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powderblueblood · 4 months

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HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER NINE — EDDIE the OBVIOUS and the LADY SPHINX

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summary: a tense dinner at rick lipton's place reveals some part of al munson's reason for returning to hawkins. your saturday morning detention is tense, and you and eddie both get more than you bargained for when you crash hellfire club to profile them for the school newspaper. content warnings: MINORS DNI AS ALWAYS warnings for smut, cunnilingus, dick-fondling, p in v, reference to drug usage, slight perv!eddie, silly teenagers having silly teenage fights that actually aren't so silly (kinda antagonistic ronance version!), reference to childhood physical abuse, al munson jumpscare, lacy's dad jumpscare, both lacy's real first name and surname is used in this chapter. no description of body type. just descriptions of a good time eye emoji eye emoji word count: 16.4k

Dear Lord,

Grant me the serenity to accept the shit I cannot change, the courage to change the shit I can, and the wisdom to seize a damn fine opportunity when I see one.

Amen.

When Al Munson cooks a spaghetti dinner, you know he means business.

Once a line cook with aspirations higher than diner fumes, always a line cook with aspirations higher than diner fumes.

He learned to cook on the grill, but perfected it in the joint. During one of his stints, a homecoming tour of the state of Kentucky, he fell in with this web of wiseguys who made him stagiaire in their makeshift kitchen, slicing ghostly slivers of garlic with a razorblade.

Al’s insisted on the method ever since. Even now, hunkered over in Rick Lipton’s kitchen, preparing a meal for which Eddie’s already lost his appetite.

Eddie had already given up on the whole there are a bunch of knives right there suggestion, knowing his father loves few things like he loves performing his whole Kiss the Cook bit. He plays it to the hilt, an exercise in tart, rich, floral smarm that beats out the complex flavoring of his tomato gravy by a country fucking mile. Down to that bullshit Serenity Prayer.

“Courage to change the shit you can? Man, you can barely change your underwear!” Rick heartily chuckles, heaping pasta onto his plate. The way the noodles slide against each other, thick and glistening like worms full of nefarious promise, makes Eddie want to ralph.

He hadn’t had much of an appetite for anything since he’d visited the nurse’s office.

He felt weird. Strung out. Guilty. And angry. Guilty like, what got into me, why’d I do that and angry like, why’d I leave you just standing there like that, and why’d you let me.

“C’mon, kid, you look famished,” Al pulls that anger-inducing Cheshire Cat face, placing a solely ornamental leaf of basil on top of the dish Rick passes. This fucking asshole. These fucking assholes. In cahoots together. “Wayne’s Hungry Man dinners ain’t hittin’ the way they used to, huh?”

Al’s smile doesn’t slice through the tension of the room nearly as clean as he wants it to. Eddie feels Wayne stiffen at his right elbow, sees Rick divert his eyes from across the table.

“Well, Dad,” Eddie says, forcibly stabbing and winding his fork through the spaghetti, “You know what coulda solved that?”

“What’s that, huh?”

“You staying out of lockup for longer than the duration of an MC5 song.”

Al doesn’t falter. Eddie bets he could open-palm slap him and that shiteater of a grin wouldn’t slide from his face.

“I’m here now, ain’t I?” his father clicks his tongue, digging right into his own dish, “You really gotta learn to live in the moment, kid.”

Eddie’s spaghetti-filled mouth starts to form around the indignant words, I’m not a kid! but Al beats him to the punch. Quite literally.

“Though, judgin’ by those scuffs on your knuckles, looks like you did somethin’ without thinkin’ it the whole way through first. Huh?” Al slurps his pasta noisily, and Eddie feels Wayne tense even more, if that’s possible. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

The sense memory of silver flashes colliding with Billy Hargrove’s face in the parking lot, the sense memory of you and your vicelike grip trying to pull him off before he killed him. The sense memory of bile blowing through his veins, stumbling upon those lowlifes talk to you like that. Rage blackout. Yadda yadda.

According to rumor, Hargrove was lucky that Eddie didn’t cave his entire cheek in. He still couldn’t totally see out of his right eye, the swelling was that gathered and insistent.

Eddie lets the question droop in the air, before eventually mumbling, “S’nothing. Just– shit at school.”

Wayne had been the first one to ask him, obviously, catching sight of his bandaged hand when he came upon Eddie staring a hole into–you guessed it–yet another Murder, She Wrote rerun, following your encounter on the examination table.

Eddie had given it the brush off so Wayne had given it the brush off. He was no stranger to his nephew bearing busted knuckles, even if it did make the old man’s blood chill every time he saw it. Those interactions always reeked of you poor kid, like Eddie was the perpetual victim. Got under Eddie’s skin a little.

But Al asks him like he knows something. And Rick won’t look at Eddie.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with your lovely new neighbor, would it?” Other shoe, meet short, hard drop.

Eddie’s grip tightens around his fork, and in the back of his mind, he summons the spirit of the sharpest tongue he knows.

“Who?” He’s this close to prank calling people using his Lacy impression, that’s how good it’s gotten.

Al cradles his cheek against his palm. His eyes, the eyes that might as well have been scooped out and shoved into Eddie’s skull, they’re such iris perfect replicas, search his son for cracks in his composure. Al stabs, stabs, stabs aimlessly into his dinner.

“You’re a lot of things, Eddie Munson,” he says, “but you ain’t dumb.”

“Truly do not know what you’re yakkin’ about. Can I eat?”

“Come on, Eddie boy! You out there getting into scuffles over that little gold-plated piece’ah something?”

“Can I eat?”

“A little forbidden flame, maybe, two’ah you?”

“Can I eat?”

“Can’t say I blame ya. If I were… twenty years younger.... Or maybe she likes ‘em a little more mature. Think I got a shot?” Al’s teeth are starting to grit, spittle starting to fly. Frenzied in the way he’s trying to eek a reaction out of his kid. “Huh? Eddie?”

Al’s lecherous suggestion of you toed the line of too much for the Munson men, it seems. Eddie and Wayne’s voices overlap.

“Maybe we leave that girl out of this, Al–” “–can I eat, or what?”

SLAM! Al’s fist comes into direct contact with the hardwood of Rick’s dining room table, plates and cutlery and glasses clattering nervously. Rick jumps a little, groaning under his breath. Wayne drags a hand over his eyes.

“You can answer the goddamn question! Shit!”

Eddie, for his part, should probably feel a little scared, his dad raring up on him like that. Instead, he just lets his wound-up fork sag in a pile of spaghetti and leans back in his seat. The thing with Al Munson is this– his bark has always been way bigger than his bite. Especially when he’s as coked up as he is right now.

Ever since he’d roared into Rick’s driveway in that eyesore of a muscle car (alright, it was a little cool– but in, like, a lame Dukes of Hazzard kinda way), Al had been operating in sharp angles and backed-up nostrils.

Shit, Eddie would be shocked if there wasn’t residue on that razor blade he used to slice the garlic. That stupid, reckless, peacocking-as-a-father motherfucker.

He folds his arms, waiting for Al’s tone to pitch on down, for the tremor in his hand to act up, for him to say–

“Sorry. Sorry,” pressed through a line of grit teeth, “I just… Hmm.” It’s like Al is actively trying to plaster the mask of his charming grin back on his face but it keeps slipping out of his fingers. “She’s a real dime. Smart as hell too, huh? Shame about–”

“Al, what’re you gettin’ at with all this?” Wayne asks, and thank god he does. Eddie doesn’t know how much more dancing around the subject he can take, but he won’t be the one to bend first. “What did you bring us up here for? And don’t–” the eldest of all Munson holds a hand up, “--say you just wanted to get together. I don’t buy it. Eddie sure doesn’t buy it. And if Lipton here buys it, he’s a fool.”

Al shrinks, a snot-nosed kid under the magnifying glass his big brother holds to him. “Wayne–”

“You bring us up here to make us part of that goddamn stupid high school feud with that girl’s father? You really spin out that far?”

It’s not often that Wayne speaks up, but when he does, boy. Can that man dress a situation down.

Al falters. Wayne has that ability to knock him out at the knees, and Eddie makes a mental note to ask him how he does that.

“Listen. Alright. It’s not– alright,” Al clenches his hands in fists, a flex in and a flex out. A gesture Eddie notices, because he does it too. As if he’s trying to grasp the last threads of trust from them. “With that girl’s old man permanently benched so to speak, there’s an opportunity for another batter to step up. Okay? Jail sentences get doled out like Halloween candy–who knows that better than me, right?--but life goes on. There is… an opportunity here. Work still needs to get done. Work that I could’ve– that I can do.”

Eddie knows that his dad doesn’t realize he’s saying a lot of nothing, because Al’s always saying a lot of nothing. Vague promises with no real end to them. What catches him this time around is the glint in his eye, hidden behind the drug-induced one, and the glint of a gaudy ring on his finger. A green gem stamped in the middle, like a cat’s harvested eyeball. Huh.

“... let me make good on this, boys. For once. Let me take care of y’all.” Al huffs a faux-humble breath, glancing toward Rick for some kind of illustrative reassurance. “Y’know, seeing how it screwed up that little girl, seeing her big, upstanding daddy go to jail and all, I really–,” a swallow, for dramatic measure. Gunning for Best Actor here. “--felt it. Made me think, Eddie, of all the times when you were just a squirt… Made me wanna do right by you, is all.”

“How much of that doin’ right have you got up your nose, Dad?” Eddie sneers, putting two and two together. Of course this is what he’s back for; not to sell, couldn’t possibly be that simple in the convoluted world of Al Munson, but to supply. To get a suit fitted, pretend to be the big man. “Try before you buy isn’t exactly the most cost-effective policy.”

“Jesus, why, why have you got to make this so hard on me, kid?” Al is just about wringing his hands right now, scaling the apex of his desperation. “You have an in! You have the in!”

The in, of course, being Eddie’s connection to you, and by proxy, your dad. Al’s like a bloodhound that way, sniffing out the few good things that Eddie has going for him from miles off and tearing them right from his hands and acting like he’s doing Eddie a favor by making him his man on the inside.

“This whole town could be ours if you would just–”

That does it. Eddie leaps from the table, chair clattering to Rick’s warped wooden floor.

“I don’t want this whole town, are you fucking crazy?!” he yells, spittle flying, “And–and I certainly don’t want it if it’s anything to do with you!”

What the hell would make Al think that Eddie would hitch his wagon (which, granted, ain’t in too great a shape–he’s barely passing any classes, thanks to a pickup in business he guesses he can thank his dad for) to the living sunk cost fallacy that his father is? What the hell does Al Munson want with that kind of fantasy, one where he’s king bastard of the Hawkins cockwalk when he can’t even stick within county limits for more than a couple of weeks?

Well, Eddie actually has a pretty good idea, one that occurs to him like a lightning strike as Al struggles to keep his temper level. Let Eddie look like the tantrum-throwing brat.

Yeah. Exactly.

He’d wind Eddie into whatever scheme he was cooking up and ditch it, half-baked, leaving Eddie in a kitchen with all the smoke alarms going off. Elbow deep in an unsalvageable mess, because Al could never follow through on anything.

He’d have Eddie exploit your relationship for a couple of instances of, “That’s my boy.” Because Al still thought that trick worked; making him believe he’s loved, valuable, wringing every last drop of loyalty out of him because a boy needs his father… and a father needs his boy, y’know!

Fuck that.

“We should split.” It’s Wayne who says it, batting away the apologetic glance both the Munson men get from Rick– like he’s Al’s keeper or something, managing his moods. Like he isn’t raking in a cash cow from Al’s great Ray Doevski replacement theory.

“No, c’mon–” Al half-heartedly protests, like he could still save the evening but can’t really be bothered.

Wayne follows Eddie’s furious stalk out the door, tearing a cigarette from a soft pack as he hauls into the passenger side of the van.

Eddie, a tightening ball of rage, whacks the steering wheel with one good thump. He’d been stupid enough to entertain Al these past couple of days– out of confusion more than anything else. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, as it were.

“The in,” Eddie mockingly mumbles as the van roars to life and he peels out against scattering gravel.

Wayne has his cigarette pinched between his thumb and index and lets that settle for a beat or two.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Fists flexing around the wheel, Eddie knows very well he’s been caught red-handed. There’s no way Wayne had gone this long without suspecting anything, even after he’d specifically warned him. More of a suggestion, actually; Wayne knows that Eddie will do whatever he wants, regardless.

Unfortunately, he’s like his father that way.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Eddie says, a shoulder shrug, a mirthless lilt in his tone. “She…”

Again, Wayne stays silent. Waiting for Eddie to tell on himself, like he always does.

“She doesn’t deserve to be in the middle of this,” Eddie arrives at, voice a little choked. “Whatever Dad’s planning on doing–”

“Neither do you,” Wayne reminds him. This is where Wayne and his stoicism pulls Eddie up short. Neither do you, and the only way you avoid the blowback is if you two avoid each other. But at that same time, Wayne always knows where Eddie’s heart is at. Knows that his heart is too big not to follow.

Even if Wayne hasn’t seen you two together, laughing ‘til you’re stupid like the kids that you are, can’t he see…

“Why can’t this be easy?” Eddie asks, his voice small. Echoes of a littler him, one that Wayne would pick up in the truck after school. Head hanging, backpack trailing, kicking pebbles and cursing the world.

Instead, through a sage swirl of smoke, Wayne’s hard stare seems to peel back some. He’s always known where Eddie’s heart is at. Eddie’s starting to think he wishes he knew less.

—

Jesus Christ, are you ever sick of learning your lesson. Of reflecting on what you’ve done.

It’s exhausting, and more to the point, pointless, and even more than that, boring.

Truth is, you’re beginning to second-guess your adoration of brilliant thinkers. Those motherfuckers knew too much, and in the past week, you’ve found yourself yearning for the days where you got by on knowing nothing but the good stuff! The juicy gossip, where the best parties were at, what lipstick could not stand up to what nail polish! When intellectualism was a bedtime story you’d read to yourself under the fucking covers and you didn’t have to decode the labyrinth of your own stupid feelings!

Sure, you felt like a husk most of the time, but you’d take that over this graceless stumbling shit!

You should be allowed to smash the windows out of Billy Hargrove’s car and no one should be able to say boo about it! God!

Instead, however, you’ve been caught up in an as-yet-unprecedented display of seething and sulking. People are still whispering about you, natch, glancing at your belly like you would’ve if that heinous spawnous prank was played on anyone else. At the very least, they still have the good sense to flinch when you match their stare.

Billy Hargrove’s two week suspension means you don’t have to worry about seeing his ugly face, but it also comes with the two week guarantee of not seeing Eddie.

And the probable delay of your Hellfire article. Which is paramount. Obviously.

Speaking of Eddie, there’s too much speaking of Eddie to do.

You keep replaying the sneak attack from Al Munson in your head, him sliding his aviators down his nose to get a look at you.

“What are you doing here?”

“Payin’ my respects. Your father, shit. Shame what happened to him. He was– well. I was gonna say he was a ‘good man’, but that sounds kinda funny, don’t it?”

It wasn’t about Eddie, except it was about Eddie, because every stupid thing is about Eddie.

Especially the fact that you’re sitting in your college-going beau’s chariot, about to slink into Saturday detention. If it weren’t for him…

“Lacy?” a voice calls from the driver’s seat. “You alright?”

You snap to, rearranging your face into something definitive and sharp and pleasing to the eye. Because you’re fine! You’d said as much when he snuck you into the basement of his parent’s house–why wasn’t he back in school yet–and said as much when he squirmed against you, asking you if you were okay in that weighted way that really meant can I put it in yet.

You’d gotten on all fours because it allowed you to roll your eyes when he was all, oh, woah! sliding it in from the back.

You’d reached around and teased your clit to attempt a climax. Trying to imitate that clumsy rhythm from the nurse’s office. It didn’t quite stick–paled in comparison, like a Simon and Garfunkel tribute act made up of people that didn’t secretly want to fuck each other.

And then he gave you a ride this morning. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready to bore yourself out of misbehavior– but you’d told him that you had newspaper business to attend to.

“I’m fine,” you brightly declare for the fourth and final time, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. It was a weird gesture, but the shine had buffed off. He’s cute and all, but you two had gone to see Paris, Texas at the Hawk and he didn’t get it.

He didn’t get how much you clowned on him for not getting it afterwards either. You hadn’t been able to get it out of your head, the way he shrugged away from you at the diner as you ribbed him for his plodding misunderstanding of Harry Dean Stanton.

Coldly, you thought of the trade-off that you and Eddie had agreed on. Repo Man for Paris, Texas once it came out. You had to pretend you liked Repo Man a lot less than you actually did to swing that one, because Eddie wasn’t keen to lock in to some movie about a dude crying in the desert or whatever unless you angled in the fact that you owe me for making me sit through all that machismo.

“You love machismo. You wanted to nail that sweaty little punker, I saw you squeezin’ your knees together.”

“For Emilio Estevez? Please. I had my eye on the old guy. ‘Ordinary fuckin’ people, I hate ‘em’--that kind of shit really does it for me, Munson, you know that.”

“That why you’ve been entertaining the pleasure of my company for so long?”

“Down, dog.”

Anyway. Fuck.

“Listen, Lacy, I gotta tell you s–”

“Can’t right now! I’m already late and Fred is gonna have my head,” you chime, all saccharine, climbing out of the car. “Call me!” You pray that he doesn’t.

Slam. What an extraordinary waste of time.

As instructed, you make your way to the gym, which you think is a little weird. Detention usually denotes writing pointless, go-nowhere laments on how sorry you are for being such a bad kid, right? Think on your sins, yadda yadda yadda.

Typically enough, no one’s here on time. Everyone’s late. You’re perched on the bleachers like an asshole, sitting alone like an asshole. That’s the goddamn ticket, isn’t it? You’re alone in all of this. You always have been.

Like, for example. The Al Munson walk-on role into the surrealist tragi-comedy that is your fucking life. You can’t tell that to anybody. Not Eddie, naturally, not your mom, not Nancy because then you’d have to explain the continued and complicated Eddie of it all, not Ronnie because just because. And the ickiness of it hangs off your every move, and you can’t shake it, and no one can share it.

You’re beginning to wonder if that’s true of all the parts of you. The ickiness. It’s all a little heavy, isn’t it?

As if on cue, hearing ickiness called by name on the wind, Mr Kaminsky pushes open the gym’s double doors.

“Oh, what the fuck.”

“Had to see it for myself.” Your loathed History teacher says, full of glee.

“Sir, if this is some kind of elaborate courting ritual, I have to say, you’re not my type.”

“Careful up there, Doevski. There’s more detentions where this came from.”

“Freak accident. I can’t be caged.”

“Well, let me enjoy the exception to the rule!” Kaminsky claps, and you jerk at the echo.

You sigh so hard you almost unlatch something. “What elaborate torture have you got planned for me today? Want me to run laps or something? Because these shoes aren’t built for that.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Lacy,” the teacher digs, “We’re still waiting on your comrades.”

“I’m late, I’m late, I know I’m late!” a familiar voice comes skidding right up behind Kaminsky, baseball hat askew, mud stains on the knees of her overalls. “Some goddamn lunatic tried to run me and my bike off the road–”

“Ronnie?”

“Hey, Lacy!” she calls brightly and breathlessly, slamming herself down on the bleachers beside you.

“Ron, what’re you–”

An unmistakable heel-click rounds its way into the gym, and in walks Nancy Wheeler with her face all pinched like a porcelain doll. She receives your big ol’ center-piece-missing jigsaw puzzle of a look with a knowingly arched eyebrow.

“You’re late, Wheeler,” Kaminsky tries, but Nancy’s already consulting her wristwatch.

“Detention starts at nine sharp, right?” she says, impenetrable as always. “It’s 8:58.”

“Then can I have my admission of lateness struck from the record, actually?” Ronnie asks and Kaminsky shoots her a withering one, consulting his clipboard.

“Alright, we got one more. Give it the goddamn two minutes, but then I’m bumping her to suspension. You wanna count it, Wheeler?” he scoffs. Wow, so he’s like a round the clock douchebag. To everybody.

At what you only can assume is 8:59, the mismatched gangle of Robin Buckley comes slinking over the waxed floor, looking half-awake and pissed off–more pissed off, you might argue, now that she registers her company. She perches on the furthest end of the bleachers, pointedly away from the loose gaggle of you, Ronnie and Nancy.

You shoot Ronnie a look like, what’s the sitch there? Thought you two were getting all bosomy.

Ronnie just shrugs.

“Alright!” Kaminsky claps the clipboard again, “So, this is a fun group. Bunch of smart girls who got caught doing idiot stuff. We’re gonna make you pay for that today. Sound good?”

The whole bad bunch of you just stare at him, slit-eyed.

Your collective punishment, as it turns out, comes in the form of scraping old, disgusting, errant gum and other mystery sticky bullshit from the bottom of the bleachers.

“Stupid is as stupid does,” Kaminsky sagely says, handing you each a tiny chisel from the art room, “And I understand that some of you are violent offenders,” that’s a pointed look at you and Ronnie, by the way, “but please. Don’t use this opportunity to take another girl’s eye out. Your community college acceptance is riding on it.”

Motherfucker. Everyone knows Ronnie Ecker is in the running for valedictorian.

He leaves the four of you to your own devices, promising to check up on you all in a solid forty-five.

“How many times you think he can beat off in forty-five minutes?” Ronnie immediately asks as the teacher disappears through the door.

“Depends. Is he doing it in the shameful privacy of his three-door rust bucket or the clandestine confines of the AV room?” you question.

Nancy makes a gagging sound but adds, “And is he using his imagination or Ms Kelley’s yearbook picture?”

Nasty Wheeler! That girl has truly endeared herself to you.

Robin, however, doesn’t weigh in at all. She just sort of glares and angles herself onto the nearest bleacher rung to start scraping the age-old mastication from the wood. Tension in the air.

“Buckley’s got the right idea,” you say, twirling the chisel in your fingers, “Sooner we get started, sooner we get the grossness over with…”

Ronnie sticks close by you, which is nice. You always like having her in proximity. Nancy, who’s nothing but work ethic in everything she does, starts furiously working on a corner a little ways away from you both– and Robin.

It doesn’t take long, maybe fifteen minutes of silent, resigned scraping, for you to get bored. And disgusted.

“At what point do we get to do the whole prison thing of what are you in for?” you say, sitting up and letting the blood rush back to your head.

“Well, yours goes without saying,” Ronnie chuckles, “going all batter on Hargrove’s car like that. Did you actually bust a window?”

“Just swung it around,” you say, driving your heel into the bench, “I may have inherited the felony misdemeanor gene, but I didn’t inherit getting caught. What about you?”

Ronnie flicks another gum wad off with her chisel, “Actually, you might wanna ask Wheeler about that.”

Your brow furrows. “Nance?” your voice rings down to the lower rungs, “Ronnie here says you were implicated in her detention-getting.”

“Yeah, um. Well, I heard about everything when you went–”

“--totally awesome psycho–”

“--in the parking lot and… I just. I wanted to clean up all that shit. From your locker. And then Nicole came by, smacking her stupid gum, and it kind of got ugly.”

Nicole. The irony of it, Nicole, gnashing out shittalk about you and Eddie in order to impress whatever unfortunate member of the wrestling squad she’d dug her press-ons into this week. Nicole, who’d already invaded Eddie’s territory, much to her apparent shame.

What a majorette of a bitch.

You would’ve given anything to be ringside for this, her versus Nancy.

“You toed up to Nicole Summers?” a little pause, your voice goes smaller, “For me?”

Nancy sits up, her perm clouding around her. She points her chisel Ecker-ward.

“Ronnie was the one who smacked all her books out of her hand.”

Ronnie pffts. “Like she hasn’t done that to me a million times. Eye for an eye.”

“Nicole wouldn’t even go near her on account of that one time she bit that one kid for catcalling her.”

“Oh, stop,” Ronnie’s gathering a blush, batting her hand all coquettish.

“Wait, that was real?” you say, eyes darting between them, “I thought that was just some freak rumor we came up with.”

Rabid Ecker was one of the less clever nicknames your group of crown ghouls had come up with, so it obviously didn’t stick too long.

“We?” Nancy scoffs, not mean.

“The royal ‘we’,” Robin Buckley drawls from her prostrate position on the bleachers. That sounds mean, the bite in her voice.

Your hackles can’t help but rise at that cold snap in her tone. Does she have a fucking problem, or something?

“And why are you here, Robin?” you call, hands knitting in your lap.

“I was with these bozos,” she says, a note-faithful mockery of your pointed voice, “For some godforsaken reason… and now I really wish I wasn’t.”

“Why’s that?” you press.

Nancy’s whole upper half tenses. “Robin–”

Robin’s chisel clatters on the bench, a toss made out of frustration. She looks to the three of you with pursed lips before letting loose.

“Steve found out,” Robin says, “About the pregnancy test thing. In like, the worst way he could possibly find out, which is so goddamn unfair, unfair in the first place because of Nancy not telling him–like, I get it, your choice or whatever but you guys have been together for, like, a really significant period of time and you know how he feels about you–”

You and Ronnie can’t even get a breath in before Nancy rises from her seat, fingernails digging into tiny little fists at her side. She’s all spit and fury, she’s on Robin.

“Oh yeah, the worst way he could find out, Robin, the worst way which is that you blabbed to him!” Nancy yells, ricocheting around the gym, “‘Oh, I couldn’t help it, he asked me what was wrong and it all just came out–’ Give me a break! I mean, are you really that co-dependent that no one can tell you anything in confidence without you running to tell Steve?”

Robin’s face seizes in a snarl. “Are you really that stupid that you forgot to use protection with your long term boyfriend?”

“What is your problem?” Nancy’s voice whistles through her teeth, sheer exasperation, “How is this any of your business?”

“Should we stop this?” Ronnie whispers, with no intention of moving.

You shake your head in tiny, tiny increments, gossip monger past getting the best of you. “I kinda wanna see where this goes.”

“He is my friend, Nancy! And you broke his heart, dumping him right after– after–!”

Both your and Ronnie’s mouths drop into an ‘o’. You’re kind of disappointed–a big Wheeler-Harrington bust up and you weren’t first on the call list?!

“Jesus, Robin!” Nancy spits, perm flying, stomping towards Robin, “Get a personality! Sublimating yourself onto Steve Harrington isn’t doing you any favors!”

“Why, Nancy? I thought you loved him.” What confusing wording.

“I–”

Okay, these two girls are walking right into shit you can’t take back territory. You and Ronnie rush the bleachers, breaking the negative space between them both.

“Ladies! Break it up!”

“You heard Kaminsky! We’re all holding chisels, this could get ugly fast!”

You look to Nancy and her eyes are glistening. Reddening with the heat of anger and frustration. Robin’s jaw has hardened into a tough clinch, arms bound around her chest. Ronnie, she just lingers awkwardly, not quite knowing where to look. Your hand goes out to Nancy’s elbow, and she jerks away from you at first.

“Let’s go. Come on.”

“We’re supposed to be chiseling,” Nancy seethes. Your eyes roll, no patience for this go-nowhere brat routine, and you lead her to the other end of the bleachers anyway. Saying something like, we’ll take one end, Ronnie and Robin take the other, we’ll get this shit cleared in no time.

Nancy starts working furiously, but that’s kind of not what you had in mind here.

“You broke up with Steve?” you ask, point blank. Like she’d ask you.

She keeps chiseling for a few heavy, angry seconds. “I wasn’t gonna tell him, you know. I wasn’t gonna tell him, and we were gonna be fine. He could have lived without knowing. And then–fucking Buckley– and he had all these questions.”

“Like what?”

“Like why didn’t I tell him. And why was I so put out by the idea. Like, why didn’t I want to have his hypothetical baby at age seventeen… stupid shit like that.”

“He’s sensitive.”

“He’s a moron.”

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” as if you didn’t have irrefutable proof in her favor. But that was the old Steve Harrington, wasn’t it? He’s meant to be some soft-hearted do-gooder dream boy now, right?

“No, Lacy, he’s a moron,” Nancy hisses, spit flying again; you’ve never seen her like this. Blue eyes bold and frightening with conviction. “Why should I have to tell Steve about something like that if it’s just a big nothing? If I was never even actually pregnant or whatever? Why can’t I just have that to forget about myself? Why do I owe him part of every single goddamn decision I make about my life?”

This is a bigger conversation, isn’t it? What you’d once regarded as poor Nancy and her perfect boyfriend, boo-fucking-hoo is now poor Nancy and her perfect boyfriend, stifled by his redemption.

“At least if he was still an asshole, I wouldn’t feel bad about breaking up with him. After all this.”

“Now it’s just like you’ve kicked a puppy.”

“Exactly.”

“What total bullshit.”

Nancy shoots the tiniest smile up at you, a stiff little nod bobbing her neck forward.

There’s a long beat as your focus reframes around Nancy. All the two of you wanted were lives of your own. Existences not indebted to anybody, good or bad. Shit.

“I’m the sublimator, by the way. I know that,” Nancy whispers, great big eyeballs glittering at you, “It’s easy to… fold into someone like Steve when, y’know… you’re not exactly likeable on your own. I just. I wanted to hurt her. She doesn’t deserve it. But I wanted to.”

Her chisel gestures towards Robin, working alongside Ronnie in relative silence that Ronnie awkwardly tries to puncture.

You understand that. Wanting to hurt people after you feel like they’ve breached your trust. Even accidentally. And doing it. And the ugliness of the shame after, you’re familiar with that too.

You reach forward and brush a little lint off her collar. “Thanks for getting in trouble for me, by the way. With that stupid prank and everything.”

“What are you talking about?” she scoffs softly, “You covered for me. And you didn’t have to.”

“Hey,” you hold out your pinkie finger. It’s the least you can do. “Promise is a promise, right?”

—

The members of Hellfire Club gather in an awkward row, standing under the odd, warm glow of the drama room lights like a police lineup of suspects least likely to score a date to homecoming. Sorry, Ronnie.

“What do you think,” you say, swiveling your focus to Jonathan, who’s standing there twice as awkwardly with his camera slung around his neck, “Should we take ‘em outside, make ‘em do Abbey Road?”

In the middle of it all sits the man who can’t help but be of the hour, what with the throne and the glowering and the gravitational pull. Eddie, slumped into that wild set piece left over from god knows what drama club production of, like, Henry VI or Pirates of Penzance or whatever, is so beyond unhappy with what’s unfolding in front of him.

Good.

Ronnie clearly hadn’t even fluffed him into the idea. Which she offered to do, when you’d hitched a ride home on the back of her bike after the tension of Saturday detention dissipated. You’d firmly nixed the idea, the sneak attack being the whole point of this thing.

You’d also learned that a two week suspension was no way no how going to keep Eddie from sneaking in and running this Hellfire session, which meant your article wouldn’t be delayed after all.

So, nah. Good ol’ Ronnie, she just let you stalk in there with your notebook and your pen and your glasses and your Pentax-wielding Jonathan Byers, ready to entirely fuck up Eddie’s day, which gave him no opportunity to protest or call for embargo. Because if he did, it’d raise eyebrows of suspicion and everyone would be like, I thought you two were weird trailer park friends? Is something going on? Something emotionally incoherent and ambiguously erotic? Should we tell everyone? Should we call the Mayor?

“Capital idea,” Eddie says, not exactly to you, but to those in general attendance like he’s playing to the cheap seats, “Maybe I can mow them down in my van and save them from this torture.”

Your smile tightens and Eddie matches your expression, both your mouths straining against your skulls. Wisecracks will not save him. He should know that by now.

“Let’s get a couple of the maestro while I excavate the disciples’ brains,” come the instructions and a swift pat to Jonathan’s shoulder. He flashes you a bewildered kind of look.

“Wh– how do you… want him?”

Incredible phrasing. You glance at Eddie, but not really at him–not enough that he can register and sucker your gaze in. Bathed under the dramatic glow like he was born to sprawl all cock-kneed on a throne like that.

“Exsanguinated and hung on a meat hook, preferably,” you say to Jonathan, “But, I trust you. Do whatever.”

As you gather the rest of the Hellfire denizens at the end of the table to interview them talking head style, Jonathan Byers slinks towards Eddie.

Eddie shifts uncomfortably, less equipped to keep up that fuck you stormcloud persona when he’s at the other end of a focusing lens. Plus, Byers always kind of gave him the creeps. Not to be a dick, but. Here we are.

Byers, to Eddie’s complete and utter horror, clears his throat and attempts to scrounge up some semblance of conversation. But, of course, it’s Jonathan Byers so it’s not fucking small talk. Any other day of the week, Eddie could get behind the notion of eschewing such how about this weather we’ve been having type social norms but Byers decides to jump in with–

“So you guys are…” he trails, leading the witness. Snap goes his little aperture. That’s unfair. Means he caught Eddie’s immediate facial reaction which, hands up, he has never been good at hiding.

“Neighbors,” Eddie supplies in a rush, twisting on his throne again. “She can… hear me yelling about DnD from my trailer. S’why she’s here. To shut me up, I guess.”

Byers adjusts his stance, capturing Eddie from a lower angle– a little more badass looking, he hopes. Frame the fucking curls, for god’s sake.

“Gotcha journalism,” Byers quips. Byers quips.

Eddie’s mouth relaxes and he huffs out a little, “Exactly.”

Byers shifts yet again, clearly covering all wondrous angles with his dinky little thirty-five millimetre whatever the fuck.

It’s not that this whole sneak attack article for the Streak thing is getting under Eddie’s skin– Eddie didn’t even have a chance to acknowledge it getting under his skin. You just breezed in here and started sticking bamboo spikes under his fingernails, like the little warmongtrix you are.

And now you’re sitting at the end of the game table, ruby red end of your fountain pen pointing at Gareth, noting down everything he says without even the slightest hint of condescension. These dorks are looking at you in awe and fear, save for Ronnie who just looks smug, and you’re listening to them. Really listening to them. Your face fixed with that hard little glare that tells him you’re recording the minutiae of their answers.

Eddie digs the pad of his thumb into his lip. Why would you want to do this? Why aren’t you avoiding him at all human cost? What is your angle here?

“She’s cool, y’know.” Click, goes Byer’s camera again. “Lacy.”

Eddie’s voice comes out distant, his focus tugging away from you super, super slowly.

“I heard you blew it with her.”

Byers, caught off guard, lowers his lens. “She told you about that?”

Eddie shrugs, like it’s nothing. It’d be easier to pretend like the idea of you and Byers hanging out was nothing if Byers and Eddie weren’t both classified outsiders.

“Well, uh,” Byers fiddles with something on his camera, shrugging in turn, “It was weird, talking to Lacy back then. You know. She was kind of–”

“She’s different now.” Eddie answers too fast, springing to a defense that didn’t call for him. He sits up a little bit straighter, spine iron-rodding, and tries to recover. “I mean. She’s retired the whole icy Swatch rat bit. She’s not, like– pretending to be something.”

Jonathan gets this look on his face. One last click of the camera.

“I wouldn’t know. I blew it, remember?” But you didn’t, man.

Little does he know.

“Are we done?” Eddie says, launching himself from his chair and slapping palms on the table. His DM screen shakes. Byers steps back with a flared little danger zone! look tossed your way. “We’ve already lost–”

“--fifteen minutes of glorious game time?” you drawl, crossing a final ‘t’ in your notes. “Of course. My apologies. Tight schedule?”

Your eyebrow arches as you flash your eyes up at him. His jaw flares. You– you’re good. You’re vicious and you’re good.

“Theee tightest,” Eddie grits through the falsest of grins and jerks his head, waves flying and the rest of his little Hellfire sheepies following in motion to take their seats.

Ronnie takes her time, mumbling under her breath, “You sure this is a good idea?”

And she was right, with what she’d said before. You are using this as an excuse to get in his face–bolstered only by the fact that he had now gotten in your pants, and you weren’t letting him slink off that easy. Especially with the workplace cameo appearance from Al Munson that you had just been forced to live through.

You’d been looking over your shoulder ever since, expecting to see him leering at you over those sickening aviator sunglasses.

“Oh, I’m positive,” you assure her, turning to Jonathan. “I need, like, one or two shots of them playing then you can take off.”

“Waiwaiwaiwaiwaiwaiwait,” Eddie interrupts, an arm raising over his head to signal halt, “Okay, so first, you storm the castle with your little camera boy without my approval, now you think you’re going to stay for the game?” His ire is genuine. “It’s Hellfire Club, Lacy. Members only. We don’t need bleacher bunnies.”

“Oh, come on, Munson!” you lilt, situating yourself on an abandoned desk, away from the game table. “The people want to know how the Satanic sausage is made.”

“The people being?”

“Your critics and fans. What is this all for, if not to piss off Hawkins’ Presbyterian and garner a whole new legion of Hellfire acolytes, huh?”

“We don’t need any help from the press on that front.”

“Really?” You drag out your single-word answer, using the seconds to count the minimal amount of players in the room. Not even Ronnie could boast 100% attendance, with her marching band obligations clashing with Hellfire sessions. Eddie glares at you. Yeah, yeah.

“A–actually, Eddie… I think it’d be… pretty cool,” Gareth says, waver slowly fading out of his voice. “I mean, if we’re in the school paper, my Mom’ll be less suspicious that we’re like–”

“--doing k-bombs in the drama room…” you mutter, loud enough that only Jonathan can hear.

“--and stuff.”

Eddie exhales so hard his nostrils flare, his shoulders tense, he’s about to shit.

“And who else would like to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Gareth the Treacherous here?” he snarls, looking pointedly around the table, “Jeff? Dougie? Cyrus? Ecker?”

The dorks erupt in yapping agreement, totally swinging for Gareth’s angle.

“Shut up!” Eddie barks, throwing himself back onto his throne. Ringed fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But this, in the business, is what they call a mutiny. Don’t come cryin’ to me when you’re all gettin’ swirlies with half of the Weekly Streak stuffed in your goddamn mouths.”

That’s creative. He really could have had a fruitful career as a bully if he wasn’t so gooey in the middle.

“Munson, I promise you can ride circles around me on a motorbike on live TV if this all goes to shit.”

You make a fluttering hand motion that reads proceed, which he, naturally, hates. He stares at you, like white light white heat searing through stares at you. And then his eyes shut. He takes a deep breath.

What follows is… exactly what you should have expected, actually.

Eddie Munson transports the present-and-correct party of adventurers back into the eye of their campaign. Their mission? Infiltrate a cult of royal knights that have been bewitched by a high priest who is forcing them to sacrifice the kingdom’s innocents in order to fuel his dastardly arcane magic. The plot is… involved. You’d done a light touch of research on how exactly the dragons and the dungeons all worked, so to speak, but it didn’t really seep into the membrane. It’s something you could only really engage with if you saw it in action– you’d have to rely on Eddie and company to fill in the blanks that the extensive lore left. Like, how exactly did these mythical dice come into play? How does a character sheet set you up for success, or failure? What the fuck is a skill check and why does it read so complicated?

And fill in they… kind of did.

Aside from the technical aspects, you find yourself suckered into the story. Quite literally, gripping your seat as Ronnie’s character–a highly capable bard, from what you understand–attempts to escape the hateful royal sect and find her way back to her party. They’d taken her hostage, and she’s managed to escape her chains but they’re ruthless, on her like dogs. Eddie illustrates every sweaty, panicky movement as they close in on her, and your fine, painted fingernails are dug into every word.

Eddie weaves these stories like gossamer– both in the sense of delicate intricacy and destructive nature of that big red monster thing from Looney Tunes. Each plot twist is created to elicit a sense of true foreboding, embellishing how effective his storytelling is. It forces each and every person at the table to face fear head on, dig deep and use what they were given in order to prevail, even if they’re shaking in their boots while doing it– shit, this is good, you should be writing this down.

Blindly, you sketch the word gossamer into your journal, not tearing your eyes away from the table. You barely notice the flash going off to your immediate right– Jonathan Byers’ lens pointed right at you.

“Uh–” you start, Jonathan reaching to grab his jacket from behind you as the game goes on.

“I’m headin’ out– gotta pick Will up from…” he trails off, but you fill in the blank. Nancy had mentioned that Mike was hosting his friends for a DnD session tonight too, and the party naturally included the most junior Byers. You nod, checking the time– Jesus, where had the last three hours gone?

“Tell Nancy I said hey, if you see her,” you say, “and thank you.”

Jonathan shrinks into himself, bashful. “Don’t worry about it.” A beat. “I still want that Echo & the Bunnymen, though.”

Your face peels into a grin that says don’t worry, I”m good for it! and you wave him off. The Hellfire party don’t even notice his leaving, except for Eddie who, being judge, jury and executioner, notices everything.

“...and on that sweltering note, germies and Eckermen, we must bid each other good eventide. Until next time.”

An operatic groan of disapproval goes up from the players, and you realize this must be a regular thing. Eddie always leaving them wanting more. Tease.

“I know, I know, if you had it your way, you’d be locked in here, pissing in buckets and the show would go on all night,” Eddie jeers, rising from his seat to start collecting his stuff, “but I wouldn’t inflict that on the janitorial staff. ‘kay? Scat. Outta my sight.”

With great indignation that swiftly turns into backslaps of appreciation, the Hellfire Club moves out of the drama room one by one. You stay put, and Eddie avoids your eyes completely.

Folding shit back into that madly overstuffed DM folder, he throws a strained-casual, “Need a ride?” to Ronnie, the last straggler.

She shakes her head, smile barely contained. “Uh-uh! Two wheeled my way here and I’ll two wheel my way back– you, uh, have fun though.”

“Bye, Ronnie,” you call after her, voice properly piercing through the air for the first time in hours. Eddie reacts like he’d completely forgotten you were there. Which, impossible. It’s also impossible for him to keep up the whole punk-ass overlord act when it’s just the two of you. As it is now.

Alone, together. Again.

There’s a charge between you, as if that even needs pointing out. Like the electric fences surrounding McCorkle’s farm.

You and the wagonful of your one-time buddies, Carol and Tommy and Tina et al, used to drive out there more than a little under the influence. Your favorite trespassing activity was reaching out for the electric fence, hooking your fingers around it to feel the darting shock permeating your skin.

“What the fuck are you doing? Can’t that, like, fry your brain?” Carol’d ask you, slugging back the last of her beer as Tommy and Steve Harrington attempted to tip a cow in the background somewhere.

“Try it, Care,” you’d giggled, half drunk and half coursing with adrenaline, half alive and half dead, “It feels weird. It feels good!”

You’d woken up the next morning in your plush bedroom in Loch Nora, two little blisters on your fingers, smarting from all that pleasure seeking. Did you regret it? Or did it just make you want to do it again?

Eddie still doesn’t look at you as he speaks from the opposite end of the table.

“Get everything you need?”

“No,” you answer, short. “Missing my key interview.”

Now he looks. Now he has the nerve to. And irises lock on irises, Eddie frozen in place. He knows he’s not getting out of this.

What’s more, you don’t think he really wants to.

“Pretty controversial subject matter,” he says, tone a whole shade softer than the commanding voice of God he’d used through the duration of the session. A little higher. Nervous. “What with the panic, and all.”

“Me and controversy are bedfellows,” your shoulder darts up, “I’m the big spoon.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod; your tone is as marble-solid as ever, eyes trained and undarting, “Like when I implied the Tigers were straddling a generation-defining line of bold faced failure. I got in a lot of trouble for that.”

The corners of Eddie’s mouth twitch a little. “Define ‘a lot of trouble’ by your standards.”

“They made me print a retraction!” You’re genuinely incensed by the memory, hitching forward in your seat, “I mean, how insane? ‘Bad for school spirit,’ they said. Like I’m some kind of pep exorcist.”

Eddie tongue folds in between his teeth and he turns his head a split second too late. You can see him biting back a snicker, or something, and point to Lacy and yadda yadda yadda—but you smile, and the tension feels like it’s waning. Thank god, because it is suffocating you. You take your in and up you get, moving to the seat closest to his right-hand side.

“Can we get started?” The fountain pen is uncapped, the notebook cracked, your legs crossing. Eddie sinks back into the throne, his face warming up under the yellow stage lights.

“Okay. Hit me with your best shot.” Fire away.

You’re quick with it. “Why this?”

“Really? That’s your first question?” Eddie looks bemused.

“It’s the least rudimentary of all the Ws,” you explain nice and plainly, plucking up fingers to illustrate your points, “People know who you are–against their will, mostly. People can glean what the game is–or will, once I put a fine point on the… everything that just happened there. What people don’t get is why. Why indulge yourself in this?”

His fingers knit together in his lap, nearly shy.

“Because it’s fun.”

“Nope, too vague.”

“Vague?”

You physically knock the notion with a waving hand, leaning closer over the table, errant miniatures and spare pencils still scattered there.

“Basketball is fun. Chess club is fun. Throwing rocks into a rusted can of SpaghettiOs is fun if you can make a case for it. Too vague. Didn’t come here for the everyman answer.”

“What did you come here for?” That’s loaded. The way he’s daring himself to look at you is loaded. How soft his voice turns is loaded.

“The Munson answer.” It hangs in the air like someone dropped off the gallows. “Dig for me.”

A long, metastasizing beat. Resistance is futile, as it is and ever will be with you. Eddie hitches his arms across his chest, hiding a smile in the heel of his palm. Flattery works with him. Even if you'd never call this flattery.

“Escape,” he eventually tells you.

“Go on,” you press.

“There is this… insatiability when it comes to fantasy. To stories like this, the kind with big, thriving worldscapes. Reading ‘em, even writing ‘em– it’s good, but it isn’t enough sometimes. Sometimes you want to wrap yourself up in the reality of elsewhere. Travel to a world where things are different.”

“But not idyllic.”

Eddie’s eyebrows pull together.

“No. If these campaigns were just… the bad guys are defeated by a mighty sword that you and you alone always happen to have on you, that’s not a campaign. That’s a circle jerk.”

“The idea is to be challenged. To fight for something.”

“Right. To adventure. Beat the odds.”

“And you can’t do that alone.”

“Well, you can. I think that’s called, like, writing a book.”

“Ohh-kay, Eddie…”

“No, no, no, I mean,” Eddie shakes his head, planting his elbows on the table top, “Where’s the fun in that? Where’s the thrill of the unknown? Of not knowing what the other characters are gonna do, or what sick twist the dastardly, brilliant DM is gonna pull out next?”

He’s on one now, so you don’t stop him. Eddie’s eye takes on that mercurial shine, the same one he had while he was cruise directing the campaign. You wonder when he got like this—got bit by the God complex bug. Here, he could dare people to defy him when he’d been the defiant one his whole life.

You think about a littler him, yearning for escape.

“It also doesn’t work if everyone wants to be a hero. Too many heroes spoil the stew, okay, so you need to find other, y’know, likeminded weirdos who fall into different alignments. Those alignments only work when they’re played off other characters. Your merry band of outlaws or pirates or underdogs or whoever. You work together, or you betray each other, or you come back together because of some mighty sworn oath and you see your mission through. It’s not about winning or losing, y’know? Whatever happens out there,” he gestures to beyond the barricade of the drama room doors, “doesn’t matter. Whether life’s beating the shit out of them or not, my little acolytes, as you call ‘em, sit at this table and they’re part of something bigger. Something thrilling. Magical. Alchemic. They’re part of–”

“--a team.” You think about a littler him, yearning for people to escape with.

Eddie flaps his ever-animated hands. “Not my phrasing. But.”

“That thread runs through it all,” you say, drawing a line down the center of your notes with the inactive end of your pen, “Teamwork. Belonging. Victory– an escape from the mundane to victory, especially when you can’t find it elsewhere.”

Eddie’s chin rests on the back of his hand as he squints at you. “Sounding a little sportsmanlike there, Lacy.”

“And?”

“Thought you weren’t pulling for the everyman answer.”

“A hook’s a hook’s a hook,” you quirk your eyebrows, “–and, when you put it that way—”

“When you put it that way.”

“—what really makes you any different from, say, the Tigers?”

“Besides the cult of personality surrounding all jocks–”

“As if you don’t court your own little cult of personality—“

“—we actually win our campaigns.”

You start to retort, then stop. Letting that sink in.

“Oh. Oh, that’s good,” you say, sketching it down.

“I foresee letters to the editor in your future,” Eddie says, and he’s smug about it. Anything to aggregate the status quo, no matter what the blowback might be.

No one in their right mind here behaves like him. He just… does whatever he wants.

You find yourself wanting to touch the fence.

And maybe it’s that you stare at him a beat or so too long, but Eddie shifts his gaze down to the wood grain, flexing his hand. Scabs still marring his knuckles and all.

“It wasn’t broken or anything, then?” you ask, gesturing to his hand.

Eddie looks back up with a drag. You can feel what’s coming.

“Oh no, it was shattered,” he tells you, eyes-wide earnest and lying through his teeth, “My bones just heal super fast. My mom, she ate a shit ton of canned spinach when I was in ute.”

“Right, the calcium—”

“Nah. Rare botulism side effect,” he shrugs like, whaddaya gonna do!

Dumbass.

“Rare Botulism Side Effect is a good album title.”

“I’ll tell the guys.”

Silence falls again, and if you reach around, there’s something close to normalcy in there. Among the spikes and confusion.

“Um,” Eddie’s face contorts into a tiny cringe, “I found out what the… what the prank was, by the way. I obviously wasn’t here to witness the whole masterpiece theater of it all but– but Ronnie told me.”

A tight and ugly feeling constricts your chest. You look away, nodding through a grimace. You’d opened your locker with the practiced caution of someone diffusing a bomb since that whole incident, which sucks as someone who derives real joy from slamming metal doors.

“Pretty creative bit, huh?” is all you offer.

“Almost too creative for Hargrove,” Eddie counters, uprighting a fallen miniature with one finger.

“Are you trying to say I was being hysteric, jumping on his car?” It sounds like you’re offended, but.

“No,” Eddie meets you right where you’re at with this sparkle framing his stare, “I’m saying it was probably a collaborative effort. You could go seek even more batshit revenge, if you wanted to.”

“And would you be there to stop me before I cut Carol Perkins’ breaks?”

You can see Eddie biting his tongue between his teeth oh-so-lightly… Saliva catching in the low light. It’s warm in here. Stuffy.

“Prob–”

“I miss you.”

You cut him off in such a harsh, unforgiving way that Eddie feels his words rammed back down his throat. He blinks a couple of times, tempted to shake his head to make sure he heard you right. But there you are, your sight line running clean through him. You couldn’t be talking to anybody else.

“You do?” His voice is so small that his lips barely move. His lips, teased by his tongue, wetting them.

“Don’t act brand new. Everything’s harder without you. You have to know that.”

He gets snagged on the angles in your voice. By without you, he can only imagine you mean since he started giving you the cold shoulder and you started hitching rides in that college dork’s Ford Cortina. And by everything, he can only imagine…

“Lace…”

This is hard. This is horrible. This is uncomfortable and risky and as exposed as you have ever been, but it’s necessary.

“I can’t stand the tension of not being around you,” you say, breath feeling harsher as it speeds past your molars, “And I can’t stand the tension when I’m with you either, with you and wanting to–... so what do I do, Eddie?”

You focus on him, adjusting as if you were looking through the viewfinder of Jonathan’s Pentax. Eddie’s face, bewildered and angelic, with his parted mouth and his honorific glow of the stage lights haloing the frizz in his hair. He looks like something you want to commit to memory, as if to say see?! How could you deny this?

You rise from your seat, ever the investigator, and bear over him with hands on the table. Cards on the table, too. A genuine question smarts in your mouth, too sour candy you have to spit out.

“What do I do, Eddie?”

Eddie inhales with a sharp touch as you stand up, inspecting, demanding. He goes to tell you I don’t know… in the meekest of tones but the arch in your eyebrows says don’t you goddamn dare. You terrify him, and you make him dig.

“Forget it. Forget about all of it,” he breathes, almost tasting your perfume, “We can reset. Blank slate. Pretend like we don’t know each other. Pretend like none of this ever happened. It’d be better. Safer. Easy. Right? We could totally do that. We’ve fooled everybody so far. Even ourselves, into thinking this was… we could...”

“Fuck you,” you say in a soft rush.

Eddie only realizes that you’re both smiling when you kiss him. It’s clumsy at first, teeth knocking and everything, your hands winding around his collar and your frigid fingertips finding his neck. The shock of your skin on his, the matchstick crack of your mouth on his propels Eddie onto his motherfucking feet. He leans over you, knocking you into the table as your tongue works its way deep into his mouth.

You give him an, “Mm,” and if feels like an ascent to heaven.

Sparkles in the static makes the stuffiness evaporate, makes the room come alive. Your legs part to invite him closer to you, your hands faster and more insistent than his are. You pull at the hem of his Hellfire shirt and yank your head back, a string of saliva married between your mouths.

Fingers are more bold than they were in the nurse’s office, weaving the leather out of Eddie’s belt buckle. A deep ridge etches between Eddie’s eyebrows and his hands are propped in a mid-air surrender. Your eyes, your everything fucking eyes, are weighted with want. And challenge. Because you always do have to get one up on him.

“Reset this.” You tug at his zipper. “Tell me to stop.”

“Lacy…” Eddie whispers, watching you pull at the waistband of his boxers with his mouth agape. He’d dreamt about this. Thought about this. His cock about jumps into your hand like you’re Snow White and it’s a goddamned hummingbird. Pen marks on your fingers. “Jesus, y–...”

Eddie’s arms angle up behind his head, like a strung-up marionette, fabric of his shirt ghosting against his nipples in the stretch. This only makes him angle his hips further into you, eyelids flickering and his blood breaking the speed limit on its descent. Fuck, and then you fucking touch him– fingertips along the length of him, featherlight and goading.

Eddie’s groan is broken, half-caught in his nose. You’re looking at him like he’s a bad puppy, like you’re teaching him a lesson in scolding masking adoration. You’re beautiful and he wants to tell you so, but it all comes out in a whimper. Your hand closes around his cock, thumb brushing rii-iii-iight along the ridge of his head.

“Tell me to stop,” you echo yourself, and you’re fascinated that it comes out sounding like you know what you’re doing. You don’t. You’ve never been thrust into a net of feeling like this, never had anyone look at you the way Eddie is now– like he’d throw himself on a bed of open flames for you, so long as you kept touching him. It’s drunkard-making. It’s a full headrush. The gradual glisten of his reddening head looks delicious to you.

“Tell me to s–”

Grip tightens around him and Eddie moans from right in his sternum, his arms dropping to cradle around your head. He can’t believe he’s doing this, he can’t believe he’s fucking doing this but–

“Stop,” he gasps, fingers winding in your hair. His entire spinal cord is begging him to buck into your hand, your mouth, your anything, but he steels himself. “Stopstopstop, Lacy. Fuck– fuck.”

Your eyes widen, cheek in his palm. “Really?” Said in the most painful, the most misread did I do something? lilted tone. Your hand doesn’t exactly go slack right away.

“Yeah. Yes,” Eddie murmurs, eyes screwing closed and opening again, the most manual effort ever put behind a blink. “I c–I didn’t do this right, the first time. This is stupid. This is so stupid.”

And so your hands go, and you feel the anchor of your heart slowly dropping… But Eddie drops his face right down to yours.

“You deserve… so much more than giving me a handy on school property,” he tells you, and feels almost coherent about it. “Hot as it is. Right out of my… nastiest dreams as it is.”

Oh. Oh. The corners of your mouth pick up as Eddie presses his forehead to yours, just about evening out his breathing.

“Had a premonition about this, didja?” The pressure of his face on yours, his breath on yours, his skin on yours. It’s nice.

“Came to me in a vision,” he grins, crooked. Slides his thumbs along your cheeks and kisses you, slowly and noisily. “I’m a prognosticator.” Tongue half in, half out your mouth. Your heartbeat sinks between your legs. In a good way. “Been known to prognosticate.”

“Five dollar vocab word,” you mumble into his mouth, can’t help but push your body against him like a cat begging for attention. Eddie’s lips latch to the space right below your ear, a place where his mouth makes you feel like cymbals are clashing in your stomach.

“Come home with me,” he says, the note of pleading in his voice making your legs go numb. His nose and his lips dragging against the side of your neck, begging you to focus on the details and not the bigger picture. “Please.” A swallow. A beat. A ragged whisper. “... I missed you. Too. Y’know?”

“I do…” you sigh into his curls, readjusting his boxers, “actually need a ride… so.”

—

The van ride back to Forest Hills is tight with a tension that makes you both laugh, your mouth still buzzing from the kiss Eddie’d laid on you right before he’d helped you into the passenger seat. Even after he’d insisted you not touch him from the drama room to the parking lot, insisted because, “This thing,” he’d gestured to his crotch, his hard-on painfully zipped into submission, “this thing is gonna get me hauled over by the cops!”

“Don’t laugh!” you scold, mouth straining around the gleaming smile you’re suppressing, body all giddy. Voice ringing clear and high even over the cranked radio. Sabbath, naturally, Vol. 4. Wheels of Confusion sounds like treacle to you, mixed in with his laugh.

“I’m no-oo-oht!” Eddie says, syllables punctuated with chuckles, “I just– I am expressly escorting you back to my place! To, like, have sex with me!” His hands beat against the wheel, teeth sunk into that pretty bottom lip, giddy-upping so hard he actually does swerve the van a little.

“Woah!” you yelp, “Eddie, the road! You should’ve let me drive, you’re feral!”

Eddie moon eyes at you, reaching over to pinch your chin. “Lace, please don’t get all sore about this, but I will never trust you behind the wheel of this van. She’s a delicate piece of machinery and you would drive her like it’s the demolition derby.”

Narrowed eyes and all, you kind of have to concede. You’ve never been the best behind the wheel, a road rageaholic, and if you were to add feeling as frisky as you do now on top of that sundae… you press Eddie’s DM binder into your lap a little harder. Down, girl. He doesn’t help, thumb stroking your chin and everything.

“This is suh-rreal.”

“Stop zooming out so hard or I’m not gonna have sex with you!” You’re kidding. You’re so completely kidding. If he doesn’t touch you someplace lower than your neck soon, you’re going to disintegrate.

But Eddie pauses. “Like, you don’t. Have to.” Panicky, freezy. Hastily pulling on his good guy hat. “You don’t– by the way. It’s whatever you want. Call timeout at any time. I know I’ve been kinda–”

“Eddie.”

“...you still want to though, right?”

The giggling dies down as you edge closer and closer to your respective trailers, darkness washed over them like a swathe of dark blue paint. The lights in both trailers are out. Nobody home. Wayne, something about the weekend, something about overtime. Your mom… who knew. She’d been moving around in shadows more so than usual lately.

Everything out there is dimmed, except you two. Eddie doesn’t waste a second once the motor shuts off and the radio is silenced; he slams the driver door shut but the teensiest knot of hesitation tightens in your stomach before he reaches the passenger door.

And then he reaches the passenger door, gathering you out of it and pushing you up against the side of the van. Snapping you out of it instantaneously using the bare force of his mouth against yours.

“Eddie…” mumbled, your lips barely unstuck.

“Sorry. Shit, sorry. I just really like kissing you.”

Something pops in your chest; he’s… Jesus, he’s so sweet. Coal-eyed and excitable and lovely, kissing you with nothing left to spare.

“Hey. Redirect,” you shiver, his fingertips pressing into your waist. “Come to my place.”

Eddie casts a wide glance back toward your double-wide. The forbidden castle. “Your… y–are you sure?”

“Sure that my bedsheets are cleaner than yours, yes.”

He murmurs, “Bedsheets,” with a darkened gaze and a grunt. Bedsheets. You wanted him in your bedsheets. “Get your key. Get your key. Get your key before me and my dick have a shared brain hemorrhage.”

That new lock doesn’t stick at all, thank god.

Eddie, ordinarily, would nosily register all of his surroundings– he had an extremely barebones idea of your place, cast mostly in darkness like this, from that first night he’d driven you back from the fallout at Harrington’s. But he’s too busy nosily exploring your throat with his tongue, recording and archiving every breathy sound you make as you tug him toward your bedroom.

Cardboard boxes still trip you up a couple times. Did you ever unpack, or what?

You break from his heady kiss, vision doubling, taking in a lungful of air as you push Eddie through the door. Spine flattens against it as it shuts, the noise drawing a little bit of sobriety into the room. You reach to hit the floor lamp on and your bedroom is illuminated in a soft, orange glow, a scarf thrown over the bulb to diffuse light. A half-effort to make you forget where you were sometimes. It works; the edges of everything softens, which is such a contrast to the definitive presence that he is.

Eddie’s chest is heaving. He attempts to get his bearings but he can barely get his eyes off of you, squirming ever-so-slightly, ever-so-sexily against the door. Like you’d captured him.

Lips swollen, watching you watch him from the door, he turns a little shy and turns to look at the ephemera around him instead.

He’s standing in your bedroom.

You’re far more cluttered than he expected you to be.

He expected pressed sheets and a pristine dressing table, like a prison cell designed by a set dresser from Dynasty.

Well, that’s wrong, actually. He expected that of the Lacy people thought you were.

On the walls are a couple of tear-outs from the Rolling Stones he’d helped you liberate from your porch in Loch Nora, a mission you’d bought him breakfast for but didn’t have to. But mostly, every surface in the room is covered in piles. Piles of books, records, tapes, pens, jewelry, nail polish. And the clothes. They hung from everywhere, bursting out of your tiny closet space like bodies trying to escape.

It’s confused in here; feels like someone who has unearthed parts of herself that she hasn’t been able to organize yet. Eddie wants to comb through it like a collector at a rarities market, he thinks, running a finger along the spine of a porcelain cat that sits on your dresser.

“Place is filthy, cheerleader.”

“You’d know about mess, freak.”

The only really neat, clear space is, fortunate for tonight’s entertainment purposes, the bed.

As he’s sliding his jacket (jackets, plural) off, Eddie’s eye travels to the window.

“Did you fix your blinds?” he asks, pivoting back and forth on his heel.

“My blinds?” you parrot. The blinds that had been broken when you moved in. The ones that sure were shuttered now. You’d made a point to fix them with whatever was left out of your first paycheck from the Bookstore. “How’d you know about my blinds?”

He could’ve lied, if he caught himself quicker. If he didn’t straighten up his back like someone had snapped him to attention. “Uuh.”

It dawns on you like a flashlight in the eyeballs. “Were you… watching me, Munson?”

Not spying, mind. Not peeping. Watching. Eddie sinks down to sit on the edge of your bed, because whether or not he’s ever going to get to be here again kind of hangs in the balance right now.

“That. Dep…ends. What do you,” Please don’t kick him out. Please don’t kick him out. Look at the line of your fucking body as you round on him, staring him down like you want him for dinner. Christ, he hopes you want him for dinner.

Eddie swallows roughly, tone bumpy, face a dime store Halloween mask of nonchalance. Paper thin. “What do you think about that?”

Fact is, he’d subsisted on a couple of very guilty glimpses of you. Catching sight of the lines of your bare back and taught shoulders would keep him in jerk-off material for a week, just thinking about kneading out your knots and undoing your bra clasp with his teeth.

Eddie felt positively Victorian about it. Maybe you’d flash an ankle at him next and he’d be institutionalized for hysterics.

You look at him with the same pinpoint as you did earlier. Like you’re studying him. And then you edge closer, closer, nudging his knees apart. Echoes of the nurse’s office.

But this isn’t the goddamn nurse’s office. You’re not straining to adapt to the element of surprise. You know that the breath Eddie takes, shuddering and wondrous as you tilt his chin up to look at you, is a sound you want on repeat for as long as you can bear to hear sounds.

“They’ve blinded men for that, y’know? Before.”

Eddie can’t answer. Just let out a huh! as your fingers trace his jaw, thumb brushes his lip. His hands squeeze the curve of your ass, fingers beg into your thighs as he watches you, dumbstruck. His tongue unconsciously presses to the tip of your thumb and he hears your breath hitch.

A sustained shock travels up your neck.

“I mean, was it worth it?”

“Was it w… Lacy.” Eddie’s hands have breached the hem of your skirt and with a groan, his face burrows into the silken fabric of your shirt, like he’s trying to nudge it off with his nose or his mouth. Fingers are working mindlessly to loosen some article of clothing from your body and it makes you feel buzzy and trancelike. “Don’t ask stupid questions. I might have fuckin’ carpal tunnel because of you.”

Jesus. He makes you feel so…

Desired. Needed. You’ve never felt that way before, and you don’t quite know how to navigate it. So your buttons start coming undone with the work of one hand, the other shoving Eddie by the shoulder to lean back on your bed.

Eddie, here, among all your things. Disparate in your shabby little dollhouse, looking at you like you just swallowed the sun.

Your shirt comes off, and Eddie, in a game of match point, tugs his off too. Pause comes over the both of you. You’d seen him shirtless before; shower-bare in his trailer when the first security breach happened, a crack in the containment whatever you were pretending your relationship to each other was–affable enemies, irritated acquaintances. He’d looked at you like an animal cornered, tendons tense under his tattooed skin and you’d wanted to drag a finger or two down the center of his chest.

You didn’t, though. You’d sniped, asked where the cigarettes were.

This is all one big case of making up for lost time.

You’ve been looking at him so long, bra strap slipping off your shoulder, that Eddie leans forward. As if to come get you.

Remember me? I’m real. You can touch me. Touch me, please.

His warm arms pull you to him, pull you onto the bed, pull you against his lips. It’s gentler there; not as furtive. It says, hi, I’m here. Your arms, tugging him closer as he eases you beneath him say, good, I’ve been waiting. Eddie brushes his nose against yours, you laid down with your hair fanned out on the plush comforter.

Both your pulses must have stuttered at the same time.

His smile is serene but you can feel his forearms trembling. “I feel like I’m gonna have a heart attack.”

“Don’t,” you tell him, very quietly while his hand nervously tries to find the zipper on your skirt, “I just got you back.”

Your hips lift to help him and you’re wiggling the thing off and you’re wiggling your tights off and he’s thrashing his jeans off only to land back between your parted legs with bouncing recoil from the mattress. Laughter biting in one another’s mouths. The nerves are teeming off him in waves and it makes you want to kiss him all over.

The feeling housed in your body is different; not jittery, but struck somehow. This doesn’t feel like the way it usually feels, the way it does when you disappear into spare rooms at parties or the shadow of Skull Rock or hitch your leg up against the center console of someone’s shitty car. It doesn’t feel rote, like you’re doing it to stack up experience points– that is a Dungeons and Dragons term you found particularly interesting. How many bad tongue kisses had you accepted just to feel like you’re progressing, instead of waiting for someone who wants to taste you like Eddie does?

Your bodies caged together, you feel the eager, hard, tragically clothed line of him rub against your center. Eddie manages to free your bra clasp on the first try, which you almost goadingly applaud him for–but he cuts you short with a bewitched stare, his lovely, hot mouth laving over your nipple as he slips the fabric away. It tears the first real moan from you, your back arching into his kneading fingers as his tongue curves over your tightening bud.

Eddie can’t believe what he’s hearing. He can barely see straight, but he’s trying to commit every second of this to a glorious Technicolor memory, sound and image capturing working overtime. The sound that comes from your beautiful, balmy mouth sounds fresh out the packet–like you’d never made it for anyone before. The look of suppressed surprise on your face confirms as much and Eddie feels like he might explode.

He, too, has no idea what he’s doing but he can’t help his hips from jerking into you as he plays on. Playing with your nipples, remembering that making them glisten with his spit will make you whimper, and so will kissing the center of your sternum. He’s watching wide-eyed and fascinated as your brow furrows and your legs tighten around him. He’s a wonderful student, when he wants to be.

Eddie is throbbing, and there’s too much cotton and lace between you.

There’s also this other thing, and it comes out of him like word upchuck as you try to tease his boxers down around his hips using only your feet.

“I oughta tell you,” Eddie whispers, voice all raspy, all boyish with his hair tickling your collarbone, “I’m, uh. I’m not good at this.”

“At what?” He’s got one hand roaming over your chest, the other making indents in the meat of your thigh. It feels like he’s holding your breath right in his hands.

A new shade of pink rises high in Eddie’s already straining cheeks. He really doesn’t want to have to use his words to spell it out. “Thiii-iiss.”

Oh. A rivulet of cold realization runs through you. Nicole. Cass. Girls daring themselves to get near to him. Experience points. The great freak experiment project.

“This isn’t that.” Your hands hold his chin, perhaps a little roughly, to make sure he’s listening. And Eddie is, breath baited. You press your forehead to his like he pressed his forehead to yours. “It’s not.”

He’s really about to ask you, what is it, then? but that feels like something you can work out later. Eddie lets you tug at his lips and you let him tug at your panties, arching up so you can wiggle them down your legs. His eyes cast to the downy hair at your mound, and it’d usually occur to you to apologize for your unshaven legs, as if it mattered.

But the way he regards you doesn’t call for that; it calls for you to open up for him. Spread.

A rough pad of a finger runs along your slit, feeling the generous drip that’s gathered, and Eddie moans as your breath hitches into an animalistic, “hahh!”-- he’s edging down your body to bury his face there. He wants to feel you, smell you, taste you. You tense at the sudden contact of his palms pressing your thighs open, his nose against your clit and he feels it. A jolt of worry passes through him. Did you not want that? “Sorry–”

“Don’t– no, Eddie, don’t stop,” you strain, laugh a little, “You just… surprised me. Keep– keep surprising me. Please.”

Shockwaves break through you as he gingerly offers his tongue. And more, and more, until he’s lapping at you with a vigor and no real direction. You dig against him, made speechless by the building ache in your core.

In your fantasies, you hadn’t anticipated him being so giving–so eager to please and explore. Like all things, this moment projected itself in your head with the hard edges of some imagined cockiness, Eddie telling you to spread your legs and you, nymphlike and fluid and still somehow holding all the indiscriminate ‘power’, doing so.

But this? This is soft and messy and spitty and real. Eddie is drooling and babbling into your pussy with the uncalculated effect of someone who has improvised his whole life and it’s tearing you at the seams. A satisfying little rip, every keen movement he makes.

You know when you’re close to climax, that familiar feeling of your cunt suckling at nothing, but it doesn’t feel as jagged as the first time he brought you there. Urgently, you tug at his hair, claw at his shoulders, begging for his attention.

“Eddie,” you gasp and his hands flex around your thighs at the sound of his name in your mouth. It’s yours, he wants to tell you, rutting heedlessly into the mattress from his position between your legs, keep it! Please! “Eddie, Eddie– come here, come to me.”

Your velveteen voice summons him, his face glistening from the exploration of you. Embarrassment threatens to ping at you, but it flames into want, seeing how wet and obscene he looks. That’s all from you?

Eddie does as he’s told, heart pounding– and the sensation of fabric dragging against the raw tip of his cock nearly makes him pass out.

“Fuck! Fuck, you–” he stammers as your hand pulls his heavy length free, balls tightening under your firm touch, “N-not fuck you, obvi-ously, but–hunh–okay, kinda fuck you…”

Eddie’s lips fold against yours as he attempts, with shuddering arms, to brace himself over you. He whines at your dexterity, swiping his head against your entrance. The wetness from him, the wetness from you– the sheer impact of sensation slices clean through him. It’s not a tactic, you’re not teasing; you’re angling to get him inside you. You need to get him inside you, your entire body is begging for it.

“Baby, please, please, I’m not gonna last–”

“Who said you had to?” you ask, voice a drop of dark syrup. Just for him. “Who said you had to?”

The earnestness in your eyes gives Eddie pause– for all of a pulsating second.

“I want you… inside. Don’t you want to feel me?” you ask with real conviction, thumb swiping over his moistened head in a way that makes his vision go galactic.

Eddie yanks your hand away, kissing roughly it, nailing it beside your head as he tries to ease into you.

“Want? It’s all I want–fuck, it’s all I fucking think about, Lacy–huhh–”

His first attempt results in a gasp of pain– the sting, the stretch, it’s a little much a little fast. The sharpness has you wincing and has Eddie searching your face with an arrested kind of guilt.

“Y–shit, baby, are you–”

“I’m okay,” you recover, hand steadying on his flushed cheek. “Just–slower. Ease it in. You’re– you’re pretty remarkable, Eddie.”

“Remarkable?” he mumbles against your cheek, focused and slowly lining his head against your entrance. “Really?”

“Prodigiou—ss, uhh–fuck!” Whispered swears come streaming from you as he sinks right into the velvety constraints of your cunt.

Your eyes roll right back, mouth tipping open and the grip of you arresting around him makes him cry out into your chest.

Eddie’s cock is long and heavy and thick, constricted to the point where you can nearly feel every ridge of him. It hurts, the stretch of him aches, but it’s delicious–pinned and sweetly painful.

“Prodigious–is a five dollar–fuckin’--vocab word–” he strains, lifting his hips ever so slightly– you’re clutched onto him so tight that you move with him. Eddie open-mouth groans against your neck. “Lacy, Jesus, you’re so tight–you feel so good–how the fuck do you feel so good? Who invented you?!”

There’s a tinge of a giggle in your moaning, which doesn’t let up. Eddie’s voice rings out like a church bell, making one slow stroke inside you, then another. Then another, then another, picking up speed, groans chorusing into the hollow of your neck around the lewd sound of his flesh slapping against yours. The sound alone brings you close to cumming. “Oh, pleasepleaseplease, fuck, Lace, I’m g– fuck, I’m–”

The way Eddie’s hands are carving permanent marks into your hips, the way his movements are halting, you get the idea that… “You holding out on me?” you ask him, short of breath around your panting but demanding still, “Don’t you dare–don’t you dare.”

“Lacy, uhh– please, ’mgonnafucking–”

“Cum for me? Are you?”

Your fingers tug at his curls so you can look at him as his face tenses. Eddie’s hair is flattened across his head, face glimmering with exertion. You drag your lips against his forehead, the salty flavor of sweat breaking across your tastebuds.

“For you, for you, shit, only for you–only for you, only fucking ever–fuck–”

His dark eyes have been blown out since he pulled you to the mattress, eyelids flickering over his irises as he pistons into you with speed that hurts but you love it.

You barely hear yourself beginning a prayer of dirty little succors, but there it is, easing him through his orgasm as he shudders a load between your legs. “You feel like nothing on this fucking earth, you know that, you’re so good for me...” The tension breaks with one final rasping cry, his expression dissolving into a softness as he exhales a lungful, neck stretching to lean into your touch.

A couple of half-cracked dry sobs escape him.

Looking up at you, cradled against your shoulder, Eddie’s cursing himself for every second he’s wasted not doing this with you.

And you, looking down, are stroking his damp curls from his forehead and cursing yourself. You’re going to burn the world down for this boy.

“Lacy. You–”

And then, y’know, the fucking front door of the trailer clicks.

Little too much deja vu for your liking these days!

Immediately, you seize upwards, jolting a confused Eddie with you– which breaks your heart, in a way, seeing him darty-eyed and shocked out of his bliss so fast.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.” These are not like your prior ‘fucks’, he can register through the haze of his post-nut state. These are bad fucks. So he responds in turn, “Fuck?”

“My mom!” You hiss, naked and scrambling. Panic crests on you like a wave, a wave that should have been an orgasm mind fucking you, and your fingernails tear at the comforter beneath you.

“Under, under, gogogo!”

Because if there’s one thing your mother, in all her former-center-of-attention glory, loves to do? It’s enter a room uninvited.

Case in fucking point–

“Lacy?” A perfunctory knuckle rap from the other side of the door, just as you manage to hide Eddie by shoving him behind you and tenting the comforter around you both. You’re praying to anything with a little more gusto than God that it works. And then, enter your mother and her cloud of Shalimar.

Soon as she opens the door, you can tell something is terribly off.

She’s smiling, face as serene as the Virgin Mary. Usually she’s got a sharpened dagger of a glare, just for you. Two of you haven’t been spending much quality time lately, see.

“Lacy! What–” your mom’s brow knits, but it’s a look of amusement. Which freaks you out. She’s looking at your just-fucked-by-Eddie-Munson hair, isn’t she? The mascara that’s surely streaking down your face? Does she know? Can she sense he’s in this very room? “--what are you doing?”

“Napping. Crying. What does it look like?” you snap, hiking the comforter up a little further and begging that she doesn’t notice Eddie’s incriminating clothes strewn across the floor.

Eddie, for his part, is not breathing. He’s crouched behind your bare ass, a position he’s in no rush to get out of, arms caged around your thighs like a petrified child. This is almost funny–or would be, if he wasn’t scared shitless of everything your mom would definitely do to him if she discovered him buck ass naked in your bed.

Dreamily, Eddie reminds himself that he’s buck ass naked, in your bed. He smiles into one of your cheeks and considers how biteable it is.

“Well. Wrap it up,” your mom says, tone still light, and you twinge at the irony. At least you’re on the pill. “I have a surprise.”

Slam. Door shuts. Your lamp wobbles with the force of it and Eddie emerges from behind you, like a freshly-fucked groundhog.

“She sounds happy,” he mumbles, arms sliding up around your waist.

You want to kiss the mirth out his mouth but you have to shove him back behind you first– cue your mom, doubling back through the door. Jesus!

“What was that?”

“Nothing!” you say, shortly and breathily because Eddie nips at your fucking ass cheek back there. “Just–you sound happy, mom!”

She shakes her head at you, a smile curving her tulip colored lips, like a mom from a detergent commercial. Y’know, were it not for the whole Italian widow getup she’s alway sporting.

“Get on with it already.”

You count to a full five before you even let out a breath, snapping your attention back to reality and the fact that Eddie Munson is very naked in your very bed.

“You gotta get out of here,” you tell him, and you want to kill yourself about it.

The both of you balance on your knees. Eddie tugs you into him with shining, begging eyes. Standing almost at full attention again, already.

“Jesus, that thing’s impressive.”

Eddie’s fingers wind around the hair at the nape of your neck. Despite the brief jolt of fear from your little interruption just now, he’s all romance–totally suckered, rose-colored glasses, the whole bit. Thoughts not exactly creating a straight line just yet, but he doesn’t care. He’s had his hands all over you for the better part of an evening now, and he doesn’t want to let up just yet. It might kill him. It might kill him.

There’s no unringing this bell between the two of you, and he knows that.

And you knew it first, because you know everything first.

“You sure?” he hums into your sweet lips, “You absolutely positive? Because I could be real, real quiet…”

Eddie’s also thrilled by the fact that he seems to know instinctively what to do to turn you on.

“What if I don’t want you to be real, real quiet?”

You kiss him back, sighing and sliding a single finger down the length of his cock.

“Lace…” he whimpers to you, his commandant fantasy of being dominant in the bedroom officially, officially escorted out back and shot. He wants to please you too badly. Be the jester in your court that makes you cackle and makes you cum.

“Lacy!” a shrill yell comes from the hall. Your eyes snap open, Eddie’s dancing with amusement and yours heaving with alarm.

“Fuck, okay, go! Window!”

Another scramble, you tossing jeans and socks and the rest of Eddie’s uniform at him while you clean yourself off, try to pull a robe around yourself. A stray thought occurs to you as you watch him trip over himself, ripping the hole in his jeans a little further–you hate what he wears, but you love it on him. And off him. And…

You yank up those blinds and unlatch the window with a faint smile. Nothing about you two makes any conceivable sense–

Eddie starts out the window, shirt barely pulled down his torso and his shoes in his hands, then turns to hook you to him by the elbow. Smiling with the full blush of his mouth, he kisses you. Firm and knowing and whole.

–except that. That makes sense.

The pad of his finger clears a lock of rumpled hair from your forehead.

“To be continued?” Eddie searches your face, with those crazy dark brimming universes of eyes.

Your heart is leaping in your ribcage. You nod sharply, gleaming back at him.

“I’m comin’ back for you, Lacy Doevksi,” he tells you with all the brazen confidence he can muster. “And I am gonna go down on you until I drown. On pain of death, I swear it.”

“Go!” you command, and regret it as soon as he drops out of your bedroom window. Eddie starts a cant toward his trailer across the way.

“Faster!” you hiss, just as an excuse to watch him.

He pivots mid-jog, hair swinging wildly, his hand grabbing at his crotch.

“You try runnin’ with a hard on! Witch!”

It’s far, far, far too quiet once he’s escaped through the front door of his trailer.

It's not fair, you think. You should be basking in some kind of afterglow, sharing a stupid cliché cigarette, you feel like you should be... celebrating this.

You shouldn't have to keep running away from each other.

The warmth the two of you had created, through mere physical friction or just how much you… you like each other, rapidly dissipated into a chill as you advance through your bedroom door, to deal with the other thing.

Surprise, you thought, What kind of goddamn surprise could mother o'mine have for me? Did she boost a bank? Did she win the Indiana Sweepstakes? I don’t want to know about any g–

“Lorelei.”

The universe has a way of shoving you back in place when you get ahead of yourself.

You don’t just stop in your tracks, you’re repelled a half-step backwards. The centrifugal force urging you away, telling you there’s an immediate threat in the heart of your home.

No one uses that name anymore. Not even him. Not since you were fourteen.

“Daddy.”

Your father sits at the shabby dinette that you and your mother don’t even share meals at, sits there in the suit he was sentenced in. A rich navy pinstripe, chosen because gray would have been too flashy and black would admit defeat. “Of course!” your mother had said, marveling at his ingenuity. But the pantomime of his defense was wearing real thin on you; whispering at school had started growing louder and louder and you were finding more and more chips in the porcelain of your father’s worldly facade.

“Why not compromise. Wear charcoal,” you’d said, leaning against the kitchen counter in Loch Nora, drinking orange juice from your parents’ wedding crystal as the movers taped up your boxes, “You can plead guilty and still look smug about it.”

Your father had smacked the flute from your hand and it shattered in forty thousand pieces on the ground. You didn’t move, didn’t breathe, because you knew if you did, you’d be next.

Navy it was. And navy it is. He sits at that dinette like he’s expecting white jacket service. You swear even more gray has started glimmering through his hair. Flashy.

“Should I ask how you’re here?” you say, stiff and scared. Your mother, standing at your father’s shoulder, tuts and sighs. Can’t you just enjoy this? she silently bemoans.

“Good behavior,” Ray smiles, “Can’t say the same for you. Can I, Lorelei?”

“Principal Higgins called,” your mom chimes in, “Or rather, that odious little secretary called. You think you could get a Saturday detention and they just wouldn’t tell us?”

“That’s why he’s here?” You laugh a little, inwardly. “With all due respect, Daddy, that’s a terrible reason to break out of prison.”

To your surprise, your father chuckles too. Makes your blood run cold, obviously.

“Y’know, I really didn’t anticipate this for my homecoming, I gotta tell you,” he says, shifting in his seat and plucking a cigarillo from his jacket pocket. “I mean, honestly. I thought, a nice bottle of Beaujolais–”

“We’re fresh out,” you gesture to your cringing mother.

“--a dinner at, Christ, Enzo’s, since that’s where our budget is at now,” his lighter flicks and ignites the end, “But no. I have to sit here and cross-examine my daughter about… fraternizing with the lowest of criminal elements.”

The lack of self awareness here is off the fucking charts. It makes your blood pressure spike.

“Take a seat, Lacy,” your father so gallantly gestures to the vinyl backed kitchen chair in front of him, “and tell me all about Eddie Munson.”

Chair drags aggressively against the linoleum. You sit, and swear that the next time you’re caught off guard by anyone’s father, it’d better be God himself.

This bit is getting old.

author's notes: so i'm not fucking around when i say i need to hear everyone's thoughts on what just happened immediately. i really do think that happenings-wise, this was my favourite chapter to write thus far. felt cathartic, from the al munson to the hellfire article of it all. anyway. onto the good stuff - like i feel like everyone who reads this series will have clocked this but of course i lifted the garlic slicing right out of goodfellas. i just think it's a perfect al munson attribute to have - al munson kicking out the jams instead of picking up his kid i know that's right - our dukes of hazzard ref is a tribute to my own personal al munson fancast - not that paris, texas but this paris, texas. (and you know when lacy eventually gets eddie to watch it he CRIES. they both cry) - i should probably put the repo man trailer in here as well - speaking of another fancast! the manager of forest hills trailer park is, of course, to me, in my heart, carl rodd. - the best song off of abbey road by the beatles, fight with the wall - SHOULD WE CALL THE MAYOR - lacy promising eddie that he can ride circles around her on a motor bike is a reference to hunter s thompson being ambushed on canadian television by one of the hells angels he wrote about in his book. dude rolls onto set on his hog. it's crazy. - eddie is kinda gossamer coded - cow tipping? at mccorkle's? anybody? our love is god - god wheels of confusion is kinda horny sounding huh i think that this might be the shortest references recap so far in the series?? one of them anyway. probably because i wrote 4k words of FILTH. anyway, thank you all so much for continuing to read this fucking thing. we're almost at the end of this part of the story which is wild to me. now let me get on your ass and remind you that REBLOGGING FICS IS ESSENTIAL TO YOUR FIC WRITERS HEALTH. SO ARE COMMENTS AND SO ARE ASKS so send those pls :) love you hellcats. be well, cats

#published by powder #hellfire & ice #in progress #e. munson by powder #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x oc #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic

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gasolinerainbowpuddles · 20 days

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𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 · · · · 𝚅𝙸𝙸. 𝙵𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚢 ║ ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡⓔⓓ

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 || 𝚗 𝚊 𝚟 𝚒 𝚐 𝚊 𝚝 𝚒 𝚘 𝚗 || 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!OC/reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | CHAPTER CONTENT: POV switching, inherent power imbalance due to boss/employee dynamic, fucked up family relationships and drama, abusive relationships, tooth aching fluff, everyone is incredibly horny | WORD COUNT: 9k

| CHAPTER SUMMARY: Life at home is the worst it's been in a long time, and you've never felt better.

Winter drags on in the wet, tedious sort of way that it does in Texas. Luckily for you, Joel Miller fills all those dull gaps with his own personal brand of sunshine. Morning kisses when he picks you up. Stopping somewhere to sit and have a morning coffee for 10 minutes and pulling faces when he tastes your overly sweetened caramel flavored drink. Sneaking kisses at the office when no one else is around. Sending flirtier and flirtier texts throughout the day until he comes to pick you up from the office and drives you home.

It’s never been easy to shift from the nebulous bliss of being with him, but lately it’s even more challenging. It’s entirely possible the nature of your relationship advancing has created a stronger attachment and thus a stronger sense of loss when you have to part, but a large component of your misery whenever you have to say goodbye is the heavy, mercurial domestic picture that awaits your return every evening.

Kenzie continues to send texts, but you haven’t responded to any of them. You aren’t sure how to or if you even want to. Apologizing and making amends feels tempting and like the “obvious choice,” but you’ve grown sick and tired of placating and doing all the work to fix things in your relationships, especially when it always seems to be for someone who’s done wrong by you. So, you let it sit, and, before you know it, weeks of ghosting her fly by.

It’s not like you don’t have enough bullshit to deal with already. You do work full time, and when you get home it’s even more of a rotten environment than usual. Your dad has been on edge ever since Calum came to visit. He hadn’t spoken a word about it to you, although you had a feeling he was well aware that you knew exactly what had transpired. Instead of sitting with his own unpleasant feelings and thoughts in the aftermath, your dad had decided he’d rather distract himself from it with heavier drinking and lashing out at you.

Baskets of laundry flipped over because one shirt was “folded wrong.” Every plate in the house broken in half because you left the dishes in the sink from dinner one night. Holes punched into the hallway leading to your bedroom when his sports team lost a big match. Screaming at you until he was red in the face when you forgot to bring the mail in before it started raining.

It was the worst he’d been in a while, but something about Calum’s visit and Joel’s constant peripheral presence gave you the sort of resilience you’d long thought had been leached from you. There was nothing to do except ride this wave out and hope his wedding planning with Denise would start to serve as a distraction to shift focus away from you. She’d been overly eager to start outlining and scheduling right away, and you could tell it surprised your dad in a way that bordered on irritation.

But for now, you had to turn down Joel’s invitations to dinner at his house several times even though it shattered your heart into a million tiny pieces to have to tell him no. Worst of all was his unconditional, forgiving nature about it. You’d just say your dad was “strict” and “in bad moods” because of Calum’s visit. He’d tried pressing the subject once, but you shut it down immediately. It was bad enough having to deal with all this at home. When you were with Joel, you didn’t want to think about all that. Being with him was the only part of your life that wasn’t marred by your home life, and you wanted to keep it that way.

You wish you could tell him every day you’d love to stay for dinner and for bedtime and for all times. He’d mentioned how he “didn’t mean to keep buggin’ you about it” but that his house is quiet these days and he “misses the company.” He’d cringed at himself and laughed. “Christ, that sounds so fuckin’ pathetic.”

You wanted to scream at the top of your lungs how it made you feel warm and appreciated just to be wanted in his presence. To share his personal space with you like it was yours, too. How much you ached for him. How every time you had to say goodbye to him felt infinitely harder than the day before.

You know you’ll get there eventually. Spending as much time as you please with him once you strike out on your own. Away from the toxic homelife keeping you from blooming into more than just a shell of your full potential. Separated enough from the dark cloud hanging around your head to understand how to speak freely and without fear of being abandoned. But, until then, you just have to take it day by day and keep reminding yourself there are good things on the horizon.

Eight times. You’d already turned him down eight times when he asked you to come have dinner with him at his house. Just something casual. No expectations. Just to enjoy each other for a little longer than the end of the work day. He’d only kept asking because you very clearly wanted to say yes. He wasn’t sure why you didn’t. Just another puzzle in the heaping pile of puzzles that already veiled you.

Your brother’s visit had revealed a few things, maybe more than you’d realized, but Joel hadn’t been successful in broaching that topic with you even though he’d tread so carefully in his approach. Your hackles were already raised when he inquired after your brother’s injuries and if they’d healed up. When Joel tried to be sly and ask the same of your father – a roundabout way of indirectly confirming he and Calum and gotten into that bad of a physical altercation – you’d briskly and coolly replied that “everyone was back to normal” and “thanks for asking.”

So, he left it at that, at least outwardly. Inwardly he’d begun to finally admit what’d been subconsciously festering for a while now: your dad was aggressive and volatile, past the point of somebody with a bad temper or an attitude problem. You’d never shown up with any physical indications that someone was hurting you, but Joel wasn’t stupid enough to think that external harm was the only type of mistreatment that could negatively impact someone, especially a parent to their child.

He wanted to get you away from your house as often as he could just because he didn’t know for certain you were truly safe there. If Calum had been on the receiving end of that, what sort of shit was coming your way? What did your dad deem necessary and appropriate when interacting with you? It was driving Joel insane with dread, but he focused his energy on what was within his control instead of worrying himself sick over everything else.

It’s why he’d started sending you goodnight texts that quickly turned into goodnight texts with pictures and sometimes goodnight texts with pictures and a phone call. Sometimes you’d share your screen with him – something he was completely unaware was possible and thus blown away by the concept – and pull up something on a streaming service app. You’d watch a show or part of a movie together and talk and laugh the whole way through.

It was a good way to spend time together, particularly since the opportunity for even moderate physical intimacy was practically nonexistent. Now that he’d had those small facets of you, that small taste of what he was missing, he was ravenous for everything that was you. Luckily for him, you never shied away from taking the lead on that.

10:28 p.m.

Your dad is passed out drunk by now. It should be safe to call Joel without any interruptions. You just hope he’s still awake. You were horny to the point of being antsy, and, while you weren’t sure exactly what it would entail, you knew a call to Joel would help things. The video call rings only a couple of times before his cheesy grin is taking up your screen.

“Hi, handsome,” you purr into your headphones.

“Hi, beautiful,” he greets in return. “You sittin’ in the dark again? Sure wish I could see more of you.”

You tap a low light lamp on your bedside table and dimly illuminate yourself for the call. For Joel.

“Pretty.”

“I, um, I guess I just wanted to call because I wasn’t ready to say goodnight yet,” you admit.

“Me neither,” he says softly. “I’m glad you called. Love seeing your pretty face and hearin’ your voice.”

“What if there was… other stuff that was pretty to look at? And hear?” you propose in a throaty voice.

He perks up at the insinuation immediately. “Yeah? Whatcha got to show me, sweetheart?”

“I was just feeling sort of wound up, I guess, and I thought maybe you could, um, talk to me while I… you know.”

His lip twitches up, devilish and smug. “No idea what you mean. Gonna have to spell it out for me, I guess.”

You huff and roll your eyes, which just makes him chuckle. “When I came over that day and you were saying all that stuff to me, I really liked it. It, um, made me really wet. The stuff you were saying to me.”

Joel groans and tilts his head back. He gets closer to the camera like he can get a better look at you that way. “Yeah? Got you all wet talkin’ about how bad you need me to touch that soaked little pussy of yours?”

You let out a small gasp and nod vigorously. Your hand travels with a mind of its own below your clothes.

“Mmmmm, already touchin’ yourself? Take your panties off and spread out real wide for me.”

You comply and nearly tear your clothing with how forcefully you yank it down and off. You lay on your back and let gravity take your knees to the mattress on either side.

“Lemme see her.”

You hold the phone under the covers and angle it so your glistening arousal catches on the screen. For good measure you ghost a fingertip across your clit and over your entrance to spread the wetness and create more shiny contrast for Joel to gorge himself on.

“Put the other headphone down there,” he husks. “I wanna hear you touch yourself.”

You promptly pluck one of the earphones out and drop it between your legs. You give a test rub and triumph at how well the sound picks up. Joel notices as well and makes a strained throaty sound in response.

“Fuck yeah, that’s so good, sweetheart. Just like that is perfect.”

“Tell me what to do,” you breathe. You don’t want to think about anything. You don’t want to call the shots anymore. You want to hand it over to someone who will do all the decision making for you and turn you out the other side fully satisfied.

“You’re gonna take that finger and rub it right on that pretty little clit. Gonna write out on it who makes you get like this, all needy and wet. I want you to spell it out for me: j-o-e-l. Lemme see you spell it out for me, baby. Out loud so I can hear it.”

You whimper at the simplicity of it that somehow evokes so much command and control. It’s like he’s marking you as his territory without even being in the same room, and it makes the back of your neck prickle and sweat.

“J.”

His breathing is notably heavier as you begin spelling his name.

“O.”

“Nice and round. Just like that.”

“E.”

It’s hard to concentrate on keeping the phone angled so he can see everything, but you do your best.

“L.”

You let out a small sigh and relax your back into the mattress. “I put your name on me, but I know the real thing would’ve felt better,” you pout.

“Soon, okay? I promise real soon I’ll take care of you. For tonight we’re gonna make this work. You tell me what your favorite letter was to write on that pretty little clit of yours.”

“O and L felt really good.”

“Yeah? You do some O’s on it again while I get my cock out for you, okay? Got me fuckin’ hard as a rock over here listenin’ to ya.”

You do as he asks and rub small circles on your sensitive pearl. Your mouth goes a little dry watching him unzip his pants and pull his stiff length from his boxers. Your absentminded swirling grows faster when he grips it and eases vertically in smooth, slow tugs.

“You’re gonna go up and down now when you do L. Now watch me and see how fast I go, and you’re gonna go the same speed, okay?”

“Okay,” you quiver in excitement.

You’ve never done anything like this before, and it’s exhilarating. You study his pace and mimic it on yourself. It’s a heady little exercise to watch him try not to rush, and everything feels like a warm fog around you as he picks up speed.

“Doin’ so good. Just like that. Look at how good you’re doin’ for me. Sound so pretty, too.”

It could be 5 minutes or 5 hours since you started. You’re so locked into following his tempo that time sort of softens and liquifies. The lewd sound of him spitting into his hand for lube takes you right up to the edge, and you tell him so.

“Hang on just a little longer, sweetheart. We’re gonna come at the same time. You just hang on a little longer,” he rasps. Your breathy panting and wet fingering sound loud in your ear, but you can still hear the slick drag of Joel’s fist as he jerks himself faster. His voice sounds ragged and pitched when he speaks now. “Okay, baby. You just – ah fuck – you just keep goin’ until you come for me. Make some pretty – christ – pretty sounds for me to come to, sweetheart. Give me those pretty sounds so I can come for you.”

“You’re gonna make me come,” you whine.

“Keep goin’. Keep talkin’.”

“I’m thinking about if it was your hands instead of mine, and it’s gonna make me come.”

Joel doesn’t get another word in before the hot band in your lower belly snaps. You tuck your head sideways into your pillow to muffle your cries, which becomes much more difficult when you glance at your phone just in time to hear and see him moaning and shooting white ropes of spend.

You stay quiet as you both come down from the intoxicating cloud of each other. You could drift off, peaceful and unaware, right then and there. Joel cleans himself up with some tissues, and, even in a nonsexual context, watching him hold and maneuver himself sends a fresh wave of arousal through you.

“You feel good? Feel better now?”

“Yes,” you hum, all loose and mellowed. “Thank you.”

“Should be thanking you. You’re the one that made the call.”

“Next time’s your turn then,” you titter.

“Next time it’s gonna be in person, and next time instead of your fingers playin’ with that pretty little clit it’s gonna be my tongue spelling it out on you.”

One thing to always be grateful for: Joel Miller doesn’t break his promises.

Some of the downright alarming things Joel has seen and learned about your life recently are apparently of no concern to you. Noticeably more buoyant and lighthearted, you were more touchy, more talkative, more relaxed over the past few weeks, and as much as he’d like to claim it all as his impact, Joel knew a huge factor in your sudden radiant ease was getting to see your brother for the first time in months.

He seemed like a good kid if not a little guarded, but at this point that just seemed to be a familial trait. You’d divulged – or let slip – that he hadn’t texted in all the time he’d been away because your dad had cut off his phone line and left him virtually stranded, and he didn’t know your number to reach out once he got a new line. You’d tensed up immediately after sharing that tidbit, but Joel had known you long enough to understand when he needed to train his emotions and make no sudden reactions or expressions. It sounded a bit callous to respond with “sounds like a pain in the ass,” but it was a better choice than ranting about how your dad sounded like a complete piece of shit who didn’t even deserve the title of father.

You’d relaxed again when that’s all he responded with, and he added it to the growing list of reasons why he had to frequently talk himself out of confronting your dad about what the fuck his problem was and threatening him within an inch of his life if he ever, ever thought about treating you with an iota of the same energy he gave your brother.

And the way Calum had seemed so earnest when saying his goodbyes and declaring his appreciation for Joel’s protectiveness for you, his big brave kind strong sister. It felt like an unspoken moment of gratitude, something deeper and weightier than just what was being said. Between everything that had gone down in your house on New Year’s and whatever had happened New Year’s Eve with your friend, he was surprised if not relieved to see you doing so well. It felt a little selfish to so quickly embrace this burgeoning relationship with you, but he couldn’t deny it felt right more than anything.

And when your file came across his screen when he was double checking stubs for payday, it felt like a sign from the universe that he caught the tiny numbers next to your name that revealed a February birthdate. It was roughly a week and a half away, but that was enough time to plan something for you. He wasn’t sure if Calum would be coming to visit or if your friend from the store would be celebrating with you, so he decided to just go as big as he could without it feeling like too much – just to make sure you were getting the sort of fanfare you deserved without making you feel embarrassed or guilty for being prioritized.

Valentine’s Day was coming up, and he’d been panicking about whether or not he should do something for you. Of course he wanted to, but he wasn’t really sure what was fitting for whatever the two of you had. The last thing he wanted to do was make some big show of his feelings and send you running the opposite direction. Maybe one day you’d let him do that, though. He hoped, at least. He wanted nothing more than to learn every part of you so that he could praise it and show it the reverence he already felt.

He almost blows it a few days leading up to it when he asks if you have any plans for your big day. You skirt around the question, of course – something about not really being the “birthday type,” but he doesn’t believe that for a minute.

“Real believable comin’ from the girl who made me a lemonade cake for my birthday only a few months of knowing each other because she remembered that was the drink I got at her grocery store job every time,” he snorts.

You huff and hide a bittersweet smile. “It’s different when it’s somebody else.”

He nearly told you all the details of his surprise right then and there just so you could know that he saw you for you and wanted to celebrate ever being lucky enough to know you.

“Well, if you don’t have any plans, you care to indulge me with my little gift idea?”

Joel clocks the way you shoot him a dubious look, no doubt thinking back to the numerous Christmas presents he couldn’t help himself from giving you. It makes him feel a strange sense of pride knowing how much that had meant to you. Hopefully lightning could strike twice in the gifting department and this birthday could be as much of a success as Christmas had been.

“Yeah, because you famously do impersonal, thoughtless gifts,” you deadpan.

“Everybody has a different spectrum of gifting, okay?” he chortles. “So, you gonna be nice to me and let me take you somewhere?”

“I dunno. Depends on what you had in mind,” you tease.

He leaves out the finer details but tells you the date and the timeframe, and your face falls. “Oh. I can’t be out that late. My dad wouldn’t let me do that. Thanks for thinking about me, thou–”

“Just tell him you’re stayin’ at your friends like you were on New Year’s Eve. He doesn’t have to know you’re just around the corner.”

It’s a simple enough scheme, and your eyes light up. You know it makes sense, and, best of all, you know it could actually work. He’s relieved you didn’t take it as some loaded, suggestive offer because in all honesty he just wants this birthday idea to work out. If you get to stay in his house overnight again, that’s just the cherry on top.

When he drops you off that evening, the kiss is long and tender. He's more determined than ever to make you see how much you deserve to be celebrated.

You’d been reserved to your loss of doing anything fun for your birthday with your and Kenzie’s falling out. Calum had sent a little text to say happy birthday earlier since he was going to be swamped with work on the actual day. But then Joel had stepped up – a tendency over the last several months that had now formed into a full blown habit of his – and informed you of some “simple, fun” idea he had to celebrate with you. It was a relief to know he hadn’t bought you a gift like he’d done at Christmas because you still hadn’t completely gotten over the weird feelings of guilt over it.

You had never been fond of surprises and had more than your fair share of bad ones in your lifetime to turn you off the concept entirely. But for Joel, you’d let him surprise you with something. He’d earned enough of your trust to have your blessing to do that. It sounded silly when put so simply – I trust you enough to let you spoil me – but it was genuinely how you felt. You knew there was nothing he expected in return, and you were going to try your best to accept the genuine gesture without any feelings of guilt or unease that you weren’t giving something back tenfold.

Accept the affection and attention from a person who solely wants to give them because they care about you. It was a difficult concept that didn't quite resonate in your mind yet, but you were trying.

Your dad had slowly given into the wedding planning with Denise. Her parents and sister had taken an interest in it as well as in him from what you could gather, and that meant it was time to pull out all the stops. Beguile and soft soap them all until they would never suspect the wolf in sheep’s clothing, would never think in a million years this was a man who would readily and without provocation put his hands on those weaker and smaller. Sometimes you felt sick to your stomach knowing what awaited Denise and her kids, but there wasn’t a damn thing you could do about it. You know even if you tried to warn her, she wouldn’t believe you.

You weren’t going to dwell on any of that tonight, though. A gift of grace from the universe left you in your house alone to get ready and pack an overnight bag. It also left your thoughts in overdrive trying to figure out where and what this “simple, fun” gift was going to be. Joel had said to wear something comfortable “but not like pajamas or anything.” It was as helpful as it was vague, so you opted for a comfortable t-shirt and some wide legged lounge pants that were probably pajama bottoms but whatever.

Kenzie still had all your best pair of jeans at her house since you’d never gone back to get your stuff left behind. Her dress and tights as well as your bra and panties from that night were still somewhere floating around Joel’s house. You’d have to grab them tonight. Maybe you could mail her things back to her, and she’d return the favor.

Joel’s truck barely shifts into park before you’re bounding down the front steps and wrapping yourself around him.

“Hi, birthday girl,” he greets with a warm, tight hug.

“It’s technically not until two days from now.”

“Okay, then it’s a three day affair. Party starts tonight and doesn’t stop ‘til 12:01 the day after your birthday.”

You grin and giggle, planting a soft kiss on his chin and jaw. “What happened to ‘simple’?”

“Gotta adapt to the times, Pluck. Things change, and now we’re turnin’ this into a full blown event.”

You groan and shuffle to the passenger’s side where Joel cuts you off and opens it for you. He takes your bag and loads it up and doesn’t let you get out of the car when he drops it off at his house before heading out to the mystery location. It’s about 10 minutes of driving before you realize his energy has shifted into something uncertain and nervous.

“So, listen,” he starts and clears his throat. “Your birthday bein’ all close to Valentine’s Day — well, it sorta – it’s kinda ended up a little romantic themed, but I don’t mean for – I don’t want you to feel like it’s a — I don’t want you to feel pressured like it’s a date or anything, okay?”

You force down the pitched cackle that’s threatening to burst from your chest. That is what he’s so worried about? That it might be too romantic? That it might be so thoughtful and tender-hearted that it was unmistakably intimate?

“Well what if I wanted it to be a date? What then?”

His head practically turns off its axis with how fast it whips your direction. He’s never looked so excited and jubilant in all the time you’ve known him.

“Yeah?” he breathes.

“Yeah,” you giggle. “So, is it a date?”

“I guess it’s a date then, sweetheart.” His cheeks go round and flushed with delight as he beams.

You faintly recognize the shopping center that the truck just passed, but you can’t remember what all is out this way. You’re in the parking lot of the “fancy cinema” before you recognize where Joel is taking you.

“Alright, birthday girl. We’re gonna go inside and get some popcorn and whatever else, and then we’re gonna go grab our seats,” he informs you brightly.

“We’re gonna go see a movie? What are we gonna go see?” You’re excited to know what kind of movie Joel picked out for you.

“Well, not just one movie. It’s a special double feature with an intermission in between and everything. Figured we’d make a whole night of it since this is the Year of Movies for you.”

“Really?” you squeak.

“Yep. They’re a little older, but they’re good. I’ve seen both of them, but it’s been a long time. Pillow Talk is first and then it’s Some Like It Hot for the second one. I think it’s about an hour and a half for the first one and then a little break before the second one, which I think the site said is a little over two hours runtime.”

“This is amazing,” you gasp. “I didn’t even know we had something like this around here.”

“Yeah? You like it?”

“You weren’t even joking when you said this was going to be a whole event. This is so… I can’t even believe— I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m so excited! Thank you, baby!” you gush.

You lean across the seat and draw him into a brisk, intense kiss. You pull away and plant several pointed pecks on his cheeks and jaw and chin for good measure.

“You called me baby,” he notes in a soft, low voice. “You’ve never called me anything but my name before.”

“Oh, is that okay? I didn’t even realize I said that.”

“I liked it,” he admits sheepishly.

“Well, baby, let’s get outta this car before we miss our double feature,” you croon.

He chuckles a little and kisses your cheek before hopping out of the truck and coming around to your side to open your door for you. It’s almost dizzying how floaty you feel walking next to him. There was something about just being out and about with him like this so publicly, how freely and easily he wrapped his arm around you, and you don’t even care if you run into somebody you know. A fellow Miller Construction employee, an old coworker from the grocery store, or even your dad. It felt like it didn’t matter if someone saw you. It didn’t matter whether their reaction would be friendly or hostile or favorable or neutral or dismissive. It didn’t matter because Joel was with you, and, even if you couldn’t exactly say how, you just know down to your bones that he would face it head on and handle it for you both, no questions asked.

There’s a sort of implied promise of safeguarding with Joel that makes your brain feel quiet and sharp, like it can fully receive information and expunge all the burdensome, defunct neural pathways that were forged in all the years of stress and loss and fear you experienced prior to knowing him. Mental faculties refreshed and favoring clean new circuitry that optimized your well-being and happiness.

You sip on the bubbly, bright Coke he got for you to share as he grips a comically large bucket of popcorn in one hand and various sweets in the other. This place is like no theater you’ve ever seen before, and you start to wonder if this actually was a super expensive gift after all. When you see the dual pod reclining seats and swiveling side tables, you know without a doubt this costs way more than your average movie date night.

There are a handful of middle aged couples dotted throughout the gorgeous theater space, but it’s mostly older couples filling the seats. You’re the youngest person in the room by a longshot. When you locate your seats, Joel pauses and looks over the middle armrest separating the seats. You wordlessly lean forward and push it back, making for one large space without any barriers.

You get situated in your seats and play with all the buttons to see what they do. Joel watches on, amused and smiley, and nibbles on popcorn. You finally settle on partially reclining for both of you so you can still snack. The lights flicker and dim, and the first film starts.

“Can we cuddle?” you whisper.

He grins ear to ear and answers by way of wrapping an arm around you and pulling you snug into his side, his other hand coming to rest on top of yours in your lap. He kisses your temple and takes the pieces of popcorn you feed to him.

The movie is funny and silly even if you don’t entirely understand all the references and older technology mentioned and used. By how mellow and cuddly you both are, you’d think that was your hundredth time having an evening out like this. There was something familiar and comforting about being with Joel, and the lack of pressure or nerves about it all the entire time had you thinking Pillow Talk might just end up being your favorite movie after this because how could you not be biased now that it was associated with something so lovely?

You both get up to stretch and use the bathroom during intermission. Joel finishes first because for some reason there’s never a line in the men’s room, but he’s waiting in the hallway for you when you get out. He wraps you into a tight hug and kisses on you before walking you back to the theater. This feels like the soft launch of your relationship, and it’s hard to not get ahead of yourself with what it meant and why and how it already felt so fucking good and right.

The second movie is another lighthearted feature with solid comedic elements. You burrow and snuggle into Joel’s side this time around, hand rubbing gently across the little pouch of his belly that’s overfilled with popcorn and soda and small chocolate candies. His thumb traces your arm in gentle lines, and you can feel his whole chest vibrate when he laughs. You can’t help but look up at him a few times with a mawkish grin, which he uses as an excuse to dip his head down to kiss you.

Despite the literal hours and hours of movies you’d just sat through, you don’t feel tired in the slightest. Raw energy emanates from you, and you know Joel must feel it, too. You spend the drive back to his house thanking him roughly a million times for such a wonderful birthday and perfect gift. He basks in the influx of positive feedback and appreciation, so you make sure to lay it on as thick as he’ll tolerate.

He’s got a bounce in his step as he walks around to get your door for you. You don’t make it all the way inside his house before you’re already asking if you can stay in his bed with him tonight instead of the guest bedroom like you’d planned.

“Of course,” he huffs in disbelief. “If I ever say no to somethin’ like that, haul my ass to the doctor because somethin’ would be seriously wrong with me.”

He carries your bag upstairs for you, and your chest pounds with errant heartbeats as you pass the guest room and head for his bedroom. You creep up behind him and run your hands over his hips and towards his groin.

“I’m not really tired,” you say soft and suggestively.

“No? You need somethin’ to help get you all relaxed so you sleep?” he returns, none too intent on hiding the darkened want dripping from his words now.

“Kinda wanted to see your dick again,” you hum. “Feel it in my hand again.”

“Oh?” He turns his head sideways to gauge your unexpected admission.

You nod firmly and rub your palm over where his pants have tented and are now straining against his hardening bulge. “Can’t stop thinking about it.”

That much was true. Perhaps a burning curiosity now that you had a male partner, you’d begun imagining all the things you could learn to make him feel good, to touch him in just the right way that makes him cry out for you louder than any other partner he’s had in the past. You might’ve rubbed his name all over yourself at his instruction, but he wasn’t the only one with a possessive side.

“Maybe we could get undressed for bed, and…” you trail off and shrug.

He turns around completely to face you and crowds your body. “Just said you weren’t tired,” he points out cheekily.

“Beds aren’t just for sleeping.”

He concedes to that and runs his hands under the hem of your shirt, pausing for a moment for you to give him the go ahead, and gently pushes it up until it’s over your head and forgotten on the floor. He repeats the action on himself and focuses his attention to undoing your bralette.

“This okay?” he checks.

“Yes,” you say firmly so he knows you want it, no doubts and no hesitation.

He continues on like this - an item of clothing off you followed by the same item of clothing off him - until you’re both bare. You can’t decide what you want to touch first and more of, so your hands just end up traversing his body in frantic little passes. He’s much more methodical – and proficient – when it comes to you. Teasing his thumbs across your hardened nipples, cupping your ass in his warm palm and squeezing it, nosing at your temple, neck, and ears.

You settle onto the bed together, and his deliberate exploration of your body has your mind going blank. He pairs sensual caresses with attentive kneading, and the combination has your entire body feeling like a willow tree in the wind. Before you can’t think of anything other than what he’s doing to you, you prop yourself up and bid for his attention.

“Can I put it in my mouth?” you ask softly.

“Yeah? That what you want?” he groans. “ You wanna taste your first cock, sweetheart?”

“Mmmhhhhhmmmm, yes. Can I?”

“Okay, go ahead.” He lays back and cups your face, tenderly caressing it for a moment, and looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky. “It’s all for you.”

The assertion that his patent arousal and carte blanche invitation was all yours sent an intoxicating, simmering thrill through you. It’s just the sort of endorsement you need to delve into this new sort of sexual experience and not be so in your head about it. You shimmy down, planting chaste little kisses along his chest as you work your way to his stiff length, and let yourself pause at the thicket of coarse hairs surrounding the base. You breathe in the scent of him – a concentrated, earthier smell of his usual aroma – and gently run your fingers from base to tip.

You look up at him and feel a rush of power when you see his face already warping into a pleasured frown and pinched brow. You hold his gaze and draw tiny kitten licks all the way up to his cockhead. His breath hitches when you lick at the topmost portion of the underside, so you do it again. He can’t look away as you round out your lips and slowly sink them over his tip before just as slowly drawing them back up with a little bit of suction.

You can already tell you’re not going to be able to fit much of him into your mouth. Maybe with a little practice and just getting used to the sensation, but not a viable option today. You work the rest of what you can’t fit into your mouth with your hand and switch out suckling his tip with messily tonguing at it and the slit. You soak in the small sounds of surrender he’s making and try to just let your instinct guide you to make him feel good.

“Look so pretty,” he husks. “What’re you thinkin’ about?”

You could try to save face and lie, but it didn’t feel right to do that. It was feeling less and less right to ever not be completely honest with Joel. “I know I’m supposed to inflate your ego by saying how big you are, but you’re actually — like, you really are big, Joel,” you point out a little bluntly. “How the hell do people do this and not have their jaw hurt the rest of the day?”

He laughs under his breath and brushes some stray hair away from your eyes. “S’okay, sweetheart. You just show me your best. Just wanna see those lips wrapped around it. Don’t gotta take all of it at once.” You nod, and he grins like an imp. “Not today, at least.”

He’s teasing, of course, but for some reason it makes you want to learn how to take him to the hilt. You flatten your tongue and take him down until your gag reflex threatens to go off. Your eyes are watering by the third time, but you don’t look away from Joel.

“Christ, you can’t look at me like that when I’m in your mouth,” he groans. “Gonna make me come way too fast lookin’ up at me like that.”

“Like what?” you breathe, a little teasing and a little turned on by his admission.

“Like you–christ– like you wanna tell me thank you just for lettin’ you suck it.”

“Like I really, really like it?” you tease. “Like it’s all I’ve been thinking about doing since I first saw how hard you get for me?”

His brow pulls in a pained sort of bliss, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. You take him in your hand slowly while you talk.

“Because I have. I’ve been thinking about touching it. And licking it.” You accentuate your words with a flit of your tongue around the slit. His eager responsiveness to your talking gives you the confidence to keep going.

“Thought about how big it’s gonna feel inside me but I don’t even care. I just want you to fill me up with it and stretch me out on it. I know you’ll make it feel so good for me.”

“Oh fuck, yeah. Ah, fuck, I would make that tight little pussy feel so good takin’ my cock, baby.”

You moan and mouth at the underside of his cockhead, letting the fat tip of him smear and bob across your lower face. You think he might just enjoy seeing how messy and uninhibited you get when you’re lost in the buzz of sucking him off.

“You’re so warm and hard. Feels so nice in my hand. I wanna know what it’s gonna feel like to have it inside me,” you say, sounding a little out of breath and needy. “I get wet sometimes just thinking about it, ever since I watched you on the couch that first time. I wanted to know what you tasted like after you were done and it got all over our hands.”

“Christ you gotta—” he grits. His hands are clenched into fists on either side of him, bunched up fabric caught up in his grasp. “Since when have you had a mouth like this on you? Jesus fuckin’ christ.”

“I like you watching me. I like you seeing how much I want this. You taste so good.” You spit loudly onto his cock and mouth at his balls for good measure but decide to pull away from them when the sensitivity and movement of them are a little too foreign for you to feel confident focusing on when he’s this close to climaxing. You flatten out your tongue and run it up and down his length while you work his tip in wet circles with a strong turn of your wrist.

“Thank you for letting me suck your cock, Joel,” you murmur in a syrupy, coy tone. You bat your eyes for good measure and continue getting as much slobber as you can onto him so the noises are louder and louder with each suck or tug.

“Ohhh ffucckkkkkk.�� He’s writhing and panting, and you want to give him that final push to where he can’t hold back any longer.

“I want you to fuck me raw so I can feel you come inside me,” you moan. “I wanna feel your cum drip out of me, baby.”

His eyes snap to yours, and then his whole face is pulling and contorting as you lick and suckle along the underside of his cock. Hot ropes of his seed splash onto your face, but you keep your mouth open as wide as it will go so you can wiggle your tongue side to side on him. He’s making the most incredible sounds you’ve ever heard, and it resets something in your brain. You know you want to hear those same exact sounds as many times as humanly possible.

“Wow,” you breathe when he finally starts to come down. “That was incredible.”

“God dammit I didn’t mean to come that quick,” he hisses. “Snuck up on me. You’re a damn devil in angel’s clothing, holy shit. Talkin’ like that and lookin’ at me like that.”

His flushing is attributable to his release, but you also recognize a delightful little nugget: he’s slightly abashed at orgasming so quickly. When he’s walking back from the bathroom with some hand towels to clean you up, you catch him muttering to himself about get a fuckin’ grip, Joel. Considering this was your first attempt at a blowjob, you are admittedly proud of how fast he unraveled.

“Well look who’s pleased as punch,” he snorts. “Over there with that shit eating grin.”

You giggle and cover your face but don’t deny you’ve got a sense of pride at making him come so easily. He playfully pulls you to the end of the bed, and you squeal in surprise and delight. “Yeah, real proud of yourself now, but we’ll see who’s laughin’ when I get back to business down there,” he laughs.

He gently wipes your face clean of his spend and huffs a laugh when you’re lying there beaming up at him.

“You sure you never done that before?”

“Positive,” you chirp. “But I’m glad that out of anybody it was you.”

“Now you’re just tryna soothe my bruised ego,” he chuckles.

“No, I mean it. And… I mean, if there was other stuff we could do that was new for me… I wouldn’t say no to that,” you extend. You roll your hips against him and relish the stifled groan that vibrates through his chest.

“Well, coupla things gettin’ in the way of takin’ it there,” he says after a beat, like he’s trying to let you down gently.

You deflate a little at the rejection, now feeling a tinge of embarrassment yourself, until he clarifies that it’s nothing to do with not wanting it.

“First off, I just came. A lot. So, with guys it’s different. It takes a while to, uh, ‘get operable again’, if you know what I mean,” he explains.

“Oh, I– Sorry, I didn’t realize—”

He’s waving your apology off and continuing on before you can expose just how inexperienced you are with men. The last thing you want to do is come across as naive and incompatible with him. “Trust me, if it was up to me, I’d already have your legs thrown over my shoulder and be drilling down into you, sweetheart.”

Your lips part slightly at the mental image, and he grins knowingly.

“And then there’s also the fact that I don’t have any protection, but I can, you know, I can pick some up soon if you’re feeling like — if you’re sure you’re ready for that. No rush at all, though. There’s no pressure, okay?”

“I want to,” you insist.

His expression is tender and amused with an edge of sleepiness. “Okay, sweetheart. Then we will,” he promises. “I’ll pick some up soon, and we’ll take that step.”

“Okay,” you pout.

“Lemme make it up to you in the meantime,” he suggests, crawling into bed with you and running a hang up your inner thigh and making you gasp.

He takes you apart in his mouth, spelling out his name just like he promised, and it’s him you dream about that night when you’re curled up into the swell of his broad chest.

Something hard and insistent prods at your thighs and finally stirs you awake. The sun hasn’t come up all the way yet. The heavy scent of Joel fills your nostrils when you take a deep breath. Sleeping next to him in his room was ecstasy on an entirely different level, a rehabilitation for your nervous system if there ever was one. You’re very much awake now when you realize just what it is that you’re feeling pressed against you.

You stay on your side as you were when you woke, but you turn your head enough to see the gentle rise and fall of Joel’s chest. He was still knocked out with no indication that he’d be conscious any time soon. He’s not on his side, but he is angled towards you enough that his hardon continues to make direct contact. You turn in nimble, measured movements so as to not disturb him until you’re facing him completely. Your eyes are drawn to the hefty length of him, thick and resting on his thigh.

You reach a hand down and curl around it with featherlight touch. He shifts slightly but doesn’t wake. You get a firm hold and give an experimental stroke. This garners a stronger, definitive response. His forehead and eyebrows twitch and wiggle, mouth drifting open a little and making small, silent shapes. Heartened by the effect you have over him, you stroke a little faster and study his face for any changes.

He lets out a soft grunt and subconsciously ruts towards the friction. He’s got a sour little shape to his mouth now as he becomes half-conscious of his surroundings and fully hard.

“Mmmmmm, what’reyoudoin’?” He sounds groggy, voice thick with sleep and dazed arousal.

“Woke up to it,” you whisper throatily. “Looked like it needed a little attention.”

He sighs and opens his eyes, and they twinkle back at you with something challenging and playful. “You decided to give a helpin’ hand, huh?”

“Hand. Mouth. I’ll give you whatever you want,” you murmur.

“Missin’ a couple orifices for that list to be complete,” he chuckles. His eyes are resting shut, still not entirely awake for the day, but a big grin spreads on his mouth. That is, until you say to hell with it and resort to begging.

“Can you fuck me without a condom? Just once? Please? I wanna feel you so bad. Please, Joel. Please.”

His eyes are wide open now and darkened by your shameless appeal. “We really shouldn’t…..” Even he doesn’t sound convinced.

“I won’t ask again,” you promise, doing your best to not sound too let down. “Sorry. I just keep thinking about it.”

He studies your face for a moment, and the flicker of a decision dances on his own. “Maybe just once. Right? Just for your birthday. Just a little gift for your birthday, just this once, okay?” he rambles, sounding eager in the way his voice pitches up the longer he speaks. You nod, a yes yes yes whispered, and resume stroking his now leaky cock.

He’s quickly between your legs and making out with your pussy. It’s only been a handful of times, but he works you like he already knows every little spot you like and every little tell you have. You come when he adds a second finger. He wipes his glistening mouth and chin on the sheets and crawls back up your body like a cat on the prowl.

“Think you’re ready?”

“Yes, please. I can’t wait any more. Please.”

He notches himself at your entrance and holds your eye as he begins pushing inside. You’d expected more of a painful sensation, but it doesn’t go past slight discomfort and stinging as you adjust. Joel looks worse for wear as he tries to keep a level head and not go too fast.

God you feel so good and so warm and fuckin’ soft and fuckin’ chokin’ me spill from his lips as he feeds you his cock inch by inch until he’s fully seated inside you. You whimper at the stretch and fullness, clawing at him to hold you closer while your body accommodates him. He obliges and cradles you against him. It’s overwhelming in the best of ways feeling him above you, inside you, all around you.

He slips a finger between your legs to work your clit and help you fully relax around him, and you’re both caught off guard when the simple motion elicits an orgasm. You’re making insane noises, you’re sure of it, but you don’t care. The sensation of clamping down onto him is otherworldly. He himself is making little grunting noises of effort – to not move or to not come, you’re not sure.

The spasming begins to subside, but you can’t stop whimpering. It only worsens when Joel starts to shift his hips and gently fuck into you. Your head snaps back the first time the drag of his cock gets plunged all the way back inside you.

“Feels good, huh? Comin’ all over me just from a little touch. Coming just because you’ve got this fat cock in you, huh?” he goads. “You gonna choke my cock again, sweetheart? Gonna come all over this cock again once I start fucking you just how you wanted?”

You speak, but it’s mostly just babbled whines. You tilt your hips slightly and cry out when the change of position gives him an open range of motion.

“There you go, there you go,” he rambles. “Takin’ it raw, aren’t you? Didn’t want anything else for your birthday, did you? Just wanted to open up this cock and have me shove it into this tight fuckin’ pussy. Never had a cock before and now she can’t get enough.”

He bends his head and latches onto a peaked nipple, and you’re gone. Your entire body seizes up with the force of your climax, and you swear your vision goes flat for half a second. Joel fights against the drowning clutch and pull of your cunt as he hastily pulls out and finishes on your mound with a gravelly moan.

By the time you both regain enough energy to speak, the sun is fully in the morning sky. Joel convinces you to get up so you can shower together and eat breakfast. He tends to you every step of the way of your blissful morning together.

Yeah, you could get used to this.

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@jupiter-soups @heartstoptrying @beelzebeth87 @copperhalfcent @gay4magnetobutfanfiction

@ficrecreblo @witchy-and-persnickity @lyuir @indiegirlunited

#fic: chrysalism #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller au #joel miller x reader #joel miller x oc #hurt/comfort #pedro pascal characters #joel miller smut #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fluff

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gaybananabread · 2 months

Text

♪*✧⁠Ramshackle Day Off✧⁠*♪

~It’s official: I’ve gained yet another hyperfixation. I absolutely LOVED the pilot for Ramshackle; the trash goblins grabbed my focus. So, as with all my faves, they’re getting the special treatment. If this is your flavor of interest, I hope you Enjoy!~

Lee: Stone

Lers: Skipp, Vinnie

Summary: Stone’s having one of his emo moments, feeling down and not even cracking his usual half-smile. Skipp and Vinnie decide to help, using the one method they know will always cheer up their grungy friend.

Warnings: alcohol/cigarettes mentioned! This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!!

In their slum alley, the three lovable scraps lounged about, enjoying one of the very few days where they didn't have to fight to survive.

Vinnie had hit the motherload that morning in a dumpster: an entire case of Hickory Smoked Beans, just past their expiration date. It was a Ramshackle miracle.

Since they didn't have to forage for money or food, the trio could take a sort of off-day. While Vinnie and Skipp were lounging and making the most of it, Stone couldn't help but feel morose.

Sure, they had enough food for a few days. But what happens after that? What would they do when they ran out and had to go back to their normal pattern? What if they couldn't get enough, and not even shoes could sustain them?

He'd usually just chug a bit of liquor to calm those thoughts, but it didn't seem to be doing much. Life felt…impossibly meaningless. Like no matter how hard they tried, the universe would continue to put them in their place at the very bottom.

Stone had a particular look when he got into those moods. His eyes seemed distant, he sighed more, and a bottle of some cheap, scavenged liquor was always nearby.

While looking for some fabric to patch his newest jacket hole, Skipp noticed his friend's sullen attitude. It wasn't a rare sight, by any means, but it still worried him to see Stone so upset.

“Hey…you alright, Stone? You seem kinda out of it.” Skipp kept a respectful distance, not knowing if his friend was in a touch-positive mood or not. He extended a hand to silently ask if touch was okay. Stone shrugged, taking a swig from his mystery bottle.

“Aren’t we all? ‘re we ever really in it, or are we jus’ waitin’ for death to find us and put us in our final place?”

“Uh…okay?” Skipp patted the emotional man’s head before scooting away, going to find Vinnie. She would know what to do…probably.

Vinnie was lounging on one of their make-shift nests when Skipp found her. She groaned, stretching as she sat up from the pile of ratty blankets and coats.

“What is it now? Today’s supposed to be relaxing,” she whined, running a hand through her unruly hair. Skipp pointed to their drunken, miserable-looking friend. “Stone’s in a sad mood again.”

“Fuckin’...course he is. The one damn day we get off…” Vinnie grumbled, dramatically hauling herself completely out of her semi-comfortable nest. “He okay with touch?”

After the blonde nodded, she marched over to Stone, waving for him to do the same. Instead of greeting him, she straddled the dejected man, squeezing his hips.

“GRK- Vihihinnie! W-whahat the hehell?!” Stone dropped his bottle, hands flying to grab Vinnie’s wrists. He was drunk, though, so his fight wasn’t a very effective one.

Skipp blushed, his eyes widening. Vinnie’s fix was…tickling him? The optimistic guy never could handle watching tickle fights without getting flustered, but now…

It looked fun from both perspectives, and Stone was quite upset. He was pretty sure his mind would behave and let him wreck his friend for one.

“Isn’t it obvious? We’re cheering you up!” Even though his cheeks were still rosy, Skipp joined in, spidering his short nails on Stone’s kneecaps. It would almost certainly come back to haunt him later, but he didn’t really mind; that was a sort of bonus.

“Yep. It’s too good of a day for that depressing bullshit. You need to learn how to smile, ya mopey shit.” Vinnie was a bit less sweet, but there was a kindness in her salty words. She really cared for Stone, even if he was a depressing asshole sometimes.

“Guhuhuys! Fuhuck ohohohoff!” Stone squirmed and twisted under Vinnie, feeling the four evil hands on him. He squeezed Vinnie’s wrists, though he wasn’t exactly trying to shove her off. This wasn't lost on his friends.

“Aww, you like this, don’t you?” Surprisingly, Skipp was the one to tease him. It wasn’t exactly meant to be one, but that’s what it felt like to the giggling man. He groaned through the happy sound, covering his face with one hand.

“Holy shit, Skipp. I think you’re right!” Vinnie chuckled, though she already knew that was the case. It was hardly the first time she’d used the method to get Stone to quit moping, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last. He needed to smile more.

“Wonder what happens if I go here…” Vinnie clawed at the back of Stone’s ribs, making him snort and start cackling. It was his worst spot, and she knew it. “Oh. That. How cute!”

Was that a bit mean? Maybe, yeah, but Stone seemed like he was writing gothic poetry that morning. The shithead needed to laugh that Ramshackle sadness off.

“’M NOHOHOT CUHUTE!” Stone was practically losing it at that point. Skipp had decided to move to the undersides of his knees. That combined with the backs of his ribs was almost more than he could handle. Almost.

“VIHIHINNY! GEHE’ OHOHOHOFF’A THEHEHERE!” Stone writhed, arching his back to try and avoid her fingers. He kicked his legs, but that was pretty much useless when she was on his thighs. Skipp had free reign of his lower body, and Vinnie was practically unstoppable up top.

“But I like it here! You look like Maggot with all that squirming, dude.” She mentioned their angelic friend, trying to get him blushing more. His cheeks were pink, but Vinnie wanted more. She knew how red he could get.

“Oh yeah, he does!” Out of Stone’s view, Skipp giggled, making Stone groan. That little ball of sunshine just had to comment on everything, didn’t he? Stone cared for him, of course; he just wanted to lovingly strangle him sometimes.

“You know what eats maggots, Stone?” He flipped the blonde off, but Skipp didn’t mind. The next few seconds would make up for that. “Jumping spiders!”

Skipp clawed his hands, switching spots every few seconds to spider each area on his legs. It was kinda dumb, but scientifically accurate. That, and it tickled like crazy.

“SKIHIHIHPP! IHIHI- PFFAHAHAHA!” All protests died, swallowed up in loud, throaty cackles. His nerves were practically on fire, his thoughts drowned out by his own laughter. It was finally too much.

“EHEHENOHOUGH!” Stone yelled through his mirth, patting Vinnie’s shoulder. She immediately pulled away, Skipp following suit. Vinnie climbed off, giving him a second.

Stone immediately curled in on himself, turning into a giggly pill bug as he recovered. “F-fuhuhuck youhu guhuhuhuys…”

Vinnie chuckled, used to his profanities. She knows they usually mean he had fun, but was still a bit salty. Skipp, however, was concerned they’d crossed a line. “Stone? Did we go too far?”

The man huffed, swallowing another bout of giggles. His composure was mostly back, the thin line of his lips showing a ghost of a smile. “Nah, yohou’re fine. Youhu suck, thohough.”

Rolling her eyes, Vinnie nudged the giggly man’s shoulder. “Ah, whatever. You were being a downer, and you know it.”

Stone lovingly flipped her off and grumbled something under his breath. Skipp pulled both of them into a hug, and for once, Stone didn’t pull away. He’d never admit it, but the embrace felt nice at that moment.

“C’mon, guys. Let’s enjoy our day off!” Skipp’s attitude remained bright as ever. Stone opened his mouth to argue, but huffed and shook his head.

“Fine. I’m taking Vinnie’s nest.” Stone sauntered over to the pile of cloth, smirking at Vinnie’s near-instant outrage.

“Hey! Get your own rags, Nevermore!” The two started playfully wrestling, fighting over the nest Skipp knew they’d end up sharing. He leaned against the wall of the slum alley, watching his friends and taking in the happiness they both now felt.

Yep. Perfect Ramshackle day off.

#ramshackle tickle #lee!stone #ler!skipp #ler!vinnie #ticklish!stone #sfw tickling community #tickle #tickle fic #ramshackle #sfw tickles

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marvelfilth · 3 months

Text

AKA Shut up and listen

Pairing: Jessica Jones x f!reader

Warnings: alcohol consumption, self-deprication

Summary: you love Jess, Jess doesn't get why

Masterlist

"So... This is it?" you mumble, your gaze pinned to the roach on the wall to your left.

You really shouldn't be disappointed - you heard enough of Jess' grumbling whenever she came back from a hideout with too many compromising pictures on her camera and too much alcohol on her breath.

So, yeah, it's all your fault, since it was you who begged her to take you with her, just to get a taste of that PI life.

"Yes." She opens the window, letting some fresh air flow into the tiny motel room.

"Cool," you sigh and search the room for a safe place to sit. Unfortunately, the entire place looks like a biohazard, so you have no choice, but to settle on the edge of the single bed.

Your hesitation doesn't escape Jess' watchful eye. "You realize you'll have to sleep here, right?" Jessica drawls. She's sitting on the windowsill, her flask clutched between her fingertips. She raises her eyebrows at your silence and you shake your head, feeling hot all of a sudden. Lately, it's been happening too often - her looking at you far longer than a friend should, and you flushing under her heavy gaze.

"You said it won't take long," you mumble, turning away to hide your burning cheeks with your hair.

"It won't. Twenty hours top." She shrugs, taking off her leather jacket to reveal her toned arms, your eyes zeroing in on the muscles hidden under her soft skin.

"Great," you sigh.

The roach on the wall moves closer to you and you have to fight the urge to stamp it down with your shoe.

It probably has a family somewhere.

"You don't have to stay. I can call Trish, she'll pick you up. She can take you somewhere fancy."

Your eyes roll at the obvious attempt at getting rid of you. You know she likes you enough to tolerate you for at least a day, but you also know she prefers to work alone. Even Trish never gets to tag along.

"You know I like you more."

“Really?” She husks sarcastically around the neck of her flask.

“Yes.”

Another roach crawls from under the bed, making you squeak and jump off it. Jessica rolls her eyes, gesturing around you. “This. This is me.”

You blink. Then blink again. “A roach?”

She hums, turning to look outside and taking another swing from her flask. “Yep. A roach, dirty motel, cheap booze - all me. Doesn't seem like your thing.”

You huff, crossing your arms, your shoulders suddenly tense. “Luckily for me, you're more than cheap booze, and shitty motels, and roaches. So yeah, you're my thing.”

She tilts her head, her dark eyes brimming with exhaustion from countless sleepless nights spent chasing leads, but there's a flicker of something, something important. It's gone faster than you can place it, and she turns back to the window, lifting her camera, and covering her face from your scrutiny.

“Get us some food, yeah?” She whispers, pretending to focus on the streets below.

You let out a frustrated huff, but nod nonetheless, leaving in search of something edible.

You come back a little over half an hour later, a paper bag full of takeout clutched tightly against your chest, your heart still racing after a ride with a sketchy man on a sketchy elevator.

Jessica startles you with a question.

“You okay?”

Her body is halfway out of the window, facing the building across the street, but her eyes are pinned to you. The flask lies empty on the windowsill.

“Peachy,” you mumble, pushing a container into her hand. “Eat it all or no booze for two days.”

She frowns, eyeing you warily. “Don't bullshit me.”

You smile, humming, and nudge Jess to make space for you on the windowsill. You dig into the food, almost moaning at the rich flavor, and note with pride that Jessica seems to enjoy it too.

“Not bad,” she says around a forkful. “Not as good as your famous lasagna-”

You shove her before she can finish her thought.

“Jess!”

Her brow arches in question, and she keeps a serious expression for all three seconds before the corners of her mouth jump up in a fleeting smile. “What? I liked it.”

You groan, pushing the food around. She'll never let you forget it. And to think that you were just being a caring friend, spending all day perfecting a recipe you found online, chasing down Jess, and making her eat some of it.

“Just a little less salt next time,” she says, leaning back against the wall, her eyes on you.

You shake your head, cheeks burning in embarrassment.

The evening is settling in, the warm glow of the sun seeping away, giving way to the chilly breeze. You shudder, goosebumps littering your bare arms, and consider moving to the bed, or maybe wrapping yourself in a blanket. You eye it warily - it's thin, its color washed away and even from here you can see some of the stains.

You jump up when a weight settles over your shoulders, a familiar scent of leather enveloping you. When you turn to look at Jess, instead of looking away like you thought she would, she looks at you, head-on.

“Thanks,” you whisper, pushing your arms through the sleeves. “You're not cold?”

She shakes her head no, pushing her food around. “Looks good on you.”

“Yeah?” You look down at your lap, fingers fidgeting. The air grows heavy.

She reaches inside her bag and takes out another flask.

“I'm no good for you, you know?” she says after gulping at least a quarter of it.

You look up, startled.

“I'm an asshole with a drinking problem. You deserve better.”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. “You’re not an asshole.”

She snorts, and finishes the flask in quick gulps before carelessly throwing it to the floor.

“Jess.”

She hums.

“You're not an asshole.”

“I heard you the first time.”

You huff, and pull the take out box out of her hands before gently setting both of your food on the nearby table. “Jessica,” you start, squaring your shoulders. “I need you to listen to me very carefully.” She rolls her eyes, but turns to face you nonetheless. You can tell she's ready to bolt or at least deflect, but you won't let her. Not this time, the conversation is long overdue.

You take her hand in yours, fiddling with her slender fingers. “You’re one of the best people I've ever met, Jess-” the scoff that follows is expected “-yes, you are!” You insist, giving her hand a sharp tug. “You're brave, and selfless, and kind-”

“I’m an unreliable, unstable alcoholic with a fucked up head,” she growls, jumping off her seat. “I'm not kind or brave. I don't do nice things. I'm not nice, period. I have a hole in my wall and more empty bottles than cutlery. I haven't washed my jeans in two months. I- fuck, sometimes I can't even look at you without thinking about you leaving, eventually.” She starts pacing, fingers lost in her dark tresses.

“Jess.”

“I can't take care of myself, Trish does that half the time. I have one bedsheet. I don't have a vacuum cleaner. My door is permanently broken.”

“Jessica.”

“I'm a fucked up-”

“Shut up.”

She stops mid rant, looking at you with tired eyes, and let's out a long-suffering sigh. “You deserve better.”

You shake your head and take a step towards her. “I love you.”

She recoils, suddenly looking like a frightened child. Her eyes shine with unshed tears. “What?” She croaks.

“I love you, Jess. I love you when you're drunk and miserable, and I love you when sober up and smile like you don't have a care in the world. I love you when you're out of reach for days on a case, and I love you when you make sure to spend time with me, even if it means sacrificing sleep-”

“Stop.”

“-I love you when you don't have time to take my calls, and I love you when you answer me from strangers’ balconies. I love you when you're being mean, and I love you when you choose to be the kindest person I know, even after all of the shit you've been through.”

“Y/n…”

“I love you and your broken door. And I love your cutlery.”

“Don't-”

“And I have a vacuum cleaner.”

She sighs, but her eyes soften just a slightest bit. "A vacuum cleaner, huh?"

You swallow and take a deep breath. “I- I don't want anyone else, Jess. I want you. I love you.”

She looks at you for a long moment, her jaw tenses, brows furrow in thought. “Okay,” she nods slowly, begrudgingly.

“Yeah?” You whisper, inching closer.

“Yeah,” she breathes against your lips, before pulling you in a tender, almost chaste kiss. She's pulling away a second later and it's over before you even fully register the feeling of her soft, full lips on yours. “I- You- Fuck, why is this shit so goddamn hard?” She grumbles, closing her eyes briefly before taking a deep breath. “You deserve better, so-”

“Jessica,” you growl, pushing her by the shoulders. She doesn't budge, pressing you closer to her chest, her grip on your waist tightening.

“You deserve better, so I'll get better. I'll do better. For you,” she finishes slowly, begrudgingly, and for a moment you're speechless. “Less booze should be a good start, right? No girl likes to smell alcohol all the time,” she sounds like she's complaining, like this is the worst situation she could ever find herself in, but her eyes shine in a way you've never seen before. It's hope, you realise after a moment.

“Not for me, for you,” you state firmly, cupping her jaw. “You'll get better for you.”

She blinks. “That’s not a good enough motivation,” she grumbles.

You press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, fighting back a smile. She's so Jess. “We'll work on that.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Okay. I... I love you too, I guess.”

"Mhm," you hum, and she opens her mouth again, so you pull her in a proper kiss before she can say anything else.

#jessica jones x reader #jessica jones x you #jessica jones x female reader #jessica jones #jessica Jones x y/n #jessica jones x fem!reader #AKA Shut up and listen

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phoenixyfriend · 8 months

Text

The Myth of the Rational Actor

Ko-fi prompt from @vincentursus:

the myth of the rational actor please?

The myth as such: people will act in a perfectly rational manner, and the economy will respond in reaction to that.

So... the idea here is that emotions will never influence someone's actions in making economic choices.

Which is, as we can guess, bullshit.

To quote Medium,

Mainstream (neo-classical) economics idealizes human beings as perfectly rational actors when it comes to making decisions. This concept, known as rational choice theory, is based on three assumptions: 1. People have complete and consistent preferences (which can be assigned quantitative values called utilities) among a set of decision outcomes 2. People act independently based on full and relevant information 3. People always select the decision option that maximizes their utility.

So. That's absurd. Let's start from the bottom, utility.

One of the first things you learn in any marketing class is that half the industry is run on an appeal to emotion.

(The other half of it actually is an appeal to logic, like 'you can use this tool to compare your insurance costs,' which is the aforementioned rational action.)

The most obvious example of that utility element being wrong is: Food.

For a completely rational actor, the food purchased would be the most nutrition for the least cost. Taste is irrelevant. Ambience is irrelevant. Occasion is irrelevant. You fill out the food pyramid for whatever you can pay the least amount of cash. Buy a fifty pound bag of rice, wholesale canned tuna, and frozen veggie mixes that you only need five minutes to heat up and consume.

Chocolate? No. Salt or sugar? Only enough to fulfill your need for water absorption. Spices? Waste of money!

This sounds extreme, because a complete lack of emotional impact on your purchasing habits is extreme. You seek things that make you happy or pleased. You search for sweet tastes that cheer you up, for fatty tastes that satisfy you, for spicy flavors that you can eat in a competition with your friends to prove who's the manliest.

That's not rational! But we do it! Food is an inherently irrational thing to purchase, unless you are so strapped for cash that you cannot afford to be anything other than fully dedicated to the highest calorie:dollar ratio that you can find.

The other thing that the utility factor disregards is charity. On the standard 'rational' definition used in economics, charity is completely irrational for anyone who doesn't get a tax cut from it.

But people engage in charitable actions and donations anyway.

Full and relevant information: Uhhhhh no

I think we can all agree that full and relevant information is not actually a reality for most people.

Manufacturers bend the truth. Marketers omit things. Word of mouth is unreliable. Influencers lie. Online reviews are fake.

Some don't! But you don't know who is or isn't lying unless there is a law that controls what information they can put out. Researching takes time, and figuring out which lies are actually lies is difficult.

There are a lot of videos all over YouTube talking about scams, both the obvious, and the more subtle. There's a reason that misinformation is such a huge industry these days, and hey! A lot of misinformation relies on those aforementioned appeals to emotion that are both a marketing device and a rhetorical one.

Complete and consistent preferences: Sometimes?

I mean, some people have complete and consistent preferences. I have a favorite Starbucks drink that I get most times (technically I have four and it depends on the weather). I have stylistic preferences for my clothing. I have musical preferences.

But it still takes me time to make decisions when at a restaurant, you know? My little sister likes a lot of foods, sure, but if you ask her to pick a place to eat it can take literal hours. Hell, there are entire phenomenons named after the fact that people don't have preferences and have trouble making decisions!

And on top of all that, you have people whose 'preference' is spontaneity. They pick whatever they haven't tried before, because it's new, and exciting, and that's cool!

Which really harshes the mellow on that whole "clear and consistent preferences" thing.

Where does that leave us?

Well, the rational actor is clearly a majorly inaccurate standard to hold individual consumers and the market to. That said, I don't think more than a handful of very extreme people would ever claim that the rational actor is an absolutely perfect predictor for the market.

Rather, it's used as a starting point. If the market reacts to forces in a completely rational manner, here is what we would be expecting. Then, upon projecting the actions of the market under the most rational and perfect conditions, we can apply other possible factors. The possible success of a marketing campaign. The risks of weather or politics impacting supply lines. An unexpected trend rising up from a comedic social media moment among teens and young people.

Imagine you have a catapult. Imagine you know what the catapult will do under perfect conditions, with consistent rope length and artillery weight and weather conditions. The numbers you run your basic physics class formulas with are the rational actor.

The market trends that cause that rational prediction to have error margins is the equivalent of "the wind's been varying between 3mph and 9mph, and from NW to SWW."

I'm not sure how safely I can get away with embedding images that I don't personally have the rights to when they're actually relevant to the education portion of this, and not just a silly joke like the TGP inclusion up there, so I'll just tell you to go look at the first graph at this link, and you'll see what I mean about the 'best, most predictable case' line vs the 'actual possibilities' forecast.

Hope that helps!

(If you wanted me to go more into the history of this concept than its actual uses, uh... whoops?)

#economics #economic forecasts #capitalism #phoenix talks #ko fi #ko fi prompts #research #rational actor #myth of the rational actor

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bastardfucker · 2 years

Text

Homelander X Female!Reader SMUTTY Oneshot

Midnight Baker

Description: After being stood up on a date, you came home to bake away your stress. When you set a tray of cookies out to cool, you never expected The Homelander to show up. You really hadn’t expected him to stay.

~*~

It had been another exhausting day for Homelander; his face always ached from the forced smiles and bullshit he was obligated to spew to keep the masses happy, but today had been especially grating. It’s nights like these that he’s grateful to be The Only Man in The Sky. High above the citizens, high above even Vought, Homelander is free to be alone with his thoughts. That said, alone is not exactly his favorite state of being. He’s exhausted of the asskissers, and not interested in whatever the hell Ashley has to say, so here he is, alone in the sky.

All alone with his thoughts, his mind frustratingly set on his own loneliness.

Before he takes out his anger on the fire escape of the poorly maintained apartment building nearest to him, he catches a whiff of something sweet; the thick scent of brown sugar and chocolate distracting him from his violent intentions. Silently, he finds himself floating toward a small balcony attached to the building, tray of fresh baked cookies cooling on the old wrought iron table. He hesitates a moment, hovering a bit above the shabby architecture of the balcony as to not make any noise. He could grab a cookie and go, it would be easy, and the occupant of the apartment would never know he was here…but, who the hell bakes a whole batch of cookies at midnight? These weren’t the cold impersonal ready-made frozen cookies from the Vought Cafeteria; the recipe was special, a little hint of something extra. He allows his boots to touch the ground, bored and curious enough to meet his Midnight Baker. He hears her heart racing before she can even open her mouth.

“Oh my god, you’re the fucking Homelander!” She stares dumbfounded at him.

He turns slowly, carefully, plastering on a charming smile as he waves the cookie at her. “I get that a lot.” He appraises her while he waits for her to speak; she’s pretty, beautiful even, skin bathed in the moonlight, dark makeup accentuating her features.

Her expression almost immediately softens from shock to embarrassment, and he notes the heat in her cheeks. “I’m sorry.” She tugs at the hem of her apron, decorated in some silly Halloween pattern. “It must be exhausting having everyone gawk at you all day.”

“You have no idea,” he murmurs, having more expected her to start screaming like all the incessant fangirls did when he was spotted out and about. He’s unused to someone considering how their reactions might make him feel; Save of course, for Vought employees who know to tread carefully with him. “May I?” He asks, pretending to be nonchalant, gesturing with the cookie.

“By all means,” she offers up, too quickly to be completely casual. She’s nervous. “I bake when I’m stressed,” she explains; and he softens a bit when it becomes obvious that he is not the source of her stress. She’s not afraid of him, not yet at least.

He sighs as his teeth sink into the still-hot confection, the classic yet delicious flavors wrapping his senses in a warm blanket of American Domesticity. Cinnamon, that was the something extra he had smelled earlier. It’s good.

She smiles, watching him enjoy her baking with pride; it paints him in a much more human light than the Vought Approved meet and greets do. Even superheroes enjoy a good cookie now and then. “Have as many as you want,” she offers, the relief in her voice not lost on him. “I usually end up giving most of my baking to the neighbors anyway; can’t eat it all myself.”

Fuck the neighbors, he thought. “Are you new in town? I don’t remember seeing you before.” And he would remember her, he’s sure of it.

“Yes sir.” She shrinks a little, embarrassment flushing her cheeks again. “I’ve been here for a few weeks, but I don’t get out much…” She trails off, searching for the right thing to say. “I don’t really know anyone here, and a big city’s not exactly a safe place for a woman to go out alone.”

“You know me,” he answers a bit too quickly, a little frustrated that she’d imply he doesn’t keep the city safe as a schoolyard. “And I’d say you can’t possibly be safer than you are right now.”

This time when she blushes, her heartbeat quickens, and he shoots her a charming smile. “So,” he presses further, eager for a foothold into her life. “What’s a beautiful woman like you doing, all made up, alone on a Friday night?”

“Oh,” her voice waivers. “I got stood up.” Hence the stress baking.

He can’t help feeling annoyed. A woman as considerate, beautiful, and good in the kitchen as her shouldn’t ever be made to feel like she’s not worth the affections of lesser men. Not when she’s worthy of his attention. “Now why would any man in this fine city be stupid enough to pass up a goddess like you?”

The term of endearment takes her aback, but he misinterprets her shock to be swooning. “He got back with his ex…he texted me a couple hours after he was supposed to pick me up.”

“He’s an idiot,” Homelander asserts, taking her hand. “I don’t care who his ex is; he made a mistake passing up the opportunity to spend time with you.” He presses his lips softly to her knuckles, making her heart rate skyrocket. He peers up at her through his eyelashes. “I don’t make mistakes.”

“Mister-Mr. Homelander, sir…” she stammers, and he relishes his affect of her.

He leans in closer to her, close enough for her to feel his breath on her face. “May I come in?”

It’s a loaded question and he knows it, she knows it. She nods rapidly, backing into her apartment, his hand still wrapped around hers, blue eyes never leaving her. She stops by the couch with an expectant swallow, her eyes searching his. “Do you want to sit?” He nods.

Instead of allowing her to sit beside him, Homelander pulls the woman effortlessly into his lap, earning a gasp. “I thought this would be more comfortable,” he smirks with too much tooth.

She smiles shyly back at him, her heart a steam hammer in her chest. He rests his hands on her thighs, smiling comfortably. “You know, I like you. Apartment’s a little small, could use some sprucing up, but it’s comfy.” Her mouth opens to speak, but he stops her with a finger against her lips. “I’m not done, Sweatheart, let me finish.” She nods, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth; he licks his own teeth at the sight. “I’d like to buy you some things; make this place a bit…homier.”

Her thigh twitches against his, and his fingers grip her ever so slightly, threatening worse; she doesn’t know if he’s even aware he’s doing it. She rests her hands on his forearms, hoping to remind him how fragile she is compared to his strength. “I…appreciate it, Homelander, but…why?”

He laughs, almost a scoff. “Isn’t it obvious?” Her silence tells him it’s apparently not, and he pokes his tongue into his cheek awkwardly; like he’s frustrated that he needs to spell it out. “I’ll be spending a lot more time here, now that you and I are friends.”

“Friends,” she echos, very aware of her position on his lap, and the growing firmness beneath her.

“Well,” he licks his teeth, grinning like the cat who caught the mouse. “A bit more than friends, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes Homelander.” She nods frantically, eager to agree with him.

“Good,” he growls, leaning in a bit to fast to press his lips into hers, almost bruising.

Her hands move up to cup his cheeks, her chest tightening with excitement as his tongue slides along her bottom lip, arms forcing her down against his growing erection still trapped beneath the brilliant blue of his suit.

He shudders when her thumbs stroke his face tenderly, her warm mouth inviting him in. His senses came alive with the excitement of her body, a far cry from Stillwell’s carefully manufactured lust. This is what a truly eager woman looks like, feels like; eager to please him and to let him please her. Fuck Vought, and fuck the leash they had kept him on. He moans into her mouth as she tugs at the hem of his pants expectantly; drunk on the idea of keeping her his little secret, his slice of Heaven Vought can’t touch.

He sits up a bit, helping her pull his pants down past his knees. She settles onto her own knees in front of him, hands stroking his thighs as she gazes up at him with those gorgeous eyes. “May I?”

He grins, tucking her hair behind her ear, ever the gentleman. “By all means.”

She presses a warm kiss to his palm before leaning in, close enough for him to feel her hot breath on his cock. Smiling at him when it twitches in response, she wastes no time taking the head into her mouth; warm and wet and his. A deep groan claws its way up his throat as his fingertips move to stroke her neck affectionately. “So warm,” he praises, and she moans around his cock appreciatively; the vibrations coming up from her throat hitching his breath.

Speaking of which, she manages the head of his cock into the back of her throat, with only a little gagging. He throws his head back over the edge of the couch, savoring the sensation as he takes a fistful of her hair. She gags and sputters as he forces her head up and down on his cock, but he doesn’t let her up until she desperately taps at his thigh. She sucks in a deep breath and grins, her hand wrapping around his cock to stroke him while she catches her breath. How considerate.

“That was a close one,” she hisses, flicking her tongue out at the sensitive head while she continues to stroke him. “Nice to see that your cock matches the rest of you.”

“How’s that?” He asks, not really caring so long as she keeps stroking him.

“Perfect,” she praises, causing him to buck up into her hand. “Perfect,” she repeats. “And strong…proud.” She flattens her hot tongue against like head like she’s licking an icecream, driving him wild with the hunger in her eyes. “What the hell are you doing here with me?”

He freezes, and for a moment she thinks she’s said the wrong thing, until in the blink of an eye their positions are switched, and his fingers are tugging at her panties beneath her black dress and apron. She shudders, shock at the sudden movement and lust for the darkness in his blue eyes.

“I’ll show you what I’m doing here,” he growls, savoring the moment as he slides her panties down her legs agonizingly slow.

His breath is hot and heavy against her inner thighs, and he sinks his perfect teeth into the soft flesh, marking her, although he has no intention of ever letting anyone else get this good a view of her thighs again. She hisses, but the need in her eyes and her parted lips as she watches him expectantly tell him she enjoyed it.

He slips two fingers into her easily, and pulls them out to show her. “Look how wet you are for me already, it’s a little pathetic, really,” he teases.

“I’ve got the Most Powerful Man in the World between my thighs, how could I not be wet?”

“For me,” he growls, demanding that extra clarification, hungry for her praise.

“For you.”

He rewards her by slipping his fingers back inside of her, his thumb circling her clit firmly, though careful not to hurt her; she stifles a moan by biting her lip. “There you go.”

Honestly, she’d have never expected this. His TV persona made him seem like one of those celebrities who thinks eating pussy is beneath him, but here now, with his face buried between her thighs like he’s desperate for her, for her praise, his fakey persona is dead and gone.

“God you’re so good!” she whines; preferring to savor rather than speak, but relishing the way her words invigorate him.

“Tell me what a good job I’m doing,” he pants against her pussy, face wet from her juices.

“No other man will ever satisfy me again,” she moans, bucking her hips into his face to encourage him to put his tongue back on her clit. “You spoiled me.”

She hisses when his fingers curl inside of her, stimulating that most sensitive spot until tears prick at her eyes and she hits her orgasm hard, her juices trickling over his wrist. He sits up, crawling over her to stare into her eyes as his thumb continues to assault her clit, dragging her orgasm into overstimulation.

“Homelander!” She begs, trying to squirm away from him to no avail, pushed into a second orgasm as he presses his forehead against hers.

“No other man is ever going to touch you like this.” It’s spoken as a fact more than a boast, and it sends a shiver of thrill up her spine. She breathes a sigh of relief as his thumb slows, giving her a short respite from the too-intense pleasure.

She’s trying to catch her breath, relaxing in a haze with her head thrown back into the couch, but he expects a response. His hand comes up to catch her face, chin held gently between his thumb and fingers to make her hold his gaze. “I want you to say it.”

“No other man is ever going to touch me like you,” she whimpers.

“Good,” he says casually, wiping his hand on her apron. “Good.”

“Homelander,” she whines urgently, her hands cupping his face adoringly.

“Yes, darling?” He does his best to sound charming, but he’s caught up in the tenderness of her hands on him, his own heart skipping a beat at the adoration in her eyes.

“I want you to fuck me.”

His face splits into a wide grin. He leans in close enough to kiss her, but when she tries to bridge the gap he leans back a tad with an amused scoff. “Well aren’t we greedy?”

Her thumb strokes his lip gentle as she looks at him desperately. “Please Homelander,” she begs. “I want to make you cum.”

He chokes up a bit, the tenderness of her touch and her preoccupation even in her own orgasmic stupor with his pleasure stirring something deep within him. He scoops her up into his arms, carrying her into what he assumes correctly is the bedroom. He sets her down gently, pulling off her clothes so that she’s bare before him, his eyes heavy on her gorgeous breasts.

“Take your shirt off,” she demands, dragging him out of his trance. “I want to feel your body against mine.”

For once, he listens, absolutely no hesitation as the top of his suit is flung to the floor. He wastes no time crawling over her like a wild animal, desperate to feel her lips against his. She presses back hard against his lips, and he obliges, knowing he’ll bruise her, but not caring in the moment; too lost in the genuine affection he’s craved for far too long.

“You’re perfect,” she exhales against his lips, feeling his hard cock drag against her thigh.

“Tell me again,” he urges, pressing kisses to her hair, trailing down her neck.

“You’re Perfect,” she obliges, thighs shaking a bit with anticipation as she feels the head of his cock tease her entrance.

They moan into each other’s mouths as he rocks into her, the wetness of her post-orgasm cunt taking him easily, like she was made for him. He kisses her deeply before pulling away, thrusting his hips against hers at an easy pace as he leans up to get a better look at her tits, gorgeous nipples taught and on display for him and only him. She’s perfect, he thinks, but doesn’t say, before taking a breast into his hot mouth, kneeding the other with a firm hand. She bucks her hips against his; pleasure building in her body.

His hand snakes down to rub her clit, causing her pussy to clench around him. “You’re so good, Homelander,” she moans.

“How good?” His voice comes out undignified, all but begging, as he edges toward his own release, desperate to take her with him.

“The best,” she squeals, trying to push his hand away to no avail when the pleasure becomes to much.

“You’re so right,” he groans, relishing her whimpers. “I’m the fucking Homelander and I’m the best you’ll ever have!”

He’s panting, rutting into her like a wild animal as she screams in a final orgasm of her own, dragging him along with her. He doesn’t pull out; coming hard into her and continuing to fuck her until his dick starts to go soft. If it bothered her, she’s too sex messed to say anything about it.

Good, he thinks. He has absolutely no intention of letting her slip from his grasp, and if he gets her pregnant? Well, all the more justification to keep her to himself.

He kisses her hair, pulling her face into his chest, encouraging her to snuggle into him. She does. “I’ll be staying for breakfast,” he tells her, as if it’s a matter of fact. “I like chocolate chips in my pancakes.”

#homelander #the boys homelander #mypost #homelander the boys #homelander x reader #homelander fanfic #Yes it’s Hughie who stood you up #smut

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saikolikes · 7 months

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Aki’s P5R fanfic recs! (part 2)

Hi and welcome to another one of my recs posts! As you can see, this is part two: part one of this post can be found HERE and includes fics I bookmarked between April 2019 and December 2020. This second post will deal with everything I bookmarked during 2021 and 2022 (... so yes, part 3 is bound to happen some times in the future)

Here a brief disclaimer:

Everything in here is spoiler for either P5 vanilla, Royal, or Strikers;

I won’t report the tags, as it would take too long, so if you’re interested in a fic, please open the link;

Fic recs obviously reflect my tastes and preferences. For example, I love suffering and I don’t like fluff or domestic works, so browse this list knowing that;

The stark majority of the works here is shuakeshu

If you want more recs you can find them in my bookmarks, most of them are public!

MY ONGOING RECS Again, I don't read a lot of ongoing works (although, admittedly more than in the past) and these are the ones I'm subscribed to that I'm adoring!

The Lovers, Reversed by salexectria, Terra5 (E) | Royalty a/b/o AU | akeshu | series in three parts, ongoing "A Thief is caught stealing from the Northern King, and is sentenced to death for his crimes. The Alpha Prince intervenes, but at what cost to them both?" What I love about this AU is the amount of politics and worldbuilding put into it, as well as the uniqueness of double povs who constantly switch from Akira to Goro creating one back and forth that acts literally like poking into their minds. Plus the slow burn and the pining are just on point.

never die when I'm dead by threerings (E) | Royal & post-Royal | akeshu | series in 2 parts, ongoing Two one shots featuring one of my absolute flavors of this ship: sad, intense and unhinged

IDC FOR UPDATES I resolved to defeat my abandoned-wip trauma one excellent fic at a time so here's a list of works that haven't been updated in a while or the author straight up confirmed they won't keep writing them, but they are so good you just have to read them and let them remodel you. Do it. Do it now.

the year of the knife by theexistentiallyqueer (M) | No powers AU | shuakeshu | 2 chapters "The plan for Akira's junior year of high school was to keep his head down and his nose clean, but he hadn't counted on his new high school having more trouble than it was worth--and he specifically didn't plan on Akechi Goro, the haughty, machiavellian vice president of Shujin Academy's student council, dragging him face-first into political scandal and a series of encounters that would change his life." Please let teq bring you through a journey of spot-on characterization and stunning prose that will rewire your brain chemistry completely. Their take on machiavellian Akechi is really good, and the snark Akira spits in this fic is really something I cherish.

kiss & cry by MajorGodComplex (T) | Figure skating AU | shuakeshu | 2 chapters "Goro’s first thought when he hits the ground is some combination of the words ‘shit fuck hell fucking bullshit bitch fuck motherfucking hell.’ His next thought is wondering whether Akira Kurusu, senior debut, constant thorn in Goro’s side, and the only person anyone this season seems to talk about, is also trying to land a quad axel at the moment." I don't know what to tell you, the prose of this one is so witty and funny you just have to read what's published of it as of now!

honeybrains by succubused (T) | Time loop | shuakeshu | 4 chapters "a chronicle of the twenty-fourth time akira kurusu lived through the month of january 2017" What can I say, I am really a sucker for time loops and this fic took me by the heart. Tagged as character study and with rights because the characterization here is very interesting!

in the snow globe by aminami (E) | Time travel | shuake | 1 chapter "It’s your heart,” Joker says like it’s the most obvious thing. “Your desires, your hopes, your fears. I’ll carry them with me always. My little snow globe." This fic will hurt you so badly but it will be so worth it, I swear. It's just so melancholic and tender and angsty and it carved a place in my heart.

my love has never lived indoors by rhodophytae (E) | a/b/o | shuake | 1 chapter "Ren Amamiya knows he's an alpha, and he's comfortable with that, but he's pretty sure that being an alpha is, well...different for him than it is for other people. He resigned himself a long time ago to the fact that he'd probably go his whole life without finding anyone else like him. And then he meets Goro Akechi." This fic has such an interesting take on omegaverse! Paired with a stellar characterization and delicious pining, it's no surprise it's a fic I will never forget.

GENERAL RECS The fics I’ve enjoyed the most and that I go back to reading sometimes.

how joker and crow survived the coronavirus pandemic of 2020 by shntlvs (T) | Royal | shuakeshu | series of 2 works "Escaping from Maruki's false reality gets interrupted by the Coronavirus pandemic." Could you have ever imagined reading a fic centered around the pandemic? Me neither, but this one and its sequel work so well and have very compelling bits of characterization for the boys. Unexpected premise, but I utterly loved it.

straw house, straw dog by caelam (T) | 3rd sem | gen | one shot "In the saccharine utopia of Maruki’s reality, Goro Akechi’s mother is still alive." I admittedly don't read too many fics with mamakechi so I won't claim to be an expert, but this one really left me impressed with how clear and tangible the tangle of feelings is.

Knight of Pentacles, King of Spades by Naometry (M) | Medieval AU | shuakeshu | 11 chapters "“Hifumi passed on your greetings,” Akira Kurusu says, fury simmering beneath his conversational tone. “And I’m polite enough to give you my own in person. So greetings, General Goro Akechi. I am the man who will kill you.”" I started reading this fic for the war captive trope but this story has so much more to it than just that. Nao's superb skill with writing violence and viciousness will have you thrust into a cruel world where two boys seem to be bound to kill each other... unless?

Ripples by Riona (T) | gen | canon compliant | one shot "Ten people know exactly who the news is talking about, and now they’re going to have to deal with that." A peek into the heads of 10 of Joker's confidants upon learning about his death. The fic I would never imagined myself reading, but I did because it was recced to me, and now I'm recc'ing it to you, too.

When Your Eyes Meet Mine by seths_dream (E) | no powers AU | shuake | one shot "The way the bellboy lingered on him made his heart jolt, made him think that maybe, maybe the bellboy was looking at Goro the same way Goro was looking at him." I've lost count of how many times I read this fic because the horny is just so juicy, it's unironically one of the fics I come back to when I need to remind myself how to write horny stuff. (the same author also wrote this delicious pegoryu that you have to read)

a study in what not to say by succubused (T) | 3rd sem | shuake | one shot "Akira has finally had enough of Akechi's bullshit; they resolve it the only ways they know how." If you like the boys being really nasty to each other, this fic is a must. It has excellent dialogue, dynamics, and a tad of homoerotic wound tending which can't hurt no one!

MY ALL-TIME FAVOURITES The fics that rewired my brain chemistry, took my heart out, slapped it, put it back, and left me a whole new person.

27 steps to seduce a crow by relationshipcrimes (G) | Royal | shuakeshu | one shot "A handy bullet-pointed list on how to flirt with, seduce, and keep your local Akechi Goro." Still to this day, I think of this fic in terms of Goro's characterization. If I have a thing for post-canon shuake chasing each other, it's probably due to this one.

The Brigverse by TzviaAriella (E but most works are M) | Pirates AU | akeshuake | series, ongoing I admittedly don't care that much about pirates but the og fic from this series (A Brig Too Far) was being passed on so much that I gave it a try and. Oh boy. Not only is the characterization impeccable, the story compelling, and the action thrilling, but at least one scene and/or line from each work in this series has altered my brain permanently. I am a new person after reading Brigverse.

wild and free by bangandawhimper (E) | a/b/o | shuakeshu | one shot "Akira Kurusu hasn’t always been an omega. But now everyone he meets in this city assumes he’s an omega. He’s treated like an omega. He feels like an omega. He knows he feels like an omega because he remembers what it was to be an alpha." This work might have my favourite take ever on shuakeshu omegaverse, it's so fitting for them, so thought out, and the characterization is so on point... my god. Read this fic now.

The Diamond Chest by kinneas (E) | post-Royal | shuakeshu | 3 chapters, complete "Who says you have to see Morgana speak in the Metaverse before you can hear him in the real world? Not the few hundred officers who arrested Ren in Sae’s Palace two years ago, that’s for sure." Honestly everything kinnes writes is gold but I'm shouting this fic out because I reread more than a few scenes from this fic more than once, and it's a 100k-words baby. I am a sucker for heist stories, I am a sucker for dealing with trauma in very tangible ways, and I'm a sucker for kinneas' characterization of the boys.

before midnight by specterthief (Not rated) | 3rd sem, canon compliant | gen | one shot "“I—” Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Sumire sets down her chopsticks and rubs her face with both hands. “Um—who told you I was going to training camp?” (On January 9th, Sumire goes home.)" This is the stellar Sumire characterization fic you're looking for. Read this. Read this right now.

I HOPE THIS DOESN'T AWAKEN SOMETHING IN ME (DELUSIONAL) I clicked on these fics solely due to my trust in the authors/the summary/one rec and now I find myself with a new kink. Thanks.

Containment Breach by salexectria (E) | Space pirates AU | akeshu | one shot Akira gets stranded on an abandoned spaceship seemingly infested by a terrifying creature. He finds the lonely survivor of the crew and they begrudgingly start to work together to contact help and survive. I am just going to say that I clicked for salex's name, I stayed for the stellar characterization, pining and top-tier bantering, and got overwhelmed by the tentacle sex. (/pos)

it takes two by lumensd (E) | 3rd sem | akeshu | two-shots By all means, this series has some things I usually am not interested in (phone sex, degradation) but Jay is so skilled and his akeshus are so fucked in the head that now I've signed up for the masochist Joker agenda. Hurray!

i dream of you draped in wires by rime (E) | 3rd sem | akeshu | one shot "Maruki's Shadows don't want to fight; they just want to collect data. Wait, are those cat ears?" You would think a work with the tag "catboy shibari gunplay fuckordie" can't be too serious. Wrong! Excellent character study attack 🔪🔪🔪 (from the same author there's also this P5 vanilla fic that is excellent)

Darken my doorway by EnlacingLines (E) | 3rd sem-post canon | akeshu | one shot ""I don’t need to test my theory. You should be thanking me, really. Opening this door for you.” “A door to what?” Akira says, exasperated by just how self congratulatory Goro still sounds.“ Submission.” Or: I am a firm switch shuake shipper, I don't vibe with too-extreme dynamics *proceeds to go ballistics over this fic regardless*, *awakens to the wonder of d/s a lil fucked up dynamics*

#persona 5 #persona 5 royal #p5 #p5r #p5 spoilers #p5r spoilers #shuake #akeshu #shuakeshu #akeshuake #fanfiction recommendation #fanfic #p5r fanfiction #p5 fic rec #fic rec #fic reccomendations #p5r fic rec

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sabotourist · 2 months

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the potential flavors of this glorious angst

alrighty gamers assuming they dont fuck this up meta tucker can fucking rule so let's go down the list of how all this shit can go.

numero uno: angsty on maine- kk so like we could have our boy just start losing his fucking mind. dope. the angst potential in this is obvious. have his cognition deteriorate as sigma pushing him harder and harder physically and mentally. he starts out as something recognizable, only to be pushed further and further to the brink. the angst in here is inherent.

number two just for you: sigma is preying on tucker's personality to drive him as the meta. what if he isn't being driven by power like maine was, but instead, he wants epsilon back (who clearly got out somehow, probably the capture unit) because sigma is feeding off tucker wanting his best friend back. tucker wants his friend, and sigma is twisting that into something violent

three cheers for the trauma train: mind control. who doesn't love some battle in the center of the mind bullshit as they magic of friendship that bitch. tucker fighting back as sigma attempts to override his consciousness

number four what are we here for: o'malley situation. tucker is conscious and aware as he is forced to watch his hand drive his sword into his friends. to choke caboose. to help the people that hurt his family so much. all while he can't do anything as sigma pushes his body further and further to a breaking point. he cant scream because sigma has his voice. he can't do anything. he's trapped in his own mind

five'in and vibin': closer to a wash situation. the armor is sabotaged in some way (charon had it after all) and this is why sigma goes out of control, and the damage he does to tucker's mind isn't even fully intentional. or maybe it is, who knows, but the point is that he imprints himself on tucker's mind like epsilon did for wash

no matter what they do and how well (or poorly) they pull it off though, all i know is that fanfiction writers, we stay winning for real because im gonna have a field day. my mind palace is getting a whole ass room dedicated to this shit because meta tucker is such a fun concept that i am super fucking into

#rvb #red vs blue #rvb restoration #red vs blue restoration #tucker rvb #lavernius tucker #sigma rvb #epsilon rvb #church rvb #my brainrot is a thing to be feared #it is an infection and a burden and one i carry with my head held high

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royalsweetteaa · 2 years

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Good intent

Pairing: dark!Ransom Drysdale x homeless!reader

Chapter 4 (finale)

18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI

WARNING - This story contains the following: dark themes such as kidnapping, non-con/rape, oral sex, penetrative sex (unprotected), mild breeding kink, obsessive behavior/possessive behavior/delusional behavior on Ransom’s part, cheating, soft!Ransom, toxic relationship dynamic, Stockholm syndrome on reader’s part, abuse of power, classism, size kink, manipulation, angst, eventual fluff, degradation.

Ch. | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | (end)

Summary: Ransom is going through a mid-life crisis where he’s miserable and he wants to change things up to make his daily life more interesting. The change involves taking the freedom of someone who he deems is beneath societal suitability.

Y/N’s POV

The baking process went smoothly, mostly from my knowledge in baking. Ransom was helpful of cutting up the apples into thin slices while I made the dough. As he had been reluctant on cutting them, I quickly learned there was a reasoning behind it. He cursed under his breath when he struggled to cut straight and efficiently, making it obvious he didn’t have a lot of experience in the kitchen. I held in a snort as I went to his aid and showed him the proper way, to which he quickly managed to do it right himself.

He smiled at me and thanked me for my assistance, and I shyly whispered ‘you’re welcome’ before I continued doing my own task.

Soon enough, the dough was ready to be formed, and we made a cinnamon mix to add more flavor over the apples. Then we laid thin stripes over them to make the classic pattern of an apple pie.

All that was left to do was to put it in the oven and wait. Ransom had settled down on the couch again, and I decided there was no better place to kill time than be with him.

I sat beside him, a bit hesitantly as I noticed something was off with him. He looked sad, but in a way that wasn’t too obvious. He was hiding it.

“Are you okay?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.

He looked at me, as if he hadn’t expected me to ask at all. He reluctantly nodded, and I pouted, not convinced.

“Ransom…,” I called his name with softness as I reached for his hair, putting a few strands back as they were almost in his eye. He wasn’t using any hair gel, not as often as he used to anyway. His hair was incredibly soft, something I had realized when he was drunk and I had stroked his hair after he had been crying.

Ransom melted into my touch, keeping my palm on his face with his hand before he took it to kiss it.

“I’m sorry. For yesterday.” Ransom apologized for the first time as his eyes met mine.

I was shocked but quickly nodded, accepting his apology and leaving it at that.

Somehow I had managed to close off yesterday's events, despite how emotional it was. I had no other choice than move past it and try to love hard again, - let my delusions get in my head so I could stay happy. And somehow it was easy to do. Ransom made it so easy to move forward, - to love him despite his wrongdoings.

His face lit up as an idea popped in his mind. "How about we use the time to really get to know each other, hm? I want to know all about the woman I'm committing myself to."

I chuckled, "There's not much to tell apart from what I've already told you..."

He hit my shoulder playfully, not buying into that response. “Bullshit. C'mon, share me your deepest secrets. I'll trade with some of my own." He offered.

I shrugged, my self esteem too low to consider opening up about myself. “I don’t know,…what if…what if you get bored of me? I’m not as elite as you. I haven’t been to many places and my memories from hometown are mostly miserable to be honest…”

Ransom licked his lips, his face falling into a sympathetic frown. He sat up more properly onto the couch before he looked at me and spoke again, “Hey…we are more alike than you think, kitten. I may not know what it’s like to have nothing, but I know what it is like to have an unloving family. My parents were never parents either, — and despite how little time I spent with them, I somehow inherited their worst traits…”

I frowned, urging him to give an example. “Such as…?”

“Arrogance, short-temperament, pride, frustration, desperation…” Ransom’s gaze was boring into mine as he listed them. “Ringing any bells?”

“Maybe a few…” I replied short, causing Ransom to laugh with amusement as he swung his arm around my waist, bringing me in closer to him.

“You’re so fucking cute,…c’mere, let me give you a kiss…” he offered as he leaned in. I let him capture my lips, his hand trailing to the back of my head so he could deepen the kiss.

I no longer despised his kisses as much as I used to. They used to make me feel ashamed of myself and invaded, but now it was always invited. I wanted it.

Ransom’s phone buzzed just then, and I saw as he picked it up with the screen highlighting a name: “HARLAN”

He put the phone down again right after.

“Shouldn’t you take that?” I asked meekly, and Ransom shook his head.

“It’s fine. It can wait. I’m not going to let anyone but you take my attention.” Ransom promised as he crawled on top of me, making me sink deeper into the cushions. “Now why don’t you be a good kitten and spread those pretty legs for me so I can show you just how much you have my attention, hm? We have time before the pie’s ready….”

I gladly abided to his orders, spreading them so he could move below and ravish me.

Ransom kept his word for the next coming weeks, showering me with affection and putting the two of us on a lustful quest. We talked a lot too, - shared our stories and let ourselves be vulnerable. Sometimes it had downed our mood when we brought up tough times, but Ransom had the best way of turning the mood bright again.

Ransom was very creative when it came to oral sex. We had yet to go beyond that, and it got me wondering as to why. I would always mentally prepare myself for the time where he would request for penetrative sex, but Ransom would take me by surprise each time when he didn’t suggest it.

He must still be waiting for the right moment, - whenever that would be.

Ransom's POV

My eyes caught the thin layer of snow that had built up in the course of the night, and I was reminded of the Holiday I so much despised due to spending it with my family. Christmas.

It made me bitter, thinking of how the previous years was like any typical American thanksgiving dinner, - political debates at the dinner table and insults thrown at each other back and forth, - usually making mockery over who’s life style was the most meaningless one. The fingers were always pointed at me, and they received the middle finger as it became my cue to leave.

I looked back at Y/N, who was sleeping in my bed, and I started to think.

She can’t have celebrated Christmas properly, at least for a very long time, and I can’t recall a single good Christmas I have had as I had only attended the family Christmas gatherings. which usually was hell to take part in…..

— This year will be different. I will only celebrate Christmas with the person I truly care about.

I made myself ready to leave, putting on a new set of jeans and sweater.

As I was about to leave the bedroom. Y/N's voice halted me. "Where are you going?.." I heard her mutter as she stretched her arms tiredly.

I turned and smiled at her. "Just getting stuff from the store. I'll be quick. Keep resting, kitten." I said, and rushed away to grab my outerwear.

I parked at the closest store, and entered it with one singular motive. I eyed all the Christmas decorations on an aisle and rolled my eyes at some of the childish designs, but some of them were aesthetically pleasing. I grabbed a few tree decoration packages and a Christmas tree star, something I was familiar with as an important asset.

“Ugh, not you.” I heard a familiar voice groaning from behind me and I had to turn around and make sense of why I found the voice to be so agitating.

“Oh…Meg.” I said her name with venom and a ticked jaw. Fuck. This was the last thing I needed.

She walked over to me, raising her eyebrows as she realized where I was standing.

“What are you doing here, in Target nonetheless? I seem to recall you saying only peasants shop here.”

That was true. I still thought so, and I was tempted to go to a store with expensive and higher quality decorations, but time was ticking, and to my knowledge those stores wouldn’t open until lunch.

I had to surprise her this morning.

“I may have had a change of heart for this place.” I put it simply with a hint of mischief in my expression. I hoped it would end our conversation, but Meg’s curiosity was making it impossible to do just that.

“As if,” Meg scoffed as she followed behind me with arms crossed. “…Also, what are you browsing the Christmas decoration isle for?”

I shrugged, “I don’t know, I guess I’m looking for silly things to fill my house with. Might lighten up my non-existent Christmas spirit or some shit.”

Meg laughed out of amusement. “Huh. Never thought the Scrooge of our family would give Christmas a chance.”

I took a sudden turn to face her again, irritation getting the better of me because of how the SJW brat kept throwing insults at me. “Why are you being up my ass? Move along and mind your damn business, libtard.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “You know we’ve been talking about you. You don’t visit Harlan nearly as often as you used to. Last time I met him, he was talking about how he was thinking of cutting you off the will, as well as stop funding you.” Meg mentioned through her mocking tone.

I stopped, Meg’s information making my ears perk up. “What?”

“Yeah, I heard you’ve been giving him poor excuses recently not to meet him. That ‘you have something real important going on in your life right now’. What a shit excuse. We know all you do is get drunk and high at the night club,” Meg continued. “The least you can do is be an honest grandson, trust fund prick.”

Meg’s last insults went deaf to my ears as I quickly put some pretty Christmas decorations and ornaments into my shopping cart and rushed away, leaving Meg baffled that I had ignored her.

What she didn’t know was how I hadn’t ignored one bit of what she had told me and I had been sent in a train of thought, worry settling in of the possibility that Harlan would stop funding me and even cut me off the will.

Harlan had threatened me once when we last met, but I didn’t take it seriously at the time. Now the fact that he had spoken to others in our family about it was serious. I couldn’t allow it to happen, - not when I had someone else to take care of as well. Someone I had promised to take care of.

I walked outside to the parking lot, tossing the shopping bags in the passenger seat, and then I eyed the sale of Christmas trees at the corner. I looked at my vehicle, trying to rethink my decision of putting a Christmas tree on top of the roof, which ultimately could risk of getting a few scratches.

Y/N’s awaiting smile was all I could think of, and before I knew it, I took out the rope I had brought with me and made my way towards the sale.

Second person POV

"Fuck!" You heard Ransom shout out loud from somewhere else, and you immediately sprung up from bed and rushed your way to where you had heard the sound come from.

You had been laying awake in bed for a while, admiring the view the window of Ransom’s bedroom was providing. It looked like winter wonderland with how the nearby forest was coated in white. Ransom’s shouting had made you easily leave the bed as you had for long been well rested.

When you entered the living room, you were met with one big surprise. Leaning against the wall stood a tall and green Christmas tree. The smell of fresh wood was comforting to your scent, and you appreciated a piece of nature now taking part of the house.

You gasped, "Oh, Ransom...it's beautiful.." You said, absolutely mesmerized.

"It is, but I think I just cut myself because of the damn thing..." Ransom muttered as he walked towards the bathroom to clean his wound. Your head snapped in Ransom’s direction out of concern, and you quickly followed him.

You saw he was studying the cut to see how severe it was, and you picked up a towel to rinse it so he could use it to gather the blood that made its way out of the wound.

“Let me look at it. I’ll give you a bandaid.” You apprised, and Ransom could only stubbornly grunt.

“I can take care of myself you know.”

“I know, but you take care of me all the time so let me take care of you for once..” you further tried to convince as you reached for his arm and put the wet handkerchief on it to clear out the blood.

He snickered, “Better be careful, darling. Saying things like that gets straight into a man’s head.”

You blushed heavily in response, not expecting him to say that in a moment of his injury, but you weren’t too surprised. After all, Ransom was bold and a huge flirt.

You took out a bandaid and placed it on his wound, smiling when you saw Ransom didn’t wince in pain.

“Good girl,…thank you for taking care of me.” Ransom said lusciously, making you clench your thighs together in instinct as he called you by that petname. “I’ll reward you afterwards. But now I’d like to show you the other things I bought. I want you to decorate my house the way you want to. We are going to celebrate Christmas, - together.” He told you as he stood up to show the bags of decorations he had brought with him.

You looked through the things one by one, studying them with curiosity, occasionally making noises that already told Ransom you were liking them.

“These are so pretty! Thank you so much!” You exclaimed happily, putting the last item down and standing up to give Ransom a tight hug. He stroked your back and kissed the top of your head.

Ransom loved this so much, - maybe a little too much. Being like this, - acting like you were the happiest and most perfect couple ever. The fact that it all started with Ransom abducting you for his twisted pride was slowly fading in both of your heads, as if it was all just a vivid memory from a dream, - more like nightmare.

Your relationship was too good for it to be based on the foundation, - at least that was how the two of you currently saw it.

The sweet moment was interrupted when Ransom was reminded he had another obligation to follow for today. “Kitten, I need to leave and visit Harlan, but I will be back soon, okay? Why don’t you take a headstart on decorating?”

Your face fell for two reasons; one, you had hoped you would be decorating together, - and two, the last time Ransom went to Harlan’s made him do things which you were yet to know the specifics of, but it had ended with him saying things which had hurt you deeply. You could only assume Harlan had frustrated him, and in result, he took his frustration out of you. You didn’t want that to happen again.

“But I want to decorate with you…” you could only mutter out.

Ransom smiled, having fondness over how much you wanted to include him for such a simple occasion. “Tell you what, you decorate the house and we will together decorate the tree when I get back from Harlan’s.” Ransom suggested a compromise.

Your face lit up at the idea, and you nodded with approval. “Okay. That sounds good.”

Ransom bit the inside of the cheek when he rang the doorbell and waited for one of the housekeepers to open the main entrance of Harlan’s mansion. He hadn’t been there since last time, the day when he had broken his promise of being exclusive to you and let himself slip by hooking up with another woman while being high.

He wasn’t going to repeat the same mistake. Ever.

"Hey Franny." He greeted the housekeeper when she opened the door. She rolled her eyes, muttering something in the lines of 'it's Fran, you prick.' He dismissed it as he asked where Harlan was, and she told him he was in his office, going through his letters.

"Harlan," Ransom greeted the old man by the door as he stepped into the office. Harlan looked up with raised eyebrows as he huffed, as if to tell Ransom 'Finally, you've shown up'.

"Grandson." Harlan acknowledged back. "It has been a while, hasn't it?"

"It has..." Ransom spoke with a low voice, looking anywhere but at his grandfather as he sat down right across.

Harlan took his eyes off Ransom too, and stacked a couple of letters to clear out the table. "You've been beating around the bush more than usual, haven't you? You know, I have been going over my mail the last hour and I have been peacefully reading fan letters. All I have left is to go over the cheques. I believe the cheque requesting to send over your monthly allowance is in there somewhere. Now might be the time to conclude financing you, seeing as you have finally something serious going on in your life, hm?"

Ransom's jaw clenched as he remained unfazed, trying to remain in Harlan's favor. "Serious yes, but not necessarily related to earning money."

Harlan sighed, "Of course not. But one would assume you were working a 14 hour shift with how you have completely closed yourself out of the family, even from me. You used to come here once a week, which was somewhat rewarding..." Harlan said, sounding defeated. "I suppose you can make up for it when it's Christmas eve, during our yearly family Christmas dinner -"

"I can't come." Ransom jumped in with a response.

"Pardon?"

Ransom shrugged, "I just can't attend this year. I have-"

"Something more important to take care of." Harlan interrupted. "I know. So you have told me the past couple of weeks. Are you finally going to tell me what it is, or is it just a lie of an excuse?”

“It’s not a lie and it’s nothing that should concern you, I’ll promise you that.” Ransom answered, still being resilient on telling his secret.

"Ransom, I swear on my life, if you are dealing with drugs -!"

"I'm not!" Ransom cut Harlan off, speaking in a higher volume. “I just can’t tell you what it is! I don't want my family involved whatsoever! And I know damn well if I tell you, it's going to spread somehow, even if I duct taped your mouth!”

Harlan shook his head, not playing into Ransom’s games anymore. “Ransom, if it’s that secretive, it will only stay between us. I promise. Now, you better tell me right now what could be more important than our annual Christmas dinner. Otherwise what reason do I have left to financially provide for you if you’re hardly a part of this family anymore?”

Ransom closed his eyes for a brief moment, sucking in air as he tried hard to put things together in his head. I should tell him. The consequences shouldn’t be severe, seeing as Y/N has accepted her fate of being mine.

At least, I truly hope that’s the case.

Ransom cleared his throat, before he gave his grandfather the reveal of what he’s been hiding. “I have a girlfriend, and we are in a very serious relationship. I’m currently providing for her as she has been going through a lot. She is my recent importance, and I would like to spend this Christmas with only her this year, - alone.”

Harlan’s eyes widened with surprise and he gasped, “Are you kidding me? You? In a serious relationship with a woman? My boy, why have you never mentioned this? I need to meet her right away.”

Ransom shook his head, which made Harlan frown. “She has severe anxiety disorder. It’s too soon for her to meet you or the rest of the family. She is already trying her best to get comfortable with me.” Ransom told the lie so casually, it passed as a fact.

The old man slowly nodded, “So she’s rather delicate, I see,…that comes as a surprise to me. I wonder how you became a couple. Tell me, my boy. I want to know your tale.” He said, bowing closer to Ransom with folded hands as he was ready to listen.

Ransom sighed, not sure where he was supposed to start and twist the truth at the same time, but after a moment, he had it all pieced together. “I can’t go down the details right now, but it all started with my interest in her. She isn’t like any women you have seen my mother introduce to me, - she’s on the less fortunate side, yet she managed to capture my interest without trying. It was hard in the beginning…she wasn’t impressed because I was a little too direct with my intentions. I practiced my patience and eventually she warmed up to me, - we became somewhat official and she started staying over at my house. But then…I broke our bond after I came home from our last meeting. I was frustrated, and said things I shouldn’t have said. She had a breakdown because of it,…I apologized to her after and she forgave me as I promised I would never break her heart again. This is why I haven’t been seeing you since then, - because I focused on proving my worthiness to her. And now…well, we are planning on celebrating Christmas together and warm up to the holiday. She hasn’t celebrated it for as long as she can remember, and I want to give her the best Christmas experience ever. I…I want us to bond over occasions that I used to despise partaking in because I know I’ll have a great time just by celebrating it with her. Things are going so great between us now. I…-

- I believe I love her. More than I love myself even. She’s too good to me, - so considerate and gentle, always wanting to make me happy. God, Harlan, I would die for her.”

Harlan’s smile was wide, Ransom can’t remember the last time he had made his grandfather smile so pridefully. “It sounds like love to me. The way you’re openly admitting your affection for her is almost too good to be true, son. I’m so happy for you. I have been waiting for this moment for a long time, truth be told. Your mother almost had me thinking it was impossible, but here you are, proving her wrong. I can already hear the wedding bells.”

Ransom snickered as he also had a vision of his own of what the future beheld. Marriage wasn’t something he was open to before, but now the thought of sealing you to him with vows and rings became increasingly desirable.

He imagined how soon enough it would be safe to take you out with him and to meet Harlan. He would have to wait until the time was right though.

“You understand why I won’t be coming then, right?” Ransom asked the question carefully.

Harlan nodded, “Yes, I do now. However, I expect to see lovely pictures of you together. Send them to me on Messenger. I want to see how the woman you were lucky to woo looks like.” He chuckled lightheartedly. “What is her name by the way?”

“Her name is Y/N.” Ransom said, excluding her last name into his telling. “I don’t have any pictures on me at the moment as I haven’t had the need to take a photo of her. I’m with her all the time.” Ransom reasoned. “You must promise not to tell anyone. can’t afford making things harder for her. You know how our family is.”

Harlan nodded, “I understand. I won’t tell a soul.”

Their conversation ended there, and Ransom left Harlan’s house, this time with peace as everything had been resolved, - well, for the meantime. He knew if Harlan was going to continue funding him, he would have to introduce you. He had hoped to keep you in his house forever, his secret, just for extra measure of never loosing you, but that just wouldn’t be possible. He hadn’t thought that far ahead prior to kidnapping you, but thankfully favor was on his side. You had adapted to him rather quickly, - it was only a matter of time before you could walk out of the house together without there being an issue.

He was already looking forward to returning home, even though it had only been 2 hours since he left his house. The brief mentioned topic of marriage led his thoughts to wander further into the future.

Becoming paired by law.

Getting you pregnant.

Putting his child in you.

His cock was growing hard by those thoughts, making it uncomfortable to sit on the driver’s seat as he drove home. He used to see himself above the men who bounded themselves into becoming fathers and having kids, - the life long commitment. Already having what he considered the brattiest cousins in the world was mentally exhausting and he had closed the door of ever possibly becoming a father.

But now that he had you, that door had opened itself up again. It turned him on to know he had the power to plant his seed in you, ultimately grounding you to him. To make you his beyond your body and soul through your offspring as well.

She’s mine, was all he could think.

Mine, mine, mine -

Every single thought that went through his head had something to do with you. He was obsessed and didn’t care to hide it anymore. Even with Harlan, he was able to cover his obsession for love. Love and obsession could easily be mistaken for each other, and Ransom would argue what he had with you involved both of these things.

When he returned home and walked upstairs quietly, he was impressed with what he was met there. The living room was beautifully decorated, - he could say he was proud of how well you had put everything together. There you stood, using a chair to hang up a couple of star ornaments above the window with glittery streamers formed as snowflakes.

You turned to pick up a new ornament when you noticed Ransom stood there silently, observing the open room with interest. “Oh, you’re here!”

Ransom greeted you as he said, “You’ve quite outdone yourself. I’m not used to having my place decorated like this.”

You were unsure if that was on a positive note or something else. “So…you don’t like it?”

He chuckled, “No, I love it. It’s just unusual for me, but I’d like to get used to it.”

You hummed, finding that statement to be relatable. “It’s unusual for me too…but like you said, it’s a good different.”

You both turned to the tree, which was the only thing in the room yet to be decorated. Then you looked at it each other, and with pleading eyes you asked; “Can we decorate it together now?”

Ransom smirked and nodded with approval. “Let’s decorate it.”

The star on top of the Christmas tree had been eye catching ever since you put it up there. Two weeks had passed rather quickly, and now it was Christmas Eve, - the day you had been longing for.

Ransom showed less enthusiasm, - as per usual to anything that didn’t involve intimacy, but you were fine with that. He was still in a good mood, and that was all that mattered.

Since the beginning of the day, you had worked on dinner and dessert. You had both decided on eating steak with other servings vegetable based.

Ransom contributed with dessert by buying sweets and a carrot cake, as well as ingredients for you to make gingerbread cookies from scratch.

While you were forming them, Ransom sneaked behind you to hold around your hips, and he kissed your shoulder as he looked at what you were doing.

He whispered in your ear, “I can’t wait for you to open my gift tonight.”

A hopeless sigh left you. “You didn’t have to buy me a gift, Ransom. I don’t have a gift for you, obviously…and I would feel bad if I receive something nice. I hope you’ll at least accept these cookies I’m baking, even though you bought the ingredients,...” you said, your voice small as you felt a little silly for the reason of having nothing to offer otherwise.

“Those look delicious, — and don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll think of something you could gift me later…” he trailed with husk, but you were too busy with putting the raw dough forms into the oven to notice what he had said.

When the cookies were done, you put them inside a box and took it upstairs to put it on the living room table, which was when Ransom took the opportunity and held up his phone to take a picture, with the Christmas tree in the background and everything. “Hey, kitten. Smile…”

You smiled through a giggle while he took it, and as Ransom looked at the picture, he realized how this was his favorite kind of smile from you. You looked so joyful, like a kid finally getting their awaiting gift after waiting for so long. He felt warmth spreading in him, knowing how he was the reason behind that smile.

All these years he thought he could buy happiness, and while having money certainly helped in having you, the foundation lied among his gestures. His affection and giving you everything you could want, - everything you need, was something unlike anyone has done for you, and in the process you bonded together over caring for each other. You were the last pieces of a big puzzle.

His providing and willingness to give was making you happy, and that made him happy.

“I’m going to send it to my grandpa, - Harlan. He wants to see you soon.” Ransom informed, and that made your ears perk up with caution.

“You…you told him about me?” You asked, not sure if that was even possible.

“Yeah,…he seemed very enthusiastic when I revealed I have a companion. I think you’ll come along great.” Ransom added casually, but you were still stuck on the part where Ransom had shared about you to a family member.

What had he said about you to Harlan? Did he tell him the whole truth? No, surely not,…that would be out of place, wouldn’t it? Unless his grandfather was much like him, but that sounds unlikely…

Your mind kept theorizing, and it came to an endpoint where another question popped in your head; “…Are you saying we will go out to visit him? Or will he come to us?”

Ransom’s head pulled up from his phone, and he narrowed an eye. “Would it be a problem if we visited him?”

You knew what he really meant. Would you escape or cry for help if you left to Harlan’s?

You could understand why Ransom was still paranoid to think that, but in your head you truly denied it.

“No, it wouldn’t. I’m just asking because you’ve never said wether you’ll always keep me in the house or if you’re willing to give it a try going outside together, that’s all.” You said with a shrug.

Ransom sighed and put his phone down, “I don’t know, darling. I suppose at some point we can give it a try but I think it’s too early.”

“Alright. Whatever you say…” You replied short, neither sounding disappointed or hopeful.

Deep down, you were feeling sad how despite everything, Ransom still doubted you. You guessed if you were an abductor, you would be on guard too.

But Ransom wasn’t an abductor anymore, was he?

Ransom stood up, and you frowned as he walked downstairs. You were about to stand up and follow him, but you quickly stayed in your spot when you heard him say, “Stay there. I’m bringing something good for ya.”

He came up with two cups of cocoa with whipped cream and sprinkles on top. “Here you go.” He gestured you to take the other cup, and you gladly claimed it.

“Thank you!” You chirped, excited to drink the cup of cocoa as it was one of the many things you haven’t tasted in forever. “Something tells me this isn’t the first time you have made this.”

He chuckled, nodding as you were right. “My great nana used to make this all the time when I was a kid, especially during winter season. She was the only one that really cared to teach me things, so when I was old enough to use the kettle, she showed me how to make it on my own.” Ransom told you.

You sympathetically smiled and looked at the cup again before you took another sip. “That was nice of her to do,…it definitely payed off because this is delicious.”

Ransom snickered, appreciating the compliment.

The cocoa warmed your hands up, as well as the fireplace in front of you. It had taken some time to get the fire started, but now it had been going for hours without lighting out, - with the help of adding wood every now and then of course.

You ate dinner together, the steak alone tasting rich as Ransom had bought it at a butcher shop known for being expensive. Afterwards you settled on the couch again in front of the Christmas tree, and Ransom pointed to under where a beautiful wrapped gift was lying, - the only item there.

You timidly picked it up, studying the box to take in the beauty of it before you sat beside Ransom again, ready to open it. You carefully opened the present up, wanting to keep the box in its new shape, - an old habit of yours.

In the present lied an elegant white poncho with fur around the hoodie, one that matched the colour of the snow outside.

“It’s gorgeous, I…thank you, Ransom.” You said in awe, admiring its design and taken by surprise how it was something so pretty and not the usual lingerie he used to gift you before. “But…for what occasion would I be using this?” You had to ask.

“It would be perfect for you to wear when we go out in the garden while there’s still snow, - we could make a snowman or something. I read it’ll be snowing till end of February, so that’s plenty of time to test the waters. If not this year, there’s always a next year.” He said.

You nodded, glancing once more at the poncho before you held it tight against your chest, the fur brushing delicately against your skin.

You then looked up at him, a genuine smile forming on your lips as you scooted a few inches closer to him. "I....I want to thank you for making my life so much easier, despite how we started it all out. We both know we didn't come to be the way people normally do, but..." you stopped as you didn’t know where you wanted to take your sentence.

"Yes, I acknowledge that…..." Ransom stepped in. "You're allowed to hold a grudge against me for taking you, but you do realize now how my intentions were good, right?" Ransom spoke lowly, holding your chin so you couldn't escape his gaze.

With doe eyes you replied, "I do."

Ransom smirked, stroking your thigh as he inched closer too. "That's good,...we're so competent, - more than we realized in the beginning. I didn't really care to know you at first. I thought all I needed was to have you, but you proved me wrong. I need you, Y/N...I need your whole being. I need you beyond your body,...the feeling's mutual, right?"

He kept saying his sentences as statements, adding a question for you to add your input. Lucky for Ransom, your replies were only pleasing.

"It is,..." you muttered, your expression becoming haze as the smell of his cologne was seducing you with how close he was to you.

Ransom smirked, noticing the affect he had on you by his words and touches, and he took it as an opportunity to reveal something. “Look up, kitten.” Ransom said, pointing up at the ceiling.

You did, and you gasped when you eyed the mistletoe above you, hanging on the lamp which was conveniently over where you sat.

“You know what they say about mistletoes…” Ransom trailed as he leaned in. “It’s bad luck if we don’t kiss.”

You giggled, shyly cupping Ransom’s face. “I guess we have no choice but to kiss then.”

“How unfortunate..” he said sarcastically, cupping your cheeks in the palm of his hands too as you both leaned in to kiss.

You both groaned when your lips met, the kiss far from rushed as you took your time to take in the moment of the romantic act.

When you broke it, he looked at you through his eyelashes, and pulled a bold move of kissing your cheek, slowly trailing down to your shoulder where he sucked the soft skin, leaving definite hickeys.

“Mine…” he muttered, and you whimpered when you felt his hand sneak between your thighs, cupping your sex.

“Yours…ah..” you whined as you palmed his crotch, making him groan at the pressure you firmly added, and he decided to have a feel of your breast through your sweater with his other hand.

“Fuck,…lie down. I want to eat you out.”

You frowned, not expecting him to suggest that when his cock was so hard. “Don’t you want me to…”

“Nu-uh…” Ransom interrupted as he shook his head. “I want to drink you up. I’m skipping right to my dessert.”

You giggled, knowing the real dessert was waiting in the fridge and a cookie jar, but you supposed if this was what Ransom was craving, you weren’t going to deny him.

Ransom slid your panties off as he repositioned himself with his face between your legs. Then he spread your pussy lips to get a good look at your entrance. He didn’t warn you as he dived in, already working his tongue between your folds.

You loudly mewled as you placed a hand on Ransom’s hair, having the need for support. He flickered around your clit before he used his thumb to stimulate it.

“Hmm…love how you taste, kitten. So creamy and sweet, fucking hell…” he moaned.

“Ooh, Ransom…” you moaned his name, your head resting on the pillow as Ransom plunged his tongue inside your quivering hole, bringing out more juices to lap up. He then used two of his fingers to scissor and fingerfuck you, meeting little resistance from your hole as he had made you used to the invasion.

“O-Ohh!” You whimpered in a higher pitch. He chuckled lowly, finding the sounds you made to be adorable and so arousing. Then he abruptly stopped, which made you raise your head to meet his gaze.

“I think it’s time…” he paused, breathing in sharply, “…- that I take what’s rightfully mine.”

“..And what’s that?” You asked, barely above a whisper as you tried to catch your breath.

His head dropped to take another look at your dripping hole, and he smirked.

“This pussy,…I want to fuck you, kitten.”

You froze, taking in the way he stared at you with all seriousness and hunger. You knew this moment would come, yet you couldn’t help but stiffen. For a long time you had waited for this moment, but you were not fully prepared for the confrontation.

“Having a feel of this tight cunt of yours around my cock would make the best Christmas gift, - better than anything I’ve ever received.” He claimed, and you felt yourself getting flushed. “You’re going to give it to me, right? After all, you’re mine to do as I please with. Right?”

“Y-Yes,...” You whimpered. “You can do whatever you want with me…take me, Ransom.”

Ransom smiled fondly, once again finding himself appreciative to your submissive nature.

“Good girl.” He praised. “Lay on your back on the carpet in front of the fireplace. Think it would make a romantic spot to have our first…”

Ransom led you carefully off the couch and to the carpet, the heat closer to your bodies which made your nerves calmer. You laid down while Ransom removed his pants, unbuckling his belt and revealing his cock once the boxers were off. He took his sweater off too, and pridefully took in the image in front of him.

You, on the carpet, naked, waiting for him. He bit his lip, excited to finally claim you.

Ransom hovered above you, making your bundle of nerves rise again. “Just please,…please be gentle…” You pled before Ransom engaged in anything. “I haven’t…in a very long time..”

Ransom wasn’t the gentle type. You knew that very well, but you still hoped he would just this once take it easy for your sake.

“Of course.” He replied in a whisper, stroking your thighs tenderly. “I wouldn’t wanna break you…perfect little pussy must be taken with care..”

He rested his fat cock onto your pussy, making you whine at the familiar feeling. His cock had made home between your pussy lips all the way back to the first day of living here, yet it was an entirely new experience each time.

“Hmm…” Ransom purred, feeling ecstatic of having his cock glistened by your juices as he slided himself between your folds. “Finally…I’m going to take you the way I’ve wanted to since day one..”

He stopped sliding, and your breath hitched when he inserted the tip inside, making you throw your head back onto the fluffy carpet as you felt him push in.

“S-so big! You’re so…”

Ransom chuckled lowly at what wasn’t intentionally a compliment but he took it as one. “Yeah? Feel me up your tummy already, kitten?” He continued thrusting in, till he was almost all in there. “Shit, You feel so fucking good…clamping me around like a damn vice.”

You arched your back up as you felt the slightest pain emerge, and Ransom stilled until your pained expression began to cease. “Take it easy for me, kitten…we’ve got all night.”

The force of his cock nudging at your cervix caused your legs to flail, and you had them hooked around his back instead to give him deeper access.

“Fuck! Tightest fucking cunt I’ve ever had..” he groaned.

He hadn’t teared his look away from you, and as he noticed you were shaking from his intrusion, he captured your lips smoothly to soothe you. Your cry was muffled between your mouths as Ransom began thrusting in a slow rhythm. The roll of his hips made your toes curl with pleasure, and you let out a series of moans, calling after his name. “Ah, Ransom!…Ransom…so good!..”

He moved his attention to your breasts, putting his mouth on one of them as he used his hand to squeeze the other. You wrapped your hands around his neck, wanting to hold him close while he took what he wanted from your body.

You began seeking fiercer friction, and you instinctively bucked your hips against his, making him go balls deep inside of you.

“Ahhh, sir please, - fuck me harder!”

The formal but kinky title made Ransom made him go feral as his hips began to slam into you. “Mmh, such a good fucking girl. Keep begging and I’ll give you what you want.”

Your lips left pleas through moans, and he could feel you dripping below his balls, likely making a mess on the carpet but he didn’t care.

He had you craving him. Nothing else mattered.

He could feel every muscle inside of you pulsating around his cock, gripping him like your cunt felt threatened he would pull out. The whole house was filled with the sound of skin to skin slapping against each other, and the heat from the fireplace made you sweaty, being the reason why you were filling the room with the smell of sex. It overwhelmed him even though he was anything but a virgin.

"I'm not going to last long...shit," He cursed as his eyebrows knitted with pleasure. "I can feel you're getting close too, kitten. Let's cum together, yeah?"

You nodded, unable to form words but desperate to express your approval of Ransom's suggestion. "I-I wanna cum! Ahh, wanna cum so bad with you, sir!" you managed to cry out as your brain went numb. Your channel tightened, and Ransom rolled his eyes back as he felt himself breaching ejaculation.

“Fuck! Thaaat’s it, squeeze me. Milk my cock, kitten. Ooh, - shit! — I’m gonna fucking cum inside!” He gritted through clenched teeth. “- Fuck!” His jaw dropped as he breathed in air.

You howled out a high pitched cry and your voice died out when you felt your orgasm crash over. Ransom’s sack emptied its spend, filling you to the brim as you whimpered from the sudden unfamiliar warmth in your abdomen. He grunted, holding around your hips ever so tightly to keep you in place.

Moments after when he pulled out, cum dripped out of you, and he growled lowly.

“Beautiful…” Ransom mumbled at the sight, and he wiped away the cum that threatened to stain the carpet with the use of his sweater.

You were too dazed out to process how Ransom had picked you up and carried you to bed where he would put his favorite sweater and boxers on you, before he put his own pajamas on. Lastly he put you under the comfortable sheets as he curled himself up with you.

“You’re mine, darling, - just like I’m yours.” He whispered poetically while he kissed your shoulder and buried his face to the crook of your neck to sleep.

You took in his words with delight, and you softly replied with, “I’m yours, like how you’re mine...” before you drifted off to sleep.

You made love with your abductor for the first time by the fireplace on Christmas Eve.

It couldn’t get more romantic than that in your mind.

The doorbell rang downstairs to the main entrance, and Ransom groaned out of frustration as he reached for his phone to check the time.

It was 07:12 AM, way too early for Ransom, but he figured it was best to check who it was in case it was important. He got out of bed, leaving you to continue sleeping while looking stunning. Gently he stroked your cheek before he left.

Ransom walked tiredly downstairs to the door where it had rung. It must be Harlan,…old man’s too eager for his own good… Ransom thought.

While he had told Harlan he would introduce you when you were ready, he knew Harlan was too impatient. When he had sent the pictures of you celebrating Christmas in his house, Harlan raided him with replies, mainly telling him he could see Ransom had found the right girl.

Ransom couldn’t come up with who else could be ringing at his door at this time, and so he typed in the code and opened the door without putting much thought into it. His biggest mistake.

He was greeted by two police officers, the same ones he had seen when he drove through the street almost a month ago. The sight of them instantly woke him up, and alarms were ringing in his head.

He almost visibly shivered but managed to bite through as he kept his composure.

“Hello, Mr. Drysdale. We would like to ask you a few questions regarding a missing person. Does this woman look familiar to you?” The female officer asked right off the bat as she held an image of you.

“Well I…-”

“Ransom, who is that?…” Ransom heard you speak from behind him.

Oh fuck… Ransom thought, his distress spiking high in that moment.

No, please…

Please, not like this…

Fucking anything but this!

“I, uh…” he was at loss of words, being too overwhelmed as he was sandwiched between two threats; one, his dear obsession escaping from his hold, and two, the cops who could arrest him on the spot if you tell them the truth.

The taller male officer looked behind Ransom and caught you before he studied the photo, realizing they had found a match. “Sir, we would like to talk to that woman, please, - if you could step aside for a moment while we talk to her.” He ordered.

Ransom’s heart had never hammered so hard before. He felt like he had to throw up as the worst thing imaginable took place. He looked behind him to see you, your face staring at him as if you were unsure of what to do too. Still, he moved and let you come upfront beside him.

“Would you like to step out of the house for a talk, ma’am?” The officer asked.

Ransom’s eyes didn’t leave your form as he tried to read you, but he couldn’t make anything out of your blank stare.

In the meantime, your head was in a different place as you took in the fresh air. You had missed it. It was cold, but nice nonetheless.

Then, as if something snapped, you remembered how much you used to hate it.

How it reminded you more of a helpless time that took place last year when you had to wake up every 5 minutes because somewhere on your body was freezing due to the shortage of blankets you had. You remembered the countless nights you slept in your car, the windows being layered with rime ice as the cold had fully set. You were always tempted to turn on the engine to receive some form of heat, but you never did as you knew the consequences of using gas would lead to and come far sooner.

It was terrible. Torturous even.

You remembered how during the cold weather, you felt so scared and alone, not sure where to go anymore. Not sure if life was even worth it with the struggles.

The warmth coming from inside behind you however reminded you of something different. It reminded you of the man who had taken you out of the cold, - the man who while had questionable morals took care of you the entire time, something no one had ever done. Not your parents, not your ex-friends, hell, not even the government until the last minute.

Ransom cares. I need him and he needs me, you thought, fully convinced.

You looked back at Ransom, and a decision was made, one of which you had already decided a while back.

“I um,..No, I’d much prefer standing by my boyfriend here, please…” you said.

Ransom could have fainted with how fast his blood pressure had risen and suddenly sunken.

“Alright, ma’am. You are Y/N L/N, correct?” The officer asked, to which you confirmed by replying ‘yes’. “Are you aware you have been filed as a missing person by a homeless youth shelter in Philadelphia? They claimed to have expected you nearly two months ago, but you never turned up.” The officer informed. “The only reason we managed to find you now was by questioning a local who claimed to have seen Mr. Drysdale over here talking to you. That was the same and last night anyone saw you after you had been laying on the same spot for a week. Can you verify any of these claims?”

“Yes, they are all true..- I was homeless and had contacted the shelter so I could have a permanent place to stay. After a week or so into staying in town, Mr. Drysdale over here was kind enough to offer me a room at his place, and I didn’t accept it at first as I was planning on taking the bus to Philadelphia, 06:00 o’clock in the morning. He gave me his phone number though, if I ever needed any help. I slept in and missed it unfortunately, so I contacted Ransom and he welcomed me into his home…” you said, and paused for a brief moment. “One thing led to another, and well…now we’re a happy couple.” You reached out for Ransom’s hand and intertwined your fingers into his, chuckling as you looked up at him with a smile.

Ransom was tense, his jaw tightened the whole time, but he quickly replaced his posture as more relaxed and plastered a smile on his face as he let out a raspy ‘yeah’, his own clarification to your story.

“Ah, I understand now. We are relieved to know you’re okay, ma’am. We will put this case to an end then and rewrite your status as ‘found’.” The male officer said and took out his tablet to register.

“One last question though, - why didn’t you contact the shelter again to report this? You do realize that’s very irresponsible on your part, right?” The female officer asked with crossed arms, obviously upset that their time had been waisted.

“I know, and I’m so sorry. The thought pretty much left my head and I forgot…” you excused. “It hasn’t helped that this man has been keeping me so entertained all this time. You start forgetting your previous responsibilities...” You added as you leaned your head on Ransom’s arm.

The female officer grimaced, not amused in the slightest. “Of course, that’s none of our business. Though we will have to give you a fine as the town has a policy and does not accept leaving personal belongings such as your sleeping bag on the street, -“

“- I’ll pay for it, no problem.” Ransom interrupted.

He signed the fine with his bank card info, his hand shivering while he did so but it went unnoticed. The officers left soon after. You retreated back inside, and Ransom closed the door slowly, still having a hard time lowering his heart rate and breathing.

He saw you were leaving to somewhere, and he had to call out your name to have you remain in his presence. “Y/N, hold the fuck on…”

You turned around, eyes widened at the sudden call out, and you stood there, unsure of what he wanted.

“You could have told them the truth…you could have run off…you could’ve…why didn’t you?”

You frowned, “I didn’t,…- because I don’t want to leave you, Ransom.” You said as you fiddled with your fingers nervously. “I-I thought that was what you wanted. That you wanted me to stay.”

“I do want you to stay.” He quickly corrected you. “But I’m asking if you want to regardless of what I want.”

You swallowed, “I, - yes, I do. That is why I wasn’t hiding myself because I thought that was already established?…”

“You’ll never leave me.” He whispered in disbelief.

“I will never leave you, Ransom…” you confirmed his claim. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“No,..I just…” Ransom paused, looking to the side as he pondered for the questions he wanted answers for. “Do you really see a future with me? If I never let you out, would you accept that?”

“Yes, and…yes.” You answered, blushing as you felt embarrassed to admit it. “Because by the end of the day, you were right. I wasn’t much before I came here, - still aren’t. Being here with you fills a void I didn’t think was there. I had big dreams, dreams of which I know now would have placed me in an office box and earned me an identity crisis. But being here with you…it gives me a sense of purpose and happiness, and I…”

Ransom was caught up on where you had said you weren’t much. He had convinced you as such in the beginning, but it was wrong. So wrong. He realizes that now. “That’s not entirely true…like I said once, you are my whole world. You know how much that means, right?”

“I guess I have an idea.” You replied cheekily.

“I bet you do…” Ransom said smugly, carefully putting his hands around your hips to feel your shape.

You sucked in a sharp breath as Ransom became more putty with his hands. He pulled you against him and ever so subtly rubbed his crotch against your stomach, being the reasoning for the height difference.

Ransom leaned in and whispered by the shell of your ear. “I’m going to fuck you so hard and show you just how fucking crazy I am for you, okay darling?”

You nodded and swallowed, already feeling arising lust inside of you. “show me.”

Ransom carried you over his shoulder, and made his way upstairs quickly to the bedroom again. He threw you onto the bed and trapped you under him, beginning to tear your clothes off desperately. You whimpered with how rough he was with you, but the adrenaline rush made it easy to ignore it.

He grabbed your jaw and forced his tongue down your throat, turning it into a desperate make out session. It was overwhelming to you, yet you were already having wet patches form in your crotch crotch area due to arousal.

“Who do you belong to, huh?” He asked while he hastily removed his pants. “Answer me!”

“Y-You, sir! I belong to you!” You replied through a whine.

“That’s right…you’re fucking mine.” Ransom growled while he hoisted down your underwear. “You’re nothing without me, isn’t that right?” He was purposefully being degrading, saying things that wouldn’t be nice outside of the setting, but for the occasion it was a turn on.

“Y-Yes, it’s true…m’only yours, sir…I’m nothing without you.” you responded breathlessly.

Ransom smirked devilishly, feeling as though he had made his biggest accomplishment. But the accomplishment prior from what it founded itself on had changed. What started with his obsession of finding someone who could solely exist for no other purpose than being his, ended with him also wanting to be with someone he could exist for. And god did he feel as though his only purpose for living was because of you. He couldn’t think of anything, - or anyone more important to him than you.

- and he thought you deserved to know that, from the bottom of his heart.

“But guess what, darling?” Ransom asked through a husky whisper, stopping his actions for a moment as he stared deep into your eyes.

“I’m nothing without you too.”

Your eyes widened and you squirmed at the confession, feeling a sense of stimulation come from it alone. While Ransom was in full control, you felt empowered to know Ransom saw himself likewise. You were two lonely, miserable people who had found each other, - in your own special way. What mattered for the both of you was how you were committed to each other, and that was all it took.

He inserted himself and began to rut in, - not so gentle this time. You let out the loudest moan he has ever pulled out of you, and he made your whole body jolt when he didn’t give it a minute to drive himself inside.

He hammered himself into you, not pausing for a moment as pressure began building up in your abdomen. “Oooh!! Harder Ransom! Please!”

“Fuck yeah, you like it when I go rough, don’t you kitten? I fucking knew you would…feels like heaven having my cock deep inside your cunt..”

You pussy throbbed by his words, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you were being overstimulated. Drool started to slip out of your mouth as you had kept your mouth open, a whine easily escaping for each thrust he made.

“Gonna let me cum in your pussy, darling? Wanna be filled up again by me?” He purred the question.

“Y-Yes!” You confessed through a loud whimper. “I want your cum! Please, give it to me!”

His thrusts were going faster by the minute, and you felt as if you would pass out any moment.

“Take my fucking cum. Take it!” Ransom shouted, and you threw your head back with your fingers clawing his back while he got an orgasm out of you.

His hips stuttered and accelerated down until he lied completely still, his cock fully inside as he didn’t hold back anymore.

Ransom unleashed his load inside of you, filling you up for a second time within 24 hours. He didn’t pull out, not wanting to break the connection of your bodies. Instead, he lightly rested his body on top of yours, wanting to stay close to you as you tried to regulate your breaths again.

Your fingers intertwined while Ransom rested his forehead onto yours. His stare was less intense as he was coming down from his high, but it was filled with so much thrive. So much love. You didn’t look away from each other for a long time, -

- Until he rose up by his elbows and reached for the drawer beside the bed, pulling it open and shuffling through its containments, trying to find whatever he was looking for.

A small black box came in the palm of his hand with an expensive brand name on top. He opened it in front of you, - an 8 karat diamond ring came to view. He carefully took it out and put your hand into his, inserting the ring onto your index finger.

Nothing had to be said as Ransom earned a smile from you, happy tears already forming in your eyes.

Note from author: And that concludes the ‘good intent’ saga! Took a while to come with the final part but I hope it was worth the wait! Thank you for reading!

Hearts & Reblogs are very appreciated! <3

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