Sweetheart?”

Just as it occurred last Tuesday, when Eddie Munson had gone into his drunken hysterics of guilt about who he was as a person, where you once cradled him into a peaceful sleep to mitigate the pain of realizing who he had become, Eddie Munson was now doing for you. Your eyes had given up when stinging tears finally put them to rest in the comfort of Eddie’s neck. Your breath was steady. Where your lips gently grazed the sensitive skin of his neck, Eddie turned to softly place a delicate kiss to your hot temple. You were finally getting your rest. A sense of what stability could be like. With Eddie Munson. 

“Honey?” It was quiet as a mouse in Eddie’s room, the only sound to be accounted for was the whirring of the air conditioner that was working overtime. It would surely break by the end of the week. 

In truth, Eddie was hungry. You would probably complain of hunger, too, had you been awake. Dinner had been long forgotten. But even if the rumble of his tummy did place some discomfort, Eddie didn’t want to move. But what he did do was ever so slightly shimmy his body down his sheeted bed, until his back was finally within comfort, aligned to the mattress, and Eddie simply rested. With you clinging to his body like a lost child, Eddie laid back, and closed his eyes with rest. His hand had mindlessly found its way beneath his shirt that you wore, letting his fingertips graze upon your back with dainty touches that had you stirring against him. 

“Shh, baby, just go to sleep.” He whispered against your ear. “So proud of you for getting it all out.” His hushed voice felt like tiny kisses against your warm skin. “You’re doin’ so good, sweetheart. Don’t ever think that you’re not.”

Wavering between the boundaries of sleep and awake, you could hear Eddie loud and clear. Failure, the feeling that consumed you and sent you spiraling had all been wrong. All of it. You weren’t a failure for experiencing the inevitable setbacks of life. Though it may not be the explicit goal, one of the best accomplishments can be as simple as refining naivety. It was okay to profess. You’d become fixated on the achievement of results, that you blinded yourself to the repercussions of a grand high, believing it to be the end goal. Just like the great pioneers of science, physicists to biologists, the ones whose intelligence you aspiringly admired, they knew to recognize the failures of a hypothesis as discovery not a mishap. Because learning what didn’t work for yourself was a profound revelation of merit. Indulging yourself into a state of purgatory—eating three meals, decluttering your room, working your body to a purifying sweat—was great, and an admirable start, because it may have worked for the moment, but not in the long run. And you were learning it the hard way. But that was okay. 

That night, Eddie Munson wrapped a soft blanket around your clinging bodies, and for once, a restful night of sleep was casted upon you two, because two hearts of lonely children were experiencing the strength of love and recovery, and you two were healing. 

-

Two Hours Prior

It was the turning of locks and an abrasive single knock to your door that you had become accustomed to for the past week that told you dinner was here. It had also been the only form of communication your father ever cared to give you now-a-days. On either ends of the kitchen island, you both stand. You watch him intently, and like usual, he’s in a rush to leave, pulling styrofoam plates of hefty take-out from wet plastic bags of condensation. The question’s on the tip of your tongue. Maybe for once, things can change. Things can be like Eddie and Wayne.

“Hey, um, dad?” Not a word of acknowledgement. He didn’t even look at you. “D-Do you, uh, maybe want to eat together? Like, at the table?” That. That was all you were asking for. “Please?”

It was supposed to be simple. All you wanted was simple. Your father slammed his plastic utensils to the counter. “Do you really think someone like you deserves that?” Your face dropped. 

“I-I just wanted to have dinner with y-”

“After everything you put our name through, you think I’d want to have dinner with you?” It was supposed to be simple. “I’ve got men in my office, their kids who go to school with you, asking me what kind of nutcase I’m raising. Do you know what they think of you? What they think of me?! How you’ve ruined our reputation in this town?! Are you that inconsiderate?!” Your tears started welling. It was supposed to be simple. “Do you not realize how humiliating it is having a daughter like you?! I’ve done everything to give all that you need in life, and this is how you repay me-”

“You left me, dad!” 

The tense atmosphere fell silent with nothing but huffing breaths. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You. Left. Me.” This it was. You were saying it. You were going to say everything. “I- Being around you s-scares me, because it feels like you don’t care- I know you don’t care. You don’t care about me, dad.” Maybe it was something you’ve known all along, but simply refused to accept it. Downplaying the emotional hurt, because others had it worse. Who were you to complain? And your father even spoke it. Titling himself Father of the Year for never laying a hand on you. Some dads did that. But he was the villain for wanting what’s best for you. For the family. He was disgusted with you. “I-I just want you to care! Why? Why don’t you care about me?”

“I never left!” He heaved. “Your mother is the one that left us- gave up on us! Not me! I stayed when I didn’t have to! Don’t tell me that I don’t care when I fucking stayed!”

“You were never there, dad!” You cried. Anger, you wanted to be angry, show him how angry you were, but you were crying like a child, reflecting the one that had been abandoned for years. “When mom left, so did you! You were never here for me! You’re fucking gone to me, dad.” You whimpered the last words out, immediately hiding behind the comfort of your hot hands, as burning tears smeared against your face. 

“Don’t-” Your father scoffed with disbelief. He turned away, because facing the reality of neglectful actions would have put him at fault. Something he did wrong. He couldn’t be wrong. He just couldn’t. But his daughter was pleading with tears in her eyes, that poured out years of hurt by the hands of everyone. By the hands of him. So, of course, he couldn’t look at you. Not when his face began to strain with stress to control the stinging of his eyes. “I- You don’t know how much I gave up to give you everything! Everything I do is for you!”

“Locking me in my room was for me?! Never congratulating me for anything was for me?! Forgetting my birthday every year was for me?! Stop- I- you know, dad. You know that you were never here.” Your voice constricted with the agony of loss. “Y-You’re supposed to be here. For me. And I just want to tell you things, I want to tell you everything, but-but I can’t because I know you don’t care. And I just want you to. Even if it’s just a little, please, dad, please just care about me.” Everything had become horrifically pathetic. The desperation. The yearning. You hated the way you sounded. But it was how you truly felt. “I just want you to be okay. I just want you to get help- help me get help, so we can be okay together.”

Had your eyes given you a second of peace from the blurring pricks, you would have seen it. The slightest sight of a quivering chin from your father that could have maybe- just maybe given you the infinitesimal chance of hope for the best. Because it showed that he felt something. Even if it was minute to the onslaught of your escaping feelings, at the very least, it was something. Something to show that he might care. Deep down. Just might. 

But then he spoke. So calmly. So earnestly. And it made you want to vomit from the sickening impalement. “I was perfectly okay until you became my problem.” You were no longer a person to him. He cleared his throat, his reddening eyes penetrating you with the utmost frightening look of disconnection. He was gone. “I hope someday you realize your mother didn’t just leave me, she left you, too. And she didn’t care to come back, Y/N. Not even for you. So, go ahead and yell about how I don’t care, when she clearly didn’t care about you, either. Make me out to be the bad guy, Y/N. But when you do, I want you to stop and think for a second about how much of a problem you were to make her leave. But I fucking stayed.” That was the irreconcilable wound that burned into your skin. Changed everything forever. “If you think you have it so bad with me, leave. Nothing’s stopping you. In fact, I want you to. Let’s see how willing mommy is to open up her arms for you. Just don’t come back when she doesn’t. Because she doesn’t care.”

Your father was thirty-four when your mother left. A decade later, his daughter was taking the same steps through the front door. The slam of the heavy door finally ignited the single tear to stream down his face, before his fingers swiped away the vulnerability. Perhaps somewhere in the back of your mind, your dad had long died, alongside the dream of amends. And maybe you had known it all along, but refused to accept the ugliness of it all. But you didn’t regret it. You couldn’t find yourself too. Though, you couldn’t believe you finally said. Everything. You hated him. You hated everything about him. As each thought cemented, your legs took you closer to him. Eddie. Without thought. Without warning. Your mind knew where to take you. Your body trusted to follow. Because just as you saw him once, you knew he could see you. 

It was why his gentle words opened the busted seams of your heart, “Is- is everything alright, sweetheart?” It was why his arms held no hesitation to bring you to him. It was why he provided you the necessities to be comfortable. It was why he was making it up to you. 

It was why you woke up in the arms of Eddie Munson that Sunday morning. Because Eddie Munson saw you. 

-

You hadn’t blinked for three minutes. 

The stained linoleum of the kitchen floor were all your eyes could focus on, as the morning sun attempted to bleed through the curtained windows of the hot trailer. You had sat so stiff in the wooden chair. Where you once nearly choked on the tooth-achingly sweet bite of pancakes from a comforted laugh, you had now been stuck quiet in the depths of loneliness, attempting to find the right words to say. 

Eddie’s eyes had bleared open, despite the resistance of dryness, when his hand had clutched around air. Heavy hand patting around, all that caressed his palms were the wrinkles of his sheets, now cold where the warmth of your body had now rested. Eddie had felt gross to admit it given the circumstances, but it felt nice- so fucking nice to hold you so dearly. To have his nose be invaded by the smell of you. To have his hands squeeze the curves of your body for comfort. To have your breath fan him with warmth even if it was boiling outside. Eddie would gladly burn to death if it was at the hands of your calm breathing, so steady and tranquil, so angelic and beautiful. 

Rushing out of the containment of his strewn blankets, his knees had popped with the abrasive movements as his feet steadied themselves among the scratchy frills of the lining carpet. Had he given himself a second to ease the tiredness of his body, Eddie Munson would have had an alert mind, and wouldn’t have startled you with the deafening creaking of his bedroom swinging open. But he did, and he would soon apologize. But not before he showered you with the needed support for the conversation you were carrying. 

Phone tightened in the small grasp of your hand, you locked eyes with Eddie from down the hall. And he heard you speak, so soft and frail, closely into the receiver. “Something bad happened, Chrissy.” Eddie rushed to your side, once your face contorted to the pained scrunch that killed his soul to witness. Had you looked at the ticking clock on the wall, you would have known time was breaching seven in the morning. Chrissy Cunningham’s voice sounded so groggy with fatigue. You felt even more awful. But Eddie’s hand had landed on the small of your back, his rough finger maneuvering gently against your tense body to mollify the ache of tensity. You stared at him with big eyes, as you spoke weakly into the phone. “I can’t go home, something bad will-” Your breath hitched. “I just- can I please stay with you for a little bit, Chris, I’m so sorry.” 

Eddie had pulled you in until your head landed peacefully against his chest. “Don’t be sorry.” He whispered against your head. 

When Chrissy Cunningham had her first argument with Jason Carver, she was spending the night at his house, when she suddenly turned up at your doorstep. It was trivial. Teenagers arguing over the discomfort of one’s lab partner being of the opposite sex. Despite its inconsequentiality, Chrissy had wanted to cut her sleepover short after the petty bickering. You had let her take up the other half of your bed for the entirety of the Memorial Day weekend with no complaints. Chrissy Cunningham would be damned to not provide you the same safety. Of course, she said yes. No questions asked. When the last goodbye was spoken, you’d lazily dropped the phone back onto the hook, before collapsing into Eddie’s tight embrace for security. 

“Let me make you some breakfast.” He pulled back to see your face. “Wayne should be home soon. I’m sure he’d like to have breakfast with you again. Couldn’t stop ravin’ about you last time.” But the short chortle that fell out of Eddie’s lips was short lived, as you suddenly began shaking your head in refusal.

“No, I don’t want him to see me, Eddie. Not like this.” You sighed. “I shouldn’t even be here. I don’t want to be a problem. This is twice in a row that I’ve been here without his-”

“Hey, hey, hey.” His hands drew down the length of your arms. “Relax, sweetheart, you’re not a problem, I promise. It’s my place, too. I want you here, Y/N.” Your heart could barely handle the words Eddie spoke, how much they contradicted the torment your father instilled. “Let’s just sit for a minute, yeah?”

“I-I can’t, I have to get my stuff, I need to head over to Chrissy’s, I still have so much work to catch up for school, I can’t- Eddie, I can’t.” Your hands pulled around the skin of your forehead, believing it to be the only remedy to ease the aching throb of your head. 

“Okay, stop, honey, you’re going to drive yourself insane thinking like that.” His fingers took a firm hold of your wrist to pull them away from your harsh touch. “I know it’s a lot, baby, and I’m so sorry for this bullshit that’s being thrown at you, but please just take a second to breathe. We’ll figure this out, I promise. Just one thing at a time, we’ll take it one thing at a time.” You nodded your head with a heavy exhale to regulate the needed alleviation throughout your body. “I’ll take you to grab everything you need, I can drop you off at Chris’, and you’ll eat there- promise me you will, because you haven’t eaten anything in a while Y/N, and once you finally rest, you can catch up on a bit of work. I’m sure Chrissy will like to help. And I promise, Y/N, I’ll be home, near this damn phone, so if you call, I’ll be here to talk to you. For anything you need, I’ll be here.”

Eddie Munson’s designation brought you to quiet tears. How could you ever see yourself as a problem, when Eddie Munson wanted to be there for you? 

Begrudgingly, you’d lost the comfort of Eddie’s pajamas when you retrieved your folded clothes from the washing machine, having to be tainted by the outfit that reminded you of the haunting memories of last night. Eddie hadn’t realized the severity of you truly wanting to leave his house before his uncle arrived, until he trudged out of the bathroom with decent clothes, and found you nowhere, until he peeked outside to the foggy morning where you rested against his van within the mist. In all honesty, the humiliation of having to face someone as nice as his uncle was the only driving point to leave so urgently. Bombarding his home when nothing had even been concisely established between you and his nephew. That was another lingering issue that twisted your mind to mush. Surely the events following up to today had pushed you both beyond the heavy definition of a friendship, or maybe it hadn’t, and this was simply the newfound experience of gaining a friend who was genuine in comparison to the ones you once had. 

“You ready to go?” His hand stationed upon your shoulder, where you turned to meet his sweet eyes that couldn’t keep away from your face. The ones that fluttered to every feature with precise dedication to each one; your eyes, your nose, your lips. 

How could he ever be just a friend when he looked at you like that?

The ride over had been nothing but a palpitating heartbeat drumming in your ear, as the contents of your belly stirred rambunctiously. Eddie noticed it every time he looked over. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Lips mouthing the words like a command to be followed, as you stared at the passing landscape as a distraction to the fear bubbling inside. Eddie’s hand snaked over to yours, stealing your attention, as his fingers interlocked with yours to never be let go. He smiled at you, a reassuring one, one that dissipated the heat that was consuming your body to a suffocating degree. Eddie was here. Your empty driveway had been the first sight your eyes landed on. Dead. You thought he was dead to you. But a gnawing persistence of disappointment crashed over you when you saw he was gone. Just a little bit. Because maybe on the off chance of believing he could change, you would have seen your father’s car parked in the same position it once had been when you left, because who would genuinely go to work the next day after their only child left them for good? But that was the ego of a man. That was the reality of your father. 

“Take all the time you need, or be as fast as you want.” Eddie squeezed your hand, as you stayed seated in his van. “Your choice, sweetheart, okay?” 

You nodded your head surely. 

The third stone to the left that lined the large bush of pink rhododendrons had housed the spare key to your house. Imprinted into the wet dirt, the key had embarked you into the coldness of your house, where Eddie followed closely behind. In the case of not being hounded with the threats of murder by your father, Eddie had taken the moment to really stare. Stare at the whiteness. The blandness. The minimal decorations. The large staircase. Uninventing as a house could be, Eddie felt unnerving about the thoughts of being stuck in such a lifeless place for years, proffering much needed appreciation to the cozy trailer he called home. 

“I just, um, I’m only going to get clothes, and some important papers. I won’t be long.” Your fingers curled around the cracked door of your bedroom, still opened from when you stepped out to have dinner. Still opened from when you just wanted to be together. When it was supposed to be simple. 

Your room looked different. Drastically different from the drunken eyes Eddie once scanned of your room. Gone were the miniscule details that defined the person you were. Eddie didn’t like it. At all. “Everything’s gone?” He hadn’t meant it to be perceived as a question, but the implications of confusion had taken over, and Eddie surely was looking for answers. 

You were quiet with your speech. “I was just trying to get better.” Given you had reached within the depths of your closet to recover a beloved suitcase, Eddie hadn’t seen the pain of admission to your wrongdoing. Just like your father, the reality of acknowledging where you had gone wrong burned your throat as you spoke. But you weren’t like him. Just like Eddie wasn’t like his. And you were strong enough to recognize your wrongs. “But, um, I don’t think it was enough… to actually help.” You weren’t like him. 

“You did something.” Eddie chimed in sincerely. “That’s more than most people do. You’re really fucking incredible to try something without having a shrink tell ya.” His finger circled to himself. And that’s what he wanted. A laugh, even if it was small, the corner of your lips were tugging to the sky. Even if he had to take a jab at himself. 

“Ms. Kelly is not a shrink. She’s a counselor. Genuinely a vast difference.” And even if it was stated with a little sass, he’d take your rebutting comments with ease, because Eddie Munson truly loved it coming out of your mouth. 

The offering of a hand had fervently been rejected by you, feeling as though you’ve sacrificed enough of Eddie’s time with the rampancy of your life. So, he sat back. With you by his side on the floor of your bedroom, Eddie quietly watched you fold items of clothes, each tailored to the style that suited you best. Shirts; small, large, short-sleeve, long-sleeve, of all patterns and colors. But you softly told him green was your favorite. And sweaters, my god, did it appear you love them most. While you ransacked your dresser, the very least Eddie insisted on was retrieving all that hung in your closet. Tight dresses, sun dresses. You’d briefly went on a tangent explaining how you loved the look of strapless ones, but the lack practicality really peeved you off. Eddie laughed when he heard you say peeve with all seriousness. And the shoes were the easiest. Sneakers, and, well, just mostly sneakers, they were the most important. Not very often will you find yourself sporting any form of stilettos while living at Hawkins. If those had to stay to be forgotten, it’d be okay. And ever the gentleman, Eddie noticed your hesitant approach to the last drawer, and quickly turned his head away to appear as if to be occupied by the minimalistic flower patterns of your wallpaper. Whether you realized his actions, or merely thought it was perfect timing, it didn’t matter, because Eddie Munson saved you the awkwardness, and you freely were able to stuff the last of your suitcase with the needed bras and underwear of your life. 

A moment of quietness rested upon you, as Eddie momentarily left your house to follow the back and forth momentum of loading his van with your personal belongings. Books. You had a lot of books, special ones that once lined your bookcase with perfect clutter. Eddie had seen the small lingering smile etched to your face, as your finger traced the spines of novels, big and small. So hearing you disheartenedly admit donation or selling to be the best options stung his chest with a residing ache. He mumbled with a small smile. “You should keep ‘em, sweetheart. They belong with you. And when you get your own place, they’ll be the first thing I’ll help you put up.” Eddie Munson had a delicate way of evanescing the affliction of reality. 

You had told him you’d be just a minute. And you had been. Sitting in the driver seat of his van, cool air blasting through the dusty vents of the AC, Eddie wondered what you did for that minute. Following the cliches of just about every coming of age movie where the main character leaves a childhood home, Eddie would have imagined you reminiscing through the various rooms you once stepped in throughout the stages of your life. But surely, that would take more than a minute. And you were out quickly. Because the reality of the matter was that you simply did not want to reminisce. Anything good of remembrance had been taken away from you by the tainted realization of what you meant to the people you cared about the most. 

It was cold. It was blank. It was lifeless. 

So, all you needed was a minute, and as promised, Eddie watched you close the door to leave that life behind. This was your beginning. Even if it wasn’t ideal, you wanted it- needed it. You let go of the deep breath that resided in your lungs the second your bottom met the cushioned seat of Eddie’s van. It was the first words he spoke, the only words he needed to say, “Are you okay?” You looked at Eddie solemnly. It was such a disgustingly polarizing question. One that had been haunting you for a lifetime. One that brought you to the precipice of collapse. One that felt as if you’d been driving yourself to delirium just to dissect. 

A small smile appeared on your face, as you softly answered. “I will be.” And for once, you could be sure of that. 

As a student of Hawkins High, Chrissy Cunningham had been all too familiar with the rampant yells of metal music that emanated from the grumling car of Eddie Munson. The student parking lot had been no different than her neighborhood street. So, Chrissy emerged on cue. It didn’t take you two seconds to jump out of Eddie’s car the second he parked along the curb of Chrissy’s house. Pacing off her porch, Chrissy met you halfway down her driveway before you crashed into her arms. Your arms had smushed into the straight strands of her hair around her neck, as she secured you firmly in a hug. It became helpless to try to fight the bombarding tears, and they came quickly, sinking into the cashmere collar of her sweater. Not a word was said between the two of you, as she merely held you in a tight embrace that provided the comfort you needed to relinquish the torment of your home life. “I told my parents.” Chrissy mumbled into your body. “Of course, you can stay with us.”

A choked sob escaped your throat. It was acceptance. 

Chrissy’s eyes opened to land on the man standing back. Leaning against his rustic van that was on its last leg, but he paid no mind, as long as it got you to the places you needed. To the places you’d be okay at. To the places you could run away and be together. Eddie’s heart lurched at the sight. Seeing you understand that you were cared for. No matter your parents, you had people. Even if it was just two. Chrissy Cunningham and Eddie Munson loved you. 

Shit, Eddie Munson genuinely, authentically, certainly, absolutely loves…

He swallowed the large lump in his throat. “Just hold her.” His lips mouthed, as Chrissy watched him. And she listened. Arms tightening around to safety. 

Stability.

-

Monday. Following in the footsteps of the lazy, pessimistic cat that Eddie and his uncle loved, you were beginning to revel in the same sentiment of despising the first day of the school week. Sunday had you were drained of all emotions. You wished you could put blame on sore muscles after having to move your items into the spare bedroom, though Eddie took that away from you when he told you to sit down, and did the dirty work himself. And Chrissy, of course, did the due diligence of multitasking between the playing chef and best friend. French toast was fried and topped with syrup and powdered sugar with a side of strawberries, while providing a shoulder to cry on, because it dawned on you that you had never been taken care of like you had been during the mere twenty minutes of that particular Sunday morning than you had been during the last eighteen years of your life with your own parents. 

The notion had solidified when all of that sunny Sunday, you received no call from a worried father about their gone daughter’s whereabouts, as one would expect. Nothing. Not even a knock at the doorstep just to make sure of your security. Absolutely nothing. 

And surely, a tumultuous home life would be reason enough to garner someone a day off from school to prolong the chaotic weekend, but most weren’t returning from a suspension due to insubordination, so that Monday you were playing catch-up. Exhaustingly. 

The myriad of conversations surrounding you within the main hall of Hawkins High was becoming discordant to your tired state. Your eyes blinked harshly to try to mitigate the drowsiness of the day. The clunking of your stubborn locker finally opening was enough to bring you just a sliver of energy to switch out a history textbook that truly looked the historical part for an agonizing book about calculus that was becoming your sworn enemy. 

“You tired?”

Your eyes turned to lock with his brown ones you’d grown heavily fond of. Eddie had sported a sly smile that played into his bravado, as he leaned against the lockers next to you. 

You winced at him. “Is it that obvious?”

“I woke up to your pretty, little, tired face yesterday morning, sweetheart. I’ve burned it into my mind forever. Of course, I’m going to notice.” Eddie liked that small shy face you pulled, attempting to hide your heated face away from his stare. But with your face peering away from him, you caught a glimpse of what reality was for you in school. Eddie followed your eyes to the sight that made your smile fall. Across the hall, Blake Decker had eyed you with a flagrant smirk after whispering to his buddy that if the freak could get you, so could he- the whole baseball team could. You were up for grabs. It was just a matter of who could score first. Three lockers down, Stevie Martinez had laughed at the question of how much substance the freak was supplying you after getting in your pants. Would enduring a little flirting with him get her a discount? He had to be desperate. And pointing at you from the water fountain was Carmen Mitchell, identifying you to her posse of youth group kids that were ready to snitch to Hawkins’ local pastor of someone needing Jesus. In a couple days, your father would be receiving advertising mail of encouragement to join the church. Luckily, you didn’t live there to countenance the proselytism from evangelical Christians. Eddie despondently sighed. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

Your head snapped at his contemplative face. So somber, but a tight-lipped smile was attempting to cover it. So, you smiled at him. Dignified. “No.” You told him firmly. “I want you right here… with me.”

His teeth found his bottom lip, as his cheeks became flooded with blood that rosied his pale skin. “I, uh-” Your giggling did nothing to satisfy the coughing he had to conjure to compensate for his dry mouth. Because you… you were squeezing his heart without realizing the severity of it. This was dangerous. Dangerous territory Eddie Munson was crossing into. But running away would be worse. He did it once, and it killed him. “Um, w-would you want to be with me Saturday night? Like, another date? A second one? I promise I’ll plan it way better than the first one.” He chuckled. “No more skeezy bars, I swear! And it’ll be the weekend, so I’ll obviously not be doing my homework, and I know you’ll be done with yours…” He shrugged with a teasing smile.

You laughed. “You should really be doing your homework, Eddie.”

“I will, I will.” His conspicuous stare to the far right let the fact be known that he was blatantly lying without a care. “If I do it, can this potential date be my little treat?” He perked. 

“Depends, what does this little treat entail?” You interrogated with a smile on your face. 

“Ah, well, unfortunately, sweetheart, details will not be disclosed for anticipation purposes.” He smirked. “Y’know, surprises n’ all.”

You playfully rolled your eyes. “Mm, the last time you concealed such details I almost wore heels to a rundown bar full of old men.”

Eddie blenched. “Sorry ‘bout that again, sweet girl, but I promise this time is different.” He assured. “I may be a sulking asshole who can’t handle my emotions and lash out at people because I’m too pathetic to deal with my own problems, but I definitely keep my promises.” My god, how far you and Eddie have come was mind blowing. Had you told your past self that the man you had a screaming match with just outside of school a couple weeks prior was asking you on a second date, you would’ve laughed in your own face. 

“Are you still hanging that over my head?” You giggled. “Because if I remember correctly you said far worse-”

“No, no, I know, sweetheart!” He adamantly agreed. “You’re wholeheartedly correct. And are you kidding me? That one-liner was the second greatest thing that’s ever come out of your mouth. I’m genuinely considering getting it tattooed right across my chest with no regrets.” He laughed. “That one sentence set me straight, honey.”

“Wait,” you invigorated, “if that’s the second greatest thing I’ve ever said, what’s the first?” Your head tilted with curiosity.

“Agreeing to go out with me. Twice.” He simpered. 

“‘Twice?’” You tittered. “I don’t remember saying yes to the second date.”

“What do you mean?” Eddie laughed. “I’m totally finishing my homework for this week, that’s a guaranteed yes from your part, trouble.” 

You pointed a stern finger at him with squinted eyes of skepticism. “Only if you finish your homework.” 

Thursday. Amidst the bustling thirty minute break from class, the cafeteria had flooded with an amass amount of students that proffered the freneticism that was Hawkins High’s lunch period. Chrissy Cunningham had been persistent to encourage your prospective application to Claire’s after Hannah Walsh was set for a nine month leave—whatever that meant. And Chrissy was resolute on the fact that working at the Starcourt Mall had far more perks than babysitting the Johnson’s circus of kids, especially after popping out their fifth. Insisted on the matter that it was aging you. Lovingly, though. And it happened to fall during her harangue about the employee discount that a book report was slapped in the middle of the table that stole your attention away from your friend. “The Last of Mohicans.”

“Wear something casual.” Eddie smiled, as you peeled your eyes from his homework and looked up to meet his satisfied grin. “I don’t recommend heels, but wear as you please. You’ll look perfect regardless.” But before you could get a word to even formulate, Eddie had turned his attention to an equally stunned—more so confused—Chrissy. “Will your folks mind if I pick her up at your doorstep Saturday night?”

“Oh.” Chrissy blinked. “Uh, no, they have a dinner party that night.” She smiled, and looked at you. 

“Perfect.” Eddie beamed. “I’ll see you Saturday night at seven?” Taken aback by his charm, you made the right decision to save yourself the embarrassment of trying to speak, and settled on a firm nod and beguiling smile that had Eddie flushed with giddiness. “Perfect.”

Saturday. It was the locker room scene all over again. Yes, being taken in by the Cunninghams had been something of extemporized means, but a week of residing in their guest bedroom—something they encouraged to just call yours—surely would have given you enough time to settle, right? No. Very much, an extremely hard no. Clothes of all sorts had been strewn about in a chaotic mess, made only worse, when you flung about shirts, pants, and shorts to find the perfect outfit. Chrissy had been defeated in a pile of cotton, cashmere, and silk as you dwindled your choices to two shirts that in Chrissy’s words “looked great, just choose one, he won’t care.” And she’d been right. Upon opening the door to his meticulous knocking, his eyes had brightened just as it occurred on the night of your first date. Your face- your everything had been magnetized to the golden rays of the setting sun, that just highlighted everything beautiful about you. And that was… everything. 

“Are you going to finally tell me where we’re going?” You elated, as you settled into the front seat of Eddie’s van. 

“Patience is a virtue, my darling.” Eddie smiled, as he took peeks to his right side. “Trust me, it’ll be better than the Hideout.”

“Benny’s?”

“Not Benny’s, but I’ll consider it for the third date.” He smirked.

“If you make it that far.” You joked, as your soft giggles infiltrated his ears lovingly. 

“Don’t worry, Y/N, I have firm plans of completing all of my homework for the rest of the school year. So, hate to break it to you, babe, but you’re kinda stuck with me.”

“Mm, wouldn’t be entirely opposed to that idea.” You teased. “Ooh, wait! Enzo’s?” You were beginning to catechize him, but were only met with a barking laugh from Eddie. 

“Sweet girl, I’m still terribly broke, but I appreciate your guessing.” He chortled. “Now, no more questions. Just sit back and relax, and let me handle things, okay?” 

And you did just that. Attempting to adjust to the loud music Eddie’s ears had already been accustomed to, he had taken it upon himself to provide you all the formation of said bands that played. Ozzy Osbourne of Black Sabbath once bit a bat’s head off on stage. Eddie claimed it was the most metal thing he’s ever seen. Oh, and Derek Riggs, the dude who made the album cover for Powerslave—declared the best album by Eddie, himself—for Iron Maiden liked to stick silly messages into the artwork. Eddie affirmed to show you whenever it would be the next you came over. Which then segwayed into a conversation of how Wayne Munson had been insisting on having you over again. He liked meeting one of Eddie’s “friends” as he put it. Eddie would never tell you, but all of Sunday, he had been teased relentlessly for having a pretty girlfriend. And despite his inexorable shield of “we’re just friends, she’s not my girlfriend,” Wayne Munson’s old ears were able to pick up on the mumbled “yet” that his nephew so hopefully spoke to himself. And thankfully, before any interrogation could progress from your part, you both had reached the outskirts of Mulberry street, and neared the woods. 

“Lover’s Lake or Skull Rock?” You asked, as Eddie’s van tracked over tire trails from previous cars who took the familiar succession. “Because one would show you have sentiment.” You smiled. “The other would show you definitely have a motive.”

“Definitely the first one.” Eddie laughed. He parked his trusty van at a small clearing, where twenty steps south, Lover’s Lake glistened under the illuminating sunset. “Because- well, last time we were here we cried like babies over ice cream.” He sniggered quietly. “And, uh, even though it was… heavy, it was still one of my favorite times with you.” Eddie had shyly began to play with the rings on his fingers, as he felt your eyes dawn on him. “Y’know, it was the first time I got to talk to you- actually talk to you. Explain everything to you. So, um, as part of making it up to you, you deserve to be taken out. Properly. Not a bar. No tears. Just you and me. Where we can just clear our minds together.”

When he finished, Eddie finally found the courage to peer his round eyes at you that searched for any validation that this was okay- that he was okay- okay to be with. And he found you smiling sincerely at him with devoted eyes that gave him all the tender care of the world. “I love it, Eddie.”

He smiled. You, you, you, you. How great would it be to hear the word “you” instead of “it” in that sentence?

Eddie whispered. “I packed a totally metal picnic.” He nodded to the basket that resided in the back of his van. 

And packed a totally metal picnic he did. Three feet away from the cooling waters of Lover’s Lake, a small patch of grass and dandelions had been covered by the soft blanket that lived in Eddie Munson’s van, as it’d been the only clearing that wasn’t smeared with muddy clay infused with dirt—an hour prior, Eddie had played landscaper to get rid of the dirt and sticks that claimed the best spot he found. Though, he had kept that part a secret from you. Something about hearing you gush about fate giving you the perfect area was too innocent to kill in his eyes.  

“Okay, so we have some totally cool beers, and by that, I mean one for me.” He pulled out. “And for you, sweetheart, a nice cold soda, because I care about your liver and taste buds.”

“Why thank you so much, kind sir.” You laughed, as you grabbed the drink. 

“No problem, princess.” He winked, before continuing his ministration. “Oh, and, uh, I saved you the future food poisoning I would have given you if I cooked anything, so Mrs. Latrowski kindly offered to make us some Fettuccine Alfredo.” Not kindly. He was now stuck fixing her hunk of junk excuse of a car for the next week. Without pay. “Don’t know if it’s really picnic-y, but I hope you’ll like it.”

“Of course, really, thank you so much, Eddie.” You scooted closer to have his thigh touching yours. He licked his lips, and focused his attention to the basket to conceal his reddening cheeks.

“But Mrs. Latrowski doesn't get all the credit, because I packed pretzels.” Two bags. Two comically large bags full of pretzels. “And, uh, Pringles, sour cream n’ onion, because that’s the only acceptable flavor. Oh, don’t worry, I balanced it out with some of Wayne’s watermelon that I stole. Don’t tell him.” He laughed, pulling out the tupperware of the uniquely cut fruit. “And I made us some PB&Js. And to top it off, some chocolate chips.” The half filled bag of Nestle's chocolate chips that were once used to make pancakes with you and his uncle were now being pulled out of his basket as an appetizer for your date.

And you loved it all.

-

The obnoxious door bell had rung for the second time that night. 

“Ugh.” Chrissy Cunningham groaned, as her plans of taking advantage of her newly single night were now being disturbed. Pausing in the middle of Sandy Olssen’s hopelessly devoted number to Danny Zuko, Chrissy begrudgingly removed the bowl of popcorn from her lap to wake her legs from being sunken into the couch. And then, some knocking. “Alright, I’m coming!” Her socked feet slid her across the glossy wood of the floor, as she dragged herself to the front door. “Yes-”

It was strange how much you looked just like your father. 

Chrissy’s face had been drained of all the blood in her system, and she closed the door to lessen the gap between her and the house. “Chrissy.” Your father cleared his throat. “I apologize for interrupting your night so late. Are your parents home?”

“N-No.” She softly answered. “But, uh, my b-boyfriend is.” Her heart beated out of her chest. For safety. 

“Well, um, is my daughter here? I’d imagine Y/N would most likely run away to your home than anywhere else- well, at least I would hope.” His mind reeled back to the morning he chased Eddie Munson out. 

“She’s not here, sir.”

“Right, well, if you’re ever in contact with her, please give her this.” He handed over an envelope that stuck to a folded piece of paper with tape. This was it. This was his goodbye. Chrissy cautiously took the hefty envelope, and nodded her head, speechless to it all. “Have a good night. Tell your parents I said hello.”

Not even a hello to you.

-

“Fuck, I shouldn’t have eaten all those chocolate chips!”

The dramatics of Eddie Munson truly played their part, as he laid back with his arms stretched out, and a groan to accompany his complaints. “I told you to slow down on those.” You laughed, placing a delicate slap to his bloated belly that simply elicited more moans. “Don’t die on me, you're my ride.” You joined him on the ground, where he turned his head to meet the tip of your nose. 

“Wow, nice to know how much I mean to you.” He playfully scoffed. 

“Are you kidding me? You mean the world to me, Eddie. Best chauffeur in town!” You laughed, as he rolled his eyes. “Even better since you can’t complain. You know, since you’re making it up to me?”

Eddie guffawed. “I asked you to let me make it up to you, not exploit me.” 

When the giggles had simmered down, you and Eddie were left simply staring into each other's eyes. You could see his stare soak up your features, following the contours of your face, and stationing at your lips. “You know you mean more to me than just a chauffeur, right?” 

Eddie nodded his head, his hair getting smushed in the space between his head and the blanket. “I know, sweet girl.” You both could feel it in your bellies, that stirring feeling of sparks igniting whenever you looked at each other. The excitement, sure, it was incredible to revel in, but the security, the security of when that spark would slowly die out, but not to a point of resentment, to a point where the nerves were gone, and you could be comfortable. Comfortable with the piece of mind that you had him and he had you. His shoulders scooted closer, nose rubbing against yours, and his breath fanned warmly across your mouth. “Y/N…?” Whispered into the air, the question didn’t have to be verbalized. You shook your head to give him permission. And Eddie leaned in.

That is until you screamed. 

“Ah!” You shrieked, jumping up to your feet. 

Eddie sat up with urgency. “What?! WHAT?!”

“There’s a worm by your head!”

“WHERE?!”

Your second date with Eddie Munson was ended by a stray earthworm that managed to squirm its way onto the blanket. But it’s okay. In the future, it would be a cute story to tell. And the car ride home was made even more entertaining when your jabs at Eddie became endless. The humidity of the night had frizzed his hair far more than usual, and watching his hands swat the strands crazily in fear of a worm creating a nest in there had your stomach cramping from laughter. Eddie would allow the teasing to continue if it meant hearing your laugh for just another minute. But he vehemently countered that you screamed just as loud in the first place, so you were in no place to poke fun. Arriving at the familiar doorstep of the Cunningham house, Eddie had sighed realizing another perfect night was ending far sooner than he wanted. But it had also been a reminder. The biggest sign of that two story suburban wet dream of a house was your newfound freedom. No longer were you shackled to the barbaric severeness of perfection that your vile father had subjected you to. You were liberated to live your life. Make your own decision. Be your true self. 

So dropping you off at your new home wasn’t exactly the worst thing for Eddie to endure, because he knew you were safe. He knew you were going to be okay. Eddie held your hand up the stairs to the porch, where the small, yellow light bloomed your features in the night. Staring down into your face was the single greatest thing Eddie felt privileged to experience. God, he loved it. He loved y-

“Thank you for another perfect date.” You beamed up at him. 

“Anything for you, princess.” He sighed a breath of relief, as he felt at ease in your presence. Preparing to have you leave was another thing to handle. “I’ll be sure to finish my chemistry homework to get you on a third.”

“It would be quite nice to see you walking for graduation.” You squeezed his hand. “Maybe your uncle and I can celebrate you with a late night breakfast.” 

“God, you really are the sweetest.” Eddie bit his lip, as he peered down at you. “I really hate that worm for ruining our moment.”

“Poor guy, we were probably crushing his home with our picnic.” You giggled. “Can’t blame him for seizing it back.”

“I can if he stopped me from kissing you.” Eddie allured you, as his large hand found your cheek to cradle in his palm tenderly. Thumb swiping your supple face, he had dragged you close against his chest. “But the bastard’s not here to stop me again.” 

“No, he’s not.” You softly laughed. 

Eddie smiled, as he whispered to your face. “So, can I kiss you, sweetheart?”

You delicately nodded. “You can kiss me, handsome.”

Nose brushing, your lips were colli-

“Y/N!” You jumped back with a squeal, as Chrissy Cunningham had abruptly opened the front door with exigency that caused you to separate from Eddie’s incoming face. Eddie knew what this was. This was the universe testing him. Seeing how fast he would resort back to his asshole ways, and yell at Chrissy Cunningham to fuck off for interrupting his kiss with the one girl he’s ever wanted to be with. But he bit his tongue, and fought the anger to subside, and simply chose to sigh dejectedly. “Sorry to barge in, but I really need Y/N.”

“Is everything alrig-”

“Yes, just come on!” She grabbed your hand. “Sandy just caught Danny dancing with Cha-Cha DiGregorio, come on! Eddie, you have our number, just call Y/N tomorrow, okay? Bye!” 

“Wait, can’t we just get a minute-” Eddie attempted. 

“No!” Chrissy Cunningham was using that cheer strength to hall you into the house. 

“I’m sorry.” You quickly looked back. “Call me later, I had so much fu-” The door was slammed right on your sentence, and Eddie’s head fell against it utterly crushed. “Chrissy, what the hell? I was literally about to have my first kiss with Eddie-”

“Y/N, your dad came by.”

Your face had fallen like a sad child. “What?”

Chrissy had respected your wishes to leave you alone in your room. Alone with his envelope. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at the note attached to the delivered mail. Your fingers had a tight grip on the paper, your heat causing the thin material to crumple from the clamminess. Eventually, your shaky hands managed to attentively tear the taped letter away from the envelope. Just a folded notebook paper. The unusuality of the situation came about as the paper had been torn. Your father once yelled at you for not tearing a sheet by the imprinted seam. This was rushed, a message written with urgency. For once, not prioritized on perfectionism. You unfolded the frail paper.

“I know you’re angry, but everything I’ve ever done for you was exactly for this moment. I did all I could. Your mistakes determine your success.” - From, Dad

Your brows cinched with confusion. Setting his note aside, you harshly reached for the thick envelope, turning it around to read the address. Your heart sank to your stomach. Written in its bolden letters, there it was, the determining factor to your future: 116th and Broadway, New York, NY, 10027 Columbia University Undergraduates Admission Office. Far, far away. You wanted to go far, far away. Frantically tearing the sealed envelope open, your hands worked absentmindedly quick to unfold the professional letter. It was there. Right in your hands. But your eyes couldn’t fathom moving past the formal greeting that simply stated your name, and possibly seeing the rejection of your life. You knew how your mind worked. You knew how you were conditioned. A rejection is a failure. You would be a failure. And your father would be right. 

Columbia University

Office of Admission

Dear, Y/N Y/L/N,

No matter how close Chrissy Cunningham smushed her ear to the door, it was dead silent. Nothing. She was beginning to worry you may not have even been breathing. She may have respected your privacy, but she wasn’t oblivious. She knew better than to read your father’s personal note, but she very clearly read the return address of the envelope, and she knew what was about to unfold. Three years ago, sitting in the comfort of her bed with you by her side, you both stared at the ceiling with smiles on your face, and talks of the future. At the time, a young Chrissy Cunningham had gushed about going to Indiana State, because that’s where Jason Carver had prioritized to attend, after frequenting all their college basketball games with his dad as a kid. It’s where Jason Carver took Chrissy Cunningham on their first date. In the moment, she laid out the plans of her life: attend college, study pharmaceutical medicine, and graduate with a ring on her finger. Specifically his great grandmother’s. An heirloom so beautiful and of high value. And Chrissy Cunnginham would have wished it to occur on the night of their graduation, where both families met to celebrate the young adults on a new chapter of their life, and Jason Carver would have declared his chapter to begin with his wife. Chrissy had turned to you and asked “What about you?” And you answered honestly. “I just want to go far away.” You’d asked her if it would be possible. And she smiled and nodded her head. “I see you being successful. Somewhere big. Like New York. Where you can be you. I don’t think you’re meant to stay here.” And you had hugged your best friend tightly that night. Far away. That’s where you’d go. 

Chrissy flinched, as the door to your bedroom slowly opened. And there you were. She stared at you with big, wandering eyes. Yours had been stinging. Stinging with tears, and Chrissy's mouth was beginning to open to try to formulate a word. But then you spoke. Quietly.

“I got in.”

Chrissy gasped, as she brought you into a tight hug, arms securing you in place, as she began screaming in cheers and jumping up and down, forcing you to follow suit. “Oh, my god! Oh, my god!” You released your tears of joy, crying in laughter, as you began your intimate celebration with your endearing friend. “That’s incredible! I knew you could do it!”

“I can’t believe I actually did.” You muffled into her embrace. “My suspension-”

Chrissy pulled you away. “Hey, forget about that! You did! What Principal Higgins did holds nothing to how incredible you are! And they see that!” She effused loudly. “I’m so proud of you!”

This was you. This was your accomplishment. Not your father’s. This was all entirely you. 

“I’m proud of myself.” You giggled through the sniffles of a stuffy nose, as you wiped your eyes. 

“We have to tell everyone- my parents, they’ll be so happy for you! Oh, Eddie! You have to tell Eddie!”

Your smile became small at the realization.

Eddie…

You sucked in your lips, and simply nodded along to the rambling cheers she shot out a mile a minute. Eddie. That night, despite Chrissy's encouragement, you hadn’t told Eddie of your acceptance when he called you at 10:43 p.m. You just relished in his voice, humming along to the stories and thoughts he excitedly shared with you, as you savored his over-the-phone company. Because in a couple months, you would be gone. And the budding relationship that you and Eddie had worked so hard to come to terms would be gone alongside your presence. And that made your eyes well with tears as Eddie sweetly confided how much he loved spending time with you. Eddie claimed that night he couldn’t wait to do it for as long as you’ll have him. What he didn’t know was how quick that reality would come shattering in. So you just let him speak. Because no one had ever given Eddie Munson a chance to talk. And the one person who did would be gone soon.

So, you smiled through the ache and told Chrissy that Eddie was happy for you.

And you softly cried that night. Alone. Both happy and sad tears that wet your pillow before you fell asleep for the day. 

-

The next morning, Eddie had followed the sound of the patterned clink of his uncle’s spoon hitting against his valued Odie mug, as the older man stirred his morning cup of coffee to accompany the scrambled eggs and toast he’d just served himself. “Mornin’.” Though his back was turned, his nephew’s feet patting their way against the tile of the kitchen had become all too familiar. And like clockwork, a tired groan was the greeting in return. “What’s got you up this early?” He asked, as he turned around to see Eddie’s slumped body lean against the cold counter, as he did little to fight off the weariness. 

A single sock with a hole that let his toe peek out, while his other foot stayed completely exposed. But in Eddie’s defense, he was in no control of the insanity that was his sleep state, and that left sock was most likely tangled into his rumpled blankets. But the boxer briefs were entirely his fault. If he’d only learn how to properly use the dryer, his plaid underwear wouldn’t be constricting his thick thighs right now. But as much as Eddie didn’t know how to correctly do laundry, he also hated attempting, and he was down to his last clean pair. So, unlike his pajamas, he actually had to wear the shrunken boxers after scavenging for them in the back of his dresser. And for once, Wayne could see his nephew’s large forehead, as his bangs had lost the battle of Eddie’s sleeping movement. 

Examining his nephew’s look wasn’t something Wayne partook in on a regular basis, but seeing his state, and thinking of you- well, you liked Eddie. You liked Eddie like this. In the most abominable condition Eddie could be in, Wayne Munson could still picture you crooning so lovingly at him like the early morning of your communal breakfast. You liked Eddie for Eddie. 

“You.” Eddie’s voice cracked with dryness. “Why are you so loud?”

“Ah, well, I didn’t know it was a crime for me to make breakfast in my own home after workin’ the graveyard shift.” Wayne gruffed. “And what were you doin’ last night? Oh, yeah, havin’ fun with your little girlfriend, while your poor uncle worked.”

Eddie shot him a tired glare. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“I like you better when she’s around.” Wayne chuckled quietly. “Far less grumpy.” And a small smile managed to crack through Eddie’s fatigued face, as the home phone began to ring from the wall. Setting his breakfast onto the small kitchen table, Wayne sighed before picking up the call with a strong “Hello?” And then a hum. And then another. And then he turned to Eddie. “It’s for you, boy.”

Slapping the sleepiness from his cheeks, Eddie meandered his way over to the phone, where he took over for his uncle. Sporting the same fashion, Eddie could only give a hoarse “Yeah?”

“Hey! Good morning, Eddie!” Chrissy Cunningham. He had suddenly flinched the phone away, as her effused voice startled him awake. 

“Jesus, yeah, hi, Chris.” Eddie managed to grumble politely. “What’s up, everything alright?”

“Absolutely!” The bubbly cheerleader being a morning person? Oh, how Eddie envied her. “I just wanted to call you, because I think it’ll be a fun idea to plan a surprise party for Y/N.”

“Oh, yeah, sounds totally fun.” He sarcastically spoke. “But is it a normal thing to give Y/N a random heart attack in the middle of the year, or are we actually celebrating something for her?”

“Duh! It’s for her acceptance to Columbia.” She stated matter-of-factly. “She’s always dreamed of going to New York, and now she finally is! It’s incredible! And given everything that’s happened to her, I think she really deserves it, you know?”

Eddie Munson stayed quiet for a moment. “New York…?”

“Uh huh! Isn’t it great that she finally has a chance to leave this town! Really, I think a party is in need.” She laughed so casually. You were leaving? “Well, actually, that’s what I wanted to call you about, Eddie. See, when I thought about it, I realized she really only has me and you, so it can’t technically be a party. But maybe you could bring your friends around. You know, your club members? Is she also friends with them? I remember one of them came up to our lunch table one time. So, do you think-”

Eddie’s head began to pound, as Chrissy’s words were pacing through his mind. “Okay, okay, stop for a second, Chris.” He heaved out to rashly interrupt.

“Is everything alright, Eddie? Do you not think it’s a good idea? Maybe it’s too early?”

“I, um-” His throat felt heavy with constriction. “We’ll just talk about this later, I gotta go.”

Chrissy Cunningham stood no chance to Eddie’s rapid movements, and the phone was hung up before she could mutter another word. His hand had stayed tightly clutched to the phone, as he placed it on the wall. He was frozen. His eyes blinked oppressively, as he attempted to digest Chrissy’s words. Eddie’s heart pounded. You were leaving him. Oh, no. This is where the spiraling began. Ms. Kelly warned him of the possible triggers. He hadn’t expected one to occur so suddenly. Like everyone, you were leaving him. Suddenly, Eddie Munson was an eight-year-old hearing his father’s threats of abandonment because to his dad, he and his mother were no good and not worthy of anything. Then he was a nine-year-old walking in on his mother quickly packing a bag of her clothes. Her clothes. Not his. But his father came back before she could finish. And Eddie was stuck with the realization that his mother was ready to leave him behind for safety. 

“You alright, son?” Wayne’s voice brought him back to reality. “Want some breakfast?”

“I’m not hungry.”

And that slam of his nephew’s door was all Wayne Munson got from Eddie for the rest of the day. 

Monday, you’d received the same fate. Hopping out of Mr. Cunningham’s car in the early hour of the school day, you peered around the bustling parking lot in search for a particular van alongside a particular metalhead. But your efforts came up empty, and the commencing bell stole you away from further prodding. By lunch, your neck was beginning to cramp with how many times you turned around to take a peek at the Hellfire lunch table. But the head seat was empty. And the rest of the boys continued their conversations. Perhaps he was sick. You managed to convince yourself of the idea to ease the disappointment of not seeing him today. But that became short lived when a call to his trailer after practice went unanswered, and the other line rang and rang until it cut you off. 

Tuesday, you followed the same routine. And you were left with the same nauseating feeling. Accompanying Chrissy Cunningham to her locker, you had carelessly interrupted her diatribe against Jessica Lewis’ ploy to turn the rest of the cheer squad to voting her captain. It’s almost the end of the school year, did she really think that would work? Ugh. But you had cut her off to ask if she’d talk to Eddie recently. Two absences in a row wasn’t particularly unusual for Eddie Munson, but your overthinking brain could ameliorate the gnawing feeling that something was wrong. You’d just gone on your second date with him, had he suddenly had a change of heart about his feelings for you? But Chrissy was useless. When interrogated, she quickly brushed it off as part of his usual antics of being against the school agenda. 

But Wednesday, you put your foot down. Three days absent. Four calls unanswered. And you were ready to panic. Marching past students, unwavering to their bumping shoulders and looks of disgust, you sat yourself in the chair in which Eddie Munson’s ghost was residing. The boys stared at you wide eyed. “Where’s Eddie? Why hasn’t he been here?” You had cut straight to the point. Mike Wheeler had reminded you of the fact that your boy toy wasn’t exactly fond of attending school, so it probably wasn’t a big deal. You rolled your eyes at him. Grant Goodman had suggested the idea that maybe his time was being taken up by the work of Reefer Rick to move sales. Ever since he’d been in jail, someone had to replace his position. And while plausible, the idea didn’t exactly satiate that agonizing fear. Then, Dustin Henderson proffered the idea that maybe he was just sleeping the days away. That’s when you realized the boys were just as useless as Chrissy Cunningham.

That afternoon, your fifth call was finally answered. 

Right before the start of practice, you wasted any lingering quarters from your bookbag to dial the numbers of the Munson household with the payphone provided by the courtyard of Hawkins High. When it picked up, you gasped of relief. When it was Wayne Munson, you felt awful for wanting it to be Eddie. You could only answer with a disheartened greeting when his uncle asked who was calling. 

“Oh, hey, darlin’.” He was so sweet. Wayne Munson was dwindling down to your last hope. “Nice hearin’ from you again, been pesterin’ my boy of when we can have you over again.” He smiled. “Everythin’ okay?”

“Hello, sir.” You attempted to pick up your tone of voice to not sound so crestfallen. “Um, yeah, everything’s okay with me, but, um, I’m more so calling for Eddie. I just- I haven’t heard from him or-or seen him, and, well, I just want to make sure he was okay. Is he?”

Wayne’s long sigh did nothing to aid your concerns. “Uh, yeah, kid, not entirely sure what’s up with my boy.”

“Is he sick?” You questioned. “Like, did he come down with something?”

“Nah, nah.” Wayne quietly confirmed. “Not that kinda sick, but he sure ain’t feelin good. Been in his room most of the time. This isn’t somethin’ new. Not the first time he’s gone through this cycle.”

“What do you mean?” You softly asked.

“Every once in a while, sweetheart,” he began, “Eddie gets these moments… these feelings that he locks himself in his room. It’s hard to speak to him. He doesn’t wanna talk. Most of the time, I can figure out that somethin’ is bothering him, but other times, these moments just happen. And, well, I just gotta wait for him to speak on his own terms.”

You swallowed thickly. Were you the thing that was bothering him? Did you send him into a depressive cycle? “Is he- is he okay?” In retrospect, it felt quite a redundant question to even bother with. 

“I think things are gettin’ better, kid.” Wayne earnestly answered. “He left his room today. Went to get some fresh air. It’s a start.”

“Wait, where did he go, sir?” 

“Not sure, didn’t say. Just told me he’d be back after clearing his mind.”

Clearing his mind.

Your brain perked with realization. “Uh, th-thank you for telling me, Mr. Munson.” You quickly thanked. “I’ll try my best to make sure he’s okay if I see him. Just thank you so much.”

Wayne released a breath of consolation. “Thank you for carin’ for my boy, darlin’. It really means a lot. To the both of us. To him especially.”

Lover’s Lake. Cheer practice had been entirely lost of care the second you hung up your conversation with Wayne Munson, and your mind had prioritized a journey to Lover’s Lake. Chrissy Cunningham would eventually tell Coach Hannigan that you were feeling sick when fifteen minutes passed, and you hadn’t shown up for practice. Because car-less and quickly exhausted, your trek to the sentimental location had become a near hour and a half long trip. One once thirty minutes with the most below average car became to feel like an eternity on tired legs. Having to run laps for practice tomorrow would become your death. Skipping through the center of town had proven to be easier, as sidewalks were provided for the entire purpose of walking. But turning into Mulberry street, a lack of pavement that wasn’t a cracked road made the experience worse. Your sneakers crushed the overgrown grass that met the street, as you willed all strength to persevere through the ache of sore legs. Not to mention, the slight ping of fear that would shoot through you whenever a single car would drive by. The scary decade of the 70s was enough to instill a precautionary guard. Eventually, the wooded trail that Eddie Munson once took you down came into sight, and your legs managed to exert underlying energy to guide you through the wooded path. About five hundred steps north, Eddie’s van became unconcealed through a horde of trees. 

Conscientiously stepping away from branches and newly sprouting weeds of tiny flowers, you quietly walked alongside Eddie’s van to approach the back doors that had been shoved open to let in the spring zephyr of the lake into his vehicle. 

And then, you delicately made your presence known.

“Hi.” Laying back against the shag carpeting of the back space of his van, arms crossed behind his head with eyes closed in peace, Eddie had automatically shot up at the diaphanous sound of your sweet voice. 

And he hadn’t meant to sound so rude, but he did, and your brows creased sadly. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” You reiterated back with concern.

Eddie opened his mouth to speak, but his voice could speak up. But you could visibly see his urge to tell you all. One cautious step forward, Eddie hadn’t protested, so you continued your slow movements until you took a seat next to him. An evident gap purposely placed between the both of you. “I- um, how did you know I was here?”

“Kinda got the idea when I talked to your uncle.” You answered.

“My uncle? You called my- wait, how the hell did you even get here?” Eddie attempted to wrap his head around. 

“I walked-”

“You walked?!” Eddie abruptly interrupted, perturbed by the endangerment of your safety that was put at stake just for him. 

“Well, you scared me, Eddie!” You hit back, and Eddie had quickly quieted. No, no, no. Eddie promised himself- promised you that he’d never put you in a position to be scared again. And here he was screwing everything up, because his emotions were becoming too much to handle. It was so easy to resort to his old ways. So comforting to do something he was familiar with. And he hated it. Hated everything he was doing, because it was such an easy outlet to write his progress off as bullshit, and affirm the fact that he was an asshole, because he deserved nothing good in life. Before he could apologize, you began speaking softly. “You haven’t spoken to me since Saturday. Since our date. Why- what did I-”

“No, no, no, sweetheart.” He knew where you were about to spiral. “Don’t blame yourself, this is all me, please don’t- just please don’t think you did anything.”

You eyed him worriedly. “Then what’s wrong, Eddie? Can you just talk to me?”

Eddie took a deep breath, and his hand found his way toward yours, where he squeezed it tenderly. And then he looked at you. So longingly. “Y/N, I will always, always be so thankful that I met you and had you in my life.” Your heart began beating rapidly out of your chest, you were sure he could hear it. “Genuinely, you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever met. You’re so fucking kind. And you care- you care so much that for once in my life I actually feel wanted. You make me feel so good, Y/N.”

“Of course, Eddie, of course, I want you-”

“But that’s what’s so scary, sweetheart.” Eddie stopped you. “When you leave me, I’ll feel fucking destroyed. And I- it wouldn’t be good to depend my happiness solely on you, because I’ll be so awful.” His eyes stung. 

“No, Eds, I wouldn’t leave-”

“I know about Columbia, Y/N.” He simply inputted, that had your face scrunching with confusion. “Chrissy accidentally told me, she hadn’t meant to. But I know. And I know you deserve to leave this fucking town and go live your special life in a place where these bullshit people can’t hurt you. Leave me, sweetheart. You need to leave me.” He tried to smile through his tears, but it was ultimately failing. And you dropped your head to hide your hot face from seeing the man that was tearing your heart. “Before any of this gets serious, you need to leave me. I-I won’t have the balls to leave you, so just end this right here, sweet girl. Please.”

And maybe this is simply where the story of you and Eddie Munson was meant to end. In a matter of weeks, both of your lives and perspectives were altered for the better, as you navigated the heartbreaking moments of learning to be strong. Learning to seek help. Learning to listen. Learning to accept. Learning to love. Because when Eddie received that monumental call from Chrissy Cunningham, he felt as though his world came crashing down, because the thought of losing you became too severe to imagine, and he couldn’t feel that for someone he didn’t love. Experiencing the privilege of learning how to love you was the single greatest thing Eddie Munson had ever felt. Even if he couldn’t say it, he could feel it. He could feel it in the tight squeeze of your hand. And he’ll pay the price of having this moment with you even if he knew it would end far sooner than he wanted. Because it was for the best. You would get to live your life free from restraints, and Eddie Munson could look back at the incredible girl who endured hell with him and shaped him to be the better man he was today. Everything great about Eddie was only amplified ten times more because of your appreciation to his authentic self. You were so unfathomably beautiful, Eddie would forever hate himself to be the man that held you back from blossoming into the real world. Eddie never wanted a thousand admirers, he just wanted you. 

Pulling his hands from your hold, they moved their way upward to cradle the cheeks of your head, and he pulled your hiding face to expose itself right in front of his. Your wet tears burned the pads of his thumbs, because it hurt so badly to make you hurt. No, Eddie Munson never wanted to experience the pain of seeing you leave him, but for once in his life, he would just like the control of choosing who hurt him. And he liked his choice of it being you. You would do it so kindly. Eddie Munson willed himself to picture a world where you weren’t in his life, and what a worthless world it would be. But you were leaving regardless. And that worthless world would be an inevitable reality, so Eddie was choosing it on his own terms. As much as it killed him, you were meant to leave. And he wouldn’t place himself into a position to stop you.

His forehead landed against yours, and he shakingly smiled down at you through his tears. “You’re so beautiful, god you’re so fucking beautiful. I could never get tired of looking at you.” Oh, my god he loved you, he loved you so much, Eddie felt so lucky to love you. “You deserve greater things than me, Y/N. Everything’s going to be okay.” He whispered. “Leave me, and go get what you deserve, sweetheart.”

But your head began to softly shake no in the hold of his hands. “You don’t get to decide that, Eddie.” His faltering smile fell in an instant. “I know you’re doing what’s best. I know you’re making your own decision, but it’s my life, too, and no one- not even you can get a say as to what I deserve or what I should do.” Eddie’s eyes screwed shut. He knew who you were. He knew the perseverance you harbored. He knew the intelligence of your incredible mind. “How could you ever think me going to college would ever equate to me leaving you? How could you ever think I’d do that?” You asked. “You’ll still have me, Eddie, you’ll always have me. Even when I’m away.”

It was this time Eddie began fervently shaking his head against yours. “No, no, please don’t give me hope.”

“I’m not giving you hope, Eddie, I’m giving you my word.” A heavy breath released itself from his quivering lips, and pressed his nose against yours. “Make it up to me, and give me your word.”

He nodded vehemently. “I give you my word. I’ll never hurt you, just please don’t leave me.” A nine-year-old Eddie Munson cried out to you.

You smashed your lips into his wet ones, tasting the coating saltiness of his raw emotions becoming embedded into your body, as he firmly pressed your face into his to happily suffocate into. The spark, it had blown up into a blaring firework that screeched its way into the night sky and glowed its vibrant colors like the sun that once set. That was the excitement. But then the remnants of the sparks cascaded down tranquilly into the warm waters of a lake named after couples like you and Eddie, and had sizzled into peaceful nothingness. That was the stability. 

That was Eddie Munson. That was you. 

His lips had so tenderly massaged yours, as his nostrils opened up to breathe you in heavily. His thumbs had pressed into the plushness of your heated cheeks to keep you like this forever. Just in his arms. In his hold. Where you were safe to be yourself. Safe to make mistakes. Safe to be that mesmerizingly beautiful human being you were. The one Eddie Munson loved so much. 

Though much to his dismay, you were a human that needed to breathe, and Eddie had gut punched all the wind out of your lungs when his devotion poured into your mouth. You needed the tiniest bit of air. And gently pulling away, you and Eddie were left heaving against each other’s lips. 

“Eds.”

“Holy shit.” He mumbled, voice too congested with snotty tears, it made you giggle. “Don’t laugh at me, baby, I just had the greatest kiss of my life.” Eddie whined, which truly prompted more soft fits of titters. “Y’know, I’ve always thought New York was a cool place? Diverse city. Great job opportunities. Pretty gnarly bars to get my music some exposure. Wouldn’t be such a bad place to visit and stay periodically.”

Your sinking teeth did nothing to suppress the ever growing smile on your face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He smirked. “But, I mean, it totally has nothing to do with you. I’m not even your boyfrie-” Your giggling mouth fell onto his once more, lips molding against his with such synchronicity, it felt like second nature to have his mouth on yours so lovingly. When you pulled away, Eddie groaned with a deep setted breath. “Mm, please let me be your boyfriend, sweet girl?”

You spoke against his lips with a smile. “Of course. Make it up to me, Eddie.”

“Anything for you, Y/N.”

-

One Week Later

“Um, what about “The Rocky Horror Picture Show,” will that take your attention away from math?”  

Chrissy Cunningham had playfully smacked your swinging feet, as they moved absentmindedly to distract you from the dulling ache of your elbows sinking into her mattress and the headache that was AP Calculus. “Uh huh.” So distracted. Chrissy rolled her eyes, as she sat against the headboard of her bed, thumbing through movies.

It was a never-ending sleepover. 

“Weren’t your exams a week ago? Shouldn’t you be done with classwork? Or has this become your new definition of fun? Wouldn’t be surprised.” She laughed. 

“My exams may be done, but I was still gone for a week, and Mr. Fitzgerald was persistent with work during that time. Almost done making it up.” Your hand wrote and wrote, as the indent on your ring finger became deeper with every stroke of your pencil.

“Okay, well, will you just take one break for a second.” She pleaded with a mewl you knew would only get louder. 

You looked back at her with a knowing smile, before slamming your textbook shut. “Fine.” In true Chrissy Cunningham fashion, she offered you a small cheer. “Gonna go pee, be right back.”

Your friend nodded, as she watched you make your trip from her bed and out the bedroom door. And the second it clicked shut behind you, Chrissy was springing from her bed, and toeing to her window. Popping the latch, the night’s breeze flooded inside her room, and choosing to stick her head out of the window became a terrible idea, when Eddie’s face shoved its way into view, scaring the poor girl to death. 

“Jesus Christ, Eddie!” She whispered-yelled at the metalhead, as his sneakers secured him onto the tiles of her roof. The man was beginning to have a thing for roofs. 

“What the hell took so long?” He complained. It had felt like an eternity just waiting for the signal to arrive. Eddie Munson just hadn’t anticipated the signal to take over forty-five minutes to come. “The food’s going to get cold.”

“Well, sorry, but your girlfriend has a freakish obsession with schoolwork.” She protested.

And Eddie flashed a love sick smile. “She’s real smart, isn’t she?”

“Just give me my food.” Chrissy insisted.

“Give me a blanket.”

And the muscle of her arms had harshly hurled the balled blanket from her bed into Eddie’s face that had him stumbling on his kneeled legs with a huff from the impact of the hit. Eddie met her deal, and reached into the grease spotted Benny’s bag to pull out a double cheeseburger with extra pickles ordered directly by the cheerleader herself. Satisfied with her dinner, Chrissy ran back to her bed, allowing Eddie a moment to lay the blanket onto the roof and station the hefty bag of fast food alongside. Within a couple seconds, Chrissy could hear your incoming footsteps from the hall. 

“Okay, I’m back.” You strutted in, heading straight to her bed. “Ready for some-”

“Wait, wait.” Chrissy abruptly halted your movements, leaving you frozen mid climb. “Actually I have a change of plans for you.” She smiled. 

You peered down to her lap. “Where’d you get a cheeseburger from?”  

“Alongside being a chauffeur, I’m also a great delivery man.”

Turning around, Eddie stood confidently—hands on his hips, with a shit-eating grin shining from his face—with your impromptu date awaiting you. You smiled, and made your way to him. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Figured a pretty girl needed the experience of a third date.” He gave your chin an endearing pinch. “Greasy food from our first, picnic setting from our second, perfect combination for our third. And most notably, no worms around.” He climbed out of the window, and stood perched with a proffered hand out to whisk you away. Of course, you gladly took it, and Eddie helped you over the window ledge, and guided you onto the roof, where the moonlight descended like a mystical spotlight. 

“You know, some day, I’m going to have to plan one of our dates.” You teased, as you took a seat next to him. “Can’t have you do all the work.”

“Oh, no, I’ll absolutely do all the work, sweetheart.” He beamed a radiant smile at you. “Got a lifetime supply of dates set just for you.” 

Your arms circled around his neck, as you placed doting kisses to his cheek. “Thank you so much, I love it all.” Eddie had turned his head to meet your lips to enable his newfound addiction of kissing you deeply. It was tooth-achingly sweet seeing you both smile into your kisses. Your hand had managed to snake its way down his broad neck, getting caught in the chain of necklace, where you fingers toyed with guitar pick that accessorized his entourage of leather and chains. It was then, you felt it. Pulling away from his chasing lips, you took a better hold of his necklace, turning it to the side that stayed concealed against his chest, where your thumb rubbed your senior picture. Torn by the hands of Eddie Munson from Dustin Henderson’s yearbook, and meticulously cut to fit the backside of his guitar pick and stuck on with the tackiest of all glues for security.

“You still have this?” You crooned, as you peered into his eyes. 

His had never left yours. “Of course, baby.” He kissed your tilted chin. “Too corny?” He smiled.

“Absolutely not.” You laughed. “But I’m becoming quite jealous of the fact that I don’t have a photo of you- oh, wait, Chris has a polaroid camera!”

He groaned dramatically. “No, no! I’m not modelesque like you, pretty girl. It wouldn’t serve you any good.” He laughed, as he pinned you down to keep you from attempting to flee away for a photo opportunity. 

“Well, I still have the yearbook Nancy gave me, so should I use your senior picture or your club picture?” You giggled.

You and Eddie Munson had rescued yourself from the narratives that were propagated against you both. In the middle of nowhere, under a constant state of judgment from the breeding suburbia of perfection, Hawkins, Indiana had weaponized a young girl’s kindness to dehumanize the body that worked so hard to keep her full of life. A decade ago, you were running topless on the white sands of the beach, so liberated from the world’s retributionist opinion of what it meant to be a woman. But the bumps, curves, and expansion of your own growing body had been pitted against yourself forcefully by the nastiestness of society that reminded you you were a sexual thing, as you dealt with the first moments of womanhood at thirteen alone in your bathroom with an aching belly and a confused mind that couldn’t understand what changed so suddenly that you had to cover up the body that connected you to nature. Why was being a teenage girl something so terrible that other’s of all ages demeaned you? Why were you told to be so kind to everyone, but have it twisted to make you out to be something you weren’t? Why when you voiced your anger of being lied to by the world were people so freely allowed to label you with the dramatics of “being a woman?” Why were you left to wonder all these questions while everyone got to live their life?

Eddie kissed the creasing of your furrowed brows.

You and Eddie Munson had rescued yourself from the narratives that were propagated against you both. In the middle of nowhere, under a constant state of judgment from the breeding suburbia of perfection, Hawkins, Indiana had denigrated a young boy searching for acceptance, and villainized the enthralling qualities that gave him beautiful uniqueness of what it meant to be human. He was uncomfortable. He was nervous. He was ashamed of his own feelings, unable to not see the grossness of society that made him feel embarrassed to be alive. To show character. Forced into a dangerous pipeline to destruction, because horrid people—one’s meant to love him the most—enabled the environment where vile words of unworthiness were encouraged upon a growing boy who was being attacked by the cruelty of the world when he just seeked to be loved. So low in the hierarchy, it became so easy for the town to discard a living body to the ruins of society with no mercy. How horrible could his differences be for everyone to hate him? How terrible of a child could he have been to be left with bruises that never healed and tainted him to be a lost cause? Why when he played the part of a no good freak that they casted over him did everyone become disgusted with him? Why when he chose to seek help from the destructive patterns of his life was his worthiness still stepped on by his peers. Why was he left to wonder all these questions while everyone got to live their life?

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

But as noted, you and Eddie had rescued yourselves. Your time was not devoted to force the world to see you both as you truly were. That was not your labor. They saw you both for how they wanted to see you. But it wasn’t in your concern to care.

Not when he looked at you like that. Not when you looked at him like that. 

“I’m okay.”

"...𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐧, 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡..."

- 𝐃𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐞

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 | If you are someone who has followed along with my series and you'd love to place your input, please feel free to! Any critiques, comments, suggests are all heavily appreciated! Again, thank you so much!

@sierrahhh @harrysgothicbitch @niallerlover8022 @aunicornmademedoit @spring-picnics @sleepy-bunnie @eggo-segual @bambi-horror @aheadfullofsteverogers @sademoloser @freakymunson @princess-eddie @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @negativity4you @nope-thanks @allsortsedits @callingmrsbarnes @f0rgggg @hurricane-abigail @sweet-sunflower64

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[silverzoomies]

Turkish Delight

peter maximoff x reader smut

chapter 1: sweet talkin'

warnings: shameless smut, porn without plot, phone sex, mutual masturbation, best friends, dirty talk

word count: 6,368

a/n: hiyaaa !! i'm back with more filth !! peter speaks russian in this one. i've seen people use russian in place of sokovian language before. and since i've been learning russian for a while, i thought i'd give it a shot !! if you're familiar with the language and anything seems off, please let know asap !! as usual, apologies if peter seems ooc, or if my writing isn't up to par !!

tag list (if i forgot you, please remind me !!): @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz @scene-and-dandylover @quickandsilvers @luttic @billielourdslays

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Chillaxing on the sofa in his mom’s basement, Peter drew out a sigh. His hooded eyes gaped at the TV screen. As he channel surfed, his thumb tapped lazily on the remote. Peter stopped to check each channel in abrupt intervals. Afternoon cable was boring as hell today. It failed to grasp his short lived attention span.

Seinfeld reruns? He saw just about all of ‘em. Soap Operas? Those were more his mom’s thing. Huge pass. Nature documentaries? Could be cool. Guess it depended on which one, though.

Oh. It was the one about the polar bear’s great journey across the arctic! Nifty enough. Except, Peter saw that one three or four times already now. Скучный (boring). Так скучно (So boring).

‘Kay, soooo…TV was kind of a no-go. Instead, Peter popped on the PS1 and settled for a game of Metal Gear Solid. The game’s opening intro was a little too slow for his liking, but Peter forced himself to focus. It sucked he was so antsy today, so fidgety and impatient. He needed some kind of distraction. Any distraction. And he needed one fast.

Peter bounced a leg, half invested in the game’s dialogue. His fingers absentmindedly flicked the controller buttons. Not even five minutes into playing, he found himself frustrated and bored again. This time around, he figured some company might ease his ennui.

He darted across the arm of the couch to a side table. Over a stack of comic books and empty cans of soda, he snatched the receiver to a Garfield phone. Peter dialed a number in less than a second. Too fast, at first. The phone didn’t even register his request. Rolling his eyes, he dialed the number again. Slower this time.

Peter kept the vibrant hunk of orange plastic between his cheek and shoulder. Buzzy ringing echoed on the other end of the line, as he waited for the recipient to pick up. The time it took for a voice to finally respond felt like fifty billion years. Your voice. One of Peter’s closest comrades. The pal he shared most, if not all, of his free time with.

There were days when you visited, and you laid back on the sofa with him. With your legs stretched over his lap and a magazine in your hands, you relaxed. Peter would always do his usual, playing whatever game he ‘bought’ from the local K-Mart. Every time he cursed himself for making a misstep, you giggled. You knew how frustrating it was for him, if he wasn't a hundred leaps ahead of everything. And just to get back at you - but also to hear you laugh again - he’d reach over and dig his fingers into your belly.

He loved that it took such minimal effort to make you laugh. You always had an easygoing warmth about you. And maybe you were also pretty cute too. Sometimes, the crook of your smile made him blush. Oh, and you didn't mind duking it out in Mario Kart sometimes. That was also kinda cool. What more could a lonesome guy ask for? Просто друзья. Ничего больше (Just friends. Nothing more). Yeah. He could be content with that. No problem.

Ten minutes into conversation with you, Peter breathed a yawn into the receiver.

“You know, I’m surprised you have the patience for talking on the phone.” You joked.

The speakers roared with a soft buzz in his ear. Peter didn’t register your words at first. Blinking lazily, he tapped the PS1 controller buttons at rapid speed. In the game, Snake fought off an onslaught of bad guys. Peter faked his offense with a scoff.

“Seriously? Man, what’s up with that? It’s like everyone thinks I can’t do stuff at normal speed without goin’ berserk.” He said, cursing under his breath as Snake got gunned down again.

A small part of him wished you were there, with your legs over his lap, cracking jokes at his expense. Over the phone, you emitted a gentle laugh.

“Because you have? Multiple times, dude!” You said.

Surely you could hear Peter’s eyes roll in his skull.

“Oh, yeah? Name five.” he pressed.

The fast paced clicking of the buttons echoed like a trill in the basement. He overheard the sound of rustling as you shifted in place. If Peter had to guess, he’d bet his left foot you were still lazing around in bed. It was a Saturday, after all. With the hour tipping on the edge of late afternoon. You always moved at the slowest of speeds on your off days.

“I’m just saying! I totally get it. Even I don’t have the patience for chats on the phone sometimes.” You said, and a squeaky yawn followed.

More rustles scuffed from your end, as if you moved to stretch. Keeping his gaze fixed on the flickering, CRT screen; Peter followed flashes of light from each grunt’s gun. His reaction time proved effortless as always. His methods, not so much.

“Nah, it’s cool.” Peter mumbled after a beat, “Doesn’t bother me much if I’m talkin’ to you.  You’re not boring, first of all. And on the off chance I do get bored, I can just say - hey, babe, I’m gonna hang up. And you won’t get-uhhh…” He lingered on his next thought, distracted with gunning down more masked baddies, “You won’t get, like, butt hurt over it."

“Why would I?” You laughed, “Did someone seriously get offended by that?”

“My aunt did once. She got mad pissed ‘cuz I told her I was ‘kinda bored’ on the phone. She made me pass it to my mom, so she could rat me out. Said I showed a ‘lack of consideration'; ‘er whatever.” Peter paused, brows furrowed. In Metal Gear, Snake perished yet again. Peter rolled his eyes once more, “She’s kinda mental, though. это возмутительно (it’s outrageous).”

Your only response was a quiet hum of acknowledgement. Peter broke the silence that followed.

“Hey, you’re not busy today, are you? Wanna do somethin’ later?” He asked, knowing full well you had jack shit to do.

“I don’t know. I’m feeling soooooo lazy today.” You playfully teased.

The soft pattern of your breathing sent electric tingles down Peter’s neck. Shuddering, he shook off those unexpected chills. Another beat, and Peter groaned, as Snake perished over a low poly landscape. You gotta take it slow and stealthy, man - Peter reminded himself.

“Хорошо (okay)? So? Come be lazy over here then.” He replied, “Tell you what. If you do, I’ll go ‘n snag some of those Turkish delights you like. The same ones my mom gotcha for your birthday. Remember? From Sokovia?”

Your voice perked up instantly, bringing a cheesy smile to his face. Homely fondness simmered in his chest, and Peter felt himself blush. He pulled his lip between his teeth, pausing his game to focus more on conversation. Leaving Snake stranded in the middle of the snow.

“Oh my gosh!! No way?? I haven’t had those in forever! Seriously, the ones from Sokovia?” You chimed.

“Hell yeah! But you gotta get outta bed first, dingus. C’monnnn.” Peter whined, “I’m so bored here, babe. Oh! I totally forgot. I finally got my hands on a Gameboy Color too. Swear on my life I paid for it this time. You could come over ‘n try it ouuuuuut.” He teased in a sing-song voice, wiggling his brows.

“Gameboys and Turkish delights? You’re spoiling me today, Peter! What’s the occasion?” You joked over the line.

He shrugged, forgetting you couldn’t see him, “Bored outta my friggin’ skull. That’s what.” After a beat, he awkwardly added, “And maybe I like hangin’ with you? Do I even need a reason?”

“Well, I gotta admit…you had me at Turkish delights.” You feigned a dreamy tone.

Peter chuckled again. Under his breath, he muttered softly, “ Это все, что тебе нужно, да (That’s all you need, huh)?”

“Huh?” You asked, oblivious to his comment, “What’d you say? I didn’t catch that last part.”

Peter ran a hand through his silver locks, leaving his hair loose and messy. Cradling the phone in his other hand, he knitted his lips to one side.

“Nothin’. Don’t worry about it. You want me to come get you? ‘Cuz I can.” He checked his digital watch, decked out in a Star Wars theme, “I can right now, if you-”

“It’s fine. I love going out with you, but I really don’t wanna deal with motion sickness today. I just had lunch too. No offense!” Another yawn rang over the phone, hitching into a squeal at the end. Peter didn’t realize he was smiling so big until his cheeks started to hurt, “I’ll just drive over. Sound good?”

Peter rolled his eyes, sarcastically groaning. He threw his head back into the sofa cushions, playing up his fake frustrations.

“Auuuuuuugh! But that’ll take years.” He dragged a hand down his face, pulling his cheeks under his fingertips, “Is this ‘cuz you blew chunks last time?? You know that doesn’t bother me, right? Everyone does it, babe.”

You made a noise of disgust. Something like an eugh , “Please, don’t remind me. That sucked so much. Yeah, no, I’d rather not. I really need a break from it.” You sighed again. Kind of a bummer, but he could deal.

“It’s whatever you want, I guess. So, when are you gonna head out?” Peter asked, sitting up on the sofa and putting the controller aside.

He bounced a leg at rapid speed, his knee moving in a flesh tone blur of motion. Less from agitation, more due to anticipation.

“I’ll leave soon. Just give me a few minutes. Think you can wait?” You chuckled in that sweet, quirky way again. The melody gave Peter butterflies. Ignoring the fluttering in his belly, he pushed himself off the couch. Grabbing the base of the Garfield phone, Peter cradled the lil guy in an arm. He figured he may as well get dressed, and freshen up before you arrived, “It’s so cold today. I haven’t even gotten out of bed yet! I’m still bundled up in my undies. Got your jacket on too. You left a Game n Watch in the pocket, by the way. I didn’t even know they still made those!”

“Yeah. I totally called that one. Get up already, ya slacker.” Peter joked trapping the phone between his cheek and shoulder again. He scratched his bare chest. His fingertips grazed the sparse covering of white hairs there. Yawning, he nodded, “Okay. Okay. Okay. Sure, just-”

Something about your last statement finally clicked in Peter’s brain. He rapidly blinked, shaking his head fast enough to give himself whiplash. Peter did a quadruple take.

“Подожди (wait)! Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, waiiiiiit …hold on a sec.” He narrowed his eyes, “Say that again?”

“Say what again? The part about the Game n Watch?” You asked, and Peter’s brows furrowed.

“N-Nah. The…did you just…have you been lyin’ around in your underwear this whole time?”

“Uh, yeah? Why? Is this revolutionary information?” You chuckled.

“In my jacket? Like, I didn’t hear that wrong? What’d you like…sleep in it ‘er somethin’?” Peter arched a silver brow, pressing the phone handset closer to his cheek. As if doing so might somehow help him hear you more clearly.

It really wasn’t that big of a deal either way. You borrowed his jackets all the time. Peter never thought anything of it before this conversation. Aside from the fact that - when you did return them, he loved the sweet scent you left behind. The smell of your perfume, with the added bonus of your natural pheromones…

Ебать (Fuck)! Why was he even thinking about this? The two of you had such a casual thing goin’ on. But now, Peter thought of you in a different light. Something friskier. Not that he meant to. Maybe killer boredom + cute friend = horny speedster. Or perhaps the planets aligned in some totally off-the-wall way.

Whatever the case, Peter’s mind raced on autopilot. He pictured the way you might look right now. In your room, spread across your bed in nothing but your underwear and - Ебена мать (Holy shit) - his jacket. With your long legs bare, your knees bumping together as you squeezed your thighs shut. Tummy exposed. And your tits-

Woooooooah there! Slow down, casanova! Peter shouldn’t be…nah, he really shouldn’t be wondering what your breasts looked like. Ppfffbbbbt …’kay, so, maybe in the past he thought about it once or twice. But what dude wouldn't contemplate the hidden mystery of a pal's titties sometimes, ah?

“Well, so what if I did? That doesn’t weird you out, does it?” You asked, a careful waver in your voice.

“Uhhhh…nahhh, babe. Just…” Peter shifted in place, rerouting his thoughts, “Just…got one hell of an image in my head. Might’ve pictured you like that for no particular reason at all.”

Lucky for him, you didn’t seem to think anything of his confession.

“Not much to imagine…” You replied. Сомнительно (Doubtful).

“I mean…pffbbbttt…sure, yeah. Maybe not.” Peter awkwardly laughed, scratching the back of his neck. His voice dropped, a little more hushed, “Unless…you’re wearin’ some really cute panties over there.” Again, he laughed, rushing out a quick, “I’m kiddin’. I’m kiddin’. I’m kiddin’. I’m totally messin’. Just bustin’ your balls, babe.”

Except…he sorta wasn’t. Peter found himself oh-so curious. Twisting the phone's orange wire around his finger, he anticipated your reaction. Anxious you might think him weird for pushing things too far. Never had the two of you charted this kind of territory. It was a minefield, with a 95% chance neither one would make it out unscathed.

“I guess? I think they’re kind of cute.” You added, innocent as ever. Awesome. You weren’t peeved at him, at least. Peter brought the phone to his chest, exhaling an anxious breath to calm his racing heart. When he put the phone to his ear again, he figured you’d moved on. But your cadence shifted. To test the boundaries of your friendship, you teased, “They’re pretty small on me, though.”

Ah. Ah. Интересно. Очень интересно (Interesting. Very interesting). What an unexpected but totally wicked development. Peter lowered himself slowly onto the couch, setting the phone's base on the side table. He eased backwards into the cushions, and tightened his twisting of the phone wire. Swallowing hard, Peter found he had difficulty focusing. Especially with his imagination running so goddamn wild.

“Yeah? …How small is pretty small?” He dared to ask.

Long seconds of silence ticked by at the pace of a narcoleptic sloth. If Peter weren’t so eager to hear what you had to say, he may have torn his hair out. Over the line, you laughed.

“Small enough they barely cover my ass? Why are you so curious all of a sudden?” You cooed.

Peter fluttered his inky eyes, nibbling chapped skin on his lip. Fuzzy pink swarmed the rest of his face, as his mind conjured images of you so effortlessly. Clear as day. Heat stirred to life in his groin, and Peter pictured the way your plush cheeks might hold in tight painties. His breath hitched.

“I-uh…” Peter felt the heat in his cheeks creep down his neck, flustered at lightspeed, “Just thinkin’...maybe you should do somethin’ about that?” He gritted his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. What a lame response, “Черт возьми (damn it)!” He huffed under his breath, too quiet for you to hear.

Toying with this newly discovered sexual tension, Peter humorously asked-

“Sooooooo…what color?”

You giggled into the receiver, airy and light. His body registered the noise somewhere , down south of his belly. He wondered if you were as flustered as him. And the visual of your bashful face and shy smile had his heartbeat ramping up to mach 10.

“What? A-Are you for real asking me…oh my god, dude!” Your giggles turned into goofy snorts. Which he found so endearing. Once you composed yourself, you spoke again. Though, your tone came off as more flirtatious, “If you really wanna know so bad…then fine. They’re black. Lacy. With a little bow on the front.”

Дерьмо (Shit)...

His silver brows soared high, disappearing under his bangs. Paying little attention to his instinctive actions, Peter guided his free hand between his thighs. Inwardly, he told himself he was only adjusting his uncomfortable hard-on. ‘Cuz it’d be totally weird if he did anything else…right? Best to ignore the movement of his thumb, as it absentmindedly circled his bulge.

“Huh…that’s so…” Peter blinked, clearing his throat and masking his nerves with a chuckle, “‘Kay, I’ll be up front with you, babe. That sounds cute as hell. Very nice.”

“Really? Oh, please, Peter. They’d be cute on anybody.” You scoffed.

“Uh huh…” He smirked, dropping his tone even lower, “‘Cept, now that I’m really thinkin’ about it? I’m bettin’ they look criminally cute on you.” Peter lazily smirked.

You laughed, breathless like you ran a thousand miles, “Wh-...what are we even doing right now? Seriously, why am I talking to you about my-” The uneasiness in your voice bled through the line.

Your concern was for good reason. Nevertheless, Peter interrupted you mid-sentence.

“Easy there, chuckles. We’re just chatting. Nothin’ too unusual, right? We’ve had some seriously raunchy conversations before. Remember? That time I got laid on a golf course? You told me about that time some dude shot a load in your eye. What’s the difference, anyway?” Peter grimaced, as he recalled your story from eons ago.

You giggled yet again, “Peter, you know damn well what the difference is!” You clarified with a sigh, still playful. The phone wire went slack around his finger, as Peter second guessed himself. He parted his lips, on the cusp of apologizing. Bringing one hand up to the phone, he held it loosely. Your sugary voice chimed again, “I’m kinda wondering, though…what would you think if I told you I’m topless right now?”

His grip compressed around the handset.

“Topless, huh?” Peter cast a quick glance at his hard-on, twitching painfully under his boxers. His mind jumped straight to sinful places again. Peter thought about what your tits probably look like, embraced in his jacket. Nipples hard, grazing the inner-lining. He swallowed, “What’re you tryna tell me? You gonna drive over here in nothin’ but that?” Peter quipped.

A more sultry laugh melted through the receiver. Peter trembled, as your smooth voice coaxed him like a tempting song. His free palm squeezed his bulge, putting pressure to his length over fabric. Peter’s brows turned inward, and he fluttered his eyes shut.

“I guess that wouldn’t be so bad, if it wasn’t so cold outside. It’s freezing today. I don’t know how you can run as fast as you do when the weather’s like this.” Your tone disguised itself with lighthearted innocence again, “It’s not any warmer in my room either. My nipples could cut glass. They’re, like, soooo hard.”

Peter adjusted himself on the sofa, giving the swell of his bulge another teasing squeeze.

“ Ты маленькая соблазнительница (you little temptress)...”  His hot breath fanned the phone.

“I love it when you talk like that…” You replied, “Even if I have no idea what you’re saying. It sounds really hot, to be totally honest.”

“Oh, yeah?” Peter teased his lip with his teeth, speaking in a more flirtatious voice; buttery smooth, “ Я забыл вынести мусор (I forgot to take out the trash)...” For added effect - just to embarrass you more - he tacked on a husky moan.

Peter made himself blush, as the sound came out far more pornagraphic than he intended. The rasp of his voice scraped through the line in a hushed, “ Oh, yeah, baby. ”

The erotic tension you felt from his teasing was palpable, even over the phone. Peter could sense the shift in the way you gasped. So faint, so shy, so cute.

“Oh…oh, wow...uhm…” You tried concealing your bashfulness with more of those candy coated giggles. But Peter could practically hear the blood racing to your cheeks, “What’s that mean? Something good, I hope.”

Peter bit his tongue, lips turning in a cheeky grin.

“It means you’re really turnin’ me on…”

Another hesitant pause fell between the two of you, before you scoffed.

“Oh my god, no it doesn’t! I can hear you laughing!” You griped, snickering along with Peter. A few more tension heavy beats pulsed over the line. You spoke again, “Hey…I’m sorry. Can I put things on pause for a sec? I just wanted to ask…are you okay with this?”

“Are you?” Peter gently asked, giving you ample time to think about it.

“I don’t know…maybe…” You whispered, “Isn’t this, like, super weird for you?”

“I mean…suuuuuuure. It’s totally weird. If you kept goin', I wouldn't be into it...at all...” He bullied you with a playful edge, hoping you could read the flirtatious undertone in his voice.

“Ohhhhh…you wouldn't be?” Judging by the saucy lilt in your voice, you most definitely caught on, “You know what would be even weirder?”

Peter adjusted on the sofa again. Getting comfortable, he laid on his back. His taut legs stretched across the cushions, and Peter propped his head on the couch’s arm.

“Whazzat? Enlighten me, babe. I’m listenin’. You got my full attention.” He teased.

“Your full attention, huh? I must be doing something right.” You snickered, “So…you know how I said I love it when you talk…like that?” Your voice wavered, “What I really meant was-uhm…when you do that on the phone…it makes me kind of horny.”

His brown hues burst open, wider than ever. Peter’s pupils dilated, expanding as far as the universe itself. He swallowed again, his mouth falling open. Your filthy confession set his arousal ablaze, making his dick twitch. As heated desire took over, Peter couldn’t restrain himself. He snuck his fingers under the waistband of his boxers, fingertips gliding over silver hairs. A small piece of him almost felt guilty for doing so.

“It does, huh? Хорошо знать (Good to know).” Peter whispered, tenderly grasping his shaft.

You made a naughty squeak of a noise in response, “Y-Yeah, Peter, I’m serious. You really have to stop doing that.”

“Почему (Why)? Are you soakin’ yourself over it? Gettin’ a lil wet? It’s cool. You can tell me…” Peter heckled, expelling a breath as he gave his dick a single tug.

“Oh, I bet you wanna know all about that, huh? You’re so bad, Quickie...” You teased, clicking your tongue.

Peter’s ears burned, turning pink as he took in the coquettish nature of your voice. Scoffing, he feigned his indignance.

“What?! Hey, nah nah nah! You started this! Это несправедливо, черт возьми (it’s not fair. Dammit)!” Peter laughed, carefree with you as always, “You can’t seriously drop a bombshell like that and expect me not to-”

“Not to come running?” You hummed, sweet tempered, “I’m just messing with you, baby. But since we’re on the topic…I made such a mess of these little panties. Just from listening to your voice.”

Peter couldn’t even pretend he didn’t like the sound of ‘baby’ on your tongue.

“Oh, man…anything but the panties…” He joked, “You should-uh…you should save yourself some trouble. Y’know…take ‘em off, maybe? Might be more comfortable.” Peter hinted, playing nonchalant, “Just tryna be a good friend. Give you some advice. You should for sure take it.”

“But I’m already so cold…” You whimpered, “Your jacket’s so warm. Smells good too. Really good. But it’s not enough to keep me covered.” You spoke with flirtatious innocence, and Peter played along.

“No harm done, принцесса (princess). I’ll warm you up if you need me to.” He reassured, sweet talking you over the phone, “Ты думаешь, что я не позабочусь о тебе? (Do you think I won't take care of you)?" Peter mumbled again. He listened to your sickly sweet laughs, before asking, “So…do you get like this every time we talk on the phone?”

“Mmmm…maybe.” You hummed, “What if I said yes?” You shuffled around again, and Peter’s mind jumped elsewhere. He imagined you shed yourself of damp, black lace. Leaving you wanton and needy in nothing but his jacket, “You know…we’ve been talking about me a lot this whole time. You wanna tell me what you’re wearing? I don’t really have a visual.”

“Oh…me?” Your request caught Peter off guard.

“Yeah, you. Who else, blockhead?” You playfully quipped, smoothing your voice to say, “You don’t have to be shy. I just wanna know, so I can think about taking it off of you.”

Peter didn’t know he could blush this much. Puffing a bashful laugh, he looked down at his body. Mostly nude and toned enough. He had his x-gene to thank for his pecs and hard abs. A fluffy bouquet of silver hairs peeked out from his boxers. Underneath, his dick throbbed, pressing eagerly into fabric.

“Uhm…I’m not wearin’ a lot? Nothin’ special. Just some black, boxer briefs, I guess. Wait, no-” Peter lifted a foot, his lips curling in a goofy smile, “Got my Star Wars socks on too.”

A sensual moan graced his ears, “That’s so hot.” You softly whined, “Star Wars socks? Peter, just take me now.”

Despite the fact you were totally messing with him, that playful comment made his chest tight. 

“Nothing else though?” You pressed.

“Nnnnnnnnnnope.” He drew out the word, popping the P, “Just the-uh…yeah. Boxers ‘n sexy socks. Not much to take off.”

“And you’re pretty fit, aren’t you? You always looked really jacked to me, so-” You said.

Peter cocked a brow, snickering to cover his embarrassment.

“Wooooahhh…you been checkin’ me out, babe?” He asked, darting his dark hues across his athletic bod. Peter flexed an arm, “Sure, I guess I’m in decent shape.” He found he couldn’t dismiss your compliments. Peter looked good, and he knew it. But he preferred hearing it from you, “Hey, you wanna know somethin’, like, way crazy?”

“This? What we’re doing right now is so crazy, right?” You laughed, sounding as bashful as him.

Peter snickered, “True. Truuuue. But, uh…” He shrank in his spot on the couch, pressing the vibrant handset closer into his cheek. Pre-cum seeped through his boxers, as Peter tugged his dick steady and slow. Careful not to stimulate himself too much yet. He dropped his voice to a hushed rasp, “I’m kinda in the same spot you are right now. If you-uh…if you catch my drift.”

The two of you knew each other for a long time. Several years, in fact. But never once did Peter think he’d hear his closest pal say-

“Ohhhh. Are you hard right now, baby?”

Oh. Yeah, this buddy-buddy friendship was in major trouble. Doomed to crash and burn. As soon as the words fell from your lips, spoken in your honeyed voice; Peter’s breath hitched in his throat. He sank his teeth so hard into his lip, he almost broke skin.

“Y-Yeah. Since you-uh…started talkin’ about your panties. I’m sorry, babe. Just been kinda bored and worked up all day.” He sheepishly chuckled.

“You poor baby…” You coddled him over the phone. And while he should’ve been embarrassed, Peter had no problem with you talking like that, “Can I ask how big you are?”

Peter stalled for a moment, before pulling the front of his boxers down. His hardness flopped against his belly, pulsating and ruddy from his teasing. Taking his aching length in his hand, he rubbed the underside with his thumb.

“You mean my dick? It’s-uhhhh…like six, maybe seven inches almost?” He squeezed his cock, milking beads of pre-cum, “But size doesn’t matter, yeah? It’s the motion of the ocean, babe.”

“Noooooo, baby. You’re so perfect. Wish I could see how good you look like that…” You cooed over the phone.

Your kindly words and airy tone made the veins in his dick throb with electric heat. Peter clutched his cock tight, pumping the velvet skin a touch faster. Giving himself just a simple taste of relief. His stomach clenched, hardening his abs.

“Не так идеально, как ты выглядишь (Not as perfect as you look)...” Peter muttered, drawing in a shallow breath, “Babe, I gotta tell ya, I’m really feelin’ this. I’m so into you right now. W-Want you to keep talkin’ like-uh...”

His imagination took his depravity to the next level. Now, Peter thought about joining you in your room. He wondered how soft and smooth your skin would feel. Supple and hot under his fingertips. What might you look like writhing under him, whimpering as he played with you? As he teased you? Man, you were both so screwed.

“Never thought dirty talking with me would turn you on so much…” You giggled.

Peter secured the handset between his cheek and shoulder. With both hands free, he raised his palm to his lips. He drew a long stripe with his tongue, bringing his damp hand to his cock. The slick lubrication pulled a gentle moan from his throat.

“M-Maybe a little bit. Ебать (Fuck), maybe a lot.” Peter groaned, labored in his breathing, “Can you - Ебать (fuck) - you wanna do somethin’ for me? Just a little favor between friends? S’all I’m askin’, baby.”

“Anything you want, Peter.” You mewled.

“Can you- mmmmohgod -” Peter choked up. He almost chickened out, but pushed himself to ask, “Can you touch yourself for me? Please? Пожалуйста, моя маленькая принцесса (Please, my little princess)...” His foreign whispers weaved pretty whimpers from your lips.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that, if you want me to. But you have to do the same for me too. It’s only fair, right? Equal exchange?” You whispered, acting playful again.

Peter breathed a guilty chuckle, “Uhm…yeahhhhh…about that…”

You softly gasped, “Have you been-”

“Playin’ with my dick this whole time? Maybe.” Peter admitted. His thumb caught another pearl of pre, spreading the slickness over his sensitive head, “But I’m not, like, totally jerkin’ it yet…” He lied, pressing you to encourage him.

“Oh, you’re not, huh? What are you doing then?” You asked, “Are you being a bad boy, Pietro?” The abrupt drop of his given name shocked him into silence.

Peter felt his groin tighten, and an exhilarating rush electrified his nerves. For the thousandth time, you giggled. And for the thousandth time, Peter’s heart leapt. Dumbfounded, he gathered his composure and played along again.

“Y-Yeah. So bad. You gotta help me, babe. I’m just-...I’m so hard. Don’t think I can stop myself if you keep talkin’ like that.”

Through the receiver, Peter’s ears caught wind of a needy mewl. He gripped his cock hard, guiding his fist in firmer strokes. His legs quivered, and the heels of his Star Wars socks slid across the couch.

“Does it feel good when you touch your pretty cock like that, sweetheart?” You cooed.

Peter almost went straight into cardiac arrest. He jolted in place, feeling his cock stiffen in his grasp.

“Святой трах (Holy fuck)..." Peter suffocated on his own groans. For an instant, his words failed him, “Uhmmm…hah…wow-uh…Ебать (fuck). Feels good, yeah. Don’t think it’s enough. I need-...uhm…I want-uh…”

“Yeah? What do you want, baby. It’s okay.” You spoke so sugary sweet again.

“I-...Я просто хочу увидеть тебя (I just want to see you)...” Peter’s veins tingled under his touch, as he tugged his dick with more urgency, “Shit! I-...how come I never knew you could be like this-” And to Peter’s ultimate humiliation, he whimpered your name. Along with another whiny, “ Ебать (Fuck). ”

“Like what?” Your coy voice teased him over the line.

“I dunno…so-uh…so damn nasty.” He joked, and even through the phone; he knew he had you flustered again.

“I guess we all have our secrets, hmm? Tell me more, Pietro. When you touch yourself like that. With those big, strong hands…how’s it feel?” You asked, driving him to keep going.

Peter snorted a laugh, “Strong hands? What??” His endearing playfulness took a backseat, as he grunted into the receiver, “God…feels like my strong hand’s not enough. Мне реально тебе нужно прямо сейчас. Нужна так сильно (I really need you right now. I need you so much).” His voice fell to a whisper. Pumping his slick, crimson cock through his fist, he breathlessly pleaded, “Talk to me, baby. Please. Tell me-ohhh…tell me what you’re doin’ over there.”

You squealed a sultry giggle, further igniting Peter’s pleasured frenzy. He squirmed in his spot on the sofa, forcing himself to stay put. Battling the forces of the universe, it was all Peter could do not to race to your room. Just to spread your legs and hump you like a speedy bunny.

“Mmmm…I’m just doing what you asked me to…I’m being so good for you right now.” You whimpered.

“Oh. Okay…uhm…far out. Uh…wanna gimme the steamy details?” He heckled again, fumbling his words in his nervousness, “Please, don’t hold off on me, baby.”

“I’m…” Your precious voice wavered, teeming with awkwardness as your confidence dwindled, “I’m playing with my little pussy. Just for you. And I’m so wet. I can’t stop thinking about your hands…so big…”

“Боже мой (my god).” Peter muttered. Combating impatience brought upon by his genes, he willed himself to take things slow. His strokes became steady and teasing, as he edged his aching cock, “Holy shit, babe. Yeah? Keep goin’...”

You moaned soft squeals into the receiver, “I want you so bad, Quickie. Please, baby, don’t make me beg. Can you touch this little pussy for me? Please? Your fingers are so big. I don’t think they’d fit all at once. It’s been a while, and I’m so tight.” Your naughty voice pleaded.

“God, I wanna touch you so bad. Я хочу прикоснуться к этой сладкой киске (I want to touch that sweet pussy).” Peter’s impatience got the better of him, and he quickly gave in. He grasped his cock hard, wringing himself fast enough to make his balls bounce. Creasing his brows, he groaned, “Ohhh..What’re you tryna to do to me, babe? Talkin’ about how tight you are…Ебать…”

“But I ammmm.” You whined again, “I’m squeezing my tiny fingers so tight. It’s so soft and hot for you. Bet it’d feel really good if you stretched me. With your fingers, with your cock - fuck, Pietro. I just need you, baby.”

“Please, baby, oh, please? Wanna be inside you. Wanna feel you. I promise I won’t go too fast. Я обещаю (I promise).” Peter whimpered. But as you mewled again, another forceful wave of carnal heat crashed over Peter. In a quieter tone, he choked, “Нет, я могу. Я пойду так быстро (No, I can. I’ll go so fast).”

“Pietro, you can go as fast as you want, baby. I won’t stop you.” You pleaded, your broken voice so kittenish and wanton, “F-Fuck. I’m rubbing my clit. So sensitive. Thinking about you. Thinking about your mouth on me.”

“Ебать!!” Peter moaned through clenched teeth. His self control rapidly abandoned him. Speedily rutting his sore cock through the squeeze of his fist, his body refused to slow down, “Говоря о скорости (Speaking of speed)...” Peter craned his neck back, raising a hand to keep the handset to his ear, “You gotta stop makin’ all those cute noises, baby. Please…I can’t-”

As surges of horny pleasure circulated through his body, Peter thought of you again. He imagined you on your bed, caged under him between his arms. In his daydreams, he kissed you intimately, touching your pretty, naked body. Peter wanted to feel how wet you were for himself. And hell, the danger of pushing your friendship past its limits made you more tempting. Such a lewd, risky thought pushed him closer to the edge of something righteous.

“Baby, I wanna see you. Can I? Can I see you stroke that thick cock? Would you let me? Ohh, fuck, Pietro.” You whimpered. And your noises were so shamelessly lecherous, you could’ve made a pornstar blush, “Can I kiss it, please? Can I kiss your big cock?” You whimpered.

“О боже мой, пожалуйста (Oh my god, please)!” Peter choked, every word hitching in his throat, “Baby…babe, you can’t do this. Ya really can’t be-” He laughed lazily, his dark eyes falling half lidded. His cock throbbed, bright red and turning purple at the tip. He rutted in a speedy blur, “Stop. Stop. Stop. I’m gonna…babe, I’m gonna bust-” He slurred.

You squealed his name as loudly as your hushed voice would allow. And Peter swore he could hear the slick sound of your fingers. As they played with your pretty, little cunt.

“I’m gonna cum, baby. Please cum with me. Please? Pietro, OH~!”

“я кончаю, я кончаю (I’m cumming, I’m cumming)! ‘M Gonna-” Peter’s moans seeped through the receiver, his wet lips parting and mouth hanging open.

His swollen cock erupted in white-hot jets, coating his pecs and belly. With all his muscles tensed, Peter’s legs trembled. He rode out those lusty waves in tandem with you. The pleasure of orgasm sounded leagues more intense on your side. You took longer to cruise through it, whimpering and moaning Peter’s name. As you did, Peter basked in his momentary afterglow. Keeping the phone pressed to his ear, his head resting on the arm of the sofa; he listened to you with a smirk on his lips. At the end of your journey in ecstasy, your moans turned into flustered giggles.

Peter's thoughts reeled him in again. Imagining you, looking so sheepish and fine in his jacket. Now, he desperately wanted the real deal. To see you in all your post-nut glory. Mere seconds later, his sore cock pulsed to life again. As his hardness squirmed on his belly, Peter breathed another sigh.

On his end, you heard nothing but silence. You kept calling his name, your tired voice infused with anxiety.

“Uhm…Peter? Hey…are you there?” You asked.

And he didn't say a single word more.

[thehusbandoden]

You Flinch During an Argument -Amajiki Tamaki

A/n: so sorry this took so long! I had a good thing going but my power went out and it got erased </3

I do think this one's better though. Technically this is the third legitimate try <33

Edit: I'm trying out a new format for my info.. is it better or worse O.o

General info:

Wc: 1,176 words | angst to fluff/comfort | Character/s: Tamaki Amajiki

Warnings!: loneliness, snapping, flinching, a little bit of crying. Please let me know if I miss any! <3

Dabi | Hawks | Todoroki Shoto | Bakugo Katsuki | Midoriya Izuku | Shigaraki Tomura | Aizawa Shota | Amajiki Tamaki | Kirishima Eijiro | Shinso Hitoshi

The night was cold as you sleepily flipped through your journal, not wanting to write but knowing you should. The entries from the last three months have been short and filled with a dull ache of lonliness. They lacked the usual length and warmth you poured into the pages, ranting on about how sweet your timid Tamaki is and how much you adore him and his ever lasting warmth.

The rambling would go on and on, but now you wrote a paragraph or two about how your life has been 'fine' and that Tamaki has been super busy- if you wrote at all.

There was one or two that held multiple paragraphs of your frustration and not knowing who to blame- knowing that it wasn't Tamaki's fault that there weren't enough heroes to protect the innocent of your large city.

Tamaki was doing his best to protect the defenseless, and you admired that- but the dull ache that sat in the pit of your stomache couldn't go ignored much longer.

Sighing, you closed your journal, standing up from your desk to head to the living room, deciding to talk to Tamaki tonight.

~~

Four hours later Tamaki walked through the front door, tall form drained from exhaustion as he made his way inside, already stripping off his hero gear.

"Tama?" You call, poking your head out from the living room to sadly smile at your Tamaki.

"Oh. Hey y/n." Tamaki yawned, dropping both his cape and mask onto the floor as he dragged his feet towards your room, tossing his belt onto the kitchen table before moving onto taking off his gear further.

"Wait, Tamaki!" You call, stopping at the bottom of the stairs as Tamaki paused, looking back at you.

"Yes bunny?"

"Ummm.. can we talk?" You ask, smiling at the nickname Tamaki gave you the first week into your marriage- though he later admitted that he thought of it when you two were simply friends but was too shy up until that point-.

"Baby, I'm really tired.. is it important?"

"Yes.. it'll only take five to ten mintues."

"Okay baby, where do you want to talk?" Tamaki yawned.

"How about the living room? I can give you a shoulder massage while we talk if you like." You smile, causing Tamaki's eyes to shine as he smiled down at you.

"I'd like that."

~

After you were both situated you started by squirting some lotion on your hands before spreading it onto Tamaki's left shoulder, immediately noticing his many knots.

"Okay bunny, what did you want to talk about?"

"Oh.. so I know that you're working really hard and are really tired.. and I also know that we haven't had us time in a while.. so I was wondering if you could take a day or two off? Not much, just a day or two would be fine."

Tamaki was silent as you bit your lip in anticipation, hoping you didn't upset him somehow.

"Y/n.. are you serious?"

"Y-yes?"

"Do you know how many people might be dying right now? I can't just laze about spending time with you because you're feeling lonely. Why don't you go hang out with some friends?"

"T-that's not the same.."

"How so?"

"I want to spend time with you Tamaki. You know, my husband?" You scoff, starting to get annoyed.

"And I want to spend time saving people y/n, why don't you stop being sensitve and start thinking about other people?"

"But I've been holding my feelings back for months! Please! I'm just asking for a day- even a few hours is fine!"

"Y/n. No. Now if you're done I'd like to get to bed."

Jerking his shoulder away from your touch, Tamaki started standing up.

"But wait Tama-"

"No. I'm disappointed in your selfishness y/n."

"Wai-"

"Stop."

"Pl-"

"I said stop!" Tamaki hissed, turning around to face you within a second.

At the sudden movement and change of tone you flinched back, tears gathering in your eyes as you stared up at Tamaki, eyes wide.

As Tamaki glared down at you he froze as you flinched, heart immediately breaking as he saw the tears in the corners of your eyes.

"Y-y-y/n I-"

"I-it's okay Tamaki.. you don't need to say anything. I get it. I-I'll just go to bed now."

"B-but y-y/n.." Tamaki whimpered, guilt consuming him as he watched you walk away.

"Y-y/n.. I'm sorry.."

~

You quickly got in bed after hurrying up the stairs, wiping at your eyes as you clung to your pillow, staying as far away from Tamaki's side as possible.

~~

You awoke the next morning to the sun shining in your eyes.

Wincing, you turned around to feel for Tamaki, forgetting all about last night and the dreadful few months.

After feeling how cold Tamaki's side of the bed you sighed, memories coming to you in flashes as you stared at his side of the bed.

Wiping away the stray tears, you got out to get ready for a day worse than the one yesterday.

After getting dressed you made your way down stairs, deciding to get on top of your piling to-do list to help get your mind off of Tamaki.

Stepping into the kitchen, you stepped back at the sight of a lavish breakfast filled with all of your favorites spread across the newly cleaned kitchen table.

"T-Tamaki.." you whimper, looking at your beloved with tearful eyes as he guilty studied you with his indigo orbs.

"Y-y/n I-"

You interrupted Tamaki as you rushed into his arms, clutching the back of his shirt, desperate for comfort from the man you've grown to adore.

"Y/n I- I'm so so sorry." Tamaki mumbled, burying his face into your hair to mask the tears falling from his eyes.

"I forgive you Tamaki, I know you were just over worked and didn't mean to take it out on me."

"I promise you- I really didn't me an to, a-and I feel terrible about it."

"Shhh it's okay baby.. I already forgave you. We just need to reflect on what we did wrong tonight and make sure not to do it in the future. Next time, I'll wait until you're less exhausted, and you'll make sure to remind me that you're too tired, mkay?"

"O-okay.."

"Now baby.. why are you home? Don't you have work?"

"Nope, I took the next two weeks and a half off. I know that it won't make up for the months of loneliness, but I'll try to be better, I"ll take less shifts and make sure to only leave for emergencies when I'm off the clock.

"Alright, that's a good start."

"I may need today and possibly tomorrow to sleep.. but I cleaned the entire house -besides our room- and looked at your to- do list and did a few of the bigger things on there.. oh and I made us breakfast.."

"Tamaki. I love you. So, so much."

"I love you too bunny. I'm really rea-"

"Shh, I already said I forgive you. Now, let's eat!"

~~~

Series' masterlist | Tamaki's masterlist | Navigation

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[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: more svech! just straight up fluff happening here. i loved writing this one so much! i was going to save this for svech’s birthday on sunday but i’m an adhd bitch and couldn’t wait lol so now we’re celebrating the canes clinching a playoff spot. (also fully exposing my mister svechnikov kink by adding it into every fic sorry not sorry)

word count: 7.2k (i am INCAPABLE of not blathering on about svech apparently)

tw: like super mild childbirth and more google-translate russian

summary: you and andrei welcome your first baby

“I don’t know,” Andrei’s hand is splayed flat over your stomach while he lies in bed next to you, “maybe I should talk to Rod. See if I can stay home until the baby’s here.” The baby rolls and kicks at his hand and Andrei’s lips turn up into a soft smile. His eyes are still a little cloudy and conflicted though.

You stretch out your legs, trying to ease the pain in your hip from having to lay on your side. “You’re only going to Nashville. It’s not far and I’m due in a week and a half. Plenty of time for you to get there and back without having to let your boys down.”

Andrei starts to protest, but you shake your head. “I know you don’t want to miss any games so close to the playoffs, Drei. And I also know that you’re not going to miss baby being born. We can do it all.”

He rubs at your stomach again, looking deep in thought. “Nashville is two days. To get there, to play, and to come back - more like three. What if you go into labor during the game?”

“Then,” you yawn, “I’ll have someone pull you off the ice and you can come straight to the hospital. Labor takes hours. Honestly, Drei, you’re not going to miss it.”

You know he wants to be there for you and for the team, especially coming down the home stretch of the regular season when the Canes are holding onto first in the Metro. You love that he’s so dedicated to his team and honestly, the thought of him sitting around and staring at you, waiting for you to pop, isn’t that relaxing. He’s attentive, but sometimes you need a bit of space.

Andrei rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. He huffs a sigh before rolling back onto his side to look at you. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” you reassure him. “Plus all four of our parents are going to be here in a couple of days. There’s no shortage of people who can get me to a hospital and call you, if we need it.”

He looks a little more reassured now, remembering that his parents are flying in on Tuesday, just hours after he flies out to Nashville. Your parents are only a forty-five minute drive away, so the second labor starts, if Andrei isn’t around, you can call them. You kick the blankets off your legs, too hot and uncomfortable in the unseasonably warm early spring weather. All you want to do is lie on your stomach and stretch out, but thanks to the giant belly bump, that’s a no-go. You’ve always been aware that Andrei was big and tall, but you hadn’t really thought about it until your baby was all squished up in your stomach, your skin stretched uncomfortably. It really does feel like you’re snuggling a watermelon around, and especially now that the baby’s dropped in the last few days, you’re really feeling uncomfortable.

Andrei’s hand rubs soft circles over the peak of your stomach, tapping the spots that the baby kicks in a little game. He props his head up on his palm and traces his fingers over your skin. “I can’t believe he’ll be here in a week,” he says.

“Or she,” you counter cheekily. “But yeah, it’s feeling a little scary now.”

The nursery’s been done for about two weeks now - painted and decorated around Andrei’s travel schedule. You have your hospital bag packed and ready in the front hall closet. The freezer is stocked full of meals your mom had made and delivered last week. All that’s left now is to wait for baby to make their appearance.

You shift on the bed, your lower back sore and stiff. “Drei…” you pout, “will you rub my back?” You blink wide eyes up at him and he smiles, needing no extra begging or encouragement to help you into a sitting position.

He opens his legs and settles you in between them, warm, large hands coming to rest on your lower back. “Here, solnyshka?” He asks, thumbs already digging into the stiff muscles. You hum an affirmative response, leaning forward as much as your stomach will allow and enjoying the pleasant stretch of your back. His hands work out the knots smoothly and you melt, finally getting a little relief.

“I can’t wait to finally not have to carry around this watermelon,” you sigh, hands cradling your stomach.

Andrei’s hands work up your back to your shoulders, “I can’t wait to hold the baby all the time, to make up for the nine months you did all the work.” He kisses behind your ear and digs his thumb into a particularly painful knot by your shoulder blade.

“Oh,” you gasp, going limp as the muscle releases. You sag back against his chest, trapping Andrei’s hands in between your bodies. “That felt so good. Forget hockey, become my personal masseuse.”

“Isn’t that already my side job?” He teases, fingers fluttering against your back where they’re stuck. You shift a little and he pulls his arms out and immediately rests them on the underside of your stomach, lifting gently so some of the pressure is off your pelvis.

A strangled noise of contentment escapes your throat and you lean further back against him. “Full time, I need back massages and bump lifting full time, Drei.”

“Whatever you want, solnyshka,” he tucks your head under his chin and sits still so you can relax. He’s so warm and solid you find your eyes closing, finally in a comfortable enough position to sleep a little.

A sharp jab to your bladder - a little foot or elbow, most likely - startles you awake with a wince. You shift, Andrei’s arms still encircling your body. He’s snoring softly in your ear and you realize that he fell asleep too, holding you against his chest. His head is tilted back against the headboard and it can’t be comfortable, but he’s out like a light, even when you wiggle a little to try and get off the bed. The need to use the bathroom is urgent.

“Mmm, solnyshka?” He mumbles, waking up a bit when you gently push his arms off of you.

“Go back to sleep,” you whisper into the dark. “I just have to pee.”

Andrei hums another response, but swings his legs off the bed and steadies you with a hand on your lower back and the other on your hip. His eyes are shut the entire time and he’s snoring again by the time you’re halfway to the bathroom. His legs are still dangling off the bed and you shake your head a little. Once you finish in the bathroom, you take a minute to look in the mirror, turning to the side and smoothing your shirt over your stomach. In a week or less, this bump is going to be a baby in your arms. You can’t wait to meet it, to see which of your features or Andrei’s are stronger.

“Just wait until Daddy is home, okay, baby?” You whisper, rubbing your palm over a spot low on you stomach where the baby’s jabbed a limb. “That better be a yes, mom, whatever you say.”

Andrei’s still half hanging off the bed when you waddle - god, you’re sick of the waddling! - back into the bedroom. He’s exhausted, between the travel, the actual playing, and being there for you, no matter what you need. You wish there were a way to let him keep sleeping while putting him back on the bed properly, but there really isn’t, so you carefully crawl back onto your side of the bed and situate yourself with the giant body pillows wrapped around your body and then reach out to nudge Andrei’s shoulder.

“Hey,” you whisper, “Drei, baby, get back into bed.”

He startles, blinking into the dark, and rubs a hand over his face. “Huh?” He looks around and seems to realize that his feet are on the floor while his upper body is in bed. “Oh,” he mutters, pulling his legs back up on the bed and under the covers. He reaches for you, still clearly half-asleep, and you let him pull you closer. The body pillow is entirely in the way and Andrei grumbles. “I hate this pillow,” he mutters, doing his best to wrap his body around yours.

“Just a little bit longer,” you mumble, fully knowing that you may never sleep without the body pillow again. It’s just so damn comfortable.

You wish you could sleep in the next morning, but even though Andrei is doing his best to be quiet while he gets ready, the baby is apparently dealing with hiccups. It’s like a little alien in your stomach and it’s both weirdly endearing and also freaking you out a little. You’re awake by 7:30, but you just stay in bed, smoothing your hand over your stomach, watching the way it jumps around.

“So freaky,” you mutter. Eventually Andrei wanders back into your room, holding a protein shake and already a little sweaty.

“Morning, milaya,” he drops a kiss on your lips and you squint at him.

“Did you already fit in a workout?”

He ruffles the hair on the back of his head, a little sheepish, “yeah. I woke up early. Ah, I’m getting a little nervous.” He sits down on the edge of the bed and you reach out for his hand. You stroke your thumb over the ridges of his knuckles. He squeezes your fingers gently.

“I’m nervous too,” you admit. “But we’re the ultimate team, right? I don’t know what I’m doing and you don’t either. But we’ll learn together.”

Andrei lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses the underside of your wrist. He rests his cheek against the back of your hand and you wiggle your fingers against his stubble, smiling slightly.

“You’re going to be the best dad,” you say, one-hundred percent confident in your statement.

He chews on his lower lip, absorbing your words, and nods. “If I’m half as good of a dad as you will be a mom, then I think the baby will be okay,” he says, leaning in to kiss you again. You sigh into his mouth.

“Glad we’re all on the same page,” you joke. “Now please help me up because I really can’t do it on my own anymore.”

Andrei obliges, pulling you to your feet and watching attentively as you go slowly about your morning routine. You shoo him out of the room after fifteen minutes, starting to get agitated with his hovering. “Drei, please, I’m fine. Just go shower and get ready to go to your skate,” you sigh, twisting your hair into a pair of messy braids and pinning them up into a milkmaid style so it’s off your neck.

“Okay, sorry, milaya,” he kisses the nape of your neck and ducks into the shower, leaving you time to change into a different lounge set and head for the kitchen. Nothing sounds appealing to you, mild nausea making your stomach roll. You settle for popping a slice of bread into the toaster and grabbing an avocado. You lean your elbow on the counter and prop your chin in the palm of your hand, yawning while you wait for your toast. Sleep quality really had declined the last few weeks.

Andrei’s back in the kitchen as you’re eating the avocado straight from its peel. He looks at you, raising an eyebrow and lips twitching in an effort to hide his amusement. You wrinkle your nose at him. “I didn’t want the toast,” you explain, gesturing at the butter smeared bread with your spoon. “You can have it, if you want.”

He snags the toast with two fingers and kisses the side of your head. “Spasibo. I’ll text you when I’m leaving the rink, if you need anything, okay?” He asks around a mouthful of bread.

You nod, “be careful. Love you.”

After he leaves, you tidy the kitchen and the living room, even though neither are all that dirty. You just mostly want to keep moving a bit - once you sit down, you’re basically not getting up for God or country.

By the time Andrei gets home for his pre-game nap and meal, he finds you curled up on the couch, sobbing at an episode of Bones. He’s immediately kneeling on the floor in front of you, running his hands over you thighs, “hey, what’s going on? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?”

“We’re fine,” you wave him off with a sniffle. “It’s just…Bones and Booth danced around their relationship for so long! And I forgot how unsatisfying it was when they finally got together.”

Andrei looks at you like you’re crazy before schooling his features into a more neutral expression. He sucks his upper lip in between his teeth, clearly trying not to laugh. He rubs at your knee soothingly, “how about you come nap with me? Take a break from the TV.”

You nod, rubbing at your damp eyes like an overtired toddler. The hormones are fluctuating wildly today. Andrei gently helps you get to your feel and trails after you to the bedroom. “How was morning skate?” You ask, climbing into bed. Andrei wraps his body around yours, the big spoon to your little, and buries his face in your hair.

“Good, it was nice to get a little energy flowing before the game,” he mumbles into your hair. His arms are a secure cocoon of warmth around you and the baby kicks where his palm is splayed flat over the side of your stomach. “Hello to you too, little one,” he says a little louder.

You snuggle into his embrace and fall asleep easily, the hour long nap passing faster than you had thought. Andrei gets up and starts getting dressed, while you watch. He’s in game mode now, more serious than before, more in his head. You know he’s thinking about the plays that were surely drawn up during morning skate. He steps into his suit pants - a new plaid number that is a mild assault on the eyes, but he’s so damn handsome he makes it work - and does a little hop in place when he does up the button and fly. You’re blatantly ogling him when he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it into the hamper.

“Creep,” he teases you, catching you looking.

“Don’t be so handsome then,” you shoot back, pointedly rubbing your stomach.

His smile turns a little feral and his eyes darken. “You look good like that, pregnant with my baby,” his voice is low and you press your thighs together.

You shake your finger at him, “no way, keep it in your pants, Mister Svechnikov, that’s how we ended up here in the first place.”

He laughs, eyes twinkling and dimple popping, finishing buttoning up his shirt. “I didn’t hear any complaints,” he says casually.

“Give it a week or so and I’m sure you’ll be hearing a few complaints,” you wince at a particularly strong kick lands somewhere in the vicinity of your ribs. “I know it’s cramped in there, but easy on the ribs,” you murmur to your stomach.

Andrei finishes getting ready, eats a quick meal, and is back on the road. He’ll be at the arena nearly three hours before the game, but you know it’s part of his routine. Besides, Brady likes to get there early too, so you know he won’t be alone. More likely, Brady will be alone while Andrei handles the puck by the boards before people start coming.

You send Andrei your usual pre-game text and make yourself a light dinner. The TV gets switched to the pre-game and you settle on the couch with your book and laptop. Your mom checks in with you, FaceTiming for a bit, and Elena is texting too, confusing you a little with the time difference, but she’s so excited to get into town tomorrow. The WAG group chat is buzzing too - asking how you are and sending pictures of the kids at the game. You doze off during the game, but wake up to a winning score for the Canes mid-way through the third. The score holds and Andrei comes home bouncy and full of energy.

“Four game point streak!” You grin, cheering for him as he comes into the house.

Andrei blushes and waves you off. “Team effort,” is all he says, even though he was a driving force on the ice. He drops to his knees next to the couch and rubs your stomach. “How’s baby?”

“Kicking away,” you card your fingers through Andrei’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. He leans into your touch like a cat. “I’m pretty sure she’s going to kick her way out, like in Alien.”

“Gross,” Andrei pulls a face and then ducks closer to your stomach, whispering to the bump. And in Russian too, so even though you can hear him, you can’t understand him.

You nudge his shoulder with a foot. “Secrets, secrets are no fun, unless you share them with everyone,” you tease.

He shakes his head, “it’s between a father and his child.”

“Rude,” you roll your eyes affectionately, pouting a bit. “Take me to bed, Mister Svechnikov, it’s past my bedtime and growing your child is making me sleepy.”

“Whatever you want, Mrs. Svechnikova,” he grins.

All of his post-game excitement is worn off by the next morning and he’s back to worrying about missing the baby’s birth. “Please, Drei, go to Nashville,” you sigh, rubbing at your lower back. “You’ll be back Thursday afternoon. Your mom and dad are coming in this afternoon. There’s nothing happening.”

“I just don’t want to miss anything,” he protests. His phone is on the counter and his fingers twitch, like he’s going to snatch it up and text Rod any second. You bat the phone away from him and scowl.

“Go to the game, Andrei,” you say firmly. “If anything happens, and it won’t, I’ll make sure someone gets the message to you and gets you on a plane back here, okay?”

“Okay,” he sighs, clearly wanting to argue with you more, but catches sight of the look on your face and wisely shuts his mouth. Eventually, he’s all packed up and is kissing you good-bye so he can head to the airport. “I love you, milaya,” he says against your temple.

“I love you, too,” you whisper, starting to feel a little emotional. Damn hormones. “I’m sorry I keep snapping at you.”

He chuckles a bit. “It’s okay, you’re allowed. I’ll see you in two days, okay?” His hands come up to cradle your belly. “Keep mama company, okay little one?”

You sniffle and laugh a little wetly. “I’ve got a foot wedged in my ribs, I’m never alone,” you joke.

With one more kiss, Andrei is off and you’re alone. It’s not like this is the first time he’s been gone during the last nine months, and there have been periods where he was gone even longer than two days, but maybe it’s because you’re so close to your due date that you’re feeling extra emotional.

To distract yourself, you make sharlotka - an apple cake from a recipe Elena sent you a few weeks ago when your main craving had been apples dipped in honey. She and Igor are already en route to Raleigh and you invited them over for dinner when they land, mostly to keep you company so you don’t go crazy.

Andrei’s in Nashville and has texted you about fifteen times by the time his parents Uber to your place. You click over onto FaceTime and grin at him, “you can relax, my love. The calvary is here.” You turn the camera and his parents wave at him.

“We will take good care of her, Andreyusha,” Elena blows him a kiss.

“But we will not save you any cake,” Igor teases, holding up his plate, having immediately beelined for the dessert.

Andrei looks a little put out about the cake, but relieved that you’re not alone. “I thought you were going to relax?”

“A girl has to eat,” you tease. “We’re good here, focus on the game and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Elena and Igor end up staying in the guest room, exhausted from the travel, and you reap the rewards when you wake up to a full breakfast spread. “I couldn’t sleep,” Elena shrugs, her smile just like Andrei’s. “Besides, I needed to make sure my doch and grandbaby are well-fed.”

She pats your cheek and sets a plate full of eggs, toast, fruit, and bacon in front of you. You blink at the amount of food, knowing you’re definitely not going to be able to eat it all, but thank her effusively.

“I didn’t even think we had bacon or all this fruit in the house,” you comment, nibbling at a corner of the toast.

“You didn’t,” Elena laughs. “I went to the grocery store.”

“Oh, gosh! Elena, you didn’t have to do that,” you say. “You’re supposed to be on vacation.”

She waves you off, bracelets clinking together on her wrist. “This is vacation. With family, waiting for the baby? My girl, this is exactly what I want to do.”

“Oh, okay,” you slump back in the chair, trying to stretch your back. “If you’re sure…”

“I am sure, now eat some eggs. The calcium is good for growing the baby.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you jokingly salute and dig into the eggs. They’re actually really good - soft and creamy and definitely hitting the spot. You’re finishing breakfast when Igor comes through the front door. You do a double-take - you thought he had been upstairs this whole time.

“Can’t have breakfast without pastries,” he winks at you, setting a bakery bag on the counter. His mischievous smile is just like Andrei’s. Elena pulls out a box stuffed full of croissants, muffins, turnovers, and doughnuts.

“Oh, wow,” you grin, reaching for a chocolate croissant. “A girl could definitely get used to this treatment.”

After breakfast, you try to help clean up but are forced back down into the chair. They ask if you and Andrei have picked a name and that’s a big fat no. Neither one of you can agree on a name you like. You have a little idea forming in the back of your head, but you don’t want to say anything to Andrei until the baby’s born.

It’s a beautiful April day in Raleigh, so Elena hustles you all outside for a walk in the fresh air. It’s slow going since you’re hauling around the giant baby bump, but the fresh air feels good and the walk is helping the stiffness in your lower back. You assume the stereotypical pregnant woman pose, with your hands bracing at your lower back while you walk.

A little cramp ripples over your stomach and you wince, pressing your fingers into the spot. You wait, but it doesn’t happen again, so you figure it was probably breakfast settling. But you’re on alert for the rest of the day, just in case. The only thing still bothering you at dinner time is your lower back, but that’s been sore and stiff for two weeks now, so you assume it’s just from the weight of carrying the baby.

At least, that’s what you assume until it’s thirty minutes to puck drop and you feel a slight popping sensation between your legs, accompanied by a trickle of liquid.

You stand stock still for a beat and then mutter, “oh, shit. Andrei’s going to kill me.”

Elena looks up from her book and frowns at you, “what’s going on?”

“I, ah, think my water broke,” you grip the countertop tightly. Liquid continues to drip down your thighs and there’s a little cramp like the one you felt earlier. “Oh, yeah, definitely my water breaking.”

Andrei’s parents jump up from their spots on the couch and from there it’s a flurry of action. You call your mom and she has your dad in the car before you can even get a word in beyond “hey, mom, I’m in labor.” They’ll be at your place within the hour.

A stronger cramp grips your stomach and now you realize that you’ve been feeling contractions for the last day or so. Andrei’s going to be so annoyed that you made him go to Nashville. Warm-ups have started and you know that Andrei’s unreachable by phone for the foreseeable future. You still text him anyway (“hi sorry i said nothing was gonna happen but i’m in labor 😅😬”) and when another contraction hits fifteen minutes after the last one, you figure it’s about time to head to the hospital.

While Igor drives, you text Heather Staal, wondering if she can get ahold of Jordan or Rod to let Andrei know before he gets on the ice. She promises to try and get the message across, reassuring you that you’ll be fine and Andrei won’t miss a thing. You really hope she’s right, because you’ll never hear the end of it otherwise.

You settle a bit once you get admitted and changed into the flimsy hospital gown. Your parents get to the hospital just a few minutes after you do and your mom immediately joins Elena in your room, making sure you have everything you need.

Right now, you just really need Andrei.

Your dad and Igor are in the waiting room watching, ironically, the Canes game. They pop back into the room every few minutes to offer an update.

“He’s still on the bench.”

“Took a shift, had an assist on a Brady goal.”

“Still on the ice.”

“First intermission and he’s going back to the room. No one looks like they’ve told him anything.”

You huff through increasing contractions while they update you, getting irritated.

“Start of the second, oh, he’s still on the bench.”

“What the fuck,” you mutter, grabbing your phone and texting Heather again. She’s sympathetic, but had texted Rod and wasn’t sure what was happening. You’re halfway ready to call Bridgestone’s main line and start screaming.

Your dad skids into the room while you’re gripping your mom’s hand through a contraction. “He’s off the ice! Looks like one of the assistant coaches told Rod something and then Andrei was yanked off the bench.”

You start crying, relieved that Andrei is finally going to be on his way.

Not even fifteen minutes later, he FaceTimes you.

“I’m on my way, solnyshka, I’ll be there soon,” the words burst out of his mouth. He’s half dressed, shirt buttoned all wrong and sweaty hair mussed over his forehead. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, it hurts, obviously, but I’m okay. Just get here in one piece, okay? I’m so sorry I made you go to the game,” you wipe at the tears on your face, pressing your lips together to smother a shout as another contraction hits.

Andrei’s face is pale on your phone’s screen. “It’s not your fault. I’m on my way now, just hold on for a little bit.” He tells you he loves you and hangs up as he runs out of the locker room.

While you suffer through the contractions, Andrei texts you with updates. He’s booked on a flight out of Nashville that doesn’t leave until 10 and he’s clearly annoyed about it - there’s not a single emoji in his messages. You try not to freak out that he’s going to miss anything. At your last check, you were only 3 centimeters dilated, so there’s still hours of labor ahead of you. You pace the hallways, holding the IV pole keeping you hydrated, with your mom and Elena at your back for support. When you walk past a TV, it’s turned to the post-game and Rod is fielding a question about Andrei’s abrupt departure during the second.

Rod smiles on screen, “well, I’ll tell you it wasn’t for anything bad. His wife’s in labor back home, so as soon as we heard that, Svechy took off. Don’t think any of us could’ve stopped him even if we wanted to. We’re wishing the both of them the best of luck and can’t wait to hear about the newest member of the Caniac family. Next question?”

You start crying again, overly tired and overly emotional. You just want Andrei.

The epidural is administered around 11:30 and you doze off for a bit, waking up confused when a particularly bad contraction hits. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to feel anything?” You whine, gripping the rails of the bed.

The nurse hums at you sympathetically, “they’re not totally 100% effective, hon.”

You glare at her, but she’s clearly used to worse, because it doesn’t phase her at all. She just continues taking your vitals and making her notes.

Once the contraction passes, you ask, “have you seen my parents and in-laws?”

“I think the dads left, saying something about the airport, and the moms are in the coffee shop downstairs,” she pats your hand. “Sounds like you might be getting your husband here soon.”

And you do.

Thankfully, Andrei’s flight was right on time and smooth, so he landed in Raleigh at midnight and with your dad breaking speed limits, is at the hospital and by your side before 1:30. He skids into the room, looking frazzled. “I’m sorry, mne zhal, I’m so sorry, my love,” he babbles, stopping at your side and stroking your hair off your forehead before leaning down to kiss you. “I’m here. I didn’t know, they didn’t tell me until the second…”

The tears flow easily and you grip Andrei’s hand like never before. “I don’t care, I’m just glad you’re here now,” you break off into a shout and curl up when the contraction hits. Stupid fucking epidural.

He keeps hold of your hand and strokes your hair, murmuring in Russian. With his other hand, he rakes his hair off his face. Once you let go, he takes off his suit jacket, tossing it on the spare chair, and rolls up the sleeves of his button down. “How long, do the doctors say?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “Last check, I was like 6 or 7 centimeters.”

All four of your parents are hovering at the doorway and you wave them in with a sigh. Elena hands Andrei a coffee and a sandwich, kissing his cheek when he leans down. “Eat up, you are going to have a long night,” she says, smiling and barely hiding her excitement.

“Spasibo, mama,” he sighs, taking a long drink of coffee. Half the cup is gone and you watch him enviously. Your mom sets another cup down on the little railing tray table.

“That’ll be cold before you get to it,” she says, “but I’m sure you’ll need it.”

Andrei thanks her too and thanks the dads for getting him to the hospital so quickly. They both shrug him off, also barely concealing their excitement. Andrei laughs, “now, I think we’d like a little privacy?” He looks over at you and you nod tiredly. The four parents are kind of a lot to deal with all at once. He grabs the tangle of keys from his pocket and passes them to his dad. “Can you bring me a change of clothes and my car?”

Of course, Igor agrees and all four parents follow him from the room, debating on who will go and which cars they’re going to switch around. You honestly don’t care what they do, just that they leave.

Once they’re all gone, Andrei sucks in a deep breath and sits on the edge of the bed. “Okay, just us now,” he says, sounding a little dazed.

“Just us and the kid,” you reply, exhausted.

“Just us and the kid,” he repeats, smiling slightly. “The timing on this kid,” he shakes his head.

“I know,” you laugh. “I really didn’t think anything was going to happen.”

“It’s all happening now though,” Andrei holds your hand, barely flinching when you squeeze.

Your labor stalls briefly and then it’s nearly 3 a.m. and you’re pushing. Andrei’s at your side, holding one of your legs up by the thigh. He has the other arm wrapped around your shoulders and you’re nearly bent in half. The doctor counts down from ten and then you’re allowed to slump back against the pillows for a few seconds of a break.

“It hurts,” you sob, grasping for Andrei’s hands. He wipes at your tears.

“I know, I know, but you’re doing so good,” he croons. “You’re doing so good and we’ll have a baby soon.”

You’re instructed to push again and Andrei cheers you on, murmuring encouragement in your ear. You shriek, your entire body too hot and too tight and then there’s a release and a different cry.

“Oh,” you drop back against the pillows, suddenly empty.

Andrei looks down at you in shock and then at the baby that’s held in the doctor’s hands, bloody and screaming. He laughs and kisses you deeply, “it’s a girl! A little girl, moya koroleva. You did it.” He bounces on the balls of his feet, vibrating with excitement.

“A girl?” You cry, laughing with joy when the baby’s held up and placed on your chest. “Oh my god, it’s a girl.” Your hands wrap around the baby instinctively, cradling her little head, sobbing as you look at her features.

Andrei’s crying too, his eyes red. He wipes the back of his wrist under his nose and presses her forehead against your temple. “She’s beautiful. Just like her mama.” His voice is hoarse and tears are dripping onto your bare shoulder.

“Drei,” you whisper, full of emotion, and he gets it, kissing you deeply.

“I am so proud of you, my love. My two girls. My best girls,” he laughs, disbelieving. He settles one hand on the baby’s back and she looks impossibly small under his touch.

Time seems to blur from there and you’re allowed to keep the baby on your chest while the nurses run their tests. You hear snippets - she’s 6 pounds, thirteen ounces, twenty-one inches long - but otherwise you have tunnel vision on the gorgeous little baby that’s all yours and Andrei’s. Andrei gets her for skin-to-skin time while they clean you up and you sob again, watching him cradle her on one forearm. He looks up at you, hair flopping over his forehead, exhausted dark circles under his eyes, and beams at you, full dimple and missing tooth showing.

“I love you,” he mouths and then he looks back down at the baby, his expression soft and awed.

Before you know it, you’ve managed to feed the baby and get in a little nap in your private room. Andrei’s stretched out on the little couch, feet dangling over the edge. He hasn’t changed, even though his dad brought back clothes hours ago, so he’s still in his suit pants and dress shoes, button down shirt half-buttoned. He’s dozing too, getting in a nap since he’s been awake for over 24 hours at this point. At some point you know the four parents are going to be bursting down the door to meet her, but for now, they’re respectfully staying at your house until you call to give the okay to come by. It’s nice that they’re letting you and Andrei have time to bond with her, although from the amount of crying when Andrei had called to tell them it was a girl, you don’t think they’ll be able to hold off too much longer.

The nurse brings in the baby in her little plastic bassinet, cheerfully transferring her to your arms so you can feed her again. “Does she have a name?” the nurse asks, getting you all situated. It’s the second time you’ve been asked about her name, but you haven’t had a chance to run your idea by Andrei.

Before you can answer, Andrei’s voice cuts in. “Yeah,” he yawns, “does she have a name?”

You laugh, “no, not yet. But I did have an idea.”

Andrei looks at you expectantly, but you wait until the nurse leaves to speak. Without looking at him, you trace your finger over the slope of the baby’s nose - your nose - and it twitches, like a little rabbit. Andrei smiles at the sight.

“A little zaychik,” he says, watching her nose twitch again while she sucks at your nipple. “What name did you have in mind?”

“I was thinking,” you start, looking up at him, “she needs a name that means something to us. I’d like to name her after someone that means a lot to us too. A name that can inspire her and well, what do you think of Evgenia? Evie for short.”

Andrei’s face freezes and his hand is still against the bottom of the baby’s foot where he’s been stroking with his index finger. He coughs, swallows. “For Geno?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, “since he’s your best friend. I thought it might be nice to honor him.”

Andrei’s eyes well up and he runs the back of his wrist under his nose again while nodding. “I…yeah, solnyshka, yeah. I like that. I think he’ll like it too.” He sniffles and kisses your forehead. Looking down at the baby, he strokes her little hand where it rests on the swell of your breast. “What do you think, Evgenia? Are you an Evie?”

Evie’s little nose twitches again and you press your lips together to muffle a little cry. Seems like that’s settled.

“Evie,” you murmur, heart bursting with love. “She’s going to be the best adventure, huh?”

“We’ll definitely have a good story to tell her about her birth,” he laughs a little wetly, taking her from your arms when she’s done eating. He burps her the way the nurse showed him earlier, looking like a natural. Evie sighs and settles, falling asleep in his arms, her little lips pursed in a pout.

While she’s sleeping, Andrei pulls his phone from his pocket and FaceTimes Geno, clicking the volume lower so his brother’s shouted greeting of excitement doesn’t wake the baby. It’s well after breakfast in San Jose and Geno is outside, sun shining brightly behind him.

“Well? My baby brother has a baby?” Geno grins. “Mama called, but wouldn’t tell me if it’s a boy or a girl or the name. Said you two wanted to share that news. Although you didn’t have a name picked when she called.”

Andrei settles on the mattress next to you and you wave at Geno, a tired smile on your face. “That’s because we just picked it like ten minutes ago,” you laugh.

“You look good, mladshaya sestra,” Geno says warmly. “Now don’t keep me waiting. Uncle Geno’s dying to hear.”

Andrei angles his phone down so Evie’s face fills the screen and you can hear Geno’s exclamation of excitement. “Meet your niece, Evgenia Svechnikova. Evie for short.”

Geno’s speechless for a moment and then he starts rambling in Russian, his voice hoarse and clearly emotional. Andrei’s crying again and then you’re crying and the only one not crying is the actual hours-old baby.

“Evie,” Geno repeats. “She’s beautiful.” He pauses and then jokes, “clearly takes after her namesake.”

Andrei shifts the phone back up so it’s just the adults on screen and you can see Geno wiping at his eyes. You lean your head against Andrei’s shoulder.

“I love you guys,” Geno says.

“We love you too, Uncle Geno,” you reply.

“I’m hanging up before you make me cry again,” he laughs, waving and ending the call. Andrei chuckles and sets his phone down on the mattress near his leg.

“That went well,” he deadpans, a smile playing at his lips.

“I can’t wait to tell your parents her name,” you smirk. “I don’t think there’s enough tissues in the greater-Raleigh area for the flood that’s gonna come out of your mom.”

Andrei looks down at Evie, “are you ready to meet your babushki and dedushki, zaychik?”

Evie continues to sleep soundly, her little face twitching as she dreams.

“I think the question is if we’re ready for the babushki and dedushki,” you tease, holding onto Andrei’s bicep with one hand and tracing the shell of Evie’s ear with the other. She’s just so perfect, you could stare at her forever.

The grandparents are invited to come by after dinner, after you’ve sent Andrei home to shower and eat a real meal. The nurses take Evie to the nursery and you get a solid chunk of sleep. Andrei’s back before you know it, holding a takeout bag in one hand and a little shopping bag in the other.

“What’s that?” You sit up, curious, and set aside your phone. It’s been blowing up with congratulations from your family members and the team.

He sets the takeout bag in front of you, “sushi, as requested.”

You moan happily, “oh thank God, I’ve been craving a spicy tuna roll.” You dig into the food while Andrei sets the other bag on the mattress. He looks a little embarrassed, ears pink, so you wait for him to share.

“I passed by that boutique you like,” he says, pulling out a tissue paper wrapped bundle. “And saw this.” He unwraps it and a little beige onesie spills out, softly ribbed fabric extending up into a hood with a pair of floppy bunny ears attached.

“Oh!” You gasp, all thoughts of sushi forgotten as you take the little outfit. “Drei!” You start crying again. “It’s so cute!”

“Evie needs to be dressed in her finest to meet the grandparents,” he laughs.

“Dressed as a little baby bunny,” you cry, wiping at your face. “Dammit, these hormones are killing me. Ugh, Drei, I love this. I love it and I love you and I love her and I…” You break off into a choking little sob-laugh. “I can’t believe she’s ours.”

He wraps you up in a hug and you cry into his shoulder - he smells like laundry detergent and home. “I can’t either,” he agrees, exhaling in disbelief. Yesterday you were a duo and now you’re a trio.

Andrei pulls back from the hug and looks down at you, eyes twinkling. “Should I go get the little zaychik? Get her all presentable for the grandparents?”

When he brings her back, Evie’s dressed in the little bunny onesie, waving her hands in the air and you promptly start sobbing again. Andrei patiently rubs your back while you blubber about how adorable she is.

He settles her in your arms, already a natural at holding her. You knew he was going to be an amazing dad, but you could never have imagined this.

“Your dada is the best man in the world, Evie,” you whisper to her, kissing a little baby fist when she waves it around. Andrei just looks at you like you’ve hung the moon, a sweet, tired smile on his face.

Considering the fact that your entire lives have just changed, you’ve never felt happier.

[mint-yooxgi]

{8} - Hotel California - Yandere!Demonic Entities!Ateez X Reader

Yandere AU & Demon AU - Based off of This ask and Hotel California by Eagles

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Slight Humor

Pairing: Ateez X Reader (Slight focus on Jongho this chapter)

Words: 9,844

Warnings: Blood mentioned, mentions and allusion to past sexual assault, sleazy comments (not said by any of the guys), violence. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: Here it is! Part one of what was only supposed to be one chapter. I almost debated splitting it into three parts given how much I still need to write for the next part, but I think two separate chapters instead of one should be fine. Anyways, I just wanted to get this out for you guys since I know you’ve all been waiting so patiently. The next part should be out tomorrow. I was going to do my best to have it all finished b tonight, but I have a really bad headache and feel like I'm ready to pass out soon. So, anyways, I still think you’ll enjoy what this chapter has in store, and I hope it makes you eager for the next chapter as well. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~

Main Story - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Mini Masterlist

The next day, you end up sleeping in later than usual. When you do wake, you feel slightly more groggy than normal, movements sluggish as you pull yourself out of bed. Heading towards the bathroom, you freshen yourself up a bit before trudging out of your room and down the hall.

Blinking a few times, you bring a hand up to rub at your eyes, a yawn escaping your lips. Though, as soon as you reach the main foyer and your gaze refocusses, your eyes nearly bulge out of your head.

“What the fuck!” Your voice ringing out, loud and clear, echoes throughout the room.

In an instant, all eight men are surrounding you, worry on all of their features. You can tell some of them seemingly also had a late start to their day, toothbrushes hanging out of both Jongho’s and San’s mouths, while Wooyoung still looks like he’s in his pyjamas.

“What? What’s wrong?” Wooyoung takes a step towards you cautiously.

You blink, caught off guard momentarily by his newly skunk dyed hair. Though, from the looks of things, he’s not the only one who’s suddenly changed his hair colour overnight. 

Both San and Seonghwa sport pink strands now. Seonghwa’s is more of a pastel shade of pink, contrasting his stark black hair you had become so used to on him. San’s, on the other hand, is a bright hot pink, pushed slightly away from his forehead for the moment with a headband. Even Hongjoong sports an almost electric blue, his locks shorter than they were when you saw him last night.

One thing is for sure, though. They all look good.

You swallow the sudden dryness in your throat, shaking your head to clear your thoughts in the next second. Then, you’re motion to the ground before your feet. “Why are there drops of blood everywhere? Are you guys okay?”

This time, it’s their turn to blink at you. Their mild jealous anger that still lingers from last night almost dissipating completely as they hear the concern clear in your voice. Truly, you have no idea what this means to them - for you to worry about them like this. Warmth floods their chests as soft smiles paint their features.

“What happened?” You continue to scan your gaze over the area, seemingly paying no mind to how fond they’re looking at you so suddenly. “Is this why you guys were so late getting back last night?” Then, as if realizing something, you practically freeze in your spot. “When did you guys get back last night?”

“The council meeting took us longer than we thought it would,” Yunho is the first to respond.

“Did something happen?” Your brow is furrowed as you look towards him, and Yunho cannot deny the way that his heart races in his chest at having your concerned filled gaze be directed entirely at him.

“You could say that.” Seonghwa sighs, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

It’s then that you shift your gaze to him, his spine straightening slightly beneath that same look on your features now being projected towards him.

“I repeat,” you glance around at all of them, “are you all okay?”

“We’re all fine,” Yeosang assures you with a soft smile painting his features.

“Never better,” Jongho pulls the toothbrush out of his mouth long enough to respond.

“Then why-“

“It’s not our blood.” Hongjoong cuts you off, and immediately you’re locking eyes with him.

“Oh, thank fuck.” The relieved sigh that escapes you is probably much louder than you intend, but at this point, you don’t care. Then, it’s as if his words finally sink in. “Wait, what?”

“We had some business to attend to after the council had finished for the evening.” Mingi informs you.

Realization crosses your features as you nod once, “I see.”

“Believe me, the other guys look worse,” Wooyoung jokes.

“I should hope so,” you snort, surprising even yourself by how unafraid you are in this moment. “Someone challenge your rule or something?”

“You have no idea,” finally, San speaks, holding his own toothbrush inches away from his mouth as he sighs.

“Okay,” your eyebrows raise, slightly amused. “Remind me not to cross you guys at any point in time.”

“My Love, you know we would never hurt you.” Hongjoong’s brow furrows slightly. Even if he knows you’re saying it partially as a joke, he cannot help but worry that you’re not taking that particular vow of theirs seriously.

“I know.” You hum, and they all look taken aback by your admission as your eyes roam over the dried droplets of blood on the floor once more. “I believe you.”

Really, you have no idea how much those words mean to them. Especially right now, as you say them in such a casual tone. Almost like a second thought.

First, you show clear worry for them. Now, you’re admitting to trusting them? Well, there is simply no greater feeling in the world. Despite what they believe to be a huge setback based on the events of last night, perhaps they’ve made more progress with you than they originally thought. Maybe they should leave you by yourself more often, especially if you act like this the very next day.

Still, they’d prefer not coming back to the same events as last night ever again.

“What time did you get back last night, anyways?” You turn back to look at them, failing to notice the way they all seem to stiffen the slightest bit at your inquiry.

San, Wooyoung, Seonghwa, and Mingi all have to suppress the growls that want to build in their chests as they recall the incident they stumbled home upon last night. Though, the other four aren’t doing much better. They’re just able to hide it well.

“Sometime after one, probably,” Yeosang is quick to break the building silence between all of you.

“Ah, I see,” you nod. If you recall correctly, you passed out just shortly before then.

A tense twitch upwards of your lips. You cut it real close then, last night. Thank fuck they got home later, just like you thought they would.

“We apologize if we worried you,” Yunho adds, and they all watch your reaction carefully.

“No, no,” you wave him off, a slight heat rising to your cheeks as you think back to how you were feeling while getting ready for bed last night. You fail to see the way his own lips twitch upwards in response, brow quirking ever so slightly. “Not at all. I just wasn’t expecting you guys to be gone for so long, is all.”

“We won’t ever make you wait that long for us again.” It’s Seonghwa who says this, meeting your gaze with an intense sincerity shining within his own that you’ve not quite seen from him before. 

Besides, if they had gotten home sooner, maybe then one of them could have helped you out, in more ways than one.

“It’s fine,” you chuckle, leaning back on the desk behind you where you notice one of their hats to be sitting. “Really.”

“We don’t necessarily enjoy leaving you by yourself for long periods of time.” Hongjoong voices, and you notice the way he seems to swallow, his throat bobbing with the movement.

“Oh, believe me,” you let out an amused huff as you cross your arms in front of your chest, “I noticed. Though, I have to admit, it was nice not having to worry about you guys reading my thoughts all the time.”

Something within their eyes flash, and this time, San and Mingi cannot suppress their growls. Besides, it has been a bit more difficult to read your thoughts lately thanks to that damn void you constantly think of now. You fail to see the way the two eldest shoot a side eyed glance in Yunho’s direction.

Your eyebrows raise dramatically, “is something wrong?”

“Not at all.” Jongho replies, a tight smile tugging at his lips.

“Right,” you drawl out the word, brow quirked as you look around at all of them once more. “Anyways, since you’re all here, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Anything,” Yeosang breathes out almost immediately, taking a small step towards you somewhat eagerly.

“I would like to go to the mall.”

They all blink at you in response, slightly caught off guard by your admission.

“Why?” There’s no malice in Wooyoung’s voice, only genuine curiosity.

“As much as I enjoy spending time in this house, I could use some human interaction.” You reply. “Plus, I need to get a few things for myself while we’re out.”

“Just tell us what you need and we’ll get it for you.” San’s response is immediate, him blinking at you as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

The retort you originally had been going to say dies in your throat as you think of something much better. An idea which has your lips twitching upwards in the corner as your brow quirks at all of them.

“So, you don’t want to spend the day out with me?” The smirk that pulls onto your features is deadly, and from the way they all stiffen, you know you’ve got them right where you want them. You begin to push yourself off of the desk you’re leaning against, “I understand if you’re all busy-“

In the blink of an eye, Jongho disappears, and then reappears, looking slightly more put together. His toothbrush is no longer held in his hand, and his hair is now brushed. He takes a step towards you, “let’s go.”

“Woah, hold on a second,” you chuckle, raising your one hand in a ‘wait’ gesture. “I need to change first.”

“We’ll go as soon as you’re ready, then.” It’s Hongjoong who answers you, already sitting on one of the couches in the foyer seeing as he’s already dressed for the day.

“Great!” You smile, excitedly scurrying back down the hallway and to your room. Then, from over your shoulder, you call, “give me half an hour!”

You’re so eager to get out of the house that it really only takes you twenty minutes to change and finish getting ready for the day. There’s a small spring to your step as you traverse back down the hallway, your purse slung over your shoulder as it practically bounces off of your side with every move you make.

Stepping back into the foyer, you notice that the blood has seemingly been cleaned up since you left to get ready. The hat that was previously on the desk is missing, too.

“Alright,” you cross your arms expectantly over your chest, a smile on your face as all eight of them turn towards you, “let’s go.”

“What mall do you want to go to?” Mingi asks, already making his way over to stand beside you before any one of his brothers can.

“Uh,” you blink, “honestly, I didn’t think I would get this far…” you trail off, before your eyebrow quirks playfully. “The one I used to work at should be fine.”

A few ‘okay’s and ‘alright’s echo around the room as Mingi moves to place his hand onto the small of your back. However, before he does so, he looks to you for confirmation. A fact which makes you blink slightly in shock, the simple act warming your heart more than you expect it to.

As soon as he gets a nod from you, your lips pulling into a soft smile, his hand is on your back. In the blink of an eye, he’s transported you outside one of the lesser known employee entrances, his brothers appearing right beside you.

You take a step forward, “gosh, this brings back memories.”

“Yeah?” San quirks a brow as he opens the side door for you.

“Yeah,” you nod in thanks as you walk past, the others following close behind. “On break, my coworkers and I would always hide out here during the holiday season so we wouldn’t get bothered by angry shoppers. I can’t count the amount of times people would try and stop us in the hallways, asking us about products from other stores which we didn’t work at, only to get mad at us when we told them that.”

“That’s stupid,” Yeosang’s brow furrows into a frown.

“You’re telling me,” you roll your eyes, leading them through the back hallways until you’re reaching the doors that will actually lead you into the main section of the mall. “Honestly, working retail is hell.”

“Now, that I can believe,” Wooyoung nods, hopping forwards to open the next door that appears just as you go to reach for it.

“Now I know why you weren’t that afraid at first when your friend summoned us,” Yunho jokes as you all step into the main hallway.

“Probably,” you snort, nodding slightly as your lips quirk upwards in the corners. “Retail workers are braver than anybody I know. The shit we have to put up with is remarkable.”

“I bet,” Mingi grins, along with his brothers. Really, they’re all more than ecstatic that you’re opening up to them like this.

“Where to first?” Seonghwa steps up beside you on your left as your head scans the hallway.

In an instant, your eyes are lighting up, lips parting slightly as your jaw drops. Your one hand comes up to tap excitedly at Jongho’s arm, who stands beside you to your right.

“Look!” You motion with your head as a large smile paints your features, already grabbing his hand in yours to drag him towards the bookstore a little ways down the hall. “The new book is out!”

The others can only blink in shock as Jongho turns to shoot them a smug grin as you lead him across the way and down to the bookstore. Immediately, the others are following close behind, San and Wooyoung grumbling in their minds about wanting you to drag them around with you next. Even Mingi cannot hide the pout that pulls onto his features at the way you so animatedly talk to Jongho for the moment about this new book.

“The cover is even more beautiful that I thought it would be,” you say, picking it up to run your fingers over the detailing of the design. You open the front cover, eyes catching on what’s printed there before turning it around to show Jongho. “And it’s a special edition!”

You begin to ramble as you walk into the store beside him, the other seven following close behind like lost puppies. Each so desperately wants to be able to share in this moment with you, and they do, in their own ways, but it’s not the same. At least Jongho knows what you’re talking about as you begin discussing the events in the past book, and your predictions for this new one.

Jealous wouldn’t even begin to describe them right now, and they’ve only just gotten here.

Then, as if you’ve read their minds, you’re turning to the seven of them. “I am so sorry for the person I become when I enter a bookstore.”

“My Love, there is no reason to apologize for who you are,” Hongjoong is the first to respond, a soft smile gracing his features. 

Despite the jealous pit burning within him once more, it still warms his heart to see you so passionate about something. The way your eyes shine as you quickly glance around the store only makes him fall even harder for you in this very moment. A fact which he knows all of his brothers are revelling in, too.

You smile softly, almost bashfully, as you avert your gaze. “Anyways, I’m probably going to be, like, an hour or so in here. So, you guys don’t need to hover around me the whole time.”

They all quirk a brow, save for Jongho who still stands right beside you.

“Let me rephrase that,” you begin. “Please don’t hover. I’ll feel crowded and rushed. I’ll be with Jongho, anyways, so you don’t need to worry.”

Before any of them can respond, Jongho is grabbing your hand in his once more, that same smug smirk tugging at his lips. “You heard her.”

This time, it’s him that drags you away from the others, leading you to the second story of the store to start there before any of them can protest.

You little shit. Yunho blinks in disbelief, gaze locked on Jongho’s back as he watches the two of you head up the escalators.

What can I say? He turns to shoot a pointed look down at the seven of them who have yet to move from their spots. You snooze, you lose.

Remind me to rip his head off later. San grumbles, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Hey! Jongho whines. That’s not very nice!

Neither is stealing our love away to spend some alone time together when we’re supposed to all be spending the day with her. Yeosang retorts, casually looking over the table beside him which houses some books on music that catch his interest.

Whether we like it or not, this is something that we’ll have to get used to. Hongjoong adds, walking over to a display with a bunch of horror novels on it.

We’ll all have our moment, soon enough. Mingi is hopeful, saying this more to reassure himself than anything.

Yeah, well, I just wish it was sooner, rather than later. Seonghwa grumbles.

We all do, Wooyoung responds, heading over to the escalators with San to follow you and Jongho upstairs. Let’s just take it one step at a time.

That’s rich, coming from you. Yunho nearly snorts as he begins to browse the lower level, finding a section on art fairly quickly and smiling as he takes in all of the different books.

Hey! This time it’s Wooyoung who whines. At least I’m not the most impatient.

You’re definitely up there. Yeosang smirks, grabbing a book off of the table to flip through it briefly.

Let’s just enjoy today while we can, yeah? San voices, heading over to the cookbooks with Wooyoung in tow. 

Considering the night we had, I’m living for the fact that she actually wanted to spend some time with us today. Seonghwa is the next to head over to the escalators, eyes scanning the entirety of the store and taking it all in as he heads upstairs.

Exactly. Mingi practically sighs in bliss. San’s right. Let’s enjoy it while we can.

Have you guys noticed she seems much more chipper today? Jongho comments. Like, more open and accepting towards us?

The fact that she was clearly worried about us when she saw the blood on the floor makes me wonder, too. Yunho hums, somewhat knowingly.

You know, I hate to say it, Wooyoung begins, somewhat exasperatedly, but that’s what a good orgasm can do. Especially when you’re frustrated.

Were it not for the fact that they’re all in public, the snarls that build in their throats would have long since been vocalized.

Let’s just make sure that the next time she needs some relief, she comes to one of us, then. Seonghwa’s voice is firm, the others immediately agreeing right along with him.

How about we not put a damper on today? Hongjoong sighs, placing the horror novel that he was looking at back onto the display before picking up another one. I don’t like it anymore than all of you do, but what’s passed has passed. We’re not going to change it now. Seonghwa is right, let’s just make sure she calls for one of us if something like that were to happen again. I don’t want our sour moods from last night to affect what could be the start of a beautiful day out with our love.

A chorus of agreements come from every single one of them as they all continue to browse the store.

Still sucks, though. San grumbles. Seonghwa, Wooyoung, and Mingi all mumbling their agreement soon after.

Though, what truly gets them to shut up is a mental image projected into all of their minds a moment later, curtesy of Jongho. You seem to be standing in front of the Manga section, a large smile on your face as you turn to look at him from over your shoulder. Either you or him have just said something funny, for you’re letting out the most melodic laugh that they’ve ever heard in their entire lives in the next second.

They all go quiet, hearts warming at this small intimacy shared between all of them. Hell, San, Yunho, and Seonghwa nearly all drop the books that they had been holding at the time when the image first appeared in their minds.

Thank you, Jongho. It’s Yeosang who breaks the silence between all of them first. I really needed that right now.

I think we all did. Mingi’s reply is soft, lips tugging upwards gently as he blinks a few times to clear away the sudden tears that spring to his eyes from the intimacy of this shared memory.

I knew you’d all appreciate that as much as I did. There’s a smile in Jongho’s reply. They can hear it reflected in the fondness echoing throughout their heads as they’re sure he’s still watching you with that same lovestruck expression on his face that they know is mirrored on all of their own.

Sure enough, his gaze is loving as he watches you turn to face him once more, adjusting the strap of your purse over your one shoulder.

You grin, “this is why I keep a list of volumes I still need to collect on my phone.”

In an instant, you’re pulling out said object, unlocking it and opening the notes application. Scrolling through, you start at the beginning, taking your time to look through all of the titles to see if this bookstore has any of the volumes that you’re missing. It’s been a while since you’ve added to your collection, anyways.

Taking a step forwards, Jongho casually leans in to peer around your shoulder. Sure, he’s been close to you in the past, but not like this. A fact which just makes a hum of content build in his chest, especially since he can practically feel your body heat radiating against his own. 

You don’t seem to be uncomfortable, save for the slight way you stiffen at first when he gets in close, but he chalks that up to you simply being surprised by his sudden proximity. In fact, if Jongho didn’t know any better, he’d say you’re practically melting into him right now, as if you’re eager to lean into his grip, and he’s not even touching you yet.

That’s when he steps closer, practically pressing himself into your back as his hands find purchase on your waist. The best part is, you let him.

“What ones are you missing?” He asks, voice low right by your ear and sending a shiver down your spine involuntarily. A fact in which he notices, causing a subtle smirk to pull at his lips.

“Uh,” you swallow the sudden dryness in your throat as you scroll to the bottom of the list, “if you want to look for these ones,” you motion to the five bottom titles that appear on the screen vaguely with your thumb, “that would be great.”

“Of course, Darling,” his breath ghosts against the skin of your neck, causing a pleasant shiver to trail down your spine.

Then, just as quickly as the moment comes, it passes. In the blink of an eye, Jongho is already down by the opposite end of the shelves, crouching down to begin looking for the volumes of manga you just told him about.

You swallow once more, turning your attention to the shelves in front of you. Though, now, you find you can hardly focus on the titles, too caught up in the way his hands felt against your body. The ghost of his breath, and touch, still warms your skin.

Little do you know of the smirk that still tugs at the corner of his lips. He can feel you gazing at him out of the corner of your eyes. Fleeting glances as if you don’t want to be caught staring. Yet, Jongho doesn’t mind. In fact, he revels in your gaze. So much so, that he cannot help but take a knee. Leaning into the shelf a bit as if he’s looking at a series you’ve just told him to search for - which he is, in a way - Jongho extends his one leg out slightly, opposite knee raised in the air as he purposely flexes the muscle of his thigh.

The way he can hear your breath hitch in your throat has a pleased rumble building in his chest. He can’t count the amount of times he’s caught you sneaking glances at his body, especially at his thighs. To know that he can have this effect on you, without so much as doing anything, is profound. Truly, there is no greater feeling than knowing that he can affect you as badly as you affect him.

Then, as if he hadn’t just been putting himself on display for you, he reaches out to grab a volume off of the shelf. An innocent smile pulls at his features as he turns to look at you, showcasing the manga in his hand excitedly, “found one!”

Your smile is genuine, if not somewhat embarrassed at the possibility that you’ve just been caught checking him out. “Great!”

Intently, you stare at the shelf in front of you once you turn your attention back to it. At least five minutes must pass by until you’re blinking, finally able to clear your thoughts for the moment as you focus on the task at hand. Ten minutes later, and you’ve pulled five other volumes off of the shelf that you’re missing, Jongho managing to grab three more for you, too.

As soon as you attempt to take the manga from his hands, he’s quirking a brow at you. “What are you doing?”

“I was going to hold my books,” you reply as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“What’s that?” He grins, teasingly. “You want me to hold all of your books for you? I’d love to.”

In the blink of an eye, he has your entire stack of books in his hands, a bright smile on his face. You have no idea how he managed to do that, given that your stack of books had been securely held in your own hands only moments before. 

You blink at him before a huff is escaping your lips, muttering under your breath, “damn demons and their damn powers."

Jongho only chuckles in response, motioning for you to lead on with his head.

Shaking your own, you smile to yourself, leading him on the the next section you usually peruse when you enter a bookshop. Only, when you reach where you remember it being last, it’s suddenly not there anymore. 

Your brow furrows slightly, looking around for an employee to help guide you in the right direction.

“You know, if there’s anything that you want to check out, just let me know,” you say casually as you walk back out into one of the main aisles, spotting a worker at one of the kiosks.

“Oh, believe me,” Jongho, again, has to suppress the growl that wants to escape him at the suggestive undertone of your words. Sure, you may not particularly mean them in that way, but he cannot help but to think of all of the ways in which he wants to check you out. Especially after last night. “I will.”

Soon, your voice manages to pull him out of his much too vivid thoughts about pushing you up against one of these shelves and claiming your lips with his own in a passionate kiss while no one’s around.

“Excuse me,” you begin, grabbing the attention of the worker at the kiosk. As soon as they turn around, your eyes are widening right alongside their own, “oh my god, Lainie?"

An excited squeal of your name is all you get in response as she wraps you in a hug. One of which you eagerly return.

“It’s so good to see you!” She says, pulling away to stare into your eyes as she holds you at arms length. “It’s been a while. How’ve you been?”

“I know, right?” You grin. “I’m well, just busy. You know, the usual. How are you? How’s the team? I miss them.”

“Oh, I get that,” she nods, dropping her hands as her eyes widen in understanding. “And I’ve been good, just working on some final projects for school. It’s been good here, same old, same old. Customers are good, some are bad.” She shrugs, then she’s smiling softly. “We all miss you, too. You should come visit more often!”

“I’ve been meaning to, I swear,” you reply, eyes briefly glancing over at Jongho who stands a little ways off to the side, making himself look busy by browsing through the books on display in front of him. “I promise I’ll try and stop by more often.”

“You better,” she threatens teasingly, wagging her finger at you. “We still have to hang out sometime, remember?”

“Of course!” You smile, nodding your head. “Is anyone else from the team in today that I know?”

“Ops was in earlier, but they all left already, unfortunately.” She tells you.

“Damn, I was hoping to say ‘hi’,” you sigh. “Next time, then.”

“Actually, unfortunately, I think Henry is still in,” she grimaces, and you both share a look. “So, be careful.”

“Who’s Henry?” Of course it would be now that Jongho decides it best to insert himself into the conversation.

“Oh, who’s this?” Lainie begins to look between Jongho and you with a quirked eyebrow, a knowing gleam in her eyes. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

“He’s not-“

“Pleasure to meet you, Lainie,” Jongho smiles, turning on the charm as he extends a hand out for her to shake. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Of course Jongho would take every and any opportunity he can get to make people think he’s your significant other. It’s only been one of his greatest desires since he first saw you all those months ago. He’s not about to let you deny him that simple pleasure, especially not after the events of last night. Even if you turn to shoot him a pointed look from beside him as a result, nudging him slightly with your elbow subtly.

So far, he likes Lainie, hearing no malcontent in her thoughts towards you. Plus, you have talked about her a few times briefly in passing when you mention books you’ve been recommended in the past. In fact, he can tell just how much you adore each other as friends, even without hearing her thoughts projecting themselves shamelessly throughout the room. That’s why he didn’t bother interrupting until now. Both of your reactions, not to mention her own thoughts when she said this other male’s name, nearly had a scowl pulling at his lips.

“Oh, have you now?” She shoots you another knowing look as she shakes his hand, a giggle on her lips. It’s then that she sees your stack of books held in his opposite arm. “I see you’ve found yourself a gentleman.” At the topmost book she sees laying on the pile, of which he must have just added, she grins widely at you. “A gentleman who likes to read.”

“Lainie,” you shoot her a look, tight smile on your features as you can practically feel Jongho revelling in her praise.

It may be small, but knowing he’s gotten one of your friend’s approval means more to him than you’ll ever know. Which is exactly why when he did a brief examination of her thoughts, he grabbed her favourite book off of the shelf to seek that acceptance, especially if it meant her saying something in front of you. If others can see how good he is for you, then it’s only a matter of time before you do as well.

Little do you know of the three sets of ears on the same floor eavesdropping from around a few shelves, scowls resting on their faces as they can hear Jongho’s smug thoughts echoing Lainie’s compliments. It’s like he’s doing this on purpose to torture them, San and Wooyoung no longer focussing on the cookbooks in front of them as they share a brief look between each other. Even Seonghwa, who had been browsing through the romance section, nearly tears the novel in his hands to shreds.

The youngest is really pushing his luck right now, but at least there’s one thing that they can all agree on. None of them like this Henry guy, and they don’t even know what he looks like yet.

Only, before Jongho can bring up the point again, you’re cutting him off.

“Hey, where did we move fantasy to? It’s not where it usually is.” You say, drawing her attention back to you once more.

“Oh, follow me!” She immediately starts leading you to the opposite side of the store on the same level. “Yeah, we just moved sci-fi and fantasy the other week. Confused the shit out of our regulars.”

“You’re telling me,” you chuckle, noticing how Jongho remains silent for the moment.

“Anyways, here you go,” she motions down one of the last aisles of the floor. “I don’t want to keep you guys for too long, and I should probably get back to actually doing my job. If you need anything else, you know where to find me!”

“Thanks, Lainie,” you smile at her, waving after her as she walks off. “Will do.”

As soon as you see her disappear, you’re heading into the fantasy section. Only, you barely make it two steps in when Jongho is rounding on you, a fire lighting behind his eyes as he watches you carefully.

“Who’s Henry?” His voice is stern, but for some reason, you have a feeling it’s more out of concern for you than anything else.

You spare a brief glance in Jongho’s direction before you let out a sigh, “not a coworker I enjoy talking about.”

From the way he takes a small step towards you, you know that he’s begging to ask you why, but from the way he hesitates, you know that he’s doing his best to respect your boundaries and not pry. A fact which warms your heart for the moment, comforting you even if only slightly.

The last thing he wants to do is make you uncomfortable, for this topic already seems to be making you tense. A fact in which drives him insane knowing that there’s nothing he can do to alleviate your distress for the moment.

“I’ll tell you later,” you shoot him a tight smile. “For now, let’s just leave it at the fact that he makes me, and a lot of my other female presenting friends and coworkers, uncomfortable.”

“He’s one of those guys.” Jongho’s eyes widen in acknowledgement, the disgust clear in his tone.

“Thinks he can get away with anything just because he’s the boss’ son.” You spit, somewhat harshly, turning back to the shelves in front of you.

This time, Jongho doesn’t suppress the low growl that builds in his throat, eyes dark as he attempts to put a leash on his anger for the moment. Slowly, he puts the stack of your books in his hands down on one of the shelves beside him. It’s taking everything in him right now not to hunt this fucker down in the store right now and make him pay for everything he’s done to both you, and to others that you care about.

“Has he-“ Jongho practically snarls, lips curling over bared teeth at the mere thought of this bastard hurting you in any way. “Has he-“

You blink, sparing him a glance out of the corner of your eyes. “He’s tried, but so far, I’ve been lucky. He’s just really touchy with me. Makes comments, too.”

Jongho doesn’t even need to ask, he can tell just from your body language the types of advances this slug has made on you. He growls lowly once more, echoed by another, one aisle over.

Your eyebrows raise ever so slightly, “honestly, if I can’t tell you guys apart by snarls alone in a few month’s time, it’ll be a miracle.”

Within the next moment, Seonghwa is rounding the corner, a stack of five books held in his own hands.

“It’s a miracle we don’t tear this bastard apart for what he’s done to you.” He keeps his voice low, a scowl pulling at his features as he comes to stand beside Jongho.

Your eyes go wide, “okay, maybe don’t do that.”

“Believe me, it’s not the worst thing we’re thinking about doing to him.” Jongho briefly meets Seonghwa’s gaze, their eyes flashing beneath the artificial lights of the shop.

“I don’t think tearing him apart, or whatever you’re thinking of doing, in the middle of the store is going to be as effective as you think,” you smile tightly, a slight nervousness to your voice.

A moment of silence passes between you.

“Wooyoung’s complaining you won’t let him at least rip one of his arms off.” Seonghwa states casually, as if it’s the most normal conversation ever.

“Shhh,” your eyes go wide, “keep your voice down!”

Carefully, you look side to side, worried you might be overheard by other customers in the general area.

“Is that why you look like a deer in headlights right now?” Jongho chuckles. “Cause you’re worried about someone overhearing us?”

Your lips purse into a tight line, eyes darting between the two males standing across from you. “Perhaps.”

“Don’t worry, Darling,” Jongho smirks, “there’s no one around to overhear this conversation right now. Well, other than us, of course.”

You shake your head, turning back to the books in front of you and scanning over the titles briefly. “Damn demons and their damn powers.”

Jongho chuckles, recognizing your words from earlier.

“Have you all been eavesdropping this whole time?” You turn to shoot a pointed look at Seonghwa, knowing the other six can hear you right now as well.

“No!” Seonghwa is quick to respond, brow furrowing as he shakes his head.

Jongho nearly scoffs, hearing a resounding ’yes’ come from his other brothers scattered throughout the store.

Even you don’t look convinced as you hum to yourself, turning back to the shelf in front of you only to pull two novels off of it in the next second.

“Wooyoung still wants to know if the dismemberment is completely off of the table.” Seonghwa says casually, browsing the shelf to his left and no longer even looking at you.

You hesitate for a moment, lips parting as a small ‘uh’ escapes you.

That’s when Jongho’s eyes are widening ever so slightly in amusement as realization crosses his features. “You’ve thought about it before.”

She’s picturing it right now. Yunho’s voice in all of their heads nearly has a pleased groan escaping all of them. Though, none are as affected as Hongjoong, who suddenly has to support himself using one hand on the table that he had been perusing.

A brief moment of silence passes between the three of you as you place the two books in your hand beside the stack you already have going.

“Perhaps.” You shrug. “Though, it’s a little too bloody considering all of the books around here. It’d be a shame to damage such beautiful products with such a vile man’s blood.”

Where the hell is this coming from? San’s voice resounds, almost eagerly, in all of their heads.

Are you really complaining? Mingi quirks a brow as he browses a table full of mystery books, even though he knows none of them can see him right now.

Seems as if our love isn’t as innocent as we thought. Yeosang hums, a shiver of pleasure running down his spine as both he and Yunho lock eyes from across the store, smirks pulling onto their features.

“What would you have us do?” Seonghwa breathlessly replies as he places his own stack of books onto a shelf to his left. His gaze is desperate, pleading with you to see how ready and willing he is - how eager they all are - to serve you. Anything and everything you may want them to do right now, they would. No questions asked.

“Woah,” you raise a hand as if to say ‘slow down’, “I may have thought about it, but it doesn’t mean I actually want something bad to happen. I still have my own morals to consider-“

Suddenly, the sound of your name being called out from the opposite end of the aisle is drawing your attention. You freeze immediately, heart thundering in your chest as you turn around stiffly.

He snuck up on you. Probably came from one of the backrooms nearby.

“Henry,” you force a smile to your face as the two males behind you stiffen. “Hey.”

Immediately, you take a step backwards as said male approaches you with an overtly friendly smile on his face. Both Seonghwa and Jongho step forward, flanking you on either side as they stare down the sleazy male approaching you with open arms.

“What? No hug for an old friend?” He pouts as he stands directly across from you, a little too close for comfort.

Jongho’s free arm is around your lower back in a second, pulling you into him protectively. Likewise, the eldest takes another step in closer to you, his one arm slightly reaching out in front of you for added protection. Snarls nearly tug at both Jongho’s and Seonghwa’s lips as they feel Henry give them each a once over. His thoughts aren’t faring much better, either, only causing each demon’s anger to grow the longer you are kept in this situation.

“We were never friends.” You blink at him, and you can see how taken aback he is by your words. Hell, if it weren’t for both males standing protectively around you, you don’t think you would have had the courage to say such a thing to the man across from you.

“Oh, come on,” Henry huffs, a roll to his eyes. “Don’t be like that, sweetheart.”

Both males beside you can feel how physically repulsed you are when he says this, growls threatening to fall from their lips as they glare at the slug across from them. They want nothing more than to tear into this bastard’s flesh, ripping him limb from limb for even thinking he ever stood a chance with you. The fact that Henry has deluded himself into believing his advances were reciprocated disgusts them.

To say that they’re all furious would be a severe understatement.

Fuck it. Your voice resounding through their heads - all eight of them - as you drop your void for the moment, has each one of their hearts skipping a beat in their chests. If he so much as tries anything… they hang on to your every word with bated breath. Break his hands.

If Wooyoung could roar in happiness, he would do so this very instant. Instead, he begins to calmly make his way over to the section that you’re in, San following close behind with that same look of deadly calm on his own features. However, it’s Hongjoong that cannot suppress the maniacal grin that stretches across his lips as he focusses almost too intently on the summary of the book held in his hand.

“Don’t call me that.” Your tone is harsh, all forced sense of social etiquette disappearing from your features immediately.

“You never had an issue with it before,” he retorts with a huff. “Sweetheart.”

The disgust is clear on your features, fury bubbling beneath your skin and rolling through you like waves. The scowl that pulls at your features is dark enough to mirror both Seonghwa’s and Jongho’s own, leaning further into the younger male for support as his grip tightens around your waist.

“What’s with that sour look on your face?” Henry scoffs, quirking a brow. “I thought I told you that you’d be prettier if you smiled more.”

“Watch your fucking tongue, mortal.” 

It takes Seonghwa all the strength he has in him not to lunge at the man standing directly across from him in that very moment. Nobody talks to his Queen like that and gets away with it. A sentiment that he knows is shared by all of his brothers, especially when he sees both San and Wooyoung round the opposite corner of the aisle, black eyes on full display. Each male’s teeth are bared in a growl, hands visibly shaking as they all attempt to put a leash on their anger for your sake.

The last thing that any of them want to do is scare you away. Especially not after all the progress they’ve been making with you in the past few weeks alone. Besides, you’ve essentially asked them all to control themselves for the moment, and that’s exactly what they’re going to do. For you.

Downstairs, the four remaining demons immediately head towards the escalators, making their way upstairs as calmly as they can. Though, internally, there are storms raging within each one of them.

Jongho can feel you beginning to tremble from anger in his arms, and as soon as you place a hand onto Seonghwa’s shoulder, he can feel it, too. Though, he doesn’t know if it’s more for you or for him at this point, but it helps to calm him, even if only the slightest bit.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes only momentarily to steady your nerves. Then, your entire body goes still as you exhale slowly through your nose.

Your eyes snap open, a harsh glare none of them have ever seen your wear gracing your features. “You’re not even worth my time."

It happens instantaneously. As soon as you go to turn around, Henry is reaching out to stop you. Only, a resounding crunch echoes through your ears as you shift to see Seonghwa harshly crushing Henry’s wrist in his hand, the human male’s fingers twitching as his face pales in horror. 

Tears line Henry’s vision as his mouth falls open in a silent scream, as if his voice has suddenly been stolen away from him. Which it has.

“If you ever lay a single finger on My Divine again,” Seonghwa’s voice is low, ominous like the threat of an approaching storm as his eyes flash black, “I’ll destroy you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, blinking a few times in shock at the sudden turn of events. Sure, you may have given them permission to do so, but you didn’t actually think anything would happen. Then again, you shouldn’t really be surprised at this point. They have stated time and time again that they would do anything for you.

Still, you do not want to admit to yourself the way your heart simply fluttered at the fact that he not only listened to you, but defended you without a second thought. You also don’t want to admit how insanely attractive you just found that to be. Maybe having them protect you isn’t such a bad thing, after all.

The longer Seonghwa stands crushing Henry’s wrist in his hand, the more tears spring to Henry’s eyes. His mouth parts like a fish out of water, words stolen from him like he’s under some type of spell. That’s when you realize, he probably is.

Then, an insurmountable amount of rage burns behind Henry’s eyes, going to take a swing at Seonghwa with his free arm. Only, before he can so much as pull his fist back, two resounding cracks echo through the space before you.

Another silent scream tears from Henry’s throat as he is forced to his knees. Both Wooyoung and San now each hold one of his arms behind his back, his shoulders clearly broken and dislocated. 

You don’t even need to turn to look at Jongho to know that his eyes are as black as each of his brother’s right now, his arm still securely wrapped around your waist.

“You’re fucking lucky we don’t kill you right now, you slug,” Wooyoung hisses into Henry’s ear, pulling harshly at his arm and causing a few more pops to be heard.

There’s something about the way you see pure, unaltered fear flash in Henry’s eyes that excites you in this moment. Finally, he is feeling an ounce of what you, and his other victims much unluckier than you, have felt whenever he’s in the same vicinity.

It is then that the other four round the corner behind you, stepping up to assess the situation. Smirks already adorn each of their features, eyes flashing black as they stare down at the man on his knees before them. Ideas swirl within their minds already about how they’re each going to torture him after this, each more creative than the last.

Only, your void dropping once more to let them all in to your thoughts have them pausing briefly in their movements.

Uh, won’t someone notice what’s going on? Your voice is full of worry, eyes flitting to the opposite end of the row of shelves where one of the openings reside.

Yeosang steps up beside you, a reassuring smile on his features as he shakes his head ‘no’.

What do you mean, ‘no’? Your brow furrows, looking between all of them that you can see for the moment as you are still held firm in Jongho’s grip.

We can alter people’s consciousness to avoid certain places for a while if we want. Mingi explains to you, stepping up beside Yeosang to your left.

What about the cameras? You look between them, worry clear on your features now.

Already taken care of. San draws your attention to him as the corner of his lips tug upwards in a smirk.

What? How? You head tilts ever so slightly in curiosity.

It’s almost second nature for us to mess with the frequencies nowadays. Mingi shrugs casually, a soft grin on his lips as he sees your eyes widen in wonder.

A moment of silence settles over you all as you let their words sink in. Then, an idea is springing into your mind.

Question. You blink, and they all turn to look at you with much softer gazes as they feel that familiar curiosity swirling within you once more after going so long without it. Can you ‘alter people’s consciousness’ full stop?

There’s not a hint of fear in your own mind as you ask. A fact which warms their hearts more than you’ll ever know. Then again, perhaps you’re not thinking about whether they have ever done it to you yet, or not. Not that they ever would.

Consciousness, emotions, memories, reality: you name it. Yunho tells you, and they watch as you nod along subtly to his words before your eyes are going wide. The mind is a fickle thing.

Geez, you let out a huff through your nose, is there anything you guys can’t do?

Well, I can’t cook. Mingi supplies, an almost sheepish shrug to his shoulder.

The statement catches you so off guard that you let out a small snort of laughter.

Sorry, sorry, you raise a hand to wave it slightly in front of you in an apologetic motion. I just wasn’t expecting that given the situation right now.

Mingi shares a grin with you, happy to know that he could at least make you laugh even during such a tense moment as this one.

You are taking this surprisingly well. Hongjoong comments, stepping around the others to stand beside Seonghwa who leans against one of the shelves with his arms crossed in front of his chest, still glaring at Henry before him.

Believe me, I’m just as surprised as you are right now. You reply, honestly. Maybe it’s because I feel safe when I’m with you guys. You shrug casually, unaware of how much your meaningful words affect them in this very moment in time. Though, it’s more than likely because I feel no remorse for this fucker. Like, at all.

At that, you all turn to look at the man practically pleading with you using just his eyes. Disgust washes over you, and all eight men are privy to your thoughts of gouging Henry’s eyes out just to make him stop staring at you like that.

Little do you know of the way that your thoughts affect each and every single one of them. Though, none are as affected as Hongjoong, Wooyoung, and Seonghwa are at the moment, pleased rumbles building in their chests as they allow your thoughts to echo shamelessly through their minds. Even San cannot help but to tighten his grip subconsciously around Henry’s arm in response, a pleasant shiver running down his spine.

Anyways, your voice draws their attention back to you once more, I know this is asking a lot, but killing him would be too easy. The reason I wanted to know that particular detail of your powers - which, I’ll admit, is terrifyingly cool, by the way - (they all smile at that, a smugness washing over them at the fact that they could impress you like this right now), is because I have an idea.

Anything. Yeosang repeats his word from earlier that day, all of their eyes shining as they wait with bated breath for your next words.

What would you have us do? San repeats Seonghwa’s words from only minutes earlier, meeting your gaze from across the way as eagerness shines in his dark irises. Anticipation claws at his chest, a feeling of which he knows is shared by all of his brothers right now.

Slowly, you take a step forward and out of Jongho’s arms in order to crouch down in front of Henry who looks at you with pleading eyes. The silence stretching on around him must be eating him alive right now, the unknown terror of what’s going to happen to him next clear in his eyes.

Your own gaze is blank as you tilt your head at him, almost mockingly, blinking once as you rest your elbows on your bent knees. Then, you smile. A malicious quirk of your lips upwards as you stare the man before you down.

“You’re never going to know peace again.” Your words are directed right at Henry, who whimpers as both San and Wooyoung tug at his broken arms once more to keep him from looking away. “You will constantly live in fear of something creeping in the shadows, hiding around every corner and waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike you down every chance it gets. You will constantly have to watch your back, too afraid of the dark and what solitude can bring. You will know the terror every single one of us feels when walking alone at night, always feeling like someone is following you, ready and willing to attack at a moment’s notice.”

A tear trails down his cheek, eyes pleading as his fingers begin to twitch on the hand with his crushed wrist. You catch the movement.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” You hum, mocking sympathy as your lips tug downwards in a fake pout. That is, until you’re smirking once more. “Every time you so much as think of touching another person, you will be reminded of exactly how it felt for both of your shoulders to be broken. You will remember how it felt to feel helpless and terrified of what is coming next, scared for your pathetic excuse of a life. Every time you so much as reach for someone else, you will experience the pain of your wrist shattering beneath your skin, and be reminded that you do not own anyone.”

He begins thrashing in the two male’s grips, drawing more whimpers from his throat as tears flow freely from his eyes. You remain passive, observing him carefully.

He’s begging for mercy, isn’t he? You tilt your head once more to the side, eyes blank as you stare at him.

Embarrassingly so. Hongjoong hums, watching the scene before him with an unbelievably fond gaze as he leans back onto the shelf behind him.

Good. You let out a small puff of air through your nose in amusement.

“You will beg for death until the end, but find no comfort in it. Always, you will cling onto life, not quite knowing how, or why a useless waste of space like you has lasted for this long.” You smile, but it is anything but comforting as shadows fall over your features. “And if I ever see you lay your hands on another person again, if I so much as catch whiff of your disgusting scent, I will not be so kind.”

Another whimper escapes his throat as he meets your piercing gaze.

“Pathetic excuse of a human.” You spit. “You make me sick.”

Growls of approval echo all around you, causing your heart to race in your chest for a reason you don’t quite want to acknowledge just yet.

“Oh, and if you so much as try to tell anyone about anything that has transpired here today, or about your little issues, your voice will fail you as you suddenly cannot find the words to speak.” You add, that malicious smile still tugging at your lips. “I know that will be so difficult for you, since you never seem to know when to shut up, but you will. Whether you want to or not.”

You stand back to your full height, looking down at the man who has brought a countless amount of grief and terror to you, your friends and coworkers, and probably a numerous amount of others as well. 

You scowl, words like venom on your tongue. “The shadows are no longer your friends.”

Your final words resonate through the air as you turn your back to him. Bile rises in your throat as you think over everything that has just transpired in the past twenty minutes alone. 

Your one hand comes up to cover the lower half of your face as your eyes close. Did you really just do that? Not only that, but why did you enjoy it so much?

Slowly, you lower your one hand back to your side, eyes flashing open once more. I’m done here.

You don’t even bother to meet any of their gazes as you begin to walk past them. The sound of your footsteps echo alongside Henry’s muffled screams as they implement your wishes in his mind. It takes them no more than three seconds to do so, allowing the now unconscious male to slump onto the ground in a pathetic pool of his own tears.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

With Good Weather Brings Good Breedings. (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Poly!KiriBaku x Black!Bunny Girl!Reader

Synopsis: In which your spring cycle comes a little earlier than usual and you’re too afraid of your boyfriends–whom you’ve been dating for five months–thinking you’re weird instead of telling them about your cycle during mating season. However, during a picnic thrown especially for you, your two favorite pros are more aware than you realize and are more than happy to help you with your little problem.

Story Warnings: Smutty Smut, 18+ (MINORS STAY TF AWAY), Poly Romance, AgedUp!Pro!Bakugou & Kiri (they’re in their late 20s), Black!Reader, Bunny Girl!Reader, Mating Cycle, In Heat, Dick Crazed, Public Sex/Exhibitionism, Masturbation, Foreplay, Nipple Play, Light Foot Fetish (Toe Sucking), Clit Stimulation, Overstimulation, Deepthroating, Biting/Nibbling, Hair/Ear Pulling, Tail Stroking, Spanking, Face Fucking, Light Hints of Dacryphilia, Degradation, Name Calling, Pet Names, Multiple Positions (Doggystyle, Full Nelson, Mating Press), Non-Protected PIV/Non-Safe Sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT), Mentions of Breeding, Squirting, Creampies, Facials, Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: Happy spring, y’all!! Decided to celebrate by giving y’all another smutty short fic. You’re welcome, enjoy & thank you tons for the love on my work so far. Stay safe out there cuz COVID ain’t over. Wear your mask!! -Jazz

Chapters: One, Three, Four, Five

Read on AO3 here!

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

CHAPTER TWO: Fever

The next day is Friday, which means you don’t have to go to work until noon.

Which gives you just enough time to work out what to say to your boyfriends when you see them at work.

Since yesterday when Mina and Jirou gave you some good advice that you may or may not take, you’ve been suffering in silence with your anxiety over what to do next.

You lie in your bed now in your bunny PJs, staring up at the ceiling of your bedroom. You’ve been up since 7 AM contemplating whether to call Kiri and Bakugou, ask them to lunch, or visit tonight to talk things over. No amount of yoga or meditation you did earlier soothed you either. You were buzzing with anticipation and anxiety, making your stomach turn before you even had breakfast.

You rolled over to stare at your phone on the charger next to your bed. You should probably call. ‘But what if they’re sleep?’ you wonder. Still, you could shoot them a text. But how should you start it? How would you even start the conversation once you’re face to face with them?

You know logically, it’s not that hard, but it’s easier said than done. You groan, throwing an arm over your eyes. Almost as if punishing you for your acting so bizarre and forcing you to face your shit, your phone rings.

You look, finding Kiri’s name flashing across your screen. Your heart begins to pound against your chest and your stomach flips. With a deep breath, you reach for your phone and answer the call. “Hello?” you answer, making your voice sound groggy and soft as if you just woke up and you weren’t awake for hours dwelling over your life’s decisions.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Kiri’s deep, raspy voice fills your ear, making warmth curl into your core. “How’s it goin’ this morning? We missed you yesterday.”

“Good morning,” you reply and fake a yawn.

“Shit, were you sleep?” he asks, sounding apologetic. “I thought you’d be up by now since it’s 10 AM.” “She doesn’t go into work till noon, dumbass!” Bakugou growls in the background. “I told your ass to wait till then!”

“Bakugou says hi,” Kiri sighs as you giggle to yourself. “As you can see, we’re together and driving to work now. Just wanted to give you a call and see how your day went yesterday since we didn’t get a chance to talk last night.”

You remember coming home early from work yesterday before sunset and falling asleep before ten while Bakugou and Kiri were out patrolling for the night till about midnight. You don’t know how they stay so upbeat and resilient despite the long hours of being on the streets, not to mention fighting crime and getting bruised, beaten, and banged up. These are just two of the reasons why you adore them so much.

“It was fine,” you say on your back, still looking up at the ceiling. “I met up with Mina and Jirou; they said hi.” You roll over onto your stomach, giving your tail time to stretch. “I missed y’all though. The office was a little less bright without you seein’ you two waltz in.”

“Well, lucky for you, baby, we’ll be there all day today,” Kiri chuckles, the pet name making you stupidly smile into the phone.

“So what’s up with today?” Bakugou asks, getting right to the point. “You still got your break at two today, right?”

“Yep,” you reply. “I’m at work from 12 to 6 today since I come in at noon. How come?”

“Just asking,” Kiri replies. You can hear the smile in his voice. “Wanna make sure you eat in between work, y’know? You’re always hustling in there. I can see why your boss likes you.”

“A little too much, if you ask me,” Bakugou grumbles, making you roll your eyes. He’s always had this theory that your boss is trying to get a piece of you. “It’s bad enough you got that cute lil’ cotton tail.”

Hearing him talk about your tail like that–something you’re a bit insecure about anyway–does something to you. “Mmm, definitely,” Kiri purrs, sounding positively hungry for you. “Not to mention those damn skirts and work pants you wear. I’d wish you let those ears of yours free too.”

You find yourself pushing your thighs together as warmth curls into your core at their sweet words. These are just a few examples of how they sweet-talk you. Most of it is done when you’re all intertwined with one another on your couches or beds, lips moving against skin, and hands all over each other.

Bakugou’s fingers would be caressing your jaw as he whispered to you in his graveled, baritone voice, “Why are you so fuckin’ cute? I just wanna eat you up.”

And Kiri, with his hands caressing your hips and fingers coaxing you out of your top, would chuckle in your ear, “He means in, mama. Not that he’d get any farther than me. My tongue would be between your thighs before he could blink.”

You desperately want that now as your mind wanders to unholy places. “You know I can’t do that, ‘Suki,” you tell the grumpy blonde over the phone. “I only put my ears back to avoid the looks and unwanted tugs from snot-nosed kids and pervs on the street. It’s bad enough I have to ruin my clothes to let my tail breathe.”

“So If I say I wanna tug at your ears with your consent, does that make me a perv too?” Kiri asks curiously. His question makes you laugh. “You sayin’ that as if I wouldn’t let you,” you boldly reply, your fingers toying with the collar of your shirt.

“Oh, would you now?” Kiri chuckles suggestively as Bakugou groans in the background, the sound making your clit jump excitedly. “Keep talkin’ like that, baby girl, and we’ll come right over there.”

“Promise,” Bakugou growls, pure conviction in his voice.

“I…” The words die in your throat suddenly, but not that you would have a good response to that anyway. You already created a trap for yourself that exposed your deviant, horny side to your boyfriends.

And just like that, something happens to you in that moment. A switch flips and you find your body reacting immediately. Your skin becomes hot and clammy, your heartbeat accelerates, and your face flushes as if you’re growing a fever. That warm feeling in your core that grew at the sound of your boyfriends’ voices grows, as well as the wetness that had begun to coat your pussy walls. You’re suddenly soaked, ruining your panties despite no stimulation.

‘What the fuck?’ you think.

“Baby?” Kiri questions, and you realize you’ve been silent. “You still there?”

The pet name he uses only seems to make things worse. You cover your mouth to hide a whimper of need, swallowing it down. “U-Uh, yeah,” you stutter out as you abruptly sit up. “I just realized I need to clean my apartment before work. I-I have to go.”

“Well, okay,” Kiri replies, obviously noticing your sudden change in demeanor. “Just don’t work yourself too hard.” A grin splits across his face as he teasingly purrs into your ear, “That’s our job.”

Your body reacts immediately, even to Bakugou’s sexy ass laugh in the background. Especially your pussy. It’s as if she has a mind of her own as she clenches around nothing and gushes in your panties.

Not to mention your ears and tail. They twitch and are sensitive to the touch, even as you lightly brush the tip of your ear. Sparks of pleasure shoot into your core and you bite back a soft moan.

“Y-Yeah, okay!” you quickly reply. “I’ll see you guys at work. Be safe, bye!” The goodbye is practically word vomit, but enough to get you out of that call. Quickly, you hang up, toss your phone aside, and move to your mirror to check yourself out.

The woman staring back at you is not at all you. She looks feverish, her forehead coated in a light sheen of sweat and her face flushed. The fluffy rabbit ears atop her head are standing at attention, the fur standing on end as if stimulated beforehand. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her breasts jiggling slightly as she attempts to catch her breath.

“No,” you whisper to your reflection, your eyes wide with panic. “No, no, no!”

You immediately race to your calendar and trace the dates to March 20th. Next week on Tuesday. The first day of spring. Also the day you’re supposed to begin your spring cycle.

However, with the symptoms you’re showing now, you know damn well that isn’t the case. You’re on your spring cycle early.

“Fuck!” you shout, your hands going to your hair. How is this happening? You thought you had more time to prepare yourself. How is it here this early?

Your pussy pulses again and you buckle, dropping to your knees with a yelp. Your hands immediately go to cup the space between your thighs which is completely damp, your PJ shorts soaked through the fabric.

You roll onto your back with a whimper and buck your hips in the air, your body moving on its own. Your pussy throbs and aches, desperate for something to cure you of your fever. “Okay, okay!” you groan at your body’s complaints.

You have about two hours until you’re due for work, so you hurry to pick yourself up off the floor and dig into your bedside dresser into your goodies drawer. Some extra condoms for hookups, a rose, and your trusty vibrator sit in there, beckoning you forward.

You pick up your vibe which you specifically got for the different settings, speeds, and the anal plug attached to it. Quickly, you lie back against the plush pillows on your bed and turn your vibe onto the second setting.

Slow enough to start but fast enough to build up tempo. You pull down your shorts and panties immediately, hissing softly as the cool air hits your sobbing wet pussy. There’s no way you can go to work like this. So you’ll have to solve this problem yourself.

‘Your boys would help you solve this problem,’ you think to yourself, that deviant, needy, desperate side of you making an appearance. ‘They’d come right over if you asked and help you out. They’d fuck you from dusk till dawn.’

A whimper escapes your lips as you press the vibe to your aching clit. As soon as the vibrations hit the bundle of nerves there, your toes curl and your mouth opens into a silent O. Your eyes flutter closed as you drift off into a land of fantasy, your mind going blank except for the visions of your boyfriends behind your mind’s eye.

You can see them now: them entering your bedroom door to find you with your vibe between your legs, a whimpering, needy mess. They’d smirk deviously down at you, lust in their vermillion eyes.

They wouldn’t have to ask if you want them; they’d know from the pleading gaze you’d give them. You’d watch as they strip themselves of every article of clothing they’d have on until they’re forgotten on your bedroom floor.

Your eyes would trace every ripple of muscle, every scar, and imperfection that just makes them sexier. They’d let you touch their pecs and abs, your fingers trailing over soft, heated skin and their biceps, squeezing and appreciating their impressive builds.

And then your eyes would go to their cocks: hard, thick, and veiny, standing at attention and dripping in precum. Just for you. “Well?” Bakugou would growl at you. “Don’t just look at ‘em, you pretty dumbass. Do somethin’ with ‘em.”

“We took ‘em out for you, gorgeous,” Kiri would coo down at you, standing on his knees on your mattress. “Touch them. Taste them. Let us know how much you want them.” They’d both push their hips out toward you, pushing their cocks in your face.

You’d be ravenous as you’d wrap your hands around their shafts and slowly begin to stroke your hands up and down, enjoying the soft moans and grunts that leave their luscious lips at the feeling. Your pussy would gush and throb knowing you’re making them feel that good.

Then your mouth would be on them, one at a time, sucking each of them off. You’d switch between their cocks, stroking one while sucking the other, your tongue lapping at their heads. As your boys toss their heads back and become louder with their moans, they’d touch your little cotton tail and ears, stroking and gently tugging at them to your liking. You’d whimper and moan around one of their cocks in your throat, doing your best to keep focus.

“Such a naughty girl,” Kiri would breathlessly laugh as he toyed with your ears. “Such a good little bunny.” He’d say the same thing between your thighs, his hands holding your legs apart with impressive strength.

Or maybe Bakugou would do that for him. He’d be sitting behind you while you’d lean against his broad chest, his big hands holding your legs open by your ankles while Kiri lapped at your pussy, sucking gently on your clit.

Your eyes would flutter closed at the sheer pleasure, your mind going blank. “Uh-uh, mama,” Kiri would coo into your pussy. “Eyes on me.” His ruby gaze would stare you down from between your twitching thighs.

“No,” Bakugou would growl, turning your face to face him by your chin. “Keep your eyes on me, baby. Just on me.” His fingers would tweak and pinch your hard nipples, making your toes curl and your voice come out in broken moans and syllables of their names.

Then they’d switch: Bakugou would then be eating your pussy while Kiri toyed with your nipples and ears, sending your body into overdrive as you writhed and moaned, begging them for release.

The same teasing would ensue when they finally fucked you. They’d have you in every single position known to man: doggy style; missionary; cowgirl; reverse cowgirl; spitroast. The spitroast would be the one that sent you over the edge, too aroused by having Kiri’s thick dick in your mouth and Bakugou’s long, curved cock in your pussy, pounding into you again and again.

They’d fuck you silly; dumb; stupid. They’d make it so the only thing you could think about was them and the way they slang dick. They’d coo sweet nothings and degradation laced with saccharine to you as their dicks pulsed inside of you.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good!” Kiri would shout, his voice bouncing off your bedroom walls. “You’re gonna make me cum so hard for you!”

“Gonna fuckin’ breed you,” Bakugou would growl into your ear, his cock driving into you again and again. “Gonna cum so deep in you, you’ll be feelin’ me for weeks. Ain’t that what you want, slut, hm? You want daddy to cum up all inside you?”

“Yes,” you whimper, the vibe now on its fastest setting, the vibrations against your clit quickly sending you over the edge. “Yes, yes, please!”

“Cum with us, baby girl,” Kiri would moan as he gripped your hair and palmed your ass as Bakugou pounded your pussy so fast, it jiggled. “Fuckin’ cum all over Katsuki’s dick. Be a good little girl for us.”

You’d be helpless to resist his request and you’d cum all over yourself, the bed, and Katsuki’s amazing dick deep inside your cunt. That would trigger their own orgasms. They’d cum in your mouth and pussy, coating your tongue and pussy walls in their cum. The lewd sounds falling from their lips would trigger another mini-gasm out of you, making you shiver and shake as you do now.

You cum with a loud moan as you burst all over your vibrator, your cum dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets below your body. Your hips buck and your back arches, your mouth fallen in an O. You envision your boyfriends’ eyes, hot and filled with lust as they stare at you.

‘You’re ours,’ their eyes say. ‘And we’re yours.’

Finally, your orgasm fades and the aftershocks stop, but it did nothing to satisfy or satiate you. Though you know you’ll be good for another fifteen minutes, the need will just come back again until you’re a throbbing, needy, hot mess in need of some relief. How you’re gonna survive today at work or talk to your boyfriends without jumping them you have no idea.

You groan in frustration as you throw an arm over your eyes, panting heavily.

Fuck this shit.

[bnuuys-writing]

Leona's Ending

here is leona's ending for Phantom of Twisted Wonderland! I am a leona hater so i pushed myself to write it decently long enough for you Leona Stans out there.

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Leona's Ending(You are here!), Malleus' Ending

Leona was always a fast runner, when he really actually sets his mind to something, he is eager to get it. Being a lion himself also helped him jump over obstacles in their way and scale walls with his sharp nails. He needs to get to you again, faster than this dumb lizard. He wasn't about to lose you again to the Phantom that he fought so hard to protect you from. Scaling a wall very quickly, teeth bared as he jumped into the corridor and started dashing down the hallway as he knew Malleus was far behind him due to him cheating and climbing.

It wasn't long before he busted through the doors of the infirmary and slammed them shut so that a pesky lizard couldn't find his way in. Seeing Jack and Ruggie guarding your form as they welcomed him openly and opening up a space for him to come and see you. Brushing some hair out from your face, he made sure to be gentle with your state right now. Afterall, you were the most affected out of everyone from the book. 

“They have been moving and twitching here and there, also crying sir.” Jack stated out, as if reporting to a general in the middle of a war. Leona could only sigh as he nodded his head and dismissed the two of them out from the infirmary. He needed to be alone with you right now, no lizards and no lackeys allowed. Letting a small sound akin to a chuff, he grabbed your hand and gently squeezed as he waited for your eyes to open.

It wasn't long into later that day that he had fallen asleep by your bedside, still gripping onto your hand without much of a complaint. Although, if someone saw him in this state, he would be embarrassed and probably brush you off which is something you definitely do not need right now as he waited for you to wake up within your dreamland while he was in the midst of his own. He woke up immediately feeling you shift in the bed while gripping his hand got tighter. Tired emerald eyes flicking up to meet your own as he seemed a little more alert at seeing your eyes open and staring down at him.

“You’re awake.” / “You’re here.” You both spoke at the same time, only for you to pause as you looked at Leona expectantly. He seemed to notice that you were just waiting for him to speak as he sat up slowly, yawned and stretched before sighing loudly. Yet he didn't speak, he didn't dare say a word when you could be the first to say how awful he was. How could he say anything after being stuck in that damn book and practically pouring his soul out to you?

“Do you mean it?” You asked out softly, still gripping his hand tightly as you looked down at his form. His ear could only flick in irritation as he looked up at you with a small chuff coming from his throat, a confirmation of ‘yes’ in his own lion way.

“Depends on what you mean by; Do you mean it.” Leona stated out roughly as he squeezed your hand tightly. “Do you love me.” Your voice was calm as if the calm before the storm. It wasn't even a question but more of a statement that he could neither deny or object to. Another chuff coming from Leona as he looked away for a second, irritated that he would have to even voice it out.

It wasnt until you began to slide your hand away from his own that he gripped onto it tighter and sighed loudly. “You’re so pesky, herbivore. Of course I do. If I didnt, why the hell would I have even gone into that dumb book.” Leona grumbled out as he finally locked eyes with you once more. You were at a loss of words before clearing your throat slightly.

“Then would you be mad if I asked to go on a date with you?” You asked out slowly, carefully choosing your words to the lazy lion and he rolled his eyes. How stupid of you to even ask!

“Did you forget that we got engaged in that book? Call me your fiance, Y/n.” Leona’s words struck a chord in you as your face slowly became more flushed at the idea of having Leona as a husband. Especially so quickly.

“But we havent even gone on a date!” You retorted out quickly, only for Leona to roll his eyes and sigh. “Fine. I’ll get Ruggie to bring in food for us to eat in here, consider that a date and then we can nap, call that a second date, and now we are engaged.” Leona stated out cooly, finding it hilarious at how red your face is becoming just because of his attitude.

And he did just that, Ruggie was not so happy to have to give away two expensive take out plates to Leona and you while he scampered off to go do something else that wasn't to eat whatever Leona had ordered the both of you. As you two ate, Leona kept stealing glances at you to make sure you were doing okay before letting out a drawled sigh, which caused you to look up confused before tilting your head. 

“Whats the matter Leona?”

“You probably want something sappy from me, dont you.” 

It didnt take you a second to even think about it. You did want this pride driven lion to do something sappy for you. With a nod of your head, Leona could only growl before shaking his head. He would do anything just to have you by his side, including lowering his pride just to do this last thing for you.

“Say you’ll share each day, each night, each morning. Say the word and I will follow you.” Leona began to sing out softly to you, only loud enough for you to hear, in which you could only smile.

“Say you love me.” You whispered back as you leaned down to the pesky Lion laying across your lap.

“You know I do…” Leona stated out as he leaned upwards to capture your lips into a kiss. His hands cupping your cheeks as he let out a few throaty chuffs just to show you how happy he was to be receiving such a kiss like this. As you two slowly parted, you two could only stare at each other with love in your eyes with a small smirk of victory written all over Leona’s face. 

Love me, that's all I ask of you.

[kidge-planet]

Space puppies

Hello people, I wrote that fic for @alphaofdarkness because a while ago ( years ago) She drew Baebae's and Kosmo's puppies and she told me that she hopped that someone would write a fic about them, that she waited long but yet, no one did it! SO I NEEDED TO DO IT---

(I took a lot of time to finally write that so idk if anyone wrote it in the meantime but anyways, I hope you like it!)

tw- That fic is a kidge fic! don't like it, don't read it!!!!

Pidge sat cross-legged on her bed, scrolling through data on her computer while Baebae, her dog, lay at her feet. It had been a week since the Paladins returned to Earth to prepare for their next mission with the Atlas. It was a quiet evening at the Holt residence when she noticed something peculiar about her furry friend....

"Hey, Baebae," she mused, scratching the dog behind her ears. "You've been eating a bit more, huh?" It wasn't an accusation, just an observation.

But as she continued to pet her dog, she couldn't ignore the subtle bump beneath Baebae's fur. Her dog's tummy was definitely more prominent than usual. It puzzled her. Baebae hadn't been around any male dogs for months. How on Earth—or in space, for that matter—had she ended up pregnant?

Concerned and mystified, Pidge decided to consult with her family about her discovery. A trip to the vet was in order to confirm her suspicion, and she took her family and Baebae along for the visit. The vet's examination confirmed that Baebae was indeed expecting puppies, much to everyone's amazement.

As they pondered the enigma of Baebae's pregnancy, the days passed. Soon, Pidge's dog gave birth to a litter of adorable puppies that, to everyone's surprise, bore a striking resemblance to Keith's space wolf.

Quickly, Keith got called to see...

"What is i-... HO! wow..." Keith stopped himself in front of the small balls of fur next to Baebae.

"Tell me that you think the same as me..." Pidge showed the puppies with a finger.

"Kosmo is literally the father!.." He answered, not quitting his eyes from them...

"So... What are we supposed to do with them now?"

"Well-" Keith couldn't finish his answer as the puppies teleported away.

That was it, they lost the puppies...

"OK, Kosmo is LITERALLY the father...".

"WE HAVE TO FIND THEM, KEITH!" she grabbed his arm and pulled his face toward hers.

At this gesture, he blushed, "huh, yeah... Let's find them and then figure out what to do..."

They rushed through the Garrison's hallways, searching for any sign of a puppy...

"Should we split up? Or maybe we should stay together?"

"Splitting up sounds good..." As Keith said that, they heard a strange noise coming from a nearby closet... They opened it, and inside, they found a small blue and fluffy dog crawling on the ground...

"One! Now gotta find the four others..." She picked the puppy up, and then turned toward Keith.

He quickly nodded...

So they searched... And searched... But found only 3 puppies... Where was the last one?

They kept looking for it but it was in vain... No blue puppy around...

So they decided to go back to the room where Baebae was peacefully resting, and finally, they found it! The last one stayed here all along! Cuddling with his mother... At the sight of the last puppy, both Keith and Pidge felt relief on their shoulders... They placed the puppies next to Baebae, hoping that they would not teleport away again...

"They will disappear again... That's for sure... Now, what do we do? Is there something that you do with Kosmo for him to not teleport?" Pidge sighed as she sat next to Baebae and patted her head.

"No, nothing... I let Kosmo do whatever he wants... I always did..."

"Well, we have to find a way..."

As they were both thinking of a solution, Kosmo finally teleported into the room...

He walked toward Baebae and licked the tip of her nose very quickly, which got her to yawn, take a look at him, and sleep again....

He then took a look at his five puppies and gave them a few sniffs before actually licking their backs, as if he was recognizing that they were his kids...

"Keith, look, the droll mark that he left on the puppies' backs is different than the one he left on Baebae's nose... The one on Baebae is totally invisible, while the one on the puppies' backs is glittery and a bit blue... Maybe that's how he marks the fact that they are his kids... HO! maybe, that's how he does it for the babies to not teleport everywhere!"

Keith blinked twice and turned toward the babies, "hey, you're right! Maybe we should stay and see what they do? Like... You know... Make sure that they don't teleport again?"

At this exact moment, one of the puppies teleported away... But then, Kosmo disappeared too, and a few seconds later, he was back with the baby and placed it back next to Baebae...

"OK! I get it now! The lick on the back was a way for him to find them whenever they teleport! Awesome!"

Keith smiled and patted the space wolf, "you're doing a great job, buddy."

Keith and Pidge stayed in the room for a while, discussing their options but also taking pictures of the puppies cuddling with their parents because GOSH, who wouldn't capture that sight of cuteness?!

"They're a beautiful family," Pidge sighed.

"They really are."

"I wish I can form a family as beautiful as this one, one day."

"Shouldn't be hard... You're amazing..." He turned toward her.

She blushed, "thanks."

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @mk-writes-stuff!

Find the Word Tag

My words: star, panic, weird, break

(Pulled from Mortal God book 2)

Your words: bitter, palace, stumble, rotten

(I'll tag @the-angriest-author @autism-purgatory @super-writer-gal @trippingpossum @steh-lar-uh-nuhs and anyone else who'd like to join!)

.

In Unity, 'night' earned its title only shakily. No stars could peer past the veil of foundry smoke, the moon only a hazy shadow of its full glory. Instead, streetlamps took the place of these celestial bodies, and as they were new to the world, they performed their duty with overzealous fervor. Artificial lights of every unnatural color reflected off of artificial clouds. Even the looming islands hanging overhead like leaden raindrops shed their own pools of illumination.

It... unnerved Vermir. The ancient woman had worked hard to reacquaint herself with the trappings of the times after five hundred years imprisoned at the bottom of the ocean. For the most part, things were wonderful now. Machines could make books in a fraction of the time it would take someone to copy one, medicine could treat anything from water in the lungs to a broken skull, and that was to say nothing of the leaps and strides taken in the field of magic.

Yet even still. Night should be dark, peaceful---a time for the mind to wander, free from the constraints of the day's duties. There was nothing quiet or peaceful about this place.

.

The third garment put the first two to shame. It was a floor-length skirt with a high waistline, two rows of buttons running down to hip level. The shape was pretty simple, all in all. It was the embroidery that made it something spectacular. A tapestry of pale wolves, dagger-billed cranes, bearded unicorns, and gauzy specters cavorted through a moonlit forest, tracks leaving lacy flowers in their wake. It looked rather more like an art piece than something a person would dare to wear. Mashal imagined it still smelled like lhara and manic panic.

.

So far as he could tell, the guard wasn't throwing the fight in the slightest. Sweat dripped from the man’s face as the Duchon stepped around his kick as casually as closing a door. Before he got his foot back down, they delivered a blistering crescent kick into the man’s other thigh.

The entire crowd winced, Mashal included. He remembered that pain. There was a nerve that ran along the upper leg and it looked like the Duchon had hit it right on the money.

However, they pulled back instead of closing in, allowing the guard to stagger back up. A bloody-knuckled grin crept onto the man’s face, answered by a graceful bow from the Duchon. The two tapped fists, then continued with the match.

"This is weird, right?" Mashal whispered to Cee'es. "I thought the Skysheerian nobility considered violence a base thing."

.

Mashal took a simulated breath and made to continue. "The localization rune, when run through a calido-- calidioorogenic cycle, will flip on its axis, pushing magic away from the Veil instead of pulling from it, creating a thin spot. If"---The man paused briefly to smother a yawn---"the cycle is repeated and the axis is flipped once more---"

Astra tapped her pen on the top of the tome, causing him to glance up. "Mark your spot, take a break."

"Huh?" One of Mashal's eyes flickered as he blinked, lending very much to his tired posture. "But you said this chapter is important?"

"It can wait. We've been here for four damn hours now," the witch said. She then pointed to the looming stacks and the valley-tunnels between them. "Go stretch your legs. I was fixin' to review my notes anyways, 'fore we get any further. I gotta brush up on all a' my Veil axes."

Mashal cocked his head. "How many are there?"

"Thirty-three," Astra answered without batting an eye.

"Well, in that case, I will gladly be taking my break." The man stood with a stretch, bronze plates all clinking softly together. "I'll be back in five."

[silverstarfics]

It’s PRIDE MONTH GUYS WHOO! Here’s my contribution for day one of @thunder-pride You can also read it over on AO3 if that’s easier :) I nearly got a full bingo, but not quite... which just means I’ll have to write more at some point!

In the meantime have 1.7k of Kayo and Alan.

Something was bothering Alan.

After several days of observation, this was the grand conclusion which Kayo had reached. Ordinarily it would have taken her far less time, but she’d been needed in both hemispheres at the same time for a week straight and so had spent much of her days flitting between rescues, various GDF tasks and aiding Penelope with a lead they’d been tracking for the past five months now. But during her rare hours at home, she’d become aware that Alan was acting sort of… off. More so than usual, anyway, which was saying a lot given he was a weird little nerd on the best of days.

Ordinarily, Kayo would have pushed the thought to the back of her mind. She was exhausted after her non-stop week and had to admit that she’d hit her limits. Her flight hours were so far in the red that John had threatened to remotely disable Shadow’s controls and her vision became concerningly blurry if she stood up too fast. Besides, Alan had four brothers and a grandmother to fret over him – he really didn’t need his sister hanging around too.

And yet. Worry slunk out of hiding and settled in her stomach like a leaden weight. She didn’t register it until she was perched on a kitchen counter, scoffing leftovers without even waiting to heat them in the microwave, watching Alan miss an obvious opener for a joke and then plastering a fake smile on his face when Gordon pointed it out.

“I’m just tired,” he claimed, elbowing Gordon as his brother attempted to tackle him off the couch while Virgil lifted his feet out of their path with a wearied sigh of utmost exasperation.

Kayo eyed them suspiciously. Just tired? Yeah, right. She couldn’t have been less convinced if Alan had announced he’d gained the ability to levitate, which was what made it so surprising when Gordon accepted the excuse without hesitation. To give Virgil credit, he looked a little less satisfied with the answer, but didn’t push the matter. He was probably hoping Alan would choose to confide in him of his own free will at a later time. This wasn’t a bad strategy, but Kayo was too impatient to ignore the issue.

She aggressively stabbed her noodles, earning an alarmed look from Brains who had ventured up to the kitchen for a coffee refill despite the fact it was already half-seven in the evening.

“Wow,” John commented, hovering about the holo-projector like a creep.

Kayo pointed her fork at him. “Got something to say?”

Safe in orbit, John raised a brow. “Just that you should sleep.”

“Sleep is for the weak,” she declared. “Brains agrees, don’t you?”

Brains’ gaze flickered from John’s avatar to Kayo’s fork. “I, um, don’t have an o-opinion?”

“Wise choice,” John quipped, whilst Kayo dropped her fork into the sink with a groan.

Despite her grumbling, she did end up crashing on the couch for a few hours. She awoke to dark skies and a patchwork blanket carefully tucked around her shoulders. Someone had put a pillow under her head to save her from neckache.

Her senses were still a little foggy with sleep, but her mind was sharper, reflexes restored to their cat-like speeds. She sat up, scrubbing at her face with her hands. The conversation pit and kitchen were both empty but there was a lone figure sat by the poolside. She peered at them through the gaps between her fingers, yawned, and hauled herself off the couch, curiosity once again piqued to wrestle with a new surge of worry.

It had been a bracingly hot day – not that she had been at home to appreciate it – and some of that heat was still trapped within the tiles. They were warm underfoot while the air remained sticky with humidity. A chorus of nocturnal insects sang cheerily from the vegetation. She tipped her head back to glimpse the sleeping villa. Virgil’s window was still lit, but the others had been extinguished.

“Hey.”

Alan tilted his head slightly in acknowledgement as she dropped down to sit beside him but didn’t say a word. His feet were dunked in the pool, gaze fixed on the expanse of dark ocean without truly seeing it. It reaffirmed Kayo’s suspicion that something was wrong because it was one of the clearest displays of stars that she’d witnessed in quite some time with a new moon and the Delta Aquariid shower reaching its peak, yet Alan seemed oblivious to it.

A few more minutes dragged by in relative silence. Kayo hooked her legs over the poolside and leaned back against the heels of her hands. There was a thin line of tension keeping Alan’s shoulders taut and dark shadows were smeared beneath his eyes from sleepless nights. The worry racked up a notch, creeping up her throat until she couldn’t bear to let him look like a kicked puppy for even a second longer.

“So,” she began lightly, knocking their shoulders together to draw Alan’s attention. “What’s eating you?”

Alan knocked his heels against the tiles, sending ripples across the pool. “It’s dumb.”

“Try me.”

“It’s, like, really dumb.”

“Great, I could do with a laugh.”

Alan paled. “Oh god, no, please don’t laugh at me. I mean, it’s dumb, but also…”

“It’s bothering you?”

He lifted his feet out of the water to rest his chin on his drawn knees with a groan. “Maybe.”

Kayo wasn’t Alan’s first choice for advice, but she also wasn’t his last. There were certain subjects which just couldn’t be raised with brothers. And Kayo secretly – although she’d never admit it – loved the fact that Alan felt comfortable confiding in her.

“I won’t laugh at you.” She held out a hand. “See? I’ll even pinkie promise you like a child.”

Alan let out a damp laugh. “Thanks.”

He dragged the back of his hand across his eyes with a sniff. Kayo waited, repressing the urge to ask him to spit it out already. He inhaled deeply then blurted in a rush,

“How-do-you-know-if-you-like-someone?”

Kayo was rarely taken aback, but this was one such instance. “Try that again, but slower.”

“How do you…?” Alan curled inwards slightly as if he could condense himself into a singularity if he really put his mind to it. “How do you know if you like someone?” He ducked his head. “As in, um, like-like them?”

Kayo’s relationship experience consisted mostly of occasional hook-ups and embarrassing crushes which she refused to acknowledge.

“Uh,” she said very eloquently. “I suppose… They make you happy. You feel lighter when they’re around. When something happens, they’re the first person you want to tell. You can never spend enough time with them. That sort of stuff.”

“Oh my god,” Alan whimpered, burying his face in his knees. “This is horrible. Forget I ever said anything. Just go away and let me drown myself in the swimming pool.”

Kayo bit back a laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I literally want to throw myself into the sun right now.”

“It’s not that embarrassing.”

Alan’s voice pitched into a frequency usually only audible to dogs. “We’re talking about feelings, Kayo. This could not get any worse unless Gordon’s secretly recording.” He lifted his chin to glare at said brother’s balcony. “Wait, he’s not, right?”

Kayo gave his shoulder a light shove. “Relax, it’s just us.” She let the silence settle again before venturing, cautiously, “So, um… them?”

Alan was very quiet for a moment, then softly corrected, “Him.”

“Do I know him?”

“Maybe.”

Kayo let a grin dawn on her face. “He wouldn’t happen to be a certain YouTuber, would he?”

“Possibly.” Alan stole a glance at her. “You’re, uh… You don’t seem surprised?”

“Alan, I love you, so please know that it is with fondness when I tell you that watching you try to impress Brandon Berrenger is quite possibly the most excruciating thing I have ever witnessed. And I wasn’t even there for the initial rescue, so I can only imagine how cringeworthy that must have been.”

“Okay, first off, rude. I wasn’t that bad.”

“You followed him around like a little lost puppy. Oh, Brandon, look at me! Aren’t I so cool? Ooh, I fly a rocket, please fall in love with me immediately.”

“Shut up! Also, I don’t sound like that.”

“Eh.”

“Kayo.”

“Alan.”

Alan returned his gaze to the ocean with a huff. “But um…” He took a deep breath. “I meant… you don’t seem surprised that I, uh, like guys.”

“I had my suspicions.”

Alan blinked owlishly at her. “Wait, really?”

“My job is to be observant,” Kayo pointed out gently, trying not to laugh. “I’d be a pretty terrible Head of Security otherwise, wouldn’t I? And you and Brandon? Not exactly subtle, Allie.”

Alan tilted sideways to drop his head on her shoulder. “Don’t remind me. I’m the worst. I have zero verbal filter around him.”

Kayo patted his back sympathetically. “Sucks to be you.”

“Thanks. That’s so helpful.”

The silence which settled was comfortable this time.

“So… just guys, or…?”

“Both,” Alan confessed, twisting his fingers in the hem of his shirt. “I, uh… Both. Both is good. And I think I’ve known for a while, but I figured… maybe I could ignore it? But then I met Brandon and… Yeah. So. Ta da!” He made jazz hands. “Not sure what label I’m vibing with, but I’m definitely not straight.”

Kayo let out an undignified snort. “I’m very proud of you for figuring yourself out and all that fun stuff, but please never make jazz hands again.”

Alan sniggered. “Why not? It’s fun.” He leaned a little closer against her side and peered up at the stars. “I think maybe I’m bi? I don’t know. I’m still figuring it out. But I don’t really want to tell anyone until I understand myself a bit better, so…”

“I won’t say anything.”

“Thanks.”

“You don’t need to thank me for that, dumbass.”

Kayo looped an arm around his shoulders. It was rare for her to dish out so much physical affection in one night, but hey. She’d been in his place before and it had sucked. Being a teenager was confusing enough without sexuality crises.

“Hey, Alan? Thanks for telling me.”

He shrugged. “Thanks for being cool about it.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know, I just got all up in my own head and- Anyway. Thanks.”

Kayo grinned. “So, are you going to ask out Brandon or…?”

“Shut up!”

[galaxythreads]

Is there anything specific to figuring out what to write for the start of a story? People say like “start while the characters are doing something” and it’s good advice but idk how to figure out *what* they’d be doing. I loveee your writing and clearly you know how to get past this so..

Great question! Thanks for reaching out :)

What people mean when they give that advice isn't have the characters be making a sandwich (although that is a great option) it just means have your character already immersed in the world. Don't wait to give them a thumbs up that they can go.

For example, using my own writing, lets look at what I consider to be one of the worst openings and one of the best:

So in If Lost, Please Return To Peter (which I have actually edited out the worst of this like 2 years ago, when it was posted and was the bare bones it was awful), here's the opening paragraph:

"Peter is pretty terrible at making friends."

and like this part is good! It asks a question. Why is peter terrible at making friends? Why are we thinking about this? How is this relevant to what's going on?

and then it immediately gets bogged down by the following paragraph:

"Okay, understatement: Peter and making friends crosses over that line of "beyond horrible" that hits that stage where other people are embarrassed for him. It's wondrous. Honestly, he doesn't even know how to approach people; Ned accidentally dumped his jug of water on Peter's painting when they were in second grade and, feeling guilty, Ned had followed him around apologizing (though Peter had long forgiven him) and it sort of moved on beyond that to actual friendship. Michelle just started showing up wherever he and Ned were towards the beginning of the school year and acted like it was a coincidence."

Why do we care about this? We don't. It drags the story. It's not relevant to what's going on. And what is going on in this scene that is the point/task I want the characters to do? Loki is on top of a roof about to jump and Peter is going to talk him out of it. It's a really heavy scene. Opening with something light-hearted wasn't a bad choice, but the problem comes here:

it takes me 5 paragraphs to have Peter do anything, which is yawn. This paragraph that I'm pointing to should have been the opening sentence because PETER IS DOING SOMETHING. We are ENGAGED in the story. I could have put the following five paragraphs literally anywhere else in this scene and it would have worked so much better. He literally just thinks for paragraphs and paragraphs at a time.

Like to be clear this isn't unreadable. People will and do make it past terrible openings. Clearly. I wouldn't have nearly the ao3 following I do if they didn't, lol.

Okay, so we have that.

then there's FOUR MORE PARAGRAPHS OF THOUGHT BEFORE WE HAVE ANOTHER ACTION

so we are now like 8-9 paragraphs into the story (this would be page 3-4) and Peter has done this:

Thought and thought and thought (which is bad because he's not distressed and has no reason to be caught up in his head)

Yawned

fired a web

and said a single line of dialog.

It takes until almost page 5 before Peter and Loki interact. Which was the task of the scene. the Point. I know when I was younger and more inexperienced, a writer I knew told me that the story couldn't start until page 3 cause you needed to know the character, so I felt an obligation to just ramble and ramble until I got there before finally feeling relief that the story could pick up. Like if you go read the rest of the one-shot, the pacing is much better. Because that's what the problem of this opening is: the pacing. That's why it's important to have your character start with doing something because it helps with the pacing. Usually that something the character is doing is a task they need to complete and once that task is over, the opening scene is also over.

so compare that scene in the one-shot to this one from Scar Tissue, with is an Avatar the last airbender fic I'm working on right now. Chapter 1 is one of my favorite openings I've ever done.

"Despite Aang’s frustrated insistence ten minutes earlier, Sokka is not beach moping. He’s sitting, calmly, thinking very hard about how miserable he is. There’s a difference. And it’s not even a beach. Agna Qel’a doesn’t have anything that really passes for a beach anyway, just what feels like an endless amount of docks and ice, so there."

So this is the opening paragraph. The character didn't start doing something. Sokka is not making a sandwich. But what I HAVE done to pull the reader in is two things

a) I've made it funny. People are automatically drawn into something that's a little funny. And it also answers the question of whether or not our senses of humor are going to match like immediately. I have a really dark sense of humor in writing that not everyone enjoys and this subconsciously answers that question right away.

b) I've made you ask a question. Why is Sokka beach moping? What is beach moping?

c) Sokka is already tethered down. He mentions that he's been talking to Aang, which implies that this scene has not existed inside of a void. Something happened right before the scene started. In my acting class, my teacher refers to this as the "before moment." What happened BEFORE the scene started? This is a great question to ask yourself when you start an opening scene. Because the before moment lets you know why you are starting it at that exact moment.

Okay, good first paragraph, then it continues:

"Not beach moping. 

Impossible to be beach moping, technically. 

“Are you still beach moping?” Katara, behind him, already sounds exhausted. More than that, she sounds pre-done with Sokka’s feelings, and they’ve barely spoken today. This is just some task she needs to check off before she can go to sleep, and the idea of being that much of an annoyance makes something desperate curl in Sokka’s stomach with panic.""

^ What did I do here that was different than the Peter one? Read that, then read this:

Okay, understatement: Peter and making friends crosses over that line of "beyond horrible" that hits that stage where other people are embarrassed for him. It's wondrous. Honestly, he doesn't even know how to approach people; Ned accidentally dumped his jug of water on Peter's painting when they were in second grade and, feeling guilty, Ned had followed him around apologizing (though Peter had long forgiven him) and it sort of moved on beyond that to actual friendship. Michelle just started showing up wherever he and Ned were towards the beginning of the school year and acted like it was a coincidence."

Peter rambles on something that is not relevant. Does painting ever come up in that one-shot? No. It does not. In the Avatar fic, Sokka beach moping is the point of the scene and is the inciting incident of hte story. The task I've just assigned Sokka is a conversation, which is the EXACT SAME TASK i gave Peter in the one-shot, but unlike the peter oneshot, it takes Sokka like one and a half paragraphs to do something:

and Sokka's is relevant to what's going on. The conversation has started. Peter still has like 4 more pages to go with rambling and doing nothing. The reason I chose these two scenes to compare and contrast specifically is because they both have the same thing: they're really really thought heavy. But the difference is how relevant those thoughts are to the story I'm trying to tell. For Sokka, it's that he's depressed about anxious about the aftermath of a battle and losing his girlfriend. For Peter, it's...not that. HE thinks about paintings with his friends, he thinks about May, he thinks about ANYTHING EXCEPT THE POINT OF THE SCENE.

If you've ever heard someone complain that it's taking forever to get to the point, this is what they mean. It's not so much that the scene is long or rambly, it's how relevant it is to your story. Sokka is beach moping. When Sokka's conversation about WHY he has been beach moping is over (whether or not he reveals that to Katara isn't really relevant), that scene is over. The point of that scene is that Sokka is moping and BECAUSE he is moping, he finds Iroh and Zuko floating in the water. It sets up Sokka as a character FIRST. Then the inciting incident of the story. PEter's current mental state wasn't set up, which is what those rambly thoughts should have done instead of tell us childhood stories.

Here's another opening that I really like from Not One For Chocolate Anymore, I See: (why does this title have I see, has it always had I see?? lol)

anyway, so this communicates the same thing: Setting, character, TASK.

They're in a walmart parking lot on Christmas morning, very early, it's cold, the character is Tony, Tony is looking for Peter. When Tony finds Peter, the opening scene is over.

Same thing in Scar Tissue:

Setting, character, task:

Setting: Agna Qel'a, the dock, it's cold.

Character: Sokka

Task: Beach mope, talk to Katara, deal with panic attack.

Ideally, the first couple of paragraphs (within the first page or so) should provide those three things ^

which is why this opening didn't work

setting: ??????????????????

character: Peter

Task: ??????????????????????????????

I don't love the opening of You Screamed For So Long We Forgot To Care Anymore and it's kind of because it takes a second for the story to roll forward:

Setting: ?????????

Character: Clint

Task: Calling Jane, see where Thor is

---

TL:DR

Give your character something to do that immediately engages them in the story. Don't wait around to get to the point bogged down with useless details. Give us the setting - even if the setting is that the character doesn't know where they are - who the story is about, and the task the character is trying to do. Even if that's making a sandwich.

But also bare in mind that people will and do read through some of the worst openings on the planet and then later find those same terrible openings deeply comforting. (If anyone changed the terrible opening on my beloved fics that I have the sentence structure memorized on, I would be devastated.) Most people make it at least half-way through chapter 1 of fics before giving up, so as long as you can engage them by that point, you're good. I don't love all my openings and it IS something I am still learning to do better because it's definitely a skill you need to develop. But guess what! You CAN develop it. What really helped me was when I started paying attention to the openings of my favorite fics and figuring out what they were doing and then mimicking it.

A huge part of becoming a better writer is deconstructing writing and then regurgitating it in your own style. Did that answer your question? You can say no, absolutely, but I just want to make sure I was actually helpful. XD

---

ON FIGURING OUT WHAT THEY'D BE DOING: setting up your character's current place, then the inciting incident. Remember, the first chapter of a multi-chapter fic (first scene-ish of a one-shot) is setting up WHY the story happens. So what they'd be doing should be relevant to why the story happens. That's why I had Sokka on the beach, so he could find Iroh and Zuko. THat's why I had Peter out fighting crime so he could find Loki and they'd talk. And Tony was in the parking lot to find Peter, and etc, etc. The task they're trying to accomplish is the reason that scene exists at all, if that makes sense?

[starlitmemoriam]

By the Candle's Light

@kitxkatrp

The constant ticking of the wall clock was hypnotizing to him. Look at the way that it moved. It was so soothing. So ordered. So... wait. What had he been doing earlier? What room was he in? Glazed over eyes snapped to attention as he glanced at what he had been holding in his hands. A paint brush and a figurine. Oh, he must've been painting. Where are his paints? Did they get on his sleeve? Luckily, the answer was no; he always took great care to put them where he wouldn't get them on his clothing unless he passed out on his workspace. Which has happened more than once. But it wasn't stopping him from actually addressing the problem.

He was home earlier than normal; his boss sent him home after the books started whispering to him and he was suddenly on the floor. Didn't remember walking home. Or opening his front door. Or what set this was for. Or the past four days. Was he supposed to be doing something? Aside from paint whatever this is. Surely he had a particular color palette in mind. What was it again? Did he remember to write it down? There wasn't any paint on the model, so he had nothing to go off of. Now that he thought about it, he was kinda hungry. Food sounded good. Yeah. And... he had to glance at the clock again. Ah, Amane should be home any minute. Might as well cook for the both of them.

Ryo stood up from his little desk, nudging the chair into place with his foot before exiting to go find the kitchen. It was immaculate, as it should be. He was a bit of a notorious clean freak, after all. Cooking was such second nature that he didn't particularly think about what he was making, he just did. Apparently his sleep-deprived cooking was either utterly immaculate or needed to be exorcised by some kind of food priest. Should he be handling a knife when he's hearing books speaking to him and seeing pictures follow him with their eyes? Probably not. But someone's got to do chores around here.

Every little noise had him jumpy; he startled himself when he accidentally knocked the pepper shaker over trying to reach for a completely different spice. The biggest scare came from what he's praying was the front door opening and the sound of Amane coming inside. If it wasn't that, then he's got bigger problems on his hands. But talking to nothing, if she really wasn't there, wasn't quite unusual for him.

"Welcome home." Ryo greeted, not daring to turn around just in case it wasn't real. "Dinner's cooking, work was short. The books asked to host a séance, but not on work hours. I think I'm missing paint, left it in the sink. Did you have a nice day?" He could barely get that out before yawning and having to bend over the kitchen counter just to rub his eyes with the back of his hand. It's been... approximately four to five days since he last slept. He thinks. He's not actually sure; time has been a blur and quite frankly he doesn't even know what day it is. Which wasn't particularly unusual for him. But then again, neither was this.

[sparrowandbee]

Chapter 3 | Chapter 4, Part 2

The Sparrow: Chapter 4, Part 1: Little Lies

Synopsis: Marian begins training and devises a risky strategy.

Author’s Note: I’m splitting up this chapter because I want to haha. It’s not a good combination with me writing long chapters but liking to read short chapters… you will simply have to deal with this until you complain. :) -Lu 🪶

Warnings: Some swearing.

Word count: 876

The sun had barely risen but we were already dressed and waiting in the training room. In contrast to the ornate, wood-panelled halls of the rest of the Capitol interiors, the training room reminded me more of the sharp, grey exteriors- cold and daunting, with several mirrors lining the curve of the wall as it meets the ceiling. I caught the gaze of my reflection, barely recognizing the shiny-haired girl looking back at me. I looked foreign to myself- zipped up in a black and grey bodysuit.

It was also quiet, for the most part. The higher district kids stood around on one side, avoiding each other or looking up at the intimidating wall of weapons. I stood nearer to them while Alder stood closer to the eight career tributes in a huddle, sharing loud conversation and laughs between each other, occasionally popping their heads out towards us.

I envied them a little bit. They were actually excited to be there, (with most career tributes having volunteered,) and they had a built-in group of friends with no awkward silence or lingering fear. That is until those same friends slaughtered each other inside the arena, literally stabbing their friends in the back.

I watched each of them closely, trying to pick up on any tells that could help me inside the arena, but in all honesty, I didn’t quite know what to look for. Sure, they were all muscular and held their chins up (whereas the scrawny rest of us flinched at the mere sight of a bow)- but they were also just kids.

Their laughter sounded just like any other 16 or 17-year-old’s; the girls played with their braids like I’ve seen girls do out in the schoolyard while the boys hid behind crossed arms, letting their teenage self-consciousness slip.

Their confidence was so fabricated, it was so clear to me that those kids were just as scared as we were, they just knew how to hide it better.

They took turns turning around to look at Alder. Out of all of the others, he was the biggest, so they were either sizing up their only real threat or debating an allyship. Either way, they never once glanced my way… at least not now that I was fully clothed.

The double door at the other end of the training room soon opened which prompted my attention to the bald, muscular head instructor- a completely unremarkable man who I have not seen or thought about since that day.

“In two weeks 23 of you will be dead,” he barked at us as the doors slammed behind him, bringing the room to a pin-drop silence. “Only one of you will survive. Who that is will depend on how well you pay attention over the next four days.”

He paced the room, looking at each of us as he passed. “First: no fighting other tributes. You’ll have plenty of time for that in the arena,” I heard a laugh come from a career.

“My advice to you,” the instructor ignored her antics, increasing his volume, “is to not ignore your survival instincts. Everyone wants a weapon but most of you will just die of natural causes. Statistically,” Alder yawned beside me. We woke up early today, so I couldn’t blame him but I forced myself to focus regardless. “About three of you will die from infection and five of you from dehydration. Exposure kills as easily as a knife. You’ll begin combat training and then survival. After today you can practice whatever you’d like in preparation for your evaluation in three days.”

Despite my initial hesitation, I found myself looking forward to training. I was excited to be taught something, and maybe retain some novel, interesting information I would have never gotten the chance to learn back home.

However, my enthusiasm waned throughout the day as I (the girl from District 12) was last in line for every demonstration. I took careful note of everything the instructors explained but being last in line also allowed me to examine the other Tributes.

10 years on my own had taught me how to read people moderately well- I could tell the careers were doing the same thing, but more obnoxiously. Every time a Tribute missed a mark or performed poorly, the careers would laugh, but promptly dismiss him or her, writing off every person they didn’t consider a threat.

On the other hand, every successful tribute would cause whispers and death stares.

If I was going to even try to survive, the last thing I needed was a target on my back, so I kept the instructions for each exercise in mind and did the exact opposite. I dropped an axe, pretending it was too heavy for me to even lift, barely climbed the net before falling off, and repeatedly chose poisonous plants, but it worked and after a few whispered snickers, I was as good as invisible.

Sure, the information was theoretically in my head, but on the walk back to the elevator after a long day of feigning stupidity, I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of regret. My impulsive “strategy” led me to lose a whole day of training while everyone else actually had an advantage now.

Crap.

—

Next Chapter

Masterlist

[postwarlevi]

Cat 1.4+ words || Fathers Day 2022 Masterlist

On a Friday morning Levi awakens early like usual, makes the bed, takes a quick shower, and starts his tea.

He works remotely a couple days a week but keeps to his usual routine.

He starts to take everything out to make an omelet and feels a bump around his ankle.

"You wanna eat too?" He says to the white tabby with a black goatee and one small black spot on his left ear.

"Meow." Scouts golden eyes are wide.

"Okay, okay, give me a minute."

In between pouring his tea and starting breakfast, he opens a can and puts it down for Scout, who purrs loudly.

Setting his tray at his desk, Levi turns on his computer and eats while seeing what needs to be done.

"Of course." He rolls his eyes, seeing there's a video meeting in half an hour.

He makes sure to open all the proper files while getting his food down, goes to clean up after Scout who is washing over by the windowsill and sits down in time for the meeting.

Five other people are in the meeting including the assistant manager. No doubt the higher up has today off.

Levi sees who else is on while somewhat paying attention to the nonsense about numbers that he doesn't need to know about.

He goes left to right, top to bottom.

Lazy, slacker, jerk, suck up…

Then he gets to a newer staff member who just came on board in the last few months.

He sees you around the office sometimes, you're polite to each other in the breakroom, he also sees you on some of these video calls. You haven't done much else together, but Levi always feels a little anxious whenever he sees you, like his heart can't beat in rhythm.

Somehow your positive attitude doesn't bother him in the way a phony manager would come off. Plus you're pretty funny despite your corny humor, and pretty to look at…

Dare he say, he has a crush?

"Mr Ackerman, care to fill us in on what's going on?"

Crap, had he been lost in thought?

"Uh…"

But then he hears rustling behind him and some people laughing, including you.

He turns to see Scout zooming around, on and off the couch trying to catch a moth that has flown in from an open window.

"Sorry." He says, and goes to put the cat in another room for now.

"No wait! He's cute. Let him stay." You say in a hopeful tone.

Jeez, you've noticed them.

Levi puts Scout on his lap who tries to be a little nosey before settling on his dads lap.

They go back to numbers and everyone has a say, and Levi can't help but continue to watch your screen.

And it appears, you're watching his, as anytime Scout twitches or lets out a yawn, your eyes light up and you have the most adorable nose scrunching smile.

Without realizing it Levi puts an elbow on the desk and rests his chin on his hand.

"Well, that's about all we have time for today. Anyone want to add anything?" The manager asks.

"Oh, I have something!" You announce, and Levi is paying attention.

"What's a cats favorite tv show?" All you get are confused looks.

Oh no, the stupid jokes, here it comes.

"Claw and Order!" You say with a laugh.

Everyone else groans and without meaning to Levi let's out a short chuckle, quickly stopping himself.

Thankfully most everyone is already signing off and it goes unnoticed, by almost everyone.

You give a wave to the camera, and being the last two on, Levi knows it's for him.

He does the only thing he can think of and picks up a sleepy tabby and waves it's paw at the screen.

There goes the smile of yours, and soon Levi is staring at a blank screen.

Well, he didn't expect his day to start like this.

He pets Scout and plops him down on the floor, thanking him for his assistance.

It's about twenty minutes later when he sees an incoming text message.

"Whats his name?" It says.

Levi recognizes your name and responses.

"Cute, how old?" Levi smiles at your reply.

"Two next month." He adds he's had him since four months.

"Adorable!" Levi raises an eyebrow, not sure how age can be cute.

That's all you write so Levi goes back to work, and before the hour is up, there you are again.

"Knock knock."

Levi actually laughs as he writes "Who's there?"

"Kitten." Levi tries to guess where this is going as he asks "kitten who?"

"Quit kitten around and let me see the kitty!"

"Oh my gosh." Levi says out loud to himself.

"You're terrible at this." He writes, hoping you won't be offended.

You're not, and agree that your jokes are awful.

Levi sends a couple pictures he has saved of Scout and you gush and the two of you banter for a few more minutes.

"I'm not getting any work done, you know."

"Oh I'm so sorry! I'll let you go." You didn't mean to bother him. But obviously you're interrupting his work.

Levi curses himself. That's not what he wants.

"I'm almost done anyway. How about you? Wanna chat during lunch?" He puts himself out there.

"Sure! I'll see you then."

You sign off before Levi can say anything else and he sighs.

This is the most you've ever interacted.

He looks down to see Scout sunbathing on his back, tail swishing slowly.

"Well, you're good for something."

Scout is good for a lot actually, but this has been the best.

Levi hurries to actually finish his work right at his usual lunch time, makes himself something quick and grabs an apple, and a few minutes later, you're inviting him to a video chat.

Oh. That's what you meant by see him later.

Levi takes a moment to make sure he's ready, but you've already seen him and his place before, so accepts the invite.

"Afternoon, Levi." You smile brightly, and his heart skips a beat.

"Afternoon."

At first you stick to the subjects of cats while you both nibble on your food.

You have a cat as well, and you share stories of them crying at night and getting into things they shouldn't.

You mention how yours knocked down a special ornament recently, and Levi tells you how Scout does nothing for Levis insomnia when he races around the bed at 3am on the dot every night.

"Is Scout having a party?" You ask in earnest about his upcoming birthday.

It takes everything in Levi not to smirk.

"Only if you'll come." You could take it as a joke, or not, and it would work.

"Awe, of course!" And you don't, which makes Levi happy.

You talk for a little while longer, playing a quick version of 20 Questions with things like favorite color and what you wanted to be when you grew up, and it's past regular lunch time.

"Ugh, I gotta go finish this project." You huff in annoyance. It's been taxing but you're almost done.

"Can't go without saying bye to Scout." Levi goes to find him and you laugh as he waves his paw again.

"Awe, bye Scout. Oh! Here's Penny!" You nab the grey tabby who was trying to pass by quietly.

Scout notices Penny on the screen and meows, trying to get closer.

"Say, you're not working late, right? Wanna go, I don't know, hang out at the cafe downtown?" You ask, suddenly looking shy, biting your lip.

Man you're cute.

"Levi? You stuck?" You try to adjust your computer as Levi stares.

He blinks a few times and answers finally. "I'm here. Yes. I'll see you then."

"Hey Levi? I'm glad we're doing this." He's not the only one with a crush.

You give that smile again that makes him lose most of his thoughts.

"Me too." He manages to get out before signing off.

Scout is still sitting on Levis lap as he pets him.

"Guess we should start planning your birthday party."

If you wanted Scout to have a party, then that's what was happening.

"Wish me luck, buddy." Levi says to Scout who is watching as he finishes getting presentable.

He pets the cat and leaves the house, heading for the cafe.

Levi would soon learn, he didn't need luck, as you have more in common then just cats.

He finds himself continuously laughing with you, naturally happy and comfortable.

In no time at all, you and Levi are spending a lot more time together.

And Scout has the best birthday ever, loving the attention from his dad, his new friend, Penny, and his future cat mom.

[lindseymccue10]

Script Writing

Lights up as JULIA and SAVANNAH finish their duet on stage

STAGE MANAGER. Take five everyone!

JULIA. (To Savannah) Wanna go fill up my water bottle with me? 

SAVANNAH. Would love to.

(They both walk off the stage and start heading to the water fountain in the hallway. The STAGE MANAGERwhizzes past the two girls while on the phone)

STAGE MANAGER. It has to be there in under thirty days and if it doesn’t get there it’s really not my problem.

(The two girls look at each other with a slight grin)

SAVANNAH. (Whisper sings to JULIA) Dramaa! 

(They giggle in unison as JULIA starts to fill up her water bottle)

JULIA. Y’know, our duet might be the best number in the whole show.

SAVANNAH. I agree. It’s such a powerful song. No one can even come close to us—except for maybe Jake’s solo at the end. He really has come a long way since the vomit incident. (She pretends to gag then starts to laugh as she catches JULIA’s eye)

JULIA. (Begins to laugh as well) Can you believe how embarrassing that must've been? Singing in front of the whole school just to end up blowing chunks on every soprano—he should just be glad I’m an alto. 

SAVANNAH. (jokingly offended) Juls let’s not forget I was one of those sopranos! 

JULIA. (jokingly apologetic) Oh shoot. Now I remember it correctly. You were directly in the splash zone, yikes...

(They both become hysterical as they start walking back into the auditorium. The STAGE MANAGER pushes past them in another rush while still on the phone)

STAGE MANAGER. I swear I will not be paying a return fee!

(Savannah rolls her eyes at Juls as they take a seat in the chairs)

SAVANNAH. Besides all this craziness, how has life been?

JULIA. Eh, it's okay. I mean, it would be better if I didn’t have to take stupid biology. I’m so nervous for the exam, like you don’t understand. (Dread starts to take over her body)

SAVANNAH. I definitely feel that but I’m sure you'll be fine. I wish we could just take choir every day and all day, Ms. Dorell is my girl.

JULIA. Yeah, it’s a dope class, it’s quite literally the only motivation I have to get through the week until Fridays.

SAVANNAH. For sure. By the way, they're gonna have to recruit someone else to throw the cast party, I am never throwing another party again because I did everything myself. 

JULIA. (Immediately begins to plead with Savannah) C’mon Sav you have to throw it! You have one of the nicest houses in the whole district and I swear this time I’ll stay extra late to help with clean up. (Puppy dog eyes) Pretty please? For your duet bestie?

SAVANNAH. (Playfully rolls her eyes) I can't with you. (Realizing that JULIA won’t let up) Fine, but you're on bathroom duty and you have to get two freshmen to stay and clean too.

JULIA. (Extremely pleased) Deal. I appreciate you, queen.

(STAGE MANAGER as he’s walking onto the stage visibly flustered)

STAGE MANAGER. (To someone standing off stage) It’s not there anymore, it’s broken. What do you want me to do? (Turning to face everyone sitting in the chairs) Sorry about the extended break, as you can see nothing is going my way today like usual. We’re gonna run the show from the top. PLACES! (He runs off stage, prepared to take care of something else going wrong)

(as the two girls begin to stand up, SAVANNAH begins to stretch and yawn)

SAVANNAH. Welp, looks like I’ll see you in approximately four numbers.

JULIA. (Making her way towards the stage, visibly tired and unenthusiastic) Yay, can’t wait.

[randomlifeunit]

Not All Who Wander

Rated: Teen and Up

Summary: Four friends travel the wilderness, finding support as they stick together.

Themes: Team as family, trauma, character development, body image, angst and fluff, whump

Ch. 13 [Previous] Read on Ao3

The morning sun sent shafts of light piercing between the wooden slats that shuttered the windows in their little hut. Rune stirred, then sat up, blinking and yawning. Looking over towards the other bunk, she stifled a giggle. Ransom was on his back with his mouth open and arms over his head, and Wes had snuggled up to him at some point in the night. They looked very cozy together, and she shook with silent laughter. Wes had always been a cuddler, and some nights, she was the one he would unintentionally pull close or fling an arm over. She didn't really mind too much--it was kind of endearing.

Soft snores came from the cuddle pile, and Rune grinned as she pushed her hair away from her face and crept from the bed, trying not to disturb Sean. By contrast, he always seemed to want his space when sleeping, so she made sure to give him plenty of room whenever possible. Though she did wonder whether he might secretly enjoy the times when their little clan was forced to sleep in close quarters. He was somewhat of an enigma to her, yet at the same time, he often wore his heart on his sleeve. Warmth stole over her heart as she surveyed the sleeping members of their little makeshift family, and she renewed the vow in her heart to protect them at all costs.

She scowled, recalling how helpless she had felt the day before, being trussed up like a slave and judged by the village elder. She gripped the handle of the knife at her waist, and her lip curled slightly in anger at the thought. She would be on her guard around these people.

Rune situated herself at the bench seat at the table, writing in her little notebook while she waited for the others to awaken.

It was a good hour before anyone stirred. Ransom came to first, blinking with a heavy-lidded gaze and rubbing his face. His brows furrowed when he saw Wes plastered to his side, and Rune giggled from her place as she watched him give Wes a less-than-gentle shove. Wes mumbled something unintelligible and tried to scoot closer again, eliciting a grouchy, "Get off," from his bunkmate. Wes whined with his eyes closed, but finally rolled away and yawned. Ransom snorted, partly in humor and partly in disgust, and got out of bed. He nodded to Rune. "Sleep well?" he asked, voice rough. She nodded, then couldn't help but add, You two sure looked cute. She fluttered her eyelashes and clasped her hands under her chin with a giggle, and Ransom sputtered in quiet laughter. "You just wait till you're the one he's snuggling up to, and see how 'cute' it feels then," he said with an exasperated smile, shaking a finger at her.

She shrugged nonchalantly, signing, I don't mind.

"I know you're talking about me," Wes said sluggishly from the bunk. "You bet we are, Sunshine," Ransom answered. "Now get your ass out of bed." Wes yawned and stretched languidly. "But it's so nice here. Five more minutes."

Rune snorted and flipped him off when he looked over.

Sean began to stir, and Rune winked at Wes and put a finger to her lips.

The four warily made their way out of the hut a little later. All around them was a bustle of activity-- people loudly calling greetings to one another, gathering wood, cooking, cleaning, or chasing after the children that scampered about. They got plenty of openly curious looks, but no one approached them for the time being.

They made their way to the large fire pit at the center of the activity, and simply observed for awhile. Ransom wondered what their place was here, and Rune surreptitiously kept a grip on the handle of her knife.

Wes finally broke away from his friends and strode confidently over to a small knot of women near the fire that looked close to his age. They were chatting amongst themselves, but soon he was regaling them with what looked to be some wild tale, if his sweeping gestures were any indication. Rune snorted and rolled her eyes at the scene, then warily scanned their surroundings.

Ransom shifted from foot to foot, then announced, "I think I'm going to see if I can find out who's in charge here. Try to learn whether these people mean us any harm. I can't say that I enjoyed the welcome we received." Rune nodded, and jumped to her feet. We should stick together, she signed. Well, except for him, she inclined her head towards Wes with a wry grin. He looks like he's doing just fine. Ransom chuckled. "Sure seems to be," he said, crossing his arms. "Let's go."

The three made their way towards a larger group of people near a cluster of huts.

Ransom made some inquiries and was directed to several tribal members who had subtle marks of leadership on their person. Elaborate decorations on their clothing and an air of authority set apart two women and three men from the rest. A couple had distinctive tattoos as well. Ransom engaged in a serious conversation with the five of them, while Rune hung back with Sean and observed. Sean seemed somewhat subdued so Rune decided to distract him with a simple child's game. She signed to him the color of something she could see, and he looked around and tried to guess what it might be. He decided to practice using sign language when it was his turn. His hands were clumsier than hers, and she had to correct him occasionally, but he did passably well in her opinion.

Rune noticed Ransom seemed to be finishing up, so she put a hand on Sean's arm and nodded in that direction.

Think this is a place for us? she asked him, simply. He whispered back, "I guess that depends on what Ransom finds out." She hummed in the affirmative.

Ransom shook hands with several of the leaders, then broke away from the group of people to speak with his friends. He drew them away to a more private-looking area and talked to them in a low voice. "I think we can trust these people," he began, then held up a hand as Rune immediately started to object. "Hear me out. Apparently, they treat all visitors with the same ritual, binding them first and submitting them for appraisal by their revered elder. She serves as the spiritual guide and healer for the tribe. If she approves, visitors are treated as an honorary member of the clan while they are here. If not, they are sent on their way," he explained. "They guard their home zealously and only wish to ensure the safety of their clan." Sean nodded slowly. "I guess that seems reasonable," he said. Rune's brow furrowed, and she hesitated in thought for a moment longer. You trust them, after what they did? she signed, her gaze intense. Ransom looked her in the eye and nodded. "I don't sense any deception. But I welcome your doubts, too. You spent a lot of time surviving on your own before we met, and I have faith in your instincts, my friend." He smiled and gripped her shoulder. Her stance relaxed at his words. How about you make your friends, and I keep my knife sharp? she signed with a half-smile. Ransom grinned. "You've got yourself a deal," he said, and they shook on it.

The smell of food drew them back to the fire pit, where meat was being roasted over the flames. Wes was seated on a rough-hewn bench looking very pleased, a piece of meat in one hand and a woman cozied up to each side of him. One passed him a drink with a smile, and he took it with a nod of thanks.

The other three comrades were given food and drink as well, and they sat and ate their fill. From the other side of the fire, a slow, steady drum beat began, softly at first, then more staccato as one villager, then another, jumped to their feet and began to dance around the fire circle. A few that were seated began to clap and chant in time with the beat of the drum. The children present danced with abandon, obviously enjoying themselves. One child tripped and took three others down with him, collapsing in giggles on the hard-packed earth. Rune smiled at their antics, and found her toes beginning to tap along with the beat. From where he sat, Wes stood with a flourish and began to dance with one of the women next to him, pulling her along and laughing as he imitated their style of dance as best he could.

Ransom stood and gave a chuckle at his friend, then began to clap along. Another drummer joined the first, echoing the steady beat.

Rune decided to yield to the moment and stood, beginning to dance in her own way, her hands making fluid motions as her feet followed the throb of the drum. Sean clapped, his metal palm rapping against his opposite hand.

The simple dance continued for awhile before the sound of the drums slowly subsided, and the dancers and listeners gave a short applause before dispersing.

Wes made his way over to his friends, and introduced the two women who hung off of each of his arms. One was a fiery redhead, the other had dark tresses.

"Guys, this is Anya and Rhishi," he said, trilling the R on the latter's name. "Ladies, meet my friends, Ransom, Rune, and Sean," he said, indicating each one in turn. "These folks know how to enjoy themselves, eh?" Ransom agreed. "Apparently, you do too, Wes," he said with a wink. Wes laughed. "You guys all gonna be okay if I disappear for awhile?" he asked more seriously.

"We'll be fine. Go enjoy yourself," Ransom smiled, making a shooing motion. Rune caught his eye. Be good to them, she signed, and Wes nodded, coloring slightly. He gave his friends a smile and then pulled away, beginning to chat more animatedly with his new acquaintances.

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