#gotta get this out before the new campaign drops

[furiosophie]

They’re quiet for a long moment, just taking drags of their cigarettes before finally stomping them out beneath their boots. It’s only when there’s nothing between them but the night, nothing in front of them but a base that never really sleeps, either, that Soap asks, quiet, nearly dragged away by the wind, “Did ye mean it?”  “What?” “That ye’d follow me.” He doesn’t say anywhere. It feels implied though. Ghost thinks of all the things he isn’t saying. He thinks of the way Soap looked at him when he cut him open. He thinks of how exhausted he is, how ten minutes ago he thought he was hallucinating. How he isn’t fully sure that’s not still the case. “Yes,” he says.

not from the absence | CHAPTER TWO [read on ao3]

COVER/CH1 | CH2 | CH3 | CH4 | CH5

[swholli]

In my opinion, Trump is cooked.

I’m not counting baskets before they chicken, but Biden’s biggest weakness was himself (and the thing the Trump campaign has been very worried was going to happen, him dropping out).

This decision draws a very clear distinction between the two parties. Biden was keen on staying in for his ego, his party and voters were able to talk him out of it. If the fate of the country really is at stake (and it is) Biden running on ego is exactly what Trump is doing (but Trump has the benefit of a cult).

Now, Harris gets her cake and can eat it too. She can claim responsibility for all of Biden’s successes as she was his VP, but can distance herself from all of his failures as a new candidate, essentially flipping the script making Trump an incumbent candidate despite her being apart of the previous admin.

And on top of all of that, she can be the first woman president during an election where her opponent literally claimed responsibility for overturning Roe v Wade, the thing that stopped the big red wave in '22.

And she's not pushing 80, a convicted felon and rapist, and she's not Hillary.

Kamala’s still a cop, don’t get me wrong. I’m still not happy with the capital D democratic establishment, but if I’ve gotta play this stupid 270 point game at least I can do so with a candidate who can actually entice normies to turn out to vote. And then after this shit we either go ranked choice or we riot.

[rainylana]

“Yeah.”

Eddie Munson x reader

summary: eddie calls reader a b*tch

warnings: language, angst, tears.

a/n: i know these past fics have been short, i’m sorry, but i’m still trying my hand at getting back into this! they’ll get longer, i promise! feedback is appreciate!! :)

Eddie was not in a good mood. You knew this the moment you saw him through the window of his van when he came to pick you up for school. He ranted all morning about how he needed money for new tires, money he didn’t have. Work was cutting him hours and he couldn’t afford it. He was tired of not having money, tired of not getting what he wanted. He was having a damn bad day.

And of course, you listened graciously, but after four hours of watching him sulk in class and be a dick to his friends, it was starting to take it’s toll. He was pouting and you understood why. He came from a poor family and he wouldn’t let you help out financially in anyway whatsoever, no matter how hard you begged. You didn’t want to seem rude and make his bad day seem unappreciated or invalid, but he was treating his friends, and you, poorly to a degree. Not so much you.

Lunch was almost unbearable. Everyone walked on eggshells. Eddie was one of the most dramatic people on the face of the earth and everyone had to suffer for it. Hours past and he’d taken you home from school. Your plan was to go over to his house for a movie night, hoping that a few hours apart would help him settle down and cool off. It done no good. He was absolutely enraged when you got there. The hood of his van was up, smoke flying overhead and his dark curls pulled up away from his face. You didn’t even really know what was wrong with it. It didn’t make sense when he told you. Cars were his detail.

Dinner was no change. You sat and listened to him complain about how none of the guy’s were apparently taking the new campaign seriously. He had a hole in his last pair of good jeans. You felt guilty being annoyed by this, but he hadn’t once asked you how your day was or even kissed you! You were going to loose your mind. Without thinking, you snapped.

“Oh, my god!” You wailed, throwing your silverware down. “Jesus, christ, Eddie, take a breath!”

His eyes were round and wide. “Pardon me?”

You took a breath yourself, forcing yourself to not snap and say something you’d regret. You placed your elbows on the table and rubbed your face. “Baby, I’m sorry you’re having such a bad day, but holy shit you’ve not stopped talking for one second!” You really did have a pounding headache. “You’ve been talking about money all day! Can’t we just have a change of topic, please.”

He looked taken back. Shocked. “Oh, I see. It’s all gotta be bout you, right? Fucking forgive me for having a bad day!” He threw down his fist, clinking the dinnerware together.

“That’s not what I’m saying, Eddie.” You sighed tiredly. “I’m saying that you’ve not acknowledged me at all today. You’ve not kissed me or asked how my day was. I’m sorry you’re stressed out about money, but you’ve been taking it out one everyone, Eddie. You need to calm down.”

His eyes narrowed into slits. “Calm down? Well, last time I checked you were living in a grand castle on daddy’s money, right? You have no idea the kind of shit Wayne and I have to got through to make ends meet, y/n.” He stood abruptly and yanked open the fridge for a beer.

“Hey,” You raised your voice. “I’m not trying to belittle you, Eddie. All I’m saying is that you don’t need to take your frustration out on everyone, out on me. I’m sorry I snapped at you, okay-”

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” He took a long swig after he threw the tab in the sink. “You’re my girlfriend! You’re supposed to be supportive and shit. Only thing you’re being is a bitch.” He sneered like a snake, pointing at you like you were his worst enemy.

Your face dropped at the curse, and as stupid as it felt, your heart sank. Eddie had never said anything like that to you before. Your face burned red and the room got eerily quiet. You felt your eyes immediately blur with tears of embarrassment and humiliation. You had tried to help him, offer solutions. You tried to lend a hand, offer him money and look for jobs in the newspaper at lunch. He acknowledged none of this.

You bit your lip to keep from crying, a lump building in your throat that made you feel sick. You had your head turned to the wall so he wouldn’t see you, but you couldn’t keep it in. You let out a quiet sob, tears falling down your face as you looked down. Your face was red hot, and you brought up your hand to your chest. “I’m sorry, Eddie,” You cried. “I’ve been t-trying to help, I-” Your voice broke and you couldn’t speak as tears escaped, your face twisting into tears. You sat there and cried for a few minutes before you felt the seat dip next to you.

“Hey,” His voice cooed softly, turning your shoulder to pull you toward him. You allowed him to, and you looked eyes briefly before climbing into his lap, wrapping your legs around his torso, your feet dangling off the bench. Your arms were tight around his neck, your face buried in his shirt where you sniffled. He smelled of cologne and dirt.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized, voice low and sad. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He rubbed your back up and down, kissing the side of your head when you let out a whimper.

“I’m sorry you had a bad day.” You said tearfully, holding him like a teddy bear. “I wish you didn’t have to worry about money.”

You felt him sigh heavily. “It’s okay. I got the most important thing in the world right here with me.” He pulled you away so he could look up at you. His eyes were brown and full, his lips pulled into a frown at your tear stricken face. He took his thumbs and wiped them. “I’m sorry I called you that. You know I didn’t mean it, right? You know I didn’t.”

You nodded slowly, wiping your nose with your hand. “Yeah.” You creaked.

He tapped your chin. “Yeah.” Then your nose and to wipe away another tear. He leaned up to plant a tiny kiss on your lips, then one on the corner of your mouth. You leaned down to kiss back, deepening it with your tongue and a hand locking in his curls. Your noses pressed together like puzzle pieces. Perfectly fit.

[nburkhardt]

We’re just gonna see where this goes but it’s inspired by this! Hope you don’t mind @thorniest-rose

~

When it first came to be, it was strictly dnd. Honest. It was a safe place for anybody who wanted to play in the game, to find friends.

But somewhere along the way when it was just the core four; Gareth, Jeff, Frankie and of course, Eddie.

They used their time in Hellfire to become best friends and eventually learn something else they have in common.

A crush on Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.

The four of them hated admitting it out loud but it came to a halt when the jock was partnered up with Jeff for a project and Jeff couldn’t stop talking about how nice the guy actually is. It snowballed from there, Gareth found out the guy drove middle schoolers around when he accidentally ran into him at the arcade and one of the middle schoolers wouldn’t leave him alone. Then Frankie accidentally bumped into him during lunch and Steve gave up his food when Frankie’s was all over the floor.

What really sold all of them on the crush was when Eddie decided all of them deserved a treat for defeating the latest campaign. Eddie froze the second he stepped into Scoops Ahoy when Steve turned from his coworker and greeted them.

It was after that they all really admitted to the crush and would spend a few minutes each hellfire session to talk about it.

They thought once the new school year started, they’ll finally move past it.

It was going really good, until the new members came in and all four of them got a front row seat yet again of the one they all like.

Steve dropping off Dustin Henderson and Robin Buckley at school, or Steve hanging around Hellfire to drag Henderson home. They see him around town too, usually with Robin but sometimes he’s out with Dustin and Sinclair’s sister getting ice cream of all things.

They’re all cowards though.

Never actually finding any sort of courage to actually talk to the guy. At least not directly and never long enough, sometimes they’ll say hi and how are yous. Little stuff, ya know?

Luckily no one caught onto it, especially since they actually see Steve more and more now. Instead of talking about the crush during hellfire sessions, they use band practice now. Just to save themselves a from tiny bit of embarrassment.

Eddie’ll admit later on that he got a little, just a tiny amount really, high. A bit, truly. That’s what makes his lips a little loose, makes his brain mushy, makes him giddy and have the giggles.

He’ll blame Henderson or maybe thank him? Eddie isn’t sure yet but for now not just himself but his best friends are all frozen right now.

“You what?!” Henderson screeches and makes them move again, “Hellfire is what now?”

Eddie can process that this is starting to go sideways but the high is pleasant and blurring his lines, so he looks up at Dustin, “a Steve Harrington fan club? A bit. Stevie is pretty boy! How can we not? He’s nice and sunshine in human form, he’s just so so good! And and and gorgeous!”

He sighs and closes his eyes, “so kissable tooooooooo”

Everyone else in the have very different reactions. Jeff, Gareth, Frankie all shrug and nod. Mike and Lucas look a little disappointed and annoyed, Dustin’s the only one that doesn’t seem to either agree or disagree. He looks both happy and grossed out. Eddie’s head is floating away, he can’t really process any of this information. And he’s not gonna ask questions in this state or answer more questions.

“Sooo, I gotta admit, was not expecting this”

Eddie’s stomach does a flip as his eyes fly open and when they focus, there, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and a smile or maybe a smirk- maybe neither? Eddie’s can’t tell. It’s very, very nice. He does know that at least.

Steve is very, very pretty. Especially as he moves into the room, “Seeeee, Henderson? Ain’t he just gorgeous?”

Dustin looks between them, shaking his head before turning to the others, the ones not currently high. “Seriously?”

Frankie shrugs again, “I mean, Ed isn’t wrong. Thought I’d be over it, but here I am anyway.”

Jeff nodded and Gareth rolled his eyes, “we tried keeping between us only”

The new members frowned, while Dustin and Steve stared at each other. Steve fighting back a laugh, while Dustin already cracked a smile before looking back at Eddie, who’s head is finally floating back down and he’s started to sit back up.

“Oh. Oh man. I did-” Eddie looked between everyone, face turning bright red as he closes his eyes and blinking before meeting Steve’s eyes, “fuccccck, dude- I,”

There’s a glint in Steve’s gaze, his laugh dying but a smile staying in it’s place, “Picked a great day to hang around, maybe we can do all of that again some day?”

“What?”

Eddie sees the younger boys snap their heads to look at Steve, Dustin’s the only one to smile and bounce in his place. The older boys are glaring at him, Eddie can tell even without looking, green isn’t really their color.

Steve’s face hasn’t moved though, still looking at him and definitely smirking.

“Let’s try the complaints and pretty names again, Eddie baby” Steve says, and Eddie cannot believe his ears.

Eddie can tell he looks dumb but he nods and nods and nods as his smile grows, “I can come up with so many. So many, Sunshine, Darling, just you wait!”

(His best friends are both very jealous and very happy for him. And they’ll eventually with time, joke about this and play try getting Steve to themselves. Eddie will always win at the end. Someday it’ll come out that Steve was just waiting for the day for the guts to ask Eddie out. Robin let’s Eddie and the guys in on that secret.)

~ ~

Like I said I don’t know where this was going it kinda wrote itself. I… don’t know how it got this long. Also Lucas and Mike look annoyed because that’s their babysitter. It gross. Dustin’s happy because it’s his big brother. 😌

Permanent Taglist:

@spectrum-spectre @itsfreakingbats @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @bookworm0690 @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @solliesolesito @navnae @i-less-than-three-you @grimmfitzz @strangersteddierthings

[beautifulhigh]

Wanna get angry on this Saturday? Cool. Come join me on this.

I think Miguel hacked Alex's emails way before the leak.

Alex wouldn't be able to just "drop by" somewhere for coffee. It would have to be cleared, vetted, all the usual stuff. So he will have a routine that he follows, a routine which includes (at least) one Secret Service member. And when you have a routine and protection like that, schedules will be sent out confirming who is with Alex and what the plan is for the day. Sent out by email. And OH LOOK he's in the coffee shop...

Alex tells Zahra that he "emailed senior campaign staff" three weeks ago with his Texas memo. A memo that Miguel has read by the State DInner. He says he "quite literally has his sources" and... well.

The email leak. Miguel has his article written and published within hours of them being put on Reddit and he is called out on how quick that is.

So when did Miguel hack Alex's email?

"We made out once, on the campaign..."

Ellen Claremont was on the verge of making history (huh). The first female president, in a mixed race marriage with a biracial, bilingual son. The Lometa Longshot going all the way to the White House. Getting the inside track on that would have been one hell of a scoop and when you have her son, desperate to do more, be more in this world, then that's an in you can manage. Get some details about the campaign, how things are going. But also finding out about the people behind it - film!Oscar and his own political campaigns. Alex, the up and coming law student.

Little flirting, little making out "fully naked, in a hot tub"... You gotta wonder where Alex's phone was at that time and whether Miguel got his hands on it.

From day one, the central mission of POLITICO has been to help sustain and vastly expand nonpartisan political and policy journalism by winning the audience. (From Politco's "About" page)

Alex talks about how he's good for "photo ops and New Year's parties and stupid shit like that" and so there is an interest in Alex, the First Son. He's good looking - the party is filled with the "who's who of eligible young women" and we know from Henry's first text that he attends events with a plus one. And Miguel has a line into that, to win the audience for Politico with updates about Alex doing more, being more, working as part of his mother's campaign.

So yeah. I think Miguel got access to Alex's emails back on the first campaign trial which makes it all the more horrible as he watched those emails come through in real time. He knew what was going on when he was in New York, making comments about them being in the same hotel.

"Do you really think we're ever hooking up again?" "Well I don't anymore"

is his reply in a lovely bit of equivocation because Alex is clearly shutting him down this time... but maybe he also knows about Henry. The Henry who walks in through the door moments later. Miguel knows he won't be hooking up with Alex because someone else is, and maybe the comment was a way to test the water. Would Alex turn him down and say or suggest he was seeing someone?

In the book more emails are exchanged following the storming of Kensington: there is no clear timeline in the movie: Labor Day is at the start of September (Lake House), it's a week before Alex flies to London (so mid-September), and the election is at the start of November. They are outed the week before polling (Zahra says "we'll find out next week" following Alex's speech) which makes it around mid to end of October when they're outed. That's about one month in which they would have been in touch, likely through emails, fully committed to this relationship and making it work.

Dropping the bomb before the election is one way to get traction because all eyes are on the White House at that time. Plus a month to pull off the emails, to get them sorted, make a plan for Reddit, start working on your article...? Taking each new message as it comes in?

Miguel hacked Alex's emails WAY before the leak and I'm pretty sure I'm willing to die on this hill.

[utilitycaster]

"There is zero attempt to extend anything but bad faith."

standing ovation for tidily describing this fandom in a nutshell tbh

Thanks, but I'm talking about a particular subset, the handwringy overwrought appeals to emotion crowd for whom the gods can never under any circumstances be redeemed, so unless you are also talking about that specific small piece of the fandom, I disagree! I actually think the fandom at large has been pretty receptive to the story as it's being told. And honestly, even when I've been in fandoms that frustrated me greatly with widespread bad faith interpretations (Midst and WBN have both had problems here)* they've come around when more obvious evidence came about. Better late than never.

I do think that an issue in this fandom, and fandoms at large, is not so much bad faith but as someone else said, motivated reasoning (though in the case of something the motivated reasoner dislikes, will become bad faith). A lot of people decide how they want to the story to go very early, often in a manner that validates their own existing real-world politics (even if they're not super applicable to the situation at hand) or personal preferences. I mean, that's in the end the source of a good number of shipping bad takes - people decide two characters must be in love and so even if they start dating other people and not talking to each other anymore, the motivated reasoning shipper decides that ACTUALLY this is all a front and the actor's blinks are in secret code and the relationship will definitely break up and the True Love was Always Endgame no matter how many times the creators say "no, it never was our intention to have those characters get together." But even then I think the silent majority of most fandoms are just. vibing and happy to be here. It's just that motivated reasoning people are loud.

And I'm not setting myself apart here; I'm loud and I'm certainly not without bias. My motivated reasoning tends to be based on foregone conclusions that I think are more likely to actually play out, I think, and I try to be self aware about it, but like, I do tend to assume stories will be good and follow some narrative lines and use the hints they drop, and that is itself an assumption because some stories are poorly made. Like, for example, with the gods, I do think that there is very little chance Matt is going to tell a story that's like "hey, Ashley, you know your first ever TTRPG character, who brought you into this friend group and whose life's purpose is to restore worship in the Everlight? Bad news, Everlight's a genocidal cunt and she's gotta die." That's obviously not my only evidence here. We've got the whole opening scene. We've got the fact that the non-Aeorian NPCs who aren't divine companions we've spent time with have been a sickly old man granted peace in death, a gnomish woman granted solace after being cruelly mocked by Aeorian forces, and the beggars who didn't have food despite wagons of supplies going to Aeor, whereas the Aeorian NPCs have been guards, slimy bureaucrats, teens badly beaten for minor crimes, and a drunk cop; the defaced and forgotten temple in a poor neighborhood that is heavily surveilled from afar because its laborers are unwelcome. Hell, as I said before it aired, the fact that the main PCs are gods and not Aeorian mages is a very deliberate and telling choice on its own. But yeah on some level, while I think Bells Hells have the space to decide to kill the gods since they are those same cast members (thought I doubt that is what they will do), I do not think Matt will tell an earlier story that says "hey, everyone at the table except Marisha? your beloved character(s) whom you played for all or most of a campaign followed a rotten-to-the-core lie."

Going off the meta of creators is a bit risky - a lot of dumb D20 discourse is based on assuming Brennan's leftism is the same as Very Online I Do Not Dream Of Labor Leftism and not his actual "the BBEG is the exploitation and undervaluing of labor and the dehumanization of others; labor itself can be deeply fulfilling, you just shouldn't be forced to rely on your capacity to do labor to the exclusion of all other things to be housed and fed" leftism and reasoning from there - but it's certainly more reliable than going off reasoning of "I as a random private individual want the gods to die for whatever the fuck reason and therefore that is the correct thing to happen and any other outcome is bad."

This is very rambly because I just got up and maybe it's that it's a nice morning and I can actually enjoy a leisurely breakfast before going into work unlike most of last week and much of the rest of this week, but for all I proudly identify as a hater, I am very much a lover of fiction and I want it to succeed and I want it to not just validate me. Like, if I hate on something it's because I wish it were better, but I don't hate on something just because it presents a different viewpoint than the one I already held. And I think you have to bring that good faith to fandom as well. If people are being idiots and assholes then yeah you don't need to keep acting like they're valid for that (I mean, they're valid in that everyone has the right to their opinions, but not in the sense that you need to grant those opinions intellectual consideration on par with thoughtful and evidenced meta and theories) but I do not actually go in assuming the fandom is going to be wrong and dumb and disappointing, and I think that's why I've found such enjoyment in it. Most people are chill! Chill people just tend not to loudly say WOW I'M SO CHILL AND THIS STORY IS GREAT.

*one bit of salt to cut the sweetness here but also still weirdly positive: the way I've dealt with that and specifically WBN is that I am trying to write one piece of meta after each episode that doesn't attack people or anything, just lays out my thoughts respectfully. Be the change you wish to see. I think a lot of people in fandom see someone disagreeing with them and go "OH YOU CAN'T LET US HAVE ANYTHING" and frankly this is the cause of almost all fandom unpleasantness I've experienced (in the sense of people seeing me say I don't like something and acting like I shut them down instead of simply didn't vibe), but it's important to remember that isn't how it works. Even if you do think the fandom has widespread bad opinions, you can change this by being thoughtful and patient and putting forth better ones. I mean there's limits, and if a fandom is genuinely hateful, get out, but if it's just surface-level takes for something that should be deeper? Be the one who shows the depth.

[nevermore-baby]

Alright dating Steve and Eddie would be fun, but it also comes with some adjusting to do. I mean, three people barely out of their teens, all living on their own for the first time and trying to learn to live together. Thought below the cut.

word count: 800

Imagine you learning that your boyfriends can be just as initiative as you, and they are just as much a part of the household. 

You were walking one day, all tired and wet because of the rain, and all you wanted at that moment was to eat some nice hot dinner and cuddle with your boyfriends. Maybe take a nice bath too. None of that would happen, though, because you  remembered that no hot meal could actually be there for you - you finished the last leftovers today at lunch. 

You opened the door, immediately taking in the aroma - “something is slightly burned”, you thought to yourself.

“Hello?”, you called, taking off your boots, and the soft bickering coming from the kitchen stopped. Seconds later, you saw Eddie’s head poke out from behind the door. 

“There you are, baby, just five more minutes and the dinner will be ready!”, he grinned, coming to hug you by the door. 

“Dinner?”, you frowned, following his lead back to the kitchen.

“See for yourself”, he said, letting you in through the kitchen door. The kitchen table was made, table cloth and everything, plates (all from different sets, but who cares) and the cutlery settled. 

“There will be no dinner, Munson, if you don’t drag your ass back here and look after the chicken.”. Steve was fiddling with the stove, looking stressed, wearing an apron - yours, so it didn’t really do much for his massive figure - hair dishevelled from him constantly putting it back and out of his eyes. Eddie, not before setting you down at the table, moved around the kitchen swiftly, listening to all the orders coming from Steve. You couldn't help but laugh at their “old married couple” bickering, and as promised, five minutes later all three of you were sitting at the table eating red chicken curry with slightly burned chicken and slightly overcooked rice. But who were you to complain?

Imagine Eddie learning that mistakes are okay and you weren’t going to get mad at him. 

One day you’re sitting at the kitchen table, chatting with Eddie who’s doing the dishes. He’s telling you a story from the last dnd campaign, and he’s expressive, throwing hands up and everything - you honestly loved when he was so entranced by something that he didn’t care about taking up space and being loud - but the dishes are soapy and slippery, and one time a bowl just slips out of his hands onto the floor, breaking into big ceramic chunks and small ones, too. Eddie stops mid sentence, startled by the sound, and you see him looking at his feet, face dropping, You try to get up, but you’re pushed back onto the chair by Eddie. 

“Sit there, don’t move! I- I’m so sorry, I’ll clean it up, I’ll buy us a new bowl tomorrow, okay?” Eddie drops to his knees, hands shaking when he’s trying to pick up the big pieces.

“Hey, Eddie, stop right there. You’re gonna hurt yourself!”, you stood up nonetheless, pointing at his bare feet. “Go put something on before stepping there, okay? I’ll go grab a broom to sweep the pieces away.” 

You see Eddie look at you from the floor, brows furrowed and confused. He was biting his lips anxiously, and you could see a droplet of blood forming there already. 

“Cmon, get up”, you prompted, offering your hand. 

“You’re… you’re not mad?” he asked quietly, getting to his feet. 

“No, of course not. It’s just a bowl. There are a ton of them at that thrift store next to my work, we can all go and pick one we like”, you said lightly, smiling at him.

“But why… why would you help me clean the mess? It’s my mess, I made it, I gotta clean it up.”

“Well, it’s our kitchen and our house, and we’re a couple, and I'm not going to just sit there while my boyfriend cleans up.” Right after you finished, you felt Eddie pull you into a tight hug and you wrapped your arms around his waist too. 

Imagine Steve learning that he doesn’t have to pretend he understands everything anymore and he can ask questions if he doesn’t know something. 

You just came home from work one day, catching Steve in the living room. You started your usual rundown of your day - Steve was very invested in your work drama - walking around the living room, while Steve sat, looking very concentrated and listening carefully.

“Wait, who was that who gave the talk today? Jessica?”, he asked, brows forming a crease. 

“No, it was Jennifer”, you paused for a brief second before continuing. “Anyways, she was speaking so eloquently, I was so surprised-”

“Speaking how?”Steve asked quietly, his forehead wrinkling.

“Eloquently”, you repeated slowly, seeing Steve’s lip move, trying to mimic the pronunciation. “It means fluently. Like, very clearly, easy to follow.”

“Got it”, said Steve, which was your green light to continue. 

Imagine all three of you slowly discovering each other's “trouble areas” and helping each other grow and get rid of old habits that came from the lifestyle you had before.

[neonponders]

Inspired by @gorbovsky-l ‘s art ✨🏀

[ Steve goes to the s4 basketball game but it’s for Billy. ]

~ my drabbles anthology on ao3 ~

• • •

Steve was grumpy, he could admit that. Well, he could admit it now that it had been a few hours. That didn’t stop him and Robin having an immature spat in the car over over Fast Times with the word boobies flying around.

Then, “Just get whatever is occupying your braincell off your shoulders, already.”

Steve’s jaw had dropped, openly gaping at the road towards Hawkins High. “We’re talking about your love life - lack thereof.”

“Hush.”

“Oh, am I talking or hushing?”

Robin burst out into tired, 7am giggles. “You’re so petty when you miss him.”

Steve sighed through his nose in defeat. He did miss him. Between the summer, the school year starting for the new batch of seniors, and winter basketball camp, Steve felt like he rarely saw his boyfriend. He had a green Hargrove 7 jersey in his trunk since the team was using the white jerseys for their final game, and that in itself was annoying.

Come get your jersey.

Come see me.

Steve couldn’t even fault Billy for being committed to something. He just wished it was a little more Steve and a lot less basketball.

But everything was fine. The bubble was about to break. They were finally having a home game, and it was the championship to boot. Steve’s back seat was crowded to show for it with Robin’s band attire: feather duster helm and all.

Steve was a sap. He knew it. He was ready for something long haul, but he hadn’t grown too far from the feeling of being a senior. He knew what it felt like to be a strong, upperclassman. Looked up to. On the verge of the rest of his life. He didn’t want to steal that from Billy just because they’d spent the summer being split up by jobs, hospitals, school, basketball camp...saving the world from a catastrophe that nearly took Billy away forever.

Maybe Steve wasn’t being too unreasonable.

But it also meant that Billy needed normalcy more than ever. He certainly deserved it.

So Steve dropped Robin off, and he went to Family Video for the long wait before tonight’s basketball game. The phone usually wasn’t too busy during the day, but he could predict some noise around lunchtime and the end of his shift. Today, lunchtime rang.

“Family Video, this is Steve.”

“Steve! It’s me.”

“Oh, hey, Dustin,” Steve greeted in something just a little better than a monotone. As if Dustin didn’t call from the school’s payphone every other day. “What’s up?”

Steve slowly grimaced as Dustin told him he had to fill in for Lucas at that night’s D&D campaign. Dustin got demoted back to his last name.

“Henderson, I graduated. I can’t go to your silly club session.”

“Well, Lucas has his stupid basketball game!”

“It’s not stupid. It’s the championship. You, me, and Max all know how much work he and the team have been putting into this season.”

The team. Billy. Billy was the team. Even with his injuries, recovery, and hard ass mindset that made him a lousy patient, Billy still maintained the stage presence to run the court.

He was still an asshole, but an observant one that had him taking Steve’s place as captain instead of the entitled judge’s son, Jason Carver. Billy might’ve been mean on the court but he was indifferent - even nice - in the locker room. Carver played nice on the court but wasn’t so nice off stage. Everyone’s doubts at the start of the season had been quickly put to rest.

“It’s a game, Steve - ”

“And your weird board game isn’t?”

“D&D involves weeks of plot, strategy, improvisation, and the statistical gamble of dice - ”

“Yeah, I seem to remember weeks of planning, myself. Whatever, I’ll be at the school supporting your friend for you. Uh oh, customers. Gotta go. Bye.”

“No- Steve!”

He was pretty sure he could hear Dustin cussing him out even though the phone was back on its mount. He smiled at the customers and tried to keep his glances at the clock to a minimum.

The day was easy until 4pm. Steve almost leapt out of his skin when he realized school had ended. Old habits. Today, it did mean the end of his shift, though, so he clocked out and went home to freshen up.

Freshen up for what, he didn’t know. He might have some old habits but he’d forgotten how stuffy the gymnasium could get during a game. Probably because he usually spent games on the spacious court, not the stands -

“Hey, Steve!”

He rotated to see...Stacie. No. De-uh-B-Brenda! “Brenda, hi.”

Her teased and permed hair floated around her as she smiled and walked with him into the gym. “How are you? It’s so weird. Like, half our class is gone, and the rest are hard to find.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Steve said, even though he didn’t, really. All of his enduring friends were younger. With the exception of a very - tragic - few, they were somehow all alive, too.

Brenda meant alumni who had moved away. Steve didn’t contribute this much.

Predictably, spaces were available in the bleachers next to the band. People usually didn’t want to be right next to the noise, but this meant he could be close to Robin. He kept his tone jovial and polite as he curtly gestured at the bleachers. “I’m heading up.”

“Sure!” she chimed, accepting his hand for a boost. Not really his intention, but he’d never had any issue with Brenda. She was nice, smelled good. Great at math but just as crap as he was in Mrs. Click’s English. She tasted like bubble gum when they made out at a football game three years ago. All things considered, she and Steve were on easy footing.

Until Tammy Thomson showed up to sing the National Anthem.

He and Robin caught each other’s side-eye the same time. Told you, he mouthed. Muppet -

“Wow,” Brenda breathed. “She sounds amazing, doesn’t she?”

Steve smiled on autopilot, and just as quickly recoiled once her head had turned back to the performance.

He tried not to rock too strongly on his feet. He didn’t need everyone on the bleachers looking at him like x-ray vision, making him feel exposed and ready to scream over how he needed Robin’s sass, the weekend, a freaking burger, and Billy to run his mouth. A lot of mouth. A lot of...

Steve raked his hands through his hair, stuck between thinking the world of his boyfriend out there on the court and the fact that they were losing. The white jersey actually covered all of Billy’s scars, but Steve and Robin could see his fatigue arriving faster than the rest of the team. They glanced at each other, only interrupted by Max manifested between them.

“Hey,” Steve frowned. “Have you been here the whole time?”

She glanced at him, deadpan. “Duh. Which of us is going to convince him to sit on the bench?”

Steve blew air between his lips so they vibrated. “I thought you knew him better than I did. Billy doesn’t take losing well.”

Max glared at him. “He’s going to have a heart attack.”

“He’s in good hands,” Steve defended, but he could feel his confidence rapidly draining. “Peter Townsend is diabetic and the couches always kept an eye on him.”

Max grimaced at him like he had spoken another language, but as soon as she tried to say more, their coach called for a timeout. The team huddled up, and it wasn’t a big wonder why. Their best player had more than run out of steam, he’d overspent himself, and they only had a minute left to get anything done. Covered in sweat and rocking with their breaths, the team listened to Carver arguing with coach until a decision had been made. They needed a fresh player who could make the most out of a minute, and they had one.

“SINCLAIR! You’re in!”

Max and Steve heard the freshman gawk. “Huh?”

“You’re in! Son, let’s go!”

He ditched his warm-up jacket and ran into the huddle for the plan. Steve crossed his arms after giving Max a tug on her jacket so she would get off the stairs and stand with him. Billy would skin them alive later if they made a scene of approaching him on the bench, so they had to stay put.

To everyone’s trepidation, shock, and jubilant relief, Lucas delivered. Saving the world a few times had made him sharp, adaptable, and frugal with every second. The nerd managed to convert all of it into a game he had only started playing this summer.

And to top it off, he landed the final shot. Hawkins High won the game.

Steve exploded, jumping and yelling and waving his arms. Max screamed Lucas’s name, clapping her hands until her palms glowed scarlet. When the referee’s whistle coupled the scoreboard in announcing the game over, the team crowded around Lucas and Billy, and the court flooded with people.

Steve moved through the crowd easily with Max in tow, and finally - finally - got a face full of Billy. Running made his hair light and fluffy, eyes glowing as he realized who were holding onto him.

He called, “Hang on! Hang on!” and Steve let him go as the team finally set Lucas down onto his feet after hoisting him up. Billy gripped his shoulder for his attention, and Lucas accepted his hand. “Not bad, Sinclair. Not bad.”

Lucas beamed, only for his smile to drop into shock at seeing Max. “Max! You came?”

“Yeah, whatever,” she scoffed, but with a smile. Then Lucas hugged her and she looked ready to punch him. “Oh- Ew. Gross, you’re disgusting. How are you this sweaty after only a minute?”

The older teammates laughed for some reason but they all got hustled into the locker room - including Steve. He didn’t realize his blunder until the coach started doing a congratulatory speech to the team, and Steve slipped behind a wall of lockers to head toward the door...but he didn’t leave. He wanted to know what the coach had to say on Billy’s behalf. He wanted to know how the team treated him and Lucas.

He both got it and didn’t, since the coach tactfully uplifted everyone without dragging out everyone’s flaws. That was good. Billy couldn’t take a compliment without being reminded of how he had to sit out the rest of the game. More importantly, the coach spoke about how grateful he was to have the seniors under his wings after such a year.

For a gut-wrenching second, Steve thought the coach was going to mention the kids who were still “missing” from the summer.

He didn’t. He kept the room on high feelings, warning the rest of the team that winning a championship wouldn’t make things easy next season, and that they had summer training to look forward to. He reminded them to clean up after themselves, and saw himself out right as somebody unearthed a boombox from their gym bag.

“Why the hell did you bring that thing?”

“To either celebrate or wallow in our sorrows,” came the reply, followed by laughter and rowdy singing...

Steve looked up when a pair of pants was thrown over the wall of lockers. Right under the waistband of the sweatpants, was a Hawkins tiger, and a yellow number seven. Steve smiled and yanked it all the way onto his side.

Billy soon followed, coming around the lockers to find his pants in Steve’s hands. A bright smile flashed on his face before he reigned it in and sauntered toward him. He had to get close to be heard over the noise of music, singing, and locker rattling. “You’re a weird dust bunny.”

Thank goodness for the noise, because Steve snorted as he reached for him. “Come here.”

Billy let him. Billy never would’ve let him before July of 1985. But Billy let him now, cradling the sweaty-damp junction of his skull and neck, nuzzling his nose with Billy’s to encourage Billy to finish the distance. Billy’s lips were soft, unbearably soft and insistent. His arms initially went around Steve’s body, hands sliding over his shoulder blades and then down, down to give the hillocks of his ass cheeks a lift.

At least Billy had some tact, because the bubble burst and Steve tilted his head for more. Billy’s hands lifted up for his waist, incidentally hiking up Steve’s grey shirt but no further. Lockers chimed behind Billy’s back when Steve pushed him against them. Steve felt more than heard Billy’s low hum in his throat, the vibration on his lips and the breath from his nose.

Steve didn’t care that Billy had a game’s worth of sweat and filth on his skin. The only thing keeping him in check was his concern for Billy’s heart and lungs. Kissing made him out of breath, sometimes. For Steve it was as blissful as it was scary.

But this time, Billy chased his lips when he pulled back. His hand found Steve’s hair and Steve felt teeth in their kiss -

A locker slammed over the music, inducing someone to holler, “Sinclair! You comin’ tonight?”

“Uh, let me think on it. I’m gonna shower real fast!”

Billy stepped off where he’d been leaning against the lockers and Steve composed himself in time for Lucas to step into view. He tried to play it casual, but his wide eyes said, Scram, already!

Steve smiled bashfully and waved him away. To Billy, he asked, “Are you coming over?”

Billy scoffed and Steve couldn’t blame him. Big championship party tonight -

“You joking? I’m moving in. I’m exhausted and I want pancakes everyday for the next week.”

A stupid giggle spat out of him. He might’ve actually spit a little. Steve felt like he could cry. He didn’t, though. He’d cried enough for a whole summer.

“Deal... How do I get out of here?”

Billy smirked and nodded his head toward the bathroom side of the locker room. “We’re about to run Sinclair out of the showers.”

[postsforposting]

imagine if political parties got around the knee jerk "this guy sucks!" reaction voters have to every candidate by pulling a biden every year.

people: this guy sucks! i'm not voting!

switcheroo, original guy drops out and new guy shows up

people: "woohooo!"

i feel like this is partially the result of super long election times. the actual nomination isn't until 3-4 months off the election, but campaigning happens 2+ years before then. it shouldn't happen but people decide they're sick of it all right after the LAST election.

"i shouldn't have to save my country multiple times a year!" that's called a utopia, you gotta get there first by...get this...voting for it. house can't exist unless someone builds it, house will deteriorate if you don't maintain it. guess who gets to do it if you won't.

feeling good about voting should come after the decision to vote, because you're building your house. feeling good should not be a prerequisite for voting.

[moonchildreads]

small town

Chapter 5 - I've Got a Rock 'n' Roll Heart

IN THIS CHAPTER: A private metal show, talks about college, and Dottie writes a lot of lists [3.2k]

WARNINGS: none

masterlist - prev - next | playlist

Before we go crazy, before we explode There's something about me, baby, you got to know

Wednesday, April 16th - 1986

As the days progressed, Dottie found herself getting into a new yet pleasant routine: saying hi to Mike and Dustin when she got off the bus and saw them parking their bikes outside, waving to her new friends in the hallways, discovering all the classes she was sharing with them and had never noticed until now, switching seats to sit together, having lunch with them, free periods with them. She shared Political Science and Chemistry with Gareth, English Literature and Calculus with Eddie, World History with Jeff, and Home Economics with Donny. Her AP Spanish classroom was next door to Donny’s Italian class, and from her seat in Psychology she could look out the window and see Eddie always running late for his Music Theory class. When she’d get out of AP Research, Gareth would be waiting outside, fresh from his Environmental Studies class, a million complaints on his tongue about how utterly boring and useless every lesson was.

It was strange to think how empty her life at Hawkins had been up until that point, and when the week before her 18th birthday rolled in, she found herself contemplating seriously, for the first time in a long time, that maybe she really wanted to do something to commemorate it. Maybe this time on her birthday she could be surrounded with people her own age, and maybe she’d try her first beer, and maybe, just maybe, she’d finally have pictures with friends to stick to her corkboard instead of only photos with her makeshift family. She was sitting alone at their usual lunch table waiting for everyone to arrive when she glanced at the cold, foggy field through the big cafeteria windows, her eyes settling on the picnic table where Dustin had found her that fateful Friday. Dottie felt the panic build in her stomach at the thought of inviting people to a party and them not showing up. She wasn’t sure if she would be able to handle that level of disappointment. Not again, at least.

Taking a big breath, Dottie ripped a page from the back of her notebook and began making a list.

Looking around at the students milling about in the cafeteria, she tapped her favorite black pen on her lower lip and thought about plans and ideas and the people she wanted to invite. Gareth, of course, he was easily the one person she felt the closest to at the moment. Donny, who she was now regularly trading mixes and cassette tapes with. Dustin, the one who started it all. Would it be weird to invite Erica? Oh, but the younger girl was so much fun to be around, and she put the boys in their place with such an ease. Under the previous list, she workshopped another one.

“Whatchu working on?” Donny asked, dropping into the seat next to hers, startling her from her thoughts.

“It’s nothing,” she hurried to put the paper back in her notebook. “Just- list of chores I gotta get done this week.”

“Boring,” Jeff said, dropping himself alongside Gareth on the chair opposite of hers.

“What are you guys up to today?” she asked, trying to change the topic as Eddie theatrically pushed her chair to the side with a bump of his hip, boxing her between himself and Donny.

“Band practice!” Gareth exclaimed.

“Wait, today?” Dottie was extremely confused.

“Every Wednesday and Saturday, why?”

“You were gonna come over to my house today, dumbass,” his brow furrowed. “The presidential campaign ads report we are supposed to be writing for next week?”

“Fuck, I forgot.”

“Yeah, no shit!”

“Sorry, maybe we can work on it tomorrow?”

“Hold on,” Eddie interrupted, a thought spreading in his brain. “Why don’t you come to band practice? You get a free show and when we’re done, you two can work on your homework and we,” he pointed to Jeff. “-can knock off that bullshit Sociology paper off our backs.”

“You’re really suggesting we form a fucking study group after band practice? You? Who are you and what have you done with Eddie Munson?” Jeff looked at him like he had grown two heads.

“I don’t know about you, man, but this Eddie Munson doesn’t wanna do senior year one more time, okay? I’ll blow my brains out if I have to be here next year after you guys leave.”

The table was silent for a few seconds while everyone considered the idea. It wasn’t that it was a bad plan, but Eddie suggesting a study group wasn’t something anyone had been expecting. It wasn’t that he was stupid, he was just… incredibly lazy and there was little in the world that motivated him to actually put in the work needed for graduation. Apparently things had come to a boiling point for him because this time he was actually not far behind from where he needed to be to get that coveted diploma and finally get the hell out of Hawkins High.

Gareth and Dottie looked at each other, having a silent conversation with their eyes that frankly put Eddie very on edge for a variety of reasons he was not willing to explore at the moment, and finally shrugged at the same time.

“I gotta call my Dad and explain but I don’t think he’ll be too concerned,” she said, and Eddie threw his arm over her shoulders to pull her into a one-sided hug.

“Great! Now that that’s settled, any song requests for us, princess?”

Gareth’s house was a quaint little thing in a lovely cul-de-sac not very far from where Dottie lived. As the pair walked up the street after getting off the school bus, she noticed that he seemed oddly nervous, which in her experience was very unlike him. Trying to get him out of his funk, she bumped her shoulder with his; he gave her a shy smile in return.

“What’s got you so worried?” she asked, hugging her pretty pastel striped folder to her chest.

“Nothing, it’s just… It’s really dumb.”

“I won’t laugh.”

The boy sighed, realizing she wasn’t gonna let it go until she had pried him open like a can as she so often did. These days it seemed no one could keep their secrets from her - just last Friday she’d gotten Mike to admit that he’d had his first serious fight with his girlfriend during Spring break, and she’d given him advice about how to make things right too at the younger boy’s request. There was something about Dottie that felt comfortable, like you could trust her with your problems and she’d try to solve them for you, and when she couldn’t, she would hold your hand while you went through them anyways. He wondered if she had anyone holding hers, or if she’d even let anyone offer to do so.

“Classmates don’t really come over, y’know?” Gareth admitted. “The guys come for band practice twice a week ‘cause I can’t move my drums around but… I’ve never done the whole study group thing. Not since middle school group projects, I guess.”

“To tell you the truth, I’ve never really done it either,” it was his turn to be surprised. “I didn’t have a lot of friends my age growing up, and I was always busy babysitting my cousins while they got together so this study group thing is new to me too. But that’s okay,” she smiled warmly at him. “We can figure it out together. Have the quintessential high school experience and all that.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled lightly. “It’ll be interesting, for sure. Weird that Eddie suggested it. I don’t think I’ve seen him do anything school related in all the years that I’ve known him.”

“Well, maybe we can be a good influence on him. It’d be really cool if we could graduate and go to prom together, right?”

“You wanna go to prom with Eddie?” he teased, the image of the older boy in a formal suit ridiculous to him.

“No, stupid,” she hit him in the arm with her folder, her cheeks a little red. “All of us together, as a group. Hellfire Class of ‘86 or something. It’d be fun.”

“Yeah, good luck convincing him to go. He’s had two senior proms already and only showed up to sell weed in the parking lot.”

“Is that a challenge, Gareth the Great?”

“Not with your odds, Dottie the Darling. He always does what you tell him to do. I’m pretty sure he’d jump off Sattler Quarry if you asked him.”

“Oh, are you saying you wouldn’t? Thought you trusted me, some friend you are,” she joked back, following him up the garage entrance at the back of the house.

At that, Gareth laughed heartily, reaching down to lift the garage door and revealing his setup to her. While he went into the house to get something to drink, she took the opportunity to look around and find a place to watch comfortably; not too near the amplifiers or the drums. She settled her things on an upturned crate of milk lying next to an old lawn chair and looked at the posters and big flag hanging from the walls. Gareth returned with a few cans of soda for everyone and extended one to her.

“Thanks,” she said, watching him get ready to do his thing. “I don’t think I know that band.”

“Which one?” he turned his head, following her pointing finger. “Oh, that’s us. We’re Corroded Coffin.”

“Really,” she stifled a laugh.

“Look, we were kids. It sounded cool.”

“No, definitely. Super cool.”

“Ah, fuck off,” they both laughed.

Dottie sat on a lonely stool that was close to the drums and watched him curiously while he adjusted his seat. She couldn’t play an instrument to save her life, but she had tried to once. Her old cheap acoustic guitar was currently hiding somewhere inside her wardrobe; a sad leftover from a former life where she’d tried to fit in at a huge school by taking guitar lessons for a few months. The summer had come and her teacher had skipped town; she’d never tried to find another one and had never picked the guitar up again. Maybe one day, she kept telling herself, and deep down, some part of her thought she actually might go through with it.

Gareth settled into a comfy rhythm, stretching his fingers and getting into the proper mood, stealing a few glances at her to see if she was enjoying herself. He was pleased to know that she was - Dottie looked at him like this was the most entertaining thing that had happened to her all day, which, to be fair, it probably was. He added a few little flourishes to make her laugh, tapping into his jazz lessons from when he had been barely tall enough to reach the pedals. Soon enough, the rest of the boys arrived in Eddie’s van, blaring some metal song she had never heard before. She helped them unload their gear, making light conversation with Donny as he plugged in his bass and plucked a few notes to get his fingers warm.

“Alright, princess, ready for the show?” Eddie asked, taking his place at his mic to the left, Jeff to his right in the middle of the “stage” with his own mic in front of him.

“Woooo, go Coffin!” she cheered, swinging her legs in the air in front of her from her seat at the stool, now at the front.

The boys launched into a cover of Black Sabbath’s Paranoid and anything that Dottie had been expecting, had to be thrown out of a window immediately. They weren’t just good, they were legitimately great. Donny played his bass with surgical precision, like he had been doing it since the day he was born. Gareth repeatedly made her laugh, shaking his head like he was possessed, never once missing his beat. Jeff had a phenomenal voice; she was only half mad he hadn’t bothered to mention he was this gifted. He exuded a boyish charm she normally didn’t associate with the more reserved teen, but it was a lot of fun to see this side of him proudly displayed for everyone that walked by. And Eddie, Jesus Christ, Eddie. It was like he had been created for the sole purpose of standing on a stage someday. He exhaled music in every breath, he goofed around with Jeff, made faces at Gareth, closed his eyes and tilted his head to the sky while he shredded his six-string. He was a showman, that had been apparent in their D&D sessions but this, this was something else entirely.

As they rolled in and out of different songs, some that she knew, some that she didn’t, she found herself staring more and more at Eddie. Eddie’s hands plucking notes from the strings, Eddie’s hair swinging wildly, Eddie’s legs carrying him around the garage as he engaged in theatrics with the rest of the boys, Eddie’s neck when he threw his head back, Eddie’s voice as he sang backup vocals for Jeff. It was overwhelming, this feeling of seeing him as he truly was for the first time and yet recognizing so many little tics and mannerisms she’d seen every day by now in this incredible performer. Get your shit together, Dorothy, she forced herself to think when they stopped for a break, Gareth passing cans of Dr. Pepper around.

Donny and Eddie were smoking just outside the garage door and while they were distracted, she took the opportunity to praise Jeff copiously. The teen couldn’t stop scratching his neck in a mixture of embarrassment and pride. Gareth slid next to her when Jeff excused himself to go to the bathroom, barely contained energy noticeable by the way he was tapping on his can as he settled on the table next to her.

“So? What d’you think?” he asked, genuinely wanting to hear her opinion.

“Oh my god, G, that was… that was amazing, what the fuck. Why didn’t you tell me you guys were this good?” he shrugged. “And you! Wow, who knew you were hiding all of that under those curls. Remind me again why you don't have a girlfriend.”

“Okay, you’re definitely lying now,” he laughed, taking a sip of his soda. “You gotta come to The Hideout someday, you’d love it.”

“I will, just gotta convince my Dad to let me go out on a school night. After we all graduate and leave for college and shit, you guys gotta play for me when we come back during the breaks or I’ll be really sad.”

“I, um,” he began, a little embarrassed. “I’m not leaving, actually. I’m going to Hawkins Community.”

“Really? What are you gonna do there?”

“Music. Percussion,” he said, like it was obvious. “Money isn’t exactly great right now, y’know. Gretchen’s tuition is really expensive,” he shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot and my parents agree community college is a good fit for me, for now at least. I was a jazz drummer before all this metal stuff so…”

“Impressive. Try to remember us mortals when people call you the next Ringo Starr, okay?”

“Ah, shut up. I’ll probably end up being a teacher or something boring like that. What are you gonna do?”

“Teaching,” Dottie said with a straight face.

“...you’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not,” she smiled at him. “I’m thinking either Elementary or English. Haven’t really decided yet but I don’t gotta declare until like… my junior year, I think. I’ve got time.”

“Wow,” they sat in silence watching Jeff join Donny and Eddie outside. “Where are you going?”

“Michigan.”

“Michi…” he trailed off before snapping his head back in her direction. “You are the kid that got into UMich with a full ride?” he looked at her like she’d just told him she was a Russian spy.

“That’s me,” Dottie did jazz hands to illustrate. “I applied when I was still in New York, I was Early Admission.”

“Jesus. Talk about remembering us when you’re famous.”

“Yeah, a famous kinder teacher. I’ll be known for my finger painting skills.”

“What are we talking about?” Eddie asked, resting his back against the table Gareth was sitting on.

“College.”

“Ew, boring. Change of topic.”

“You’re the one who interrupted us,” Gareth told him, rolling his eyes.

“Actually…”

The boys looked at Dottie, waiting for her to finish her sentence. She felt a wave of nervousness roll through her entire body, her toes tensing inside her sneakers, her palms clammy. She cleaned them on the back of her jeans and laughed shakily, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

“So… I don’t know if I mentioned this but it’s my birthday on Monday,” she said. “I was thinking that maybe you guys would like to come over? Saturday night?”

“Party time?” Jeff asked, eyes glinting.

“Something like that,” she chuckled. “Just to hang out? Play some games, fun music, pizza, cake. I was thinking of asking everyone else too, even Erica. We can have like a little Hellfire birthday if you’re down. My Dad is super chill and he’s been saying for years now that I can drink my first beer on my 18th birthday so there will be booze. Just, y’know, behave?”

“I’m down!” Gareth declared, and she smiled, happy that she’d been correct in putting his name first under the Yes column on her list.

“Me too!” Donny said, stubbing his cig with his heel and hurrying inside.

“Sure, it’ll be fun,” Jeff said, and Dottie wasn’t entirely too sure if he was telling the truth or not. Probably column it is.

She turned to look at Eddie for his final answer; he was looking at her with an unreadable expression. In a split second, he grinned and raised his soda can above his head.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, darling,” he said, and winked at her from the top of his can as he downed what was left in it. He put it down on the table and looked at the rest of his band. “Come on, let’s get a few more songs in before Gareth’s mom gets home and we gotta hit the textbooks.”

By the time the weekend had started, she’d made Actual Real Solid Plans with her dad about the party and invited the rest of the Hellfire Club during Friday’s session. On Sunday night, basking in her last hours as a 17 year old, Dottie took out the crinkled sheet of paper she’d written her initial attendees list on and made a few changes. It now read:

[mrpenguinpants]

let me put EVEN MORE PRESSURE ON YOU! Our second session is TOMORROW NIGHT!!!! And yeah 100% all the times as a player (my DM, before the campaign was scrapped, was a SAINT and I'm so happy he's at my table as a player this time around) was mostly just to see what shenanigans uncovered plots or that I could get away with. I was chaotic in trying to dig up plot (it didn't help it was my second campaign EVER so I was not the best at picking up plot hints that were dropped in front of me) I played two characters in the campaign, a druid and a wizard/rouge. My sweet children, I love them both dearly. The campaign may have ended but they live rent free in my head.

Druid - Uncover a plot hook early as a cat dramatically trying to get attention from a stranger in an alley, sneak past guards without being questioned as a cat mysteriously in an underground villain lair, CONVINCE AN OWLBEAR TO SPARE US???, Strike up a deal with a dracolitch (though I think the DM wanted That outcome, but no one else did), Strike up a deal with MOTHER NATURE, and try to hide a murder by burning down a house (it did not work)

Wiz/Rog - instead of writing out the list, I'll just write to you her introduction to the party: basically my PC steals baguettes from Sargent Armstrong (but french); runs into the group but gets snatched TM by our shifter fighter, interogated, has the best conversation ever ("You know, other people sell food here!" "I am the! Only! Baguette! Person! Here!" "Mmm."), two of the party members are about to pay on her behalf just to no longer be implicated, she casts cause fear on the guy and he sprints (and the party blames the wizard for it), and then SPRINTS INTO A SCHOOL SHE DOES NOT GO TO, GETS FOLLOWED BY WIZARD AND SAID PREVIOUS FIGHTER, DISGUISES HERSELF AS A STUDENT (THE BUFFEST ORC KNOWN TO MANKIND) AND FUCKS WITH THE FIGHTER JUST CAUSE as in the fighter rolled SO LOW

I'd recommend dnd but ONLY like,,, with your friends - new tables/playing with strangers is scary, especially bc the game's... old; I could go off on the racism and sexism baked into 5e and especially the earlier editions for WEEKS asdfghj so you gotta find a table/group that agrees with you, yk? ALSO!!! I saw on twitch/tiktok FOREVER AGO someone actually made a Genshin TTRPG System! Aka you can play DnD in the world of Teyvat as vision holders! There's a few, but the one I saw is "Roll to Ascend" on Youtube

-Lucky

Answering these out of order but how did your second session go if you remember? Aww, I'm sad that the campaign ended but I guess every story needs an ending. I think bittersweet nostalgia is the worst and best feeling ever because you're happy it happened, but sad it ended.

If I ever brush the dust off my Baldurs Gate save file, I will put all my stats into charisma because speech is the most OP thing ever. But I think the funniest part of listening to DND stories is that you take all the crazy events and condense them down. So to me, this sounds like you did all of this in a day rather than several campaign nights (or maybe you did do all of this in a night. That would also make sense).

I have a friend group that plays DND but I don't think I'd "fit in" with them. Not that they are bad at DND or I think they wouldn't accept me, but I feel like I'd need to find the right people to be okay with it. New tables are scary as hell because I have no idea how much rp they do or if I'm doing too much rp. I will check out that youtube channel tho :0 my friend actually recently recommended me a DND podcast that he listens to.

[nokikissa]

just some nerd shit thoughts and lamentations about dnd podcasts I listen to

I'm like so disappointed, there's one podcast (Cast Party) that's first season was like among one of my favorites I listened to, it was one of the ones where I got excited when there was a new episode!

Then at one point they started doing like side campaigns with different dm on the off weeks, and I didn't really care for those, assumed it was probably just me not vibing with the different dm's style...

But now they've started a season two with the same dm as first season, same player + two new ones, and I'm like multiple episodes into that and...

I don't care for it.

I think I'll drop out of listening to that one.

And that's rare for me, I've listened to and continued to find enjoyment of like The Adventure Zone which is like a poster boy for dnd podcast people liked the first season of but dropped out afterwards based on how many people I've seen say as much lmao.

And anyway it kinda bums me out! I used to be so excited when there was a new episode of the podcasts, like put it on top of the listening list type material. And now its like there's a new episode and I'm kinda just hmmm well is there anything else to listen to :/

And that got me kinda pondering about like what is is that I'm not vibing with that? And that reminded me of how in one of the The Adventure Zone Q&A episodes after they had done the mini campaigns after the first season Griffin talked about how it was kinda hard in the sense that they had just come from multi years campaign with a lot of like high stake/big moments in it and like the first instinct was to be all oh yeah more of the big moments and so on but those big moments worked cos they were built from all that came before, you can't just immediately aim for those things, and they felt that they came to some of the mini campaigns with kinda too thought out characters, you gotta leave space in the characters for them to grow and get build during the campaign.

And I kinda feel that's the issue with the new cast party season to me. Everything feels I dunno, too thought ahead and planned with the characters and plot?

Like almost every podcast the best season is the first one where everyone is like "Hey we decided to give this a shot, let's see how this goes" and the premise of the season is like initially pretty simple and characters are somewhat easy to explain and understand, but then as the season goes on and everyone finds their footing more convoluted stuff gets added on top of the simpler initial stuff.

Like The Adventure Zone started with three adventurers joining a secret organization hunting and destroying dangerous corrupting magic artifacts, Dungeons and Daddies started with group of stereotypical dads and their kids being transported to magical realm and needing to find their way out, and well even first season of Cast Party started out with group of hollywood actors and film crew gets transported to magical realm and need to find their way out. Simple. Easy to understand. All of them did add more convoluted and complex plot but that came gradually.

But second season of Cast Party I dunno how to exactly explain the plot simply? Something something group of people in a fantasy world start having memories of people in real world and they all have same symbol on their hand idunno? I'm not sure what's going on in it, it feels too convoluted from the get go for my tastes. And that doesn't hook me in.

And also 6 players is too much imo my sweet spot player amount for dnd podcast is 3-4 players 😞

Does this post have a point? Not really, just me whining that it's a bummer I don't like the second season of the podcast even tho I tried to get into it.

Annoyingly this means I'll need to find new shit to listen to I guess auugh.

Or maybe I'll just do a millionth relisten of Taz Balance.....

[stardancerluv]

Pumpkin and the Beast

Part 2

Summary: Some of a school day with Eddie and Pumpkin.

Warning/Notes: Regular school angst…Jason Carver makes an appearance. The chapter starts with lyrics (they are in italics) from the band known as The Cult and the song is Rain.

Please, enjoy! Reblogs are awesome! ❤️s are fantastic! And I love comments/feedback!

I've been waiting

For her for so long

Open the sky

And let her come down

For a little while you happily swished your head from side to side from the music that poured from Eddie’s speakers.

“Eddie.”

You happily wiggled your feet in the air, since you were too short to reach the floor. He had gotten used to you dancing, what least it was you called it. He called it your happy wiggles.

“I like this.” You smiled, glancing over at him.

“Yeah?”

“Yup.”

“Its The Cult.” He slowly smiled, there was a twinkle in eye that you couldn’t miss. “That place Bloomington called me.”

Your heart leapt, you knew how he had been waiting about a week to hear back from them.

“Eddie what did they say?”

He pulled up to the red light, a smile was spread from one side of his face to the other. “We got the gig! Next Saturday night the boys and I will be preforming in Bloomington!”

A cheer of delight burst from you, and without thinking you immediately leaned over and hugged him tight. You smiled up at him. “I am so happy for you!” You felt as he gave you a soft squeeze.

“Thanks pumpkin. Well, you were the first to say we’d get it and we did.” He smiled down brightly at you.

“Well me and…”

A honking of a horn cut off your words.

You pulled back. “I’m sorry, Eddie.” You whispered.

Eddie made a face. “It just changed.” He muttered something you couldn’t make out as he stuck his head out the window.

“Learn how to drive freak!” You heard the muffled shout from Jason, before revving his engine and tearing his orange Dodge charger around Eddie’s van, rocking it.

Your heart sank further.

Eddie, reached over and turned the music up. The silence became thick in the van. You had learned from him it was ok to express your feelings, yet right now you wished you could go back to moments ago when he was so happy. Jason could be so mean, like why you wondered.

It wasn’t long before he pulled into the school’s parking lot. Before you could glance at Eddie, to see how be was. He had snatched up your knapsack and was at your door.

“Ma’ lady.” He said in his wonderfully theatrical voice he used to the Hellfire meetings or when he shared his campaigns.

He offered you his hand. You took it and with a small jump, landed on the ground besides Eddie.

He handed you back your knapsack. “Here pumpkin.”

“Thank you.”

He reached behind you and grabbed his black metal lunch box. You hoped he actually had some food in there today. It hurt you to see him skip out on lunch from time to time.

“Eddie?” His brown didn’t look as dark or as sad as moments ago, so you supposed that was better but it still made you sad.

He gave you a smile. “Yes, pumpkin?” His tone was sweet but something behind it didn’t carry the usual flutter it gave you.

“Never mind. We better get to class.”

His mouth became a thin line. “I’ll be there shortly. I gotta tell the boys the good news.”

Your heart lifted, that would make Eddie happy again. “I’ll tell Miss Andrews you were dropping my books at the library in case you don’t arrive in time for the bell.”

He smiled. “You are too sweet.” He winked and despite him doing it quite a few times over these last few months, it still made you tingle in your tummy.

******

Miss Andrew didn’t look happy as she was writing the date on the black board. You held your note book close to your chest as you rocked on your feet as you waited by her large desk.

You heard her inhale before she spoke, and it was only then did you look up at her.

“Yes, Miss YLN?”

You bit your bottom lip before giving her a big smile. “Miss Andrews, my library books got to heavy for me.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” You replied sweetly. “So Eddie is dropping them off at the library for me, so I wouldn’t be late.”

“I see. Well, I hope he’s back before we start taking notes.”

“I think so.” You smiled and headed to the back where you and Eddie usually sat.

Once again you had to fluff your skirt. It had ridden up once you tucked yourself in behind your desk. Opening your knapsack, you took out your favorite purple pen and bright red notebook with MATH scrawled across it.

The bell rang. You grimaced and chewed your cheek. Eddie’s seat remained empty.

Opening your notebook you turned to a fresh clean page. In big scrawly print you wrote out the date. Passing your homework forward a few moments later, you idly began to draw and doodle in your notebook. You were growing a little concerned for Eddie, but you knew he’d show up, he just had to.

You were in the middle of drawing a daisy, when you heard the a knock that only one person could make sound that dramatic. Glancing up, you saw how be leaned in the doorway, Miss Andrew turned and blowing her bangs from in front of her eyes, she shook her head.

“Come on in Munson, try not be so late being a gentlemen next time will you?”

He smiled and made a big show of shrugging his shoulders. “No act is too small or too big when being a gentleman.”

A smile flashed but disappeared from her face. “Alright, on with it Mr. Munson get to your seat. Miss YLN will tell you where we are.”

He smiled and and pointed at her. “You got it teach.”

His bandanna swished at his side before climbed into his seat, his handcuff belt which Eddie never gave you a straight answer about clanked as he finally settled behind his desk. Miss Andrews glanced back at the sound before turning back to the blackboard.

He leaned over, he looked happier which made you happier. “I didn’t miss much did I?”

Shaking your head, your ponytail swished. “Nope. She was about to start notes.”

“Ok.”

********

You squealed and giggled out of nowhere as Eddie came up behind you and swung you around unexpectedly.

“Eddie, Eddie put me down!” You giggled.

“Not yet.” He whispered into your ear.

“Eddie!”

He swung you around one more time. His laughter filling your ear, before finally putting you down.

You immediately tugged down your skirt. You hoped that no one saw the ruffles on your panties as he swung you around.

“That was fun.” He remarked breathlessly.

With a sigh, you leaned back and jumping not only feel Eddie’s solid warmth but the firmness of his belt against you. Making you jump. “Eddie!” You squealed once again and turning around you smack his arm. “I didn’t realize you were still behind me.”

He chuckled, shrugging he moved till he leaned against the lockers beside you. “Sorry doll.”

Glancing into you the mirror you reapplied your lip gloss. After making a kissy face at your reflection, you glanced at Eddie. “You may be sorry Eddie Munson but you are evil!”

He quietly drew closer to you. He stood at his full height, no slouching or leaning and he looked right down at you. “Oh, did big ol’ bad, Eddie scare you pumpkin?”

“Yes.” You tried to say firmly crossing your arms in front of you, looking right up into his brown eyes. But you broke into giggles. It wasn’t long before his own joined yours.

“So I got to talk to all the boys about Bloomington.” He said, once he was leaning against the lockers again.

You smiled brightly, glancing at Eddie. “I bet they are so happy.” Chewing the inside of your cheek, you looked over your books.

“Over the moon!” You loved seeing the huge smile spread across his face. “Gareth was so excited, he didn’t even eat his lunch.”

Kneeling, you stuffed some books finally into your knapsack. Glancing up at him through your lashes, you asked hesitantly. “Did you eat?”

“Nah, too excited.” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

You stood. “Eddie.”

“If I recall, you weren’t there.” He replied his eyebrows raised. “Did you eat today?”

“Mrs. Flores, wanted me to make photocopies for her.”

“And…” He made a face, then smiled “See you didn’t eat either.”

“I guess. Well, we can go and grab something now. You pick.” You rocked happily on your feet.”

His face fell. “Oh, I forgot. Gareth invited us to jam; well practice at his house before Hellfire. He’s ordering us a a pizza or something.”

“Oh.” You said brightly, despite your heart sinking. “Good.”

He stood and rubbed your arm. “I’m sorry I forgot about you and me time.” He chewed hip. I promise to make it up to you.”

“It’s ok. This is important.” You said as rightly as you could. Deep down you knew he was right but after the test you had in history and the quiz in chemistry, you were looking for time with Eddie.

******

Happily you skipped beside him as he told all of his plans. He made grand hand gestures and his face contorted as he told how he would try and come up with a fresh playlist for the gig. You were very happy for him.

His excitement filled the van after we climbed in. “We’re gonna need any extra practice we can fit in before next weekend.”

You nodded. “I will have to get to the mall and buy myself a new dress.” You began to wonder what color you should go with. You wanted to look extra pretty since this would be such an important performance.

His fingers were strumming on the steering wheel. “So you will come and see us preform?”

“Of course I will! I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Great!”

@bebe0701 @eddieswifu @twentysomethingwereyote @gabriella-gvf @apocalypticwafflekitten @blackberries45 @buckymydarlingangel @readers-posts @grunge-grrrl @ofherscarlettwitchways @making-the-most-0f-it @chaos-incorp @dandycandy75 @poltergeistsblog @alyssinwunderland-blog-blog @helpimspiraling @thegirlwhohides @corrodedcoffn @notbeforelong

[ripells]

hey hey hey can you can you tell me about one of your D&D characters and their beautiful tragic backstory so i can draw them

oh man i gotta think about which one i wanna talk about uhhhhh for one of my friend's campaigns I had this character named kyoluine (k-woah-lune) who was the god of courage. he was really arrogant and cocky and frequently toyed with mortals and his servants alike until a war for power broke out between him and another deity he had never heard of before, fircuel (fur-sool). he believed the battle to be simple as many of his battles had been before, but slowly, he began to lose the people fighting on his side either due to them dying or them switching to fircuel's side. she was just too beautiful, too alluring, too manipulative, too strong to stand against, and kyoluine was no god of strength. he was the god of courage, and courage does not equal strength. a weak man who is overly courageous and arrogant is nothing but a fool, after all. he was then faced with betrayal and death until finally, he was captured by fircuel's army and taken as prisoner.

in captivity, he became extremely self loathing. he no longer saw himself as the god of courage, only as a coward who once had the arrogance to falsely call himself a powerful god. fircuel would regularly come down and berate him, rubbing his defeat in his face and giving him horrible treatment, until one day him and a few other people appeared in a white room in firceul's palace. kyoluine only knew one of them: serenity. serenity was kyoluine's favorite and most trusted servant. she had betrayed him to switch to fircuel's side during the war, and despite how angry he felt he should be, he just couldnt muster any rage up. all he felt was that he deserved it. fircuel appears and tells them that they are here to gain love and knowledge.

the group, consisting of kyoluine, serenity, vanollia (a random angel), annika (fircuel's muse), and gojo (i kid you not this was his character's name. he was a new angel.) venture out through the rooms. as they go, they find more information about the castle and fircuel. after going through the rooms, they find themselves separated with marks on their body. kyoluine's was inked arms and the number 3939 under his eye. in the room, he encounters deusama, serenity's predecessor and the servant kyoluine believed had died. he tries to speak to her, but she says that she is proud of having ran away and then kyoluine passes out.

they wake up together in a bland room with everyone in it + deusama. they realize she looks like fircuel, but before anything significant happens, fircuel rips deusama's head off, looking visibly mad. she starts choking kyoluine out of anger but drops it after a bit and cruelly reveals that she was deusama, kyoluine's first and most beloved servant. then, they enter a chase scene where the players have to run away from mummy like entities. kyoluine gains the courage once more to go and save a few of the other players, but when they get outside of the castle, they are met with a barrier that wont let them out. fircuel reveals that all the knowledge they had gained just corrupted them and forced them to stay with her.

there was never an escape. all that hope, all that time kyoluine spent waiting to finally be free was for naught, as he was now trapped, forced to be the servant of the one he once called his. so basically love corrupted kyoluine, serenity, and vanollia (example: if you look in one of the mirrors in the palace, those three would see fircuel hugging them from behind. that also gives them a +1 on corruption.) and knowledge corrupted annika and gojo (example: reading a book foreshadowing fircuel's backstory gave them a +1 on corruption.)

in terms of appearance he has long, messy crimson hair, a long tattered black coat with a red star patterned undercoat, baggy tattered pants, a messy white button up shirt, and eyes completely just orange. you can add or change his design however you want id love to see any more ideas for his design!!! also dude sorry about how long this was LMAOOO i wanted to give the whole story to its end and it was a oneshot so i was like "why not"

[turianosauruswrex]

jesus christ i have too many ocs. okay. crash course time.

the big ones

Katya Fyodorova: aka Katya Vorakh, aka Grief. D&D character originating in quarantine, now played on Discord server. Scourge aasimar shadow sorcerer, former Vecna warlock, still fucked up about it. Spoiled rich mafia brat. Memory problems. Severely ex-Catholic. Ignore the six-armed angel in the corner. Don't worry about it.

Jules McAllister: Courier Six. Unfortunately sided with Caesar's Legion, got crucified for it. There's fanfiction about that (no for real, I'll drop you a link or two). The reason I installed the Better Living Through Chems mod. Peak Aries. Made the worst decisions possible in-game and post-game. They hate to see a girlboss winning. (- Jules, 2281, immediately after the slaughter of Camp McCarran)

Sylvie Caron: Newest D&D character to the fold. Rogue played in a homebrew setting. Creepy little Van Helsing. Buries bodies for a living. Don't worry about it.

Zydre Dashiev: D&D character, pirate changeling warlock. Looks like a tiefling 99% of the time because their mommy's a tiefling and they love their mommy. Also because shapechangers get drafted and they'd die before joining the military. Has to be the hottest person in the room at all times. Patron is the moon. That's rough buddy.

see also

Aurelia Volpe: My special girl, first ever D&D character, life domain cleric following a death god. Gonna be queen of her country we just gotta finish the campaign first.

Seraiah Levine: D&D character, kalashtar/cyborg monk. Anger management issues from that time she was a revenant for a year. Out here to kill God (literally). Gee Sera how come your dad lets you have TWO girlfriends?

Miranda "Miri" St. James: Independent Vegas-route Courier, usually a Follower of the Apocalypse, though. Talkative, extremely, smart, too much so. 3/4 of a doctor before dropping out to become a mailman, as one does. Eventually becomes the Queen of Independent New Vegas. Disco bard. Dresses like 70s Cher. Stupid, extremely so.

Saoirse Considine: D&D character, faun druid. Works as a gardener for the Fey Queen. Hanahaki disease but in the style of Annihilation (2018). Small and cute and not a single deceptive bone in her body.

Harrow Du Maurier: D&D character, human death domain cleric. Does not know she's a cleric. Small and grumpy.

Lafayette "Faye" Jones: NCR-route Courier, usually an ex-NCR sniper. The only responsible one here. Damn good at her job.

Sorrows: D&D character, Hexblade warlock who very desperately wants to be a cleric. Just let outside for the first time. Cute and sad.

Siobhan of House Amyntas: D&D character. I call her Shiv but that's just because I've been watching Succession I think. Fits though. Assassin rogue who bodyguarded the queen of a fallen kingdom and fell in love oh no oops uh oh.

i also have a page on the ol' blog for them but it's so ugly i've hated its layout since day one but i don't have the skills or time or energy to fight with a cool template. these are the current most important/relevant ones tho.

[writtenfromhawkins]

daylight.

ship: photographer!jonathan byers x model fem!reader

summary: reader finally gets to work with the jonathan byers.

word count: 6.5k.

warnings: drugs/drug use (there is one brief scene where the reader actually uses a hard drug, otherwise it’s just mentioned), swearing, smut, eating,  mentions of creepy behavior and assigning morality to food i.e it being good or bad (it’s the 90s and the fashion industry is gross). just listen to supermodel by maneskin and you’ll get the vibes. minors do not read or interact.

authors note: totally self-indulgent fic here, but i hope you enjoy it anyway. getting this out later than i had anticipated, but if there’s interest, i’ve already come up with some ideas for additional parts.

there are so many lines that i've crossed unforgiven.

Early spring on the East Coast is a dreary affair and even a city as magical as New York can’t escape it. The air crisp, a light downpour made the already heavy traffic come to a standstill and you arrive outside The Plaza a good twenty minutes after you were supposed to.

You probably should have felt at least a little bad about it. Showing up late was never a good look. But hey, you couldn’t control the weather or the traffic or the fact that the photographer’s assistant scouted a hotel that required you to travel to it. 

“Shoulda did this at the Carlyle,” you tell your manager, Murray, who, much to your surprise, had been in the car that picked you up from JFK. This was all a very last-minute affair. You’d sent your own assistant home and had expected to be alone in The Big Apple.

You don’t get a real response, just a gruff laugh as he continues perusing your schedule for the next few days. 

He was a strange man, one who seemingly did not belong in the fashion industry, but he knew what he was doing and made you more money than you thought possible. That was certainly enough to endear you to him.

“Alright,” he says, slamming the planner shut, “this Guess shoot should be over and done quick. I hear this Byers kid is a real professional.”

You don’t say it but you’ve heard the same thing. Somehow this would be the first time working with Jonathan Byers but you certainly were familiar with the name.

Some of the girls had gushed about him—he was so cute and nice and made them feel at ease. Others complained that he didn’t accept their advances or entertain their diva antics. Even worse, one regaled you with a horrific tale of getting caught doing blow on set. He’d tossed the little baggie in the trash without a word. 

Personal opinions varied from model to model but one thing stayed consistent: he was really, really good at his job.

“That means,” Murray continues, “you have the rest of the day and night to yourself. Have fun but, for the love of God, behave yourself. I’m begging you, please. You’ve got two big campaigns coming and name-dropping Gianni can only save your ass so many times.”

You huff at that. You don't even do anything that bad—the tabloids liked to pick on you. Sure, you might have gotten kicked out of a club or two and yeah, you trashed a couple hotel rooms with your shitty ex-boyfriend. You might have even accidentally shoplifted a Chanel scarf once but who hasn’t?

“I’ll be good,” you assure him anyway, properly admonished despite your refusal to accept any wrongdoing. 

“That’s what I like to hear. So, all you gotta do tomorrow is a fitting for Calvin Klein and then you’re free to fuck back off to the West Coast for the rest of the week.”

“Great,” you nod, opening the door.

“You’ll notice the vultures aren’t out right now. Since you just got back from Milan, I figured you could use the break.” You’re actually about to thank him when he says, “but they’ll be here when you’re done so whatever shit they put on your face? Keep it on.”

Asshole. “See you later, Murray.” You don’t give him the chance to say anything else before you’re outside and walking towards the building.

Head low, sunglasses on, you’re able to cross the lobby with zero issues and snag yourself an empty elevator. You settle into the corner, back pressed against the wall as you grab ahold of your Prada bag, dipping into its contents to pull out a tiny, clear vial. You almost salivate at the sight.

Though the neatly packed powder excites you—probably more than it should—the tiniest bit of shame creeps its way in, the way it usually does when you know you’re doing something wrong. It’s for the best. Fashion Week just ended, your flight was long and you were tired—you needed the energy, after all. 

You twist the top off with ease, holding it against the neck of the bottle, so you can slip one manicured nail inside. You pucker your lips, wiping the digit across your top gums once, twice, a third time for good measure, and then you’re putting the lid back on and carefully tucking it away. 

By the time the doors open up on the top floor, you can already feel it. Your body feels warmer, and there’s an extra pep in your step. You’ll feel like shit in a couple hours but for now, you’re golden.

The whole floor was booked, a way to give you privacy and a quiet place to work, but the room you actually needed to be at has its door cracked, they were expecting you. You push your way inside.

Jonathan is directing his assistants as they set up the lighting until he spots you. He pats one on the back, giving one last instruction before heading over.

You’re surprised at first. With the way some of the girls talked about him you expected a little more Brian Austin Green and a little less Kurt Cobain. But then he’s smiling at you and you think you get it.

“Hey! Jonathan Byers,” he introduces himself, extending a hand to you.

You know who he is, he knows who you are, but only pretentious assholes acknowledge that so, you shake his and return the pleasantry.

“Nice to officially meet you.” And the way he says it lets it be known he’s not the only one with a reputation. Yours, though, is a little less sparkling. “Right through there,” an arm extends, motioning towards the bathroom and you catch yourself admiring the sinewy muscle the action exposes before following its direction, “is Gina and Zack.” With both doors open, you can see them in the adjoining room. “They’ll take care of you and then send you back to me.”

It’s most definitely not your first day on a set and, if this was coming from anyone else, you’d find it condescending. But with the way Jonathan says it, it sounds nice, like you’re being looked out for.

“Cool,” you acknowledge the sentiment and head right towards hair and makeup.

—

In no time your hair has been teased, your cheeks highlighted and your lips glossed. You emerge from the bathroom in a black cocktail dress.

Jonathan claps his hands together when he sees you. “There she is! We’re gonna start off on the dresser. Can you get up there?”

You can and you do. Once you’re situated, you pull the hem of the dress down slightly and look up at him expectantly.

“Need you to move a little.”

When you do, he shakes his head. “No, no, I need you…” He trails off, sighing. “Back, a little more to the left.”

You shimmy your entire body in the direction he mentioned but he still doesn’t look pleased. “That’s not—“ His gaze flickers from you to Gina, the makeup artist, who is lingering nearby for touch-ups. “Can I do it?”

In quite literally any other situation a photographer wanting to touch you would be enough to send up hundreds of red flags and set off all the alarms. It’s their way of trying to cop a feel or start something equally unseemly. But, despite all your experience and years in the business, nothing in the request was enough to unnerve you. 

You just met the man and you were finding yourself trusting him, feeling as though you were actually safe. So the decision was an easy one, you nod your consent. 

Once you agree, Jonathan loops the strap of his camera around his neck and steps toward you, the heel of your stilettos brushing against his knee. Two big hand grabs ahold of your hips and, with surprising ease, slides you back to your original position, only with your left hip cocked back leaving you at an angle.

Somehow you’d just been manhandled in the gentlest, most respectful way possible.

You gaze up at him to see he’s already looking at you. Jonathan studies you for a moment—really, really studies you—and seems to see something he doesn’t like as the corner of his lips twitch downward before he steps back. 

“Perfect. Don’t move, okay?”

You take a few pictures exactly in that position. Another with you bent down, cleavage exposed, one finger hooked in the back of your heel as if you’re taking it off. Another with your legs spread but only slightly—we’re not shooting for Penthouse here, Jonathan had said.

The next outfit is a completely unbuttoned white dress shirt, a lacy black bra, and a pencil skirt in the same dark shade. You don’t know if slutty businesswoman really fits Guess but who are you to complain?

From the door to the nightstand by the bed, you’re photographed undressing as you cross the room. The shirt is discarded immediately, the rest is an illusion, hinting at nudity as you unzip the skirt but never pull the fabric below your hips.

Last is a tiny little romper and stockings which you’re donning as you’re sprawled out on the mattress, arm by your head. It’s fitting because all you want is to crawl into bed minus the glitz and glamor and the designer clothes. By this point, you’re coming down. The high never lasted long enough but, after only getting a tiny amount far too long ago, it was painfully brief. You’re a little foggy and tired, and you hope, as you switch poses, Jonathan can’t see your hands shake.

“I need you to kneel on the bed for me now.”

You’re a little slow, but you get into position as requested—

“Ass off your heels, please.”

Okay, almost as requested. At the order, you lift your bum up, looking at Jonathan, almost expecting some praise. It doesn’t come. You only know you’re where he wants you because he raises the camera. You drop your hands to your thighs, tilt your head and prepare for the telltale flash that never comes.

“You’re totally dead behind the eyes.”

“What?”

He looks at you with a frown. “Nothing is going on up here,” he points to his own visage, “you look bored, tired.”

You freeze, feeling like you’re caught. “I-uh,” you stammer, wincing at your lack of an immediate answer. Could this get any worse? “I am tired. I was just in Italy and I came here right off the plane.”

“Uh huh,” Jonathan nods. You don’t think he believes you. “But the people who see these pictures aren’t gonna get the backstory. You gotta grab them on first look so I really need you to try to perk up a little.”

You bristle, embarrassed to have let anything affect your work. “Got it.”

“Look at the camera like it’s a delicious, juicy steak.”

“I’m a vegetarian.” It’s supposed to be a joke but he doesn’t laugh.

“Then a nicely seasoned chunk of tofu. We’re almost done here, let’s get this last shot and finish up.”

You sigh as you look at the gadget, desperate to finish the shoot off on a high note. You do everything you can—you picture the camera as a beautiful man, a beautiful woman, a brand new Balenciaga.

You have no idea if it’s working until Jonathan says, “that’s a wrap.” He comes around to your side of the bed and offers his hand, which you take. “Let’s get you changed.”

Once you’re back in your street clothes, you say your goodbyes and thank yous to the people on set. It’s a nicety that you don’t partake in often, just when you’re trying to make a good impression. 

The rounds, as expected, take a while and you’re deliberate in their order, saving Jonathan for last. When you approach him, drained but still enthusiastic, it’s with a smile. “I wanted to say goodbye! It was really nice to work with you.” It’s true and you hope to do it again.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It was a pleasure.” He sounds sincere as he grabs your elbow and leans close. You almost think he’s going to kiss your cheek but he goes past, lips an inch from your ear, his voice just a whisper. “Next time, show up sober.”

—

maybe i've stormed out of every single room in this town.

It doesn’t take long for your jet-set lifestyle to have you back in New York. It’s closer to summer, still a little cold, but not enough to deter you from wearing your favorite little red dress when night hits and you receive an invitation to hit the town with some friends. The Roxy most certainly deserved to see you at your best.

Besides, you believed that part of feeling good was looking good and you were certainly both as you settled into the VIP section your group had snagged, bottles and shots flowing. You’d just gotten comfortable, only able to drink half of your vodka cranberry, when, without even really thinking, you grabbed a Marlboro Red and lit up. You didn’t even get the chance to take a drag before security was stomping over.

“Hello, miss, we’re gonna need you to put that out. This isn’t the smoking section.”

“Excuse me?” You pull back, instantly bothered by the intrusion.

“You can’t smoke here,” the security guard explains, a little more straight to the point this time.

Entirely out of spite, you bring the ciggy to your lips, inhaling deeply before exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Interesting, because it seems like I’m managing to do it just fine.”

The man’s jaw clenches, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “I’m going to ask you one more time, please put that out.”

You shake your head, stubborn, annoyed that your buzz had been killed before you could even get a real one going. “Don’t think I’m going to do that.”

“Okay, then you need to leave.”

“Yeah, don’t think I’m gonna do that either.”

You’re being unreasonable. He’s rough and a bit loud, he’s a New Yorker after all, but the man just doing his job certainly has not been unkind to you. There's no reason for you to not comply with the club rules… besides the fact that you have a problem with authority. You hate being told what to do and you’re beyond frustrated that your night out—always damn near a religious experience for you—had been interrupted.

“Well, those are your options. Put out the cigarette or go.”

Eyes rolling towards the ceiling, you grab your purse from beside you and wiggle it. “How much to make you go away so we can go back to enjoying ourselves?”

“Alright,” he says, reaching over to grab ahold of your arm, “it’s time for you to go.”

“Hey,” you call out, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. He tightens his hold as you struggle. “Let go of me.”

“You need to leave now!” Still doing his best to be gentle, he pulls you to your feet and leads you down the stairs.

“This is ridiculous.” All the way you’re pulling, pushing, all in an attempt to get free. In the may lay, the still lit cigarette fell from your grasp, getting stomped out shortly after by another patron’s dancing feet.

“You had your chance.” He’s talking to you the way one would a naughty toddler and it rubs you the wrong way—as if he hadn’t already done enough to end up on your shit list. 

“Oh, fuck off,” you scoff, ignoring the curious stares as you pass, “Do you even know who I am?”

“Yup,” he’s quick to answer. “You’re the lady too stubborn to put out a stupid cigarette.” You don’t know how he’s managed it but he’s gotten you to the door much quicker than you could have anticipated.

With a soft push to your back, he’s nudging you through it. “Now, you enjoy the rest of your night.”

“Asshole!” You call back of your shoulder, arms crossing over your chest.

You’re alone, it’s late and you need to figure out a way to call a car—there���s no way you were going to take a taxi, you were down bad, but not that bad. Before you can make any plans, you hear a voice behind you say, “Man, that was really embarrassing.”

It’s been a while, but you still recognize it instantly. “Jonathan Byers,” you almost sound impressed. “What are you doing here?”

“Once a year they let me out to socialize with all the beautiful people.” He moves so he’s beside you now. You can see he cleans up pretty well. “Got here just in time to see the end of your temper tantrum.”

“Hey, that’s not fair! I didn’t even do anything wrong.”

“Right.” He’s smirking because you’re full of shit and he can tell. “Can’t believe they threw you out like that for no reason. Don’t they know who you are?” His amusement, though, fades as he leans a little closer. “How fucked up are you?”

That was the problem. “I’m not, I’m totally sober,” you bemoan as if there was no bigger tragedy than not being plastered on a Friday night. “Listen—”

You’re ready to ask if he had a cell on him—your hunk of brick had taken an unfortunate trip earlier that month backstage at a show when you were feeling particularly miffed—when you’re interrupted by flashing lights. Paparazzi, of course. When you first got there, you’d been able to enter through the back exit. Now, though, you got thrown out the front door and were a literal sitting duck.

“Shit, shit, shit!” You become frantic, hands jumping to your hair, patting it down, moving to your stomach, smoothing wrinkled fabric. “Murray is gonna kill me if they catch me lookin’ a mess.”

In a second, Jonathan gets an idea. It’s probably (definitely) not a good one, impulsive, sure to disrupt his night. But he’s certain the friends he’s going to have to ditch will understand. “Think you can run in those?”

You follow his gaze down to your shoes. They’re sky-high and strappy. “I’m sure as hell willing to try.”

Before you can react further, Jonathan grabs you and is leading you down the sidewalk before you both break out into a full-on sprint, the sound of your name getting more and more distant. All the paparazzi get are a few shots of your back, hand-in-hand with a “mystery” man.

A few poorly lit, sketchy alleys and sharp turns later, you’re in a parking lot. You practically throw yourself against the nearest car, cold metal soothing your warm skin. You hunch forward, breath labored, smile wide. Jonathan is right beside you, laughing, face flushed and you take a moment to just appreciate the sight.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“Heard that a time or two,” he teases, catching your gaze. “I’m parked somewhere in here… You need a ride?”

“You have a car? In New York City?”

“Makes escaping from paparazzi really easy.” It’s a total joke. 

Up until a matter of minutes ago, he had zero experience with the concept and hadn’t even been sure his plan would work. Outside of those in the industry, he was able to maintain a certain anonymity and that was a serious benefit to being on the other side of the camera. “Come on, where am I taking you?”

You didn’t think it was possible but somehow your grin gets bigger.

—

In record time, you’re idling outside the Carlyle, the only hotel you’re willing to stay at in the city, a few slices of dollar pizza Jonathan had insisted on paying for on your lap. You’re quiet, so is he. But you’re not sitting in silence, Man In the Box plays on the radio. You picked it out.

As soon as you’d gotten settled in the passenger seat, you started rummaging through his CDs. Turns out, you had very different taste in music, not a surprise, and that was the only band you recognized. Your latest douchebag you’d dated for a couple weeks had been a big fan and dragged you to a show.

“So…” The word comes out in a single breath as you grip the handle but don’t open the door. “Do you wanna come up with me?”

He takes so long to answer you think he’s going to say no but, much to your surprise, he says, “Yeah, sure.”

One quiet elevator ride later, you’re opening the door, kicking your shoes off, and tossing your purse and room key on the bed. You plop down on the sofa and motion him forwards. “Come on,” you hold up a piece of pizza in each hand, “let’s eat.”

He ends up on the opposite side of the couch, pressed as tightly to the armrest as he could be while you take up the rest of the space, legs stretched out and toes tucked under his hip. 

You take your first bite and hum in pleasure, eyes closing. “This was a really good choice.”

“I practically lived off this shit when I first moved here,” Jonathan admits. “I know all the best cheap spots.”

“How did you even end up in New York?” The question falls out before you can even think about it. You don’t want to come off as nosey, but you’re curious. “Aren’t you from, uh, Illinois?”

“Indiana,” he corrects. “Hawkins, Indiana.” You blink, you’ve never heard of the place. “It’s a tiny, tiny town a couple hours outside of Indianapolis.”

You nod as if that clears everything up. “Big difference compared to here.”

“Huge,” he agrees, wiping the corner of his lip with a napkin. He misses a spot, you don’t mention it. “Always wanted to go to NYU, though. So I think I was prepared for it in a way.”

“NYU,” you repeat. “Good school. I’m guessing that’s where you majored in photography?”

“Yup.”

“How’d that translate to you getting involved in fashion? Doesn’t seem like your scene.”

“You got that right,” Jonathan laughs. Not your first time hearing it that night but you decide in that moment you really like the sound of it. “I honestly kinda stumbled into it by accident. A friend of a friend needed a photographer for a show and she sweet-talked me enough that I couldn’t say no. 

“Then I guess I liked it enough that I never stopped.” Younger him would be shocked. He always pictured himself photographing world events or foreign conflicts. “Not as cool of a story as yours, though. Didn’t Vogue say you were discovered in Paris?”

He says it like it’s no big deal but you’re honored that, not only had he read something about you, he even remembered. “Yeah, I was on vacation with a friend. We went out one night, ran into the right person, and here we are.”

“So you just went out to grab a drink and someone decided you should be on magazines?” He shrugs. “Makes sense. So you were on a trip to Paris but you’re from…”

“Here, actually. Born and raised on the Upper East Side.”

Jonathan can’t help himself. When you admit you’re a born and bred New Yorker, he looks around, wondering why you’re here in a nice, yes, but impersonal hotel room. He doesn’t ask about it, though. Instead, he settles for a diplomatic, “Must be nice to be able to come back so often.”

“I guess.” You’re non-committal because, while you love New York, there’s no real sentimental value to it. You’re not close with your family and you always avoid the Brownstone you grew up in. “It’s nice to visit some of the old haunts, for sure.”

From there, with the basics out of the way, the two of you settle into an informal game of 20 questions. You find out he has a young brother, his favorite color is green and he really likes the Friday The 13th franchise.

You talk about your love for travel, how buying beachfront is the best decision you ever made, and your almost excessive collection of glass dolphin figurines.

You trade facts, both important and seemingly insignificant until it’s the wee hours in the morning and you can’t keep your eyes open anymore.

—

When you wake up, still on the couch, a blanket has been draped over you, the sun is shining through the open curtains and you’re alone. It doesn’t surprise you, there was no need for Jonathan to stay, but you still find yourself disappointed as you swing your feet to the ground and sit up.

You’re mid-stretch, arms raised to the ceiling when you heard the door open. You jump, contorting your body so you’re both cowering behind the back of the sofa and peeking over it.

No masked intruder appears. it’s only nice, totally not scary Jonathan with your room key in one hand and a greasy paper bag in the other.

He seems amused by your reaction but still manages to let out a barely believable “sorry” as he walks towards you, handing off both items.

“Didn’t think you’d be up yet,” he admits, fighting a smile. “I’ve got an early morning shoot so I need to head out. I figured I’d drop by the bodega and grab breakfast before I do.”

You didn’t even notice you were hungry until you realize what you were holding—a delicious, totally bad-for-you bacon egg and cheese. You can’t remember the last time you had a BEC, too much fat and carbs and far too naughty, but you’ll enjoy every second you spend devouring it.

Your finger pokes at a spot where the grease made the paper especially thin, and you grin. “You’re a bad influence, Jonathan.”

“Jon.” The correction is a knee-jerk reaction, one even he hadn’t been expecting. The list of people who call him that is very small and you apparently just got added to it.

“Well, Jon,” you put emphasis on the second word, “thank you. For breakfast and last night. I had fun.”

“Me too.”

A silence falls over the two of you, neither speaking until Jonathan clears his throat and motions towards the door, “Well, I should…”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. See you around?”

“Definitely.”

—

all of you, all of me intertwined.

The next time you see Jonathan it’s in Paris for Fashion Week.

“I can’t believe they brought you all the way out here for runway work.” You associate him with editorials, high fashion magazines, and designer campaigns.

He waves that off. “Karl’s always been so good to me. If he calls, I answer.”

“So you’re just doing the Chanel show today?”

“Mhm,” he confirms, nonchalant. 

You’re a bit busier, having to walk for Givenchy, Dior, and Jean Paul Gaultier. For models, being a bigger name was both a blessing and a curse: more shows, more publicity, more money. But a busier schedule also meant more pressure and less free time.

“It’s gonna be a while, but do you wanna grab dinner or something later?” You weren’t one to beat around the bush. It’d been a while and the two of you ending up in the same city in another country felt a little bit like fate.

“Don’t they have parties after these things?” He knows they do, he just can’t believe you’d willingly miss out on one.

“Yeah, why? You going?”

That gets a chuckle out of him. “Fuck no. I guess I figured you would be, though.”

You shrug. “I think I can miss one. So… dinner?”

“It’s a date.”

He says it so casually like it’s nothing, but the implication weighs heavily on you. Through hair and make-up, last-minute fittings, and the actual shows, that’s all you can think about.

—

You decide on a little café near your hotel. It’s not the height of cuisine, especially not in a city like Paris, but Jonathan certainly wasn’t going to complain and it’s easy for you.

It had been a long day and you were feeling the effects. You rarely did a show without a little help, let alone three. But you hadn’t forgotten the first time you met Jonathan.

Next time, show up sober.

Sober was an interesting concept, something you didn’t find yourself being often. Sometimes it was a more hedonistic desire—to indulge, to have a little fun. Others it was purely professional, a little bump here and there to give you some energy, to give you an edge. It was a routine—definitely not an addiction, as you always insisted—that you’d been so quick to disrupt because… well, you weren’t entirely sure why.

You were drawn to Jonathan. In an industry full of fake and phony, he was real, refreshing. Maybe—just maybe—that made you wanna do better. At least, you know, when he was around.

You lounged in the dark, iron seat, picking at your croissant between breaks in conversation. A full meal seemed like too much so you both decided on pastries and fancy little drinks.

“I saw your last show. You did great.”

You look up, surprised. “Seriously?”

“How did those giant ass hats not mess up your balance?”

“What?” You guffaw, hand flying to your mouth in hopes of quieting the noise. Givenchy’s show had a few fanciful accessories, but none that obstructed day-to-day movement. “They’re just straw, Jon.”

“Oh. Well, they were still kinda silly.” He leaves forward conspiratorially, voice quiet, a brow quirked. “I don’t think I understand fashion.”

You beam back at him, “I promise your secret is safe with me.”

“You looked beautiful, though. Even with the hats.”

You preen at the praise, practically glowing. But you play it off, tone almost teasing as you say, “Alright, you sweet talker.” You still want to seem cool and collected.

Jonathan picks up his cup and takes a sip. Left behind is a little whip cream mustache.

“Oh, you got a little—“ You point to your mouth, watching as he gets the message, hand dropping to the table to grab a napkin.

He doesn’t get the chance to make another move before you’re leaning over the table, thumb swiping over the smooth skin. You’re the closest you’ve ever been to him. You can feel his breath, see the way his brow furrows, the way his eyelashes kiss his cheeks when he blinks.

Head fuzzy, abandoning any restraint, you cut the little bit of space left and press your lips to his. You’re in public so it’s not as wild and passionate as maybe you would expect—or hope. But it is nice, soft. He tastes like mocha and Chapstick and it feels right.

You don’t want it to stop but he pulls away far too soon for your tastes. He’s quiet and you’re worried you crossed a line, maybe read some signals wrong. But then he’s smiling, resting his forehead against yours. “Where are you staying? Are you closer?”

—

The walk to your hotel is brisk and fun. You’re holding hands, bumping shoulders, giggling. You feel like a teenager again. If that was innocent, sweet, the ride in the elevator is anything but. You get in more messy kisses and heavy petting than you thought possible in a brief lift ride.

Even then, you’re both holding onto the little bit of self-control you have left until you’re in the safety of the hotel room. The door shuts and a switch flips, Jonathan spins you around so your back is pressed against it. His hands grip your hips, yours rest on his chest.

He’s always gentle, and deliberate in his actions, but now he’s running on instinct, primal need. His hands move to your chest, fingers sliding into the gaps of your blouse. There are too many buttons for him to mess with so he pulls them apart, sending them flying to the floor. His eyes widen, and he licks his lips—you’re not wearing a bra.

You pull away, gasping. “Jon, I liked that shirt. It was Chanel.”

He’s in no way apologetic when he says, “I’ll get you another one. I know a guy.”

He means it too. But exploring the newly exposed flesh is far more interesting to him than discussing clothing. Pushing the now torn fabric off your shoulders and tossing it to the ground, his mouth attacks your neck, sucking on a sweet spot.

You moan, fingers digging into shoulders, back arching, and god, he would do anything to hear that noise again. Only once he’s sure he has paid enough attention to that side, he switches, still being mindful of your work, careful not to leave any marks.

Your grip moves from his shoulders to the hem of his shirt, tugging on the fabric. “Wanna see you.”

How could he deny you of that? He breaks contact just long enough to rid himself of the garment before he’s back on you, lips moving from your neck to your chest.

You marvel at the smooth skin that’s been unveiled, surprised by the hard muscle beneath your touch. His definition is a sneaky one, he’s lean, almost kind of soft looking, but built. He’s beautiful.

Jonathan’s mouth is occupied, tongue flicking against one hard nipple has his hands travel lower. With the ease of experience, he pops the button of your jeans and slips a finger past the band of your panties, swiping it against your folds.

“You’re soaked, baby. Soaked.”

You practically whimper at the words, rutting your hips, desperate for some friction. “More, please.”

“I hear you, baby, I hear you.”

He has all sorts of ideas in mind but they require there to be far less clothing involved.

Jonathan pulls his hand back, grabbing ahold of your pants and underwear, pulling them down in one swift motion. He helps you step out of them, his hand finding the small of your back to urge you forward. “Get on the bed, sweetheart.”

The rest of his clothing joins you on the floor—in his haste to get to you, his foot catches in his slacks and sends him stumbling, he prays to a God he doesn’t believe in that you don’t notice—and by that point, you are sprawled across the bed, chest heaving. You’re desperate for him and he has to take a moment to just marvel at you. “You are…” every word in existence flies through his head—breathing, stunning, exquisite—all are fitting but he settles on “incredible.”

“Just c’mere.” With more skin exposed, you’re even more eager, hands reaching out towards him. He’s not just beautiful, you’re able to confirm, that he’s beautiful from head to toe.

He indulges your desire, crawling into bed, hovering above you, his hands coming up to rest on either side of your head as he dipped low, mouth finding yours. This kiss was different than the others. Sloppy, but with the knowledge that you didn’t have to rush, that you both could take your time and enjoy each other. Caged beneath him, you think you can get used to this.

Almost reluctantly, he pulls away, his lips leaving a trail down your neck, your sternum, wet kisses being left on your stomach. The lower he gets, the more time he takes until he’s right above your pussy. On instinct, your legs spread and he settles in-between them.

“This okay?” He asks.

Eyes squeezed shut, you’re beyond words so you nod. He nips at your thigh, not hard but enough bite behind it to get your attention.

“Gotta be sure you want this, sweetheart. I really need you to use your words, okay?”

You let out a huff of air, body on fire. “Yes, yes, it’s okay. More than okay. Want you.”

Satisfied, he lowers himself back down, but your hands stop him before his mouth can make content. “No, no, I want to feel you.”

He’s surprised and, wanting a taste, a little disappointed. Jonathan sits back, looking at you. “You sure?” His gaze moves to his crumpled pair of pants where his wallet sat. “I didn’t bring anything.” He sure as fuck did not expect the night to go this way.

“I’m on the pill, it’s fine.” You prop yourself up on your elbows. “Just need you inside me.”

Well, fuck. Who could say no to that? He dips two fingers in your wetness, and curls them inside you, just teasing at this point, before wrapping the digits around his length and pumping it a few times. He lines himself up with your entrance and slowly pushes in, inch by inch.

His hands fall to your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh. “How you feeling, baby?”

“Good,” you assure him, “need more.”

At your assurance, he starts thrusting, not too hard, but steady. He looks down watching himself go in and out of you, still amazed he ended up in your bed.

You moan and tremble underneath him, enough to spur him to go a little harder, a little faster. Your whines and his breathy groans mix in the air. It’s a nice sound.

Keeping up with the pace he set, he leans forward, bracing himself on his forearms so he can capture your lips in a bruising kiss. You’re sweaty, out of breath and Jonathan is sure he’d never seen you look better—not even on the cover of magazines.

He dips to nibble at the flesh of your neck, across your collarbone. You arch off the bed, almost embarrassed by how quickly you came undone and you can feel that familiar tightness in your belly.

“I’m close,” your voice is husky, barely above a whisper.

That’s all he needs to hear. He balances him on one arm, the other sliding in between your two bodies, the pad of his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in slow, tight circles.

Your arms fly up, wrapping around his shoulders, manicured nails digging into the flesh there.

“Come on, pretty girl,” he encourages, continuing to pump into you. “Let go, need to see you cum for me.”

His words alone are enough to send you over the edge but coming with his strong, steady strokes and his thumb on your clit, it’s almost too much. Your thighs clench, your toes curl and you come completely undone.

He’s not long behind you. “Where do you want it?”

“Inside,” your quick to answer, still coming down. “I want you to come cum inside me.”

He groans, taking one deep thrust and he’s done, officially too far gone, spilling his seed. Jonathan pumps into you, slow, milking the rest out of him before he comes to a stop, staying perfectly still for a few moments before pulling out.

He collapses beside you, trying to catch his breath.

You’re tired, legs still quivering and you’re totally on cloud nine. “Can’t believe that just happened.”

“I’ve been thinking about it since I met you,” he admits. “Next time—“

If possible, the words perk you up even more. Gone is any desire to seem cool, unbothered. You twist around to get a good look at him. “There’s gonna be a next time?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” Jonathan pauses, bravado slipping a bit. “If, you know, you want to.”

You shift a bit, pressing a kiss to the part of his body closest to you—his bicep. “I definitely want to.”

—