#I do not call out bad takes directly to start drama | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

daengtokki · 11 months ago

Text

𝐿𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝒟𝒶𝓉𝑒

Kim Seungmin/Female Reader

wc: 11k

rating: mature/explicit ಇ

comments: thanks everyone for the likes and reblogs and feedback! (´︶`) knowing someone is enjoying my fics makes writing seungmin so much easier. technically this is the last part, but not really...

⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ｡ ⋆

→ Blind Date

→ Second Date

→ Third Date

Part 4 of 4

Seungmin goes quiet after that, relaxes against the arm of the couch. You’re on the opposite side, doing the same. You watch each other carefully , but nobody makes a move, and nobody starts to speak.

You wonder if there was something you could have done to avoid all of this drama. Four and a half months of wondering; of being so down you can barely make it to work some days. Both of you have been really bad at this.

“Yes, I know it’s complicated.”

Counting the days and weeks until Seungmin comes back to you has been excruciating, sometimes anxiety inducing, and the only thing really keeping you together.

As of today it’s been 136 days since you spent the night with him. Twenty weeks, almost, since you looked at him face to face—touched him, kissed him, desperately wanted to confess how you’ve already fallen for him, and you never want to leave his side again.

But he did text you three days ago.

A part of you feels like giving up, because maybe this has gone on for far too long.

It’s nothing that Seungmin has done. He hasn’t said anything to you about things likely not working out. He talks to you in the same sweet, cheery way he always has when he actually has time to text, or call. You don’t resent him for his lack of communication, ever, because you know his lifestyle is worlds away from yours.

But the part of you that’s crazy about him sits and thinks: he can call for a five minute conversation, ask me how I am before I completely fall apart. You think…why hasn’t he messaged back? It takes a few seconds.

You hate having these thoughts. But you’re only human, and you have so much empty time to think about him.

It’s just not the same for him. It might never be the same for him.

Right now you’re staring out of your classroom window, completely lost in thought. The kids are working quietly, and it’s honestly the first time all day where you’ve been truly alone in your head.

There’s a loud knock on the door, and it makes you, and your students, jump.

“Come in…”

The door opens slowly, and the face that peeks through the door is a familiar one.

“Hey,” Choonhee waits a moment, then enters and closes the door behind her. She grabs a chair and finds a spot to sit directly in front of, across your desk.

“Hi, what’s up?”

“I’m on my way out, but I wanted to see you before I left. I keep missing you, and you’re not answering my messages.” The look she gives you is a little bit questioning, and a little bit irritated.

“Sorry, I’ve just had a lot on my mind. I’m trying to get out of this slump.”

“Slump? The same one you’ve been in for the last…” she gestures vaguely at nothing, “month? Maybe longer, I don’t know.”

“Yeah,” you manage, but it comes out shaky. You feel your throat tighten, and the air is pushed out of your lungs. Your eyes sting with tears. You can’t do this here.

“Hey hey, I’m sorry.” Choonhee starts to stand, “go pull yourself together, I’ll watch the class.”

You inhale deeply and make your way to the restroom. Luckily you have it to yourself, because when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror, tears are starting to stream down your cheeks. The result of bottling up until you explode.

Talking to Choonhee about this was always an option, but you haven’t. For some reason, you didn’t want her know how deep the cut is that Seungmin has made in you.

Her blind date was probably never supposed to turn into this; something serious, something you want, maybe more than anything you’ve ever wanted. You feel stupid and childish about it, because you know who he is. Sometimes you have to remind yourself that it was him that initiated date number two, and three, sort of, otherwise you’ll convince yourself you somehow forced him into all of this.

It takes far too long for you to finish crying and clean yourself up, but she’s still sitting there waiting when you return.

“I’ll be over tonight, and we’re going to talk it out. Okay?” She says.

You nod, eyes still red, makeup probably giving you two black eyes.

“I have to get going, I’ll see you later. Your phone went off while you were in the bathroom.”

You watch her as she walks out, then look to your students. In a few minutes, they’ll be dismissed. And you can go home and finish the crying that you’ve started.

First, you sit and poke the screen of your phone. It’s just a text message.

No, it’s not just a text message. It’s Seungmin. Choonhee probably looked, but all she would’ve seen is the contact name for him; SM.

Weeks ago, you almost changed it to Minnie, but you didn’t. The impersonal, secretive SM remained. You unlock your phone and open it.

I hope you had a good day. You’re just leaving work, I think…if I have my time right

And just like that, he pulls you back up, and back in. He says the right thing at just the right time. Although today, he he did miss it by a few minutes.

Now you battle with whether or not you text him back immediately, or wait until you get home. Neither feels like the right thing to do. You stare down at the message until it’s time for you to dismiss your class, thinking of what to say to him.

It’s personal. He took note of the time, and remembered when it is you usually leave.

Part of you feels like crying again, but your heart is fluttering. You hate this.

———

“I got your favorite!” Choonhee starts unloading the bag of food she brought with her. “Don’t look so defeated over there.”

She let herself in while you sat folded up on the couch. You’re still looking at your phone, trying to figure out what to say to him. Should you keep it casual and tell him your day was alright? Lie?

No, you could tell him the truth; that it was a rough day, and you’ve had a lot of days like this lately because you haven’t seen him in such a long time. But you have no idea how he’d react to that. Maybe he would feel guilty about not texting more, or feel bad because he’s been too busy to see you when he is in Seoul.

Or maybe he would feel overwhelmed by it, and decide enough was enough.

Seungmin—the Seungmin you know, at least, has always come off very laidback. Open when he needed to be, but not overly so. He’s a little bit reserved, but so many moments with him have been…cute.

And Chicago. It’s been so long since Chicago—long enough that the memory is fading a little. You have to think back on it and keep yourself there, in that moment, to remember all the detail. It’s all still there, in your head.

Finally, you start to type.

“Hi Minnie. I had a rough day today…I hope I get to see you again soon.”

You stare at it until Choonhee clears her throat in an attempt to get your attention.

You read it once more, then send it.

“Okay, dinner is served. Eat and tell me what’s been bothering you.”

You set your phone face down on the table and take a few bites before getting into it. Starting the conversation will be the most difficult.

So you just start.

“This is a little bit my fault, isn’t it?” Choonhee listened quietly, but you could tell she wasn’t expecting this to be about him. “I pushed this on you. I knew he spoke to you back in…June? I think it was June. But I didn’t know you saw each other again after the first date.”

“Yeah, there was a second date. And a third. And, well…ya know.”

Her eyebrows raise, “what? Fourth, fifth?”

“No, we slept together.”

She’s silent for a long moment, but her eyes remain fixed on you.

“When I went home in July. Remember?”

She’s still silent.

“I haven’t seen him since then.”

“Seungmin doesn’t like opening up to people. He doesn’t do that. Or he didn’t, at least. Are you sure you didn’t just…dream it?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I didn’t dream about having sex with him and then convince myself it really happened.”

Choonhee throws her hands up and waves your remark away, “okay I’m sorry, I’m just…surprised. I mean, even the multiple dates is a little surprising.”

“Then why did you even set us up?”

She shrugs, and then struggles to find the right words, “I don’t know…you were both here, and alone. I didn’t want you to spend the holiday by yourself. I thought you’d like him…I guess I was right. I’m not usually good with matches.

“So…are you saying I should just move on?”

“No, absolutely not! Text him right now, and tell him you want to see him when he gets home. He doesn’t get to fuck and run. I don’t care who he is.”

She goes quiet for a few seconds, but you can tell she’s frustrated and deep in thought. “I knew you’d like him. I’m sorry, I made this mess. If he doesn’t get himself together and talk to you like he should, I’ll go find him myself.”

———

By the time your text message gets to Seungmin, he’s home, undressed, and about to hop into a very hot shower. He smiles when he reads Minnie, because in the far too few messages exchanged, you’ve mostly called him Seungmin. His smile fades when he reads the rest.

He knows he’s been bad at this. Not just bad, actually—he’s been pathetic. He’s ghosted you, and strung you along for weeks.

No, he thinks. It’s been months of sporadic texting. Every time he was home, or close to home, he ignored you. Not maliciously, of course, and ignored is a strong word. He messaged you, but it really was the bare minimum. Especially after the last time you were together; you gave yourself to him, and Seungmin took all that he could.

Now he can’t admit to you how much it scared him.

He sets his phone down for now, and climbs into the shower—because once again, his mind, body, and everything in between is tired.

He’s so tired, he feels like he could cry. Maybe if he just let go, let himself wrap around someone and cry into their chest, he would feel better.

———

“When did he text you last?” Choonhee is cleaning up the table, throwing things into the sink, and generally doing a terrible job of tidying. But she means well, and you let her at it. “Has it been a while?”

“Three days ago, before today. He sent a message while you were in my classroom earlier.”

“Oh, is that who the buzz was? Did you answer back? Maybe you should just make him wait around.”

“I replied right before we ate, only because it took me a while to figure out what to say.”

You’re back on the couch now, phone in hand, eyes staring at the stagnant message thread. Figuring out his schedule is tough sometimes, and you try (and usually fail) to stay off of Twitter and fan sites. Right now you’re sifting through them, though—looking for anything new.

You pull up a few airport photos from earlier today. Seungmin is hidden behind a mask and a hat, but you can see his eyes. He looks tired.

It makes your heart sink. You return to your message thread again and read through the last few texts; they feel more and more impersonal as time goes on, and that makes your heart sink, too.

Maybe he is pulling away from you.

“I know saying this won’t help, but do not let this take over. Don’t let him get into your head like this.”

“It’s too late for that.”

Choonhee grabs your arm and shakes it furiously, “he’s just a guy!”

———

Seungmin is flat on his back, covers fluffed up all around him, a pillow under his head, another under his feet. No matter what he does, he’s uncomfortable. He desperately wants and needs to fall asleep, but it’s alluding him. His brain won’t shut up.

The room is chilly, and that’s usually what does the trick. Cold room, warm bed, and he’s out like a light.

He picks up his phone and reads your text again.

Hi Minnie. I had a rough day today…I hope I get to see you again soon.

If only he could figure out what to say back to you. There are so many things he wants to say, and so few ways he can think of to type it out.

Even if he were to see you face to face, he’d be lost for words. Seungmin is not one to let people in, but he has already let you in.

And now he’s stupidly pushing you away.

He pulls up a photo of you and stares at it. This wasn’t the way he planned on relaxing, but his hand is finding it’s way under his shirt anyway, touching his stomach, slowly moving downward until reaches the waistband of his sweatpants.

Thinking of your one night together, somehow still vivid in his head after all this time, is enough to get him hard. And looking at you…he runs his hand down the length of his cock, grabs tight, and strokes himself slowly. The breath he lets out is shaky. He has to be quiet.

———

“Is he?” You look at her, only slightly defeated. “…just a guy?”

“You slept with him, you should know.”

“He’s not.”

The look she gives you is almost enough to make you rethink what you just said.

“I promise you, beneath everything, he’s like any other guy you’ve dated who got too close, freaked out, and disappeared.”

You shake your head. Then your phone buzzes in your hand, and the feeling makes your heart jump to your throat, and your stomach sink all at once. You don’t immediately move your eyes to the screen—you can’t.

“Was that him?”

Now you look. SM. You nod.

you still want to see me?

You will see him again, and you’ll tell him exactly how you feel.

“What did he say?”

You turn your phone so Choonhee can read the message. She rolls her eyes.

“He sounds like a guy. I’m sorry I got you into this…but, you are going to see him again I assume.”

“Yeah, of course.”

———

It’s not until you’re in bed, hours later, that you open his text in an attempt to answer. But it might be better to do this in the morning, because sending one and waiting for his reply is going to keep you up all night.

You stare anyway, trying to get your thoughts in order; your words, your feelings. Do you want him to know how you really feel now, or when you have him in front of you? Can you even get the right words out when he’s in front of you?

You open your notes app and begin working on a reply.

You know I want to see you, Seungmin. I’m trying to be patient and understanding, but it’s so hard when you’re on my mind every day. I hope you’re getting some rest, and I hope you’re doing well. And I hope I can see you before you leave again.

You fall asleep writing. And in the morning, there he is again. One text message sent at 5am.

I’m so sorry. I should have made time for you in October, but every time I wanted to ask you, I froze, I don’t know why, I have no excuse

For a moment, you think you accidentally sent the rough draft of your text in your sleep. You didn’t. This was just him, awake before dawn, finally giving you something sincere. Now you have to rethink your reply.

The typing notification pops up while you’re reading over his message again. Still awake at 6:45.

I remember you telling me you wake up at the same time every morning... Good morning

You feel like crying again. But not like yesterday.

“Good morning” is the best you can come up with this early. He’ll have to wait.

———

Seungmin falls asleep, eventually, but not comfortably.

He gets up from bed to clean himself up, change (he’s warm now, so he opts for less clothes), and hopefully he’ll still be a little bit tired by the time he hits the bed again.

At 4:45am, his body decides he’s had enough. Now he’s awake, eyes still closed, bed far too warm. He throws off the blankets and flips onto his back.

Immediately, and not surprisingly, Seungmin’s thoughts turn to you. You’re sleeping soundly, he hopes, unlike him. He imagines you in the bed he’s never seen; curled up, tucked in. Maybe if he was there with you, he could sleep.

Every time he gets back home, he tries to push himself again, and he fails. He did it in October, and then again in September, right before his birthday. He knows he can’t keep doing this to you.

He pulls out his phone and opens your message thread.

…I hope I get to see you again soon

Seungmin stops thinking and just types:

“I’m so sorry. I should have made time for you in October…”

He stops and reads it. October. He was busy with the album release, but if he looks back in his messages again, he can count the number of texts he sent on one hand. You sent just as many…well, one more than him. That last message he didn’t even reply to. You must have been fed up with him and his lack of communication. And you had every right to be.

“…but every time I wanted to ask you, I froze, I don’t know why, I have no excuse.”

This part is true. Seungmin is almost freezing again right now.

“I don’t know how to explain…”

Now he thinks.

“…how all of this is making me feel. Maybe I’m…”

Seungmin backspaces the last sentence before he even finishes it. And then he hits send.

At 6:45, he’s still wide awake. He remembers you telling him your alarm is always set for this time, so he sends one more message.

And you reply. He was right, you were awake. Just a good morning, though. He’s sure it’s far too early for you to deal with his wishy-washy bullshit.

———

When he doesn’t text again by lunch time, you decide he’s waited long enough. And you can’t waste time, really. He might not be in town for long.

“I want to see you, and I will see you. Today, tomorrow, it doesn’t matter. But I need it to be soon. Neither of us are allowed to be nervous anymore.”

It’s better, you decide, than whatever you wrote last night.

He’s silent as you drift through the rest of the school day (you assume he’s having trouble thinking of a reply to that), and right as the class is gathering their things and leaving, another teacher sneaks in and approaches you. Then you realize it’s not a teacher, but you recognize her. She’s a secretary you’ve spoken to a few times before.

She nods to you and smiles. “I know you’re on your way out, but there’s a visitor for you, a parent who insisted I bring them right to you. It seemed important.”

You have very specific times for parent/teacher visits, and this is not one of them. And there is nobody else who would visit you. You’re confused. “Okay, send them in…I guess.”

You look down at your phone—you doubt it, but maybe you missed a text message or a call. No, nothing.

“Hello.”

The way his voice floats over to you almost knocks you out, and when you turn to meet his eyes, your throat refuses to let you release the air in your lungs.

“Your last text was very insistent. I know this probably is not the best approach…but I haven’t been doing a very good job of anything lately.”

Still you just stare at him, lost for words. You look around your classroom, then down at yourself. This is not how you wanted to see him again, but do you have any room to complain?

He takes a few steps toward you, “was this a bad idea?”

You manage to shake your head and swallow. And then you realize your legs still work, with some effort. Two steps later, your arms wrap around his waist, your face disappears in his sweatshirt, and you squeeze.

His tiny, relieved laugh is music to your ears, and then his hands slide across your back until he’s fully embraced you.

You keep him there for a long time, and he doesn’t protest or try to pull you away. When he does speak again, it’s a question.

“How was your day?”

You slowly release him, but making eye contact is a bit of a challenge. “It’s better now.” So you fall apart when he does show up; no strong words, no looks of disbelief at his absence. You knew this would happen.

“Where can I take you? Home? Or…anywhere you want.”

“Home is good.”

“Okay, there’s a ride waiting for us.” He moves his hands up and over your shoulders, and he rests them on either side of your neck. “I understand if you’re angry with me, and if you stay that way.”

“I am. I don’t want to be.”

Seungmin leans closer, and he moves painfully slow, but eventually he makes it to your mouth. His kiss is light and short, but he keeps going back to peck at your lips, over and over, until you open up and hold him there.

Finally, clear memories of Chicago fill you up. His scent and his touch pull you right back, and you hope he remembers it like you do.

———

It feels like your first date. A quiet car ride, a slow ride up the elevator, an awkward, unsure walk down the hallway to your apartment door. Then walking into your messy living room.

“Are you hungry? I can order something for us,” he says as he’s carefully removing his shoes. “And we can talk while we wait.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’ll make some coffee.”

Seungmin doesn’t follow you to the kitchen, like he’s done a few times before. Instead, he sits on the couch, situating himself so he can still see you.

You try not to look at him as you work, but you fail, several times. He smiles every time your eyes meet, but it’s a sad smile. It’s not one you’re used to seeing.

“No small talk,” you tell him as you hand him his coffee. “I’ll lose my mind.”

“No small talk.” He nods.

“Where have you been?” You start, staring down at your mug. “Not physically, I know that already. I mean…in every other way.”

“Uhm—“ Seungmin thinks. His face twists a little, probably in confusion. “Where have I…”

“Mentally,” you can’t take your eyes off of him now. “Emotionally.”

“Oh, okay I understand.” He clears his throat, adjusts himself. “It’s been hard to keep my thoughts organized lately. It’s not just that I’ve been busy with work…I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“I’m sorry.”

Seungmin shakes his head, “I could’ve fixed it, I’m sure. If I would’ve just talked about things with you a while ago, I probably would have slept easier.”

“I kept you up?”

“Yes. Well, thinking about you. I do think about you, all the time, even if I haven’t kept in touch. But I’ve been over complicating things, I think.”

“Talk to me now. Please.”

You think you can see his cheeks turning pink. His eyes are wide and shiny, but he’s unsure.

“I know, Seungmin…it is hard. It’s been hard for me, and I feel like it’s been a little more difficult for you. I kept everything to myself all this time, up until yesterday.”

He gives you another questioning look.

“Choonhee forced it out of me.”

He nods, sets his coffee down, and swings his legs up on the couch. Something about him making himself more comfortable puts you at ease. You remember him mentioning before that he felt relaxed being here, alone with you. "I don’t feel any pressure here." You hope he still feels that way.

“Tell me what you told her.”

“She did most of the talking.”

“Then what did Choonhee tell you?”

“That you’re just a guy, and I shouldn’t let you get to me like this.”

Seungmin actually nods at that—but he’s not looking you in the eyes now, so maybe he’s just…thinking about it. Or maybe he’s agreeing. You don’t know where this is going yet.

“I am just a guy, she’s right. I don’t want to be just a guy, though. Not to you.”

“Oh…”

“I thought I knew what was going on when we were together in Chicago, and I thought I knew what I wanted. I’ve been thinking all this time that if this couldn’t be a normal, traditional relationship, you would not be happy, not satisfied. And you’d tell me you weren’t interested in me anymore. I thought you would tell me you couldn’t do it.”

You almost interject; tell him that’s never what you expected of him. You wouldn’t never do that. Why didn’t you say that before? Instead, you used the hypothetical “if you weren’t who you are” question on him. You remain quiet, though, hoping he continues.

“…what I’ve been doing isn’t much better than what I’ve been afraid of. But you’re very smart, and I always knew that.”

You just smile at him, waiting for more.

“That’s why you were so worried when you found out who I was. You know this is much more complicated than that.”

“Yes, I know it’s complicated.”

He’s biting his lip. Tapping his foot. It’s almost touching you, and you want to stretch your leg out until it does, but right as you tell your brain to do it, his leg slides back. He sits up and leans forward, falls to his knees, and crawls across the couch.

Before you can squeak his name out, he’s straddling you, arms on either side of your waist. And then the full weight of his body is on you. Seungmin sets his head down gently against your chest and relaxes.

You freeze for a few seconds. You have fallen asleep on this couch with him before, but this feels like much more.

He doesn’t say anything, not even when you set your hand on his head—rake your fingers through his hair, wrap your other arm around his shoulders. He sighs, though.

When it feels like you’re drifting off to sleep, he finally speaks. It’s muffled against your shirt.

“You just want me, right?”

“What?”

“Even if nobody is allowed to know. And we can’t go out in public, and I have to pretend you don’t exist.”

“Seungmin, I know that we can’t have a normal relationship. I just want you…and to know that you want me.” You say the last part under your breath.

“I do.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I promise I’ll be better. And that I won’t be afraid to talk to you, and tell you too much.”

“You can tell me whatever you need to.”

“I don’t usually talk much…to anyone.”

It never occurred to you that he didn’t have someone to talk to when he was feeling down, or having a bad day. A bad week. He’s been bottling everything up, just like you have. Maybe for a very long time.

“You can talk to me about your bad days, Minnie, or when you can’t sleep. And about your good days. I would like to be that person.”

“Am I the reason you had a rough day yesterday? Have you had a lot of those?”

“Yeah, I have had a lot of bad days because I missed you.”

“You can tell me about your bad days, too. Even if they were bad because of me.”

“Don’t worry, I will.”

Seungmin laughs, and it shakes your whole body. “Good.”

☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The next morning is almost normal. Your alarm goes off at its regular time—6:45, and you’re tired, which is also normal. The room is chilly, and it’s so warm under the blankets that getting up is nearly impossible. An ordinary morning. The one thing that makes it different is that Seungmin is there when you open your eyes.

The alarm doesn’t even make him stir, but when you finally turn it off, he groans.

“I’m sorry, go back to sleep.”

“Are you going to work?” He asks, eyes closed, voice raspy with sleep.

“No, not today. I found someone to cover for me.”

He smiles and reaches his arm toward you, and he feels blindly around where he thinks you might be. “Why are you so far away?”

You move closer and grab his arm, “I’m right here. Go back to sleep.”

“I’ll try.”

…

Sleep eventually finds both of you again. When you wake back up a few hours later, he’s still there, breathing deeply, melting into your bed. You need to get up, but you wait a little longer. You really don’t want to wake him right now.

When he eventually wakes up on his own, he’ll feel better.

You close your eyes. And again, you fall asleep.

…

Something warm against your forehead wakes you up for a third time. Your eyes open and all you see is skin; Seungmin’s neck, his shoulder. The collar of his shirt is loose enough that you can see the start of his chest.

You pull him closer and push your face into him. He smells good. He smells like sleep and sweat and whatever leftover cologne is still stuck to him from yesterday.

Part of you still wants to keep your guard up. He’ll be gone soon, and then you’ll have to wait and see if his confidence and trust in you remains, and if he’ll really feel comfortable telling you the things he doesn’t tell anyone else.

“I can start,” you say, face still in his chest. You move up toward his neck and set your lips against his skin.

“Start what?”

“After we were together last, in Chicago, and we didn’t…use a condom. I did get a morning after pill, and I took it.”

He pulls you away so he can look at you.

“My period came really late after that, so I thought it didn’t work. And I was really scared. But I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t tell you because we hadn’t talked very much that week, and you didn’t need that on your mind anyway.”

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that alone.”

“Everything turned out okay.”

“You can talk to me any time you need to, even if I’ve been quiet.”

You nod, and you really want to believe him.

“Too soon for babies.” He whispers, just loud enough for you to hear him. He has a little smirk on his face, but he’s avoiding eye contact and staring at the little bit of space between you.

“You want them?”

“Hm?” Now he makes eye contact, and his ears are slowly turning red. “Uhm…yes, I always have. Do you?”

Having kids isn’t something you’ve thought about much (aside from the scare you had in July), because you haven’t met anyone you would want to have kids with. Well, until now, because looking at Seungmin and the sweet smile on his face is making you want them immediately. But you know that’s not possible for him.

“With the right person, yeah.”

“I’m sure someday I’ll be able to do that. Have the time to be there, for both of them. You and baby. I couldn’t be gone all the time and leave you alone.”

He stops for a second. You wonder if he’s even hearing himself speak.

“…Seungmin?”

“It was my turn to tell you something personal.” He brings his hands up to his face and rubs his cheeks, then his eyes. “Just in case I’m the right person.”

The conversation feels like too much, too soon. But you like it. He’s only been open with you like this once before: on your second date, when he admitted to being worried you’d like his friends more than him. You thought that was silly then, and now…you’re not sure you could like anyone more than Seungmin.

“…and if I’m your right person.”

Seungmin smiles and hides his face in the pillow.

———

As the day goes on, you wonder how long he’ll be here with you. Every time he looks at a message on his phone, you assume that will be his cue to get going—to start saying goodbye. But he’s still here, and he seems content.

It was his idea to stay, and he insisted on making breakfast.

“What do you normally do on your days off?” is what he asked as you sat and ate.

So it’s been a regular day off, aside from the fact that Seungmin is also here with you…eating, cleaning, sorting laundry, watching tv, and eventually, catching up with schoolwork.

He sits down next to you on the couch when you open your binder and pull out a stack of papers. He watches quietly as you shuffle though them, putting the pages in order before you start to look them over properly.

He picks the next one up before you get to it. “How old are your students again?”

“They are eight…a few are nine.”

“I don’t remember my English classes being this complicated when I was…older than them.”

“You should see their math homework.”

“Oh, I was very good at math!”

“Yeah?” You look at him, give him your full attention. “There’s so much I don’t know about you.”

“Not even what’s on the internet?” Seungmin leans back against the couch, and pulls you with him.

“I’ve read a few things. But I’m sure you’re a lot more complicated than your fun facts.”

“I hope so.” He grabs you around the waist, “what were you good at in school?”

“English…” you laugh. “And I did pretty good in my German class, and history.”

“Do you speak German, too?” He’s holding you tight, head resting on your shoulder.

“No, I’ve forgotten almost all of that.”

“Why did you come here, to Korea?

You turn yourself to look at him, disturbing his resting head. But he keeps his arms around you.

“So close to Samseong-Dong?”

“I felt like I needed to start over after I graduated college, and this seemed like the perfect way to do it. I actually almost went to Japan.”

“Why didn’t you? Where did you go to college?”

“Northwestern University. And I missed a deadline. Luckily, I already had applications submitted to a few different programs here and nearby.”

“And you chose here?”

Seungmin’s hands wander throughout the entire conversation, stopping when they reach just below where the hem of your shirt hits.

“They chose me.”

“That’s very lucky.” They slide underneath and up your back, “maybe we were meant to meet each other.”

“I’m not sure I believe in things like that.” You move yourself closer to him, until your face is inches from his.

“I don’t either, really. Fate, and soulmates. I’ve been called a…uhm, I don’t remember the English word. A negative person.”

“A pessimist?”

“Yes. Maybe sometimes I am, but…not always. I can be positive. I just like to be realistic.”

“A pragmatist.” You lean in and kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Mhm, both of those P words. I did get lucky, though.” He pushes forward, gently coaxing you to your back.

“Was it there before?” You ask. He’s hanging over you, studying your face. “Before Chicago, after I asked if you would date me?“

“Was what there? You mean, did I like you?”

“Yes, but…more than that. Or was it spending the night together?”

“It was before that. That’s why I wanted to spend the night with you.”

You nod, trying hard not to beam up at him. But his hands are on your sides, and his fingertips are moving so delicately over you, you can’t help but smile.

“When was it there for you?”

Your heart starts beating a little faster. You have no answer ready for him except the truth.

“When you gave me Pochacco.”

“On our first date? At the coffee shop?”

You throw your hands over your face and nod, “yeah, at the coffee shop.”

“I felt kind of silly giving him to you, I thought you would think it was silly, too.” He pulls your hands away so he can see your face again.

“It wasn’t.”

“So PuppyM wasn’t silly either?”

“No, I love him. And your denim jacket you left, that’s hanging on my bedpost. I love all of your gifts.”

“Oh, I forgot about that jacket!”Seungmin comes down and settles himself against you, face in your neck, hands wondering more.

“You can have it back, if you want.”

“No, you keep it. But I do need something of yours to keep with me.” His hands slide under your shirt and across your stomach. He tickles your side again, then stops when he reaches your hip.

You’re surprised at his restraint.

“I’m sure I have something for you.” You set your hand over his and slide it up his arm. Then back down.

His fingers twitch and push under your shorts. As ready as you were, and as much as you wanted him to make that move, your breath still catches in your throat.

He props himself up with his other arm and looks at you. His fingers touch lightly over your underwear, taking his time, getting himself where he needs to be.

But you’re not taking your time. And it’s Seungmin touching you, so your body is already on fire. You push your hips up and push his hand harder against you.

His fingers slide up and sneak beneath the fabric. He moves slowly, and he’s watching you carefully, as if you might protest.

But of course you don’t. You grip his arm and slide your hand from his bicep down to his wrist, moving with him as his fingers slip inside of you.

“Am I doing okay?” He leans closer and whispers. He doesn’t wait for an answer before pulling out and sliding back over your clit, making you choke on your answer.

You manage a shaky mhm and Seungmin giggles into your ear. His fingers stay put, making soft circles around you, keeping his touch as delicate as possible. Then he takes them off again, and he pushes back inside.

The reach of is fingers is enough to hit just the right spot, and when you jump from the pressure, he does it again and again until he gets a moan out of you.

You lift your hips into his touch and pull him down for a kiss. Your grip on his arm tightens and he eases up, but barely. His mouth is working its way across your neck now, leaving you free to moan.

“Do you do this a lot?” He says as he nibbles across your ear and cheek. When he gets to your lips, he hangs above you and holds your gaze. His thumb slides over your clit again, like he wanted to remind you of what he was talking about.

“Uhh…hmm?” You slide your hand up and grab a handful of his hair. “Yes.” You laugh and knead your fingertips into his scalp—it makes his eyes roll back. He’s in your neck again, savoring his little massage.

“Do you think about me when you do it?”

His question sends another wave of pleasure through you. His fingers slip inside again, pressing hard. His thumb is on your clit, wet and sliding easily and hitting everywhere you need it to.

There’s hot, heavy breathing in your ear, and a sweet whisper, “do you think about me, hm?”

“Every time,” your climax hits fast, and Seungmin knows he’s succeeded by the way you’re pulling at his hair.

He holds himself up just enough to watch you squirm beneath him. His touch softens even more as you start to relax, and when you stop and stare up at him, he comes down and kisses across your forehead and down the side of your face. He lets you catch your breath before moving to your lips.

“Really?” Seungmin blushes and tries to stifle his laugh in your neck.

You nod slowly, “that was…very good.”

“Thank you.”

“Too good, maybe.”

“I did some research.”

“You did not.” But when you think about it for a second, it does seem like something Seungmin would do. “Did you?”

“Just a little. In case I’d get to try it out on you someday.”

———

Seungmin looks carefully across your desk, touching the books stacked there, the loose sheets of composition paper, the notes and pencils. He sits in your chair and opens the drawer—inside are a few notebooks, all used and full. He shuffles things around a little, searching every inch.

Now he gets up and moves to your bookshelf. It’s more of a trinket shelf, though. Seungmin only runs his eyes over this, until he catches sight of a snow globe. He picks that up and shakes it. Inside is the Chicago skyline.

He stares at it for a long moment, then returns it to his spot. His attention turns to you, on the bed.

You just smile at him. He keeps looking around.

The next stop is your bedside table. You sit up when he sits down on the edge of the bed, run your hand down his back. As soon as he opens it, he whispers an ooh, and reaches inside.

“What did you find?” You laugh.

“Me,” he holds up three photocards with his face on them.

You take them from him and fall back on the bed, “you”, and look deeply at paper Seungmin.

“Hey, I’m right here…” he pushes your hand away and bends down to kiss you. “Real me.”

The next thing pulled from the drawer is a journal. He looks it over, but doesn’t open it.

“That’s you, too.”

Seungmin points to it, and his head tilts, “this is me?”

“Yeah, almost every page.”

His face goes from confusion to understanding, and then it falls a little.

“You should add one more page.”

“I will.”

The journal goes back in, and then his fingers close around something small. When he pulls it out, it catches the light and throws a reflection across the room.

“Oh, I haven’t worn this since last time.” You sit up and Seungmin hands you the bracelet. It’s only a tiny gold chain, but at the very end of it is a star charm.

“This.” He says, and he watches as you unclasp it, wrap it around his wrist, and close it again.

☾⋆⁺₊⋆

An hour after Seungmin left your house the last time, he sent you a text that just said “I’m home”. That was a first, and it felt like a good omen. But only time would tell. He never really had a good start with keeping in touch.

But he also said goodnight. And then he said good morning. And sometimes he called just to tell you instead of texting.

Actually, this morning, almost two months later, he called early in the morning, when you were still asleep. You caught his name on the lock screen before you picked up, but you still lacked the energy for anything more than a groggy morning Min.

Luckily, he can make up in enthusiasm what you lack some days.

“I’m sorry, you’re still asleep,” he whispers.

“No, it’s okay. I’m just being lazy. What are you up to this morning?” You also caught sight of the time before answering: 10am, way too late for you to sleep in.

“Catching a flight home, from Thailand. Waiting around.” Now you can hear the sleep still lingering in his voice.

“Oh right. I forgot you were there…I did see some photos. You looked very handsome in your safety glasses.”

“Thank you,” he laughs. “I was calling to…uhm, say good morning, and also to see if you would be home tonight.”

“Minnie, I’m always home.”

“That’s true, but it would still be rude to just show up unannounced.”

“I give you permission to show up unannounced.”

“Can I have a key, too? Oh, that reminds me…uuh, well, actually I’ll just talk to you about it later.”

“Okay, don’t forget. And yes you can have a key.”

———

This is the first time you’re not nervous about Seungmin coming over. Well, not as nervous as you typically would be. You’re still a little on edge—a little worried about how you look and about how your food is going to taste.

He didn’t mention anything about coming over hungry, but you’re taking the initiative anyway. If anything, he’ll have something to take home with him.

A soft knock at the door. You know his soft, steady knock, and you never have any other visitors, so it’s him. But for some reason you stand there stupidly, not moving, not saying anything, because you know it’s really him on the other side of your door.

Finally, after a few seconds, you take a breath. “It’s open.”

The door swings open.

“Hi,” Seungmin closes it quietly, takes off his shoes and looks at you from across the room. “It smells very good in here.”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten so…”

“No, nothing since lunch.” He takes a few long strides toward you. Big blue sweatshirt, matching sweatpants, a big smile. “So I’m very hungry,” he embraces you and squeezes you tight against his chest. “How have you been?” He relaxes, but he doesn’t let you free.

“I’ve been okay...I’ve been good.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t visit around Christmas—oh!” He bends down and kisses you.

He kisses for a long time—long enough that you think you might end up in bed before you even eat dinner. But he slows down, and then releases you.

“Happy new year! A little late.” He comes down again for one more kiss, and then makes his way to the kitchen. “What did you make? Something American? It smells like something American.”

“Yes. It’s very American.”

“Should we eat first, or talk?”

“I’m sure we can manage both.”

———

The two of you stare at each other from across your tiny kitchen table. Seungmin sips his tea. You just watch and wait, because this is his conversation.

“Do you want me to start? Something about you having a key to my apartment?”

“Ah, yeah. Yes, I should have a key, but I was thinking of a different apartment.”

“Oh, like yours? No, you don’t have an apartment. Or do you?” You lean a little closer, “secret apartment?”

“No, no secret apartment,” he laughs. “But I thought it would be nice if you lived closer. Closer to the city, and closer to me.”

“That would be nice, but I’m not sure something closer is in my budget.”

“I know,” Seungmin smiles—there’s always something so clever and knowing about his smile. “I figured you might say that. I could help.”

“You want to help me with rent? Expensive rent. That’s kind of serious.”

“I do! It is serious. I am serious.”

“You are?” You sit back in your chair and study his face. He’s still smiling and nodding at you.

“Yes, I’ve been thinking about it for…almost two months. And I found somewhere I think would fit very well.”

“Closer to you?”

“Much closer. I could walk to you.”

You’re thinking, but you’re not really thinking. The obvious answer to this is yes, even though it’s hard to just come out and say it. The idea of someone else helping with rent, or helping with anything, is foreign to you. “I would like to be closer to you.”

Seungmin looks at his phone, pulls something up on it, and then slides it to you across the table. “How is something like this?”

You trust Seungmin’s taste and judgement, but you still want to look it over thoroughly. Distance, yes, but also the size, the layout. And you do not have enough windows in this apartment. You’d like more windows. If he’s as serious as he looks, it might as well be worth whatever money you’re both going to put into it.

“How about this one?” You pull up a different listing.

He looks it over, “still very close. Oh, two bedrooms. Maybe the extra space would be nice.”

“It is a little more, sorry (Seungmin shakes his head when you say that), but it has a bathtub instead of just a walk-in shower. And it’s own laundry.”

He laughs, “I could do my laundry faster if I bring it with me. And the kitchen is nicer.”

“I miss having a bathtub.” You hand him his phone back. “But are you sure this isn’t too much? I know you said you were serious—“

“I am…I want you to know that I’m very serious. I think this is a good way to show you. And it’s also very practical.”

“You seemed so unsure before. I just want you to be…good. I want both of us to be good.”

“I’m very good.”

“This is a little crazy, isn’t it? All of this.”

“Yes, it is. I’ll call about it tomorrow.”

“No, I can. Let me do that, at least.”

———

“Minnie?”

Mmhm?

You sat on the couch after dinner, and it didn’t take much time before he had you on your back. He lifts your shirt as far as this position will allow, letting his fingers dance over you—making you squirm a little from how soft his touch is.

Forming the words you want to say is much harder than you thought. They’re dancing around in your head; you’re moving them back and forth, but every way it comes together feels like too much or not enough. Maybe right now just isn’t he time.

“What’s wrong?”

You pull your shorts down, open your legs for him, then shake your head. “Nothing.”

Seungmin reaches down and feels you, slips his fingers inside, then slowly pulls them back out. He smiles against your mouth and pushes in again, just to feel how wet you are. “Are we okay here…are you comfortable?” He asks sweetly. His fingers are still inside, moving delicately.

You nod, but suddenly you remember that you are not good, and you’re not ready. “Shit, no we’re not good. We need a condom this time.”

“Oh right, we should be safe. Tell me where they are,” he adjusts his sweatpants and very carefully lifts himself off of you.”

“In my black bag, under my bed.”

You listen as he slides it out and digs around. The contents of that bag are a mystery, but the condoms you bought back in Chicago, both boxes, have to be in there still. You’re not that bad at unpacking, but if it’s something you don’t use, you’re definitely going to forget I’m about it under there forever.

When he comes back in, he has one in each hand.

“I’m….not sure which one is for me.” His voice seems a little dejected. He’s looking down at them as he approaches you.

“Oh Minnie, they were both for you. I bought these a while ago, when I didn’t know which would fit you better.”

“Oh,” he finally makes eyes contact again. His face softens a little. “Sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“It’s okay, come here.” You spread your legs again and wait for him, “I’ll put it on for you.”

He crawls back onto the couch, settles between your legs, and opens both hands, palms up, in front of you.

You take the right one and rip it open. Seungmin looks like his mind is suddenly full. His eyes are big and soft.

“Min, what’s on your mind?”

His hands are already on his sweatpants, pulling them down his hips.

“You are.”

You touch him, slide your fingertips down, and then back up. The condom goes on easily. “Does it feel okay?”

He nods and adjusts, makes himself comfortable, and lifts your legs until he has more room. He pushes in a halfway, then leans over until you’re almost nose to nose.

“Minnie?”

“Hmm?” He sets his forehead against yours.

“There’s only you.”

“Just me?” He pushes his nose into yours, “only me?” Pecks at your lips.

“Just us.”

“Only us.” Seungmin pushes the rest of the way in, waits a moment, then begins to fuck you slowly and deeply, “you’re all mine.” He whispers in your ear as he drags his lips over it.

It takes you a second to pull yourself together. Each thrust sends you upward and knocks the breath out of you, but you manage a nod.

“Tell me,” he quickens his pace. The couch shakes the end table, and you can hear the clatter of things falling to the floor. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

It comes out shaky, and it’s not good enough for you. But Seungmin is still smiling. You try again

“I’m yours,” you grab the back of his neck and hold him still, “I only love you.” Your hand grabs hair and pulls—lips close on his before he has a chance to speak.

But he sighs into the kiss. He slows down, and it feels like he’s melting into you more and more with each thrust. What little skin is exposed between the two of you slides together, damp with sweat, and Seungmin kisses every part of you he can get to in the position he’s in.

He tries to get rid of your shirt, but he can’t stop, and he has to stop to make any progress—so you clumsily lift it, and your bra, until you’re free.

His hand slides up your ribs and his fingers graze over you, but for now he just watches how he’s making your body move under him. He seems hypnotized, but eventually he blinks, and then his eyes are fixed on yours again.

The room is quiet—no ambient noise from the tv, no music, nothing. The only sounds are the heavy breaths and soft moans you’re sharing. The condom is slowing him down, keeping him here much longer, and everything feels good in this position; good enough that you’d be satisfied staying like this as long he needs it.

He made you come last time, and now you want to do the same for him.

You lift him off of you until you can see him better.

He looks you in the eyes again, satisfied and smiling. “You feel so good,” he’s back down again, mouth on your chest, kissing down until he can close his lips around your nipple. He licks and works his way back up, stopping at your throat and staying there, his warm breath hitting you. “You love me?”

Your heart jumps. It was already racing, but now you feel it everywhere. In your throat, your chest, your head. You don’t think you’ve ever told anyone that before; not so soon. It’s been a year, but tonight is only the sixth time you’ve seen him and touched him. Everything else has been texts, phone calls, video calls.

It doesn’t matter. You said it because it felt right, and it still feels right.

“Yes.”

Seungmin slows his pace. His exhales turns into a string of soft, dulcet moans. He lifts himself upright and holds your hips as he rolls into you. He comes quietly. You wouldn’t have even realized if you weren’t looking right him.

The satisfied look on his face makes your stomach swirl. You watch Seungmin smile before your eyes close, and you can hear him whisper something to you while you’re coming down from your own high.

He pulls out and carefully brings your legs together.

“What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything, love.” He sits you up next to him and pulls your t-shirt over your head, “I was just…” he pulls you close, “nothing, it’s not important right now.”

“Will you stay here tonight?”

“Yes, I’ll stay.”

———

It’s been a long six weeks. You’re a little stressed out, but you’ve been holding yourself together very well, you think.

This apartment has been your only home for more than three years, so packing your things up and preparing to leave has been a little bit emotional. Almost everything is out of here and all that’s left are a few things you’re taking along on the last car ride.

Before this, everything was moving in slow motion and it was killing you. Now, it won’t slow down. You’re happy, and you’re grateful for everything that Seungmin has done for you…and it’s still sometimes hard to believe he’s doing it all just for you. But it’s so much all at once.

He told you he would stay tonight—your first night there. You haven’t received a text telling you otherwise, so you’re hoping he will be there when you arrive. You do have to remember that you’ll be there alone most of the time, though.

Some things will remain the same.

———

The elevator ride up is long, and you think back to you and Seungmin—your first date, bringing him home with you to your 5th floor apartment, thirty minutes out of the way, just to have him to yourself.

That was probably a good indication that he liked you. You just didn't realize it at the time.

You finally stop at the 17th floor.

The original apartment you looked at was unavailable when you called the next morning, so Seungmin insisted on taking everything into his own hands while you were at work. He knew what you were looking for, but he went overboard.

This apartment has the windows, the bathtub, and laundry room, but it also has double the space—and three bedrooms. When you asked what you were supposed to do with all of the extra room, Seungmin shrugged and said we’ll figure something out.

You don’t even own enough to fill up half of it. Everything that required any sort of muscle; the bed, the living room furniture, it all stayed behind. Most of the things in this apartment are new, or they will be new.

Before you have a chance to explore any further than the kitchen, you hear a very faint, soft knock on the door. You know it’s him and you run to open it, but he punches in a code on the doorknob, turns it, and peeks in before you get there.

“I tried to beat you here.” He smiles.

“You almost did.“

He closes the space between you and pulls you into a hug. “How was your day? Did the movers get everything here?”

“It was alright, and…I think so, but I haven’t gotten any further than this.”

“Just alright? I know it’s been a lot lately.”

“I’m better now that I’m here, and you’re here.” You take his face in your hands and squeeze his cheeks, “let me see, smile.”

Seungmin smiles widely and dramatically, and then bends down to kiss you. “How do I look?”

You pull him back for another one, “still handsome.”

He picks up the bags he walked in with and sets them on the kitchen chair. “I brought us dinner, and a few things to make you feel more at home.” Seungmin is pulling the food out of the bag, piece by piece. “So you didn’t see the bedroom yet?”

“Not yet, why?”

He shakes his head and smiles, “we’ll see it later.”

“What did you bring me?”

“Oh, let’s see!” He starts digging in the other bag.

You watch as he carefully places an assortment of things along side the food. There’s a candle, two candles, a small picture frame, but you can’t see the photo from where you’re standing. A stuffed dog. Another stuffed dog. One of them is Pochacco, the other is a mystery, but he does look familiar.

“That’s all for now but I do have more stuff to bring.”

“Well, we have plenty of space to fill.”

He beams at you, grabs one of the stuffed dogs, and pulls you against him. “This wasn’t mine, but I have one just like it.”

“I like him, he looks like you.”

Seungmin laughs and looks at Daengmo, “yes, he kind of does.”

———

When the sun goes down, and you’re both full and relaxing, you begin to feel even more nostalgic for the conversations you had and the memories you made with him at your old place, on your old couch. You have to work on new memories now.

He’s facing you on the new couch, eyes closed, slow, steady breaths. The flicker of the tv is hitting his face, making his cheek and the soft brown of his hair glow.

Very slowly, you reach your foot out and touch his.

Seungmin’s eyes open, and he gives you a sleepy smile, “how was dinner?”

“Good.” You sit up and move closer to him, “we should go to bed while you’re still sleepy.”

He groans and shrugs his shoulders.

“We gotta go see the bedroom, remember?” You grab his hand and pull a little, and he immediately gives in.

The bedroom is warm and cozy, like it’s already been lived in. You know Seungmin came in at some point and made it this way; the curtains are pulled, the soft amber lights are clicked on, and one of the candles he brought is lit on the bedside table. Both of the stuffed dogs he brought, and your PuppyM, are already laying on top of the pillows.

The bed is made, but not too made. The blankets are loose and fluffed up, ready to crawl into.

“How does it look?” He sounds a little more awake now.

“It looks perfect, come on.”

He shakes his head, “If we don’t brush our teeth now, we will never get back up to do it.” He smiles and kisses you softly.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

———

The lights are off, the candle is out. Seungmin is facing you in bed.

“Are you awake? Did you lose your sleepy?”

“A little.”

He scoots closer until his arm can drape over you. The bedroom is bigger, and the bed is bigger, too. You’re sharing one side just to be close to each other.

“It will come back soon.”

You set your forehead against his chest and feel it move steadily with each breath. It's quiet for a long time, and now sleep is really escaping you. You should be able to relax like this; you’ve shared a bed with him a few times before, and you haven’t slept as well since. And you’re tired—too tired. Maybe too exhausted for sleep.

You wonder if he’s awake, or if he’s quiet because he thinks you’ve finally drifted off.

You run your hand gently over his arm, waiting for a reaction. At first, he doesn’t make a move or a sound, but when you slide your hand back up, he moves his leg against yours.

“Can’t sleep?” He whispers

“Did I wake you?”

“You didn’t.”

“Then no, I can’t sleep.” You prop yourself up on one arm and look down at him. It’s dark, but you can just make out the details of his face.

He flips onto his back and pulls the covers away. “Are you uncomfortable?” Seungmin asks and places his hand on your cheek. He’s warm, his eyes are warm. His mouth parts slowly and turns into a smile. It’s a tired smile. “New bed.”

“New everything.”

“Except for me.”

Your hand closes around his, then you turn your head to place a kiss on the inside of his wrist. “Thank you for being here. I know you’re on a tight schedule.”

Seungmin pulls you down on top of him. His face is in your neck, kissing playfully and lazily, but the way his hands are exploring you is anything but lazy.

“You’re cold,” he stops, wraps his arms around your waist, and holds you there. “You need to be warmed up.”

You get your hands underneath his shirt, “you’re warm enough for both of us.”

“I can share.”

“Can I ask you something stupid?”

“Yes, I would love that,” he laughs softly and disappears in your neck again.

The stupid question bounces around in your head. His warm lips on you are starting to make your head fuzzy, and you wonder if you should just forget it. But now he’ll get it out of you somehow.

“Will you sing for me?”

He pulls back to look at you. Seungmin’s face lights up. It could light up the entire room. “You want me to sing for you?” If he was sleepy at all before, he’s not now. You’ve managed to wake him the rest of the way with a simple, stupid, request. But it wasn’t stupid at all.

“I always have, it just never seemed like a good time.”

“Right now? Should I sing now? Maybe it’s too quiet, and the walls might not be very thick.”

“In the morning?”

He nods, “yes, I’ll sing for you in the morning. What should I sing?”

“Surprise me.”

“We talked about singing together before, remember?”

“I remember,” you wrap around him and pull the covers back up in an attempt to get him sleepy again. “But I’d rather just hear you.”

☾⋆⁺₊⋆

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reaper2187 · 5 months ago

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Verosika x female reader

In the bustling underbelly of Hell, there was no place quite like the vibrant streets of Imp City. Here, the citizens were always engaged in various forms of debauchery and mischief, but for Y/N, a hellhound who preferred the quieter side of chaos, the day had started quite normally.

Y/N worked at a nightclub as a bouncer, using her formidable strength to keep unruly demons in check. The job wasn't glamorous, but it paid well and allowed her to blend into the background, which she preferred. She never expected anything extraordinary to happen in her routine life until Verosika Mayday walked into her club.

Verosika Mayday, the sultry succubus pop star, was a name known far and wide. Her presence commanded attention, and her music had an addictive quality that enthralled demons across Hell. Y/N had heard of her, of course, but she had never expected to meet her, let alone have her enter the club she guarded.

It was a particularly busy Friday night when Verosika and her entourage waltzed in. The music was loud, the lights were dim, and the air was thick with the scent of various infernal substances. Y/N was at her post by the entrance, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd for trouble. She almost missed Verosika as she strutted past, her entourage a swirling mass of sycophants and admirers.

"Hey, you!" a voice called out, snapping Y/N from her daze. She turned to see Verosika herself looking directly at her, an amused smirk playing on her lips. "Yeah, you, the big bad wolf. What's your name?"

"Y/N," she replied, her voice steady despite the surprise. "Is there something I can help you with, Miss Mayday?"

Verosika's eyes sparkled with mischief as she sauntered closer, her hips swaying with each step. "You look like you could use a break, Y/N. How about you join me for a drink?"

Y/N's heart skipped a beat. This was not how her night was supposed to go. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm on duty."

Verosika pouted, a playful expression that only highlighted her beauty. "Come on, just one drink. I promise I won't bite… much."

Despite her better judgment, Y/N found herself nodding. She signaled to her coworker to cover her post and followed Verosika to a secluded booth. The succubus slid in gracefully, patting the seat beside her for Y/N to join.

"So, Y/N," Verosika began, her eyes studying the hellhound intently. "What brings a lovely lady like you to a place like this?"

Y/N shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Just needed a job, I guess. Bouncing pays well, and I get to avoid most of the drama."

Verosika chuckled, the sound low and melodic. "Smart and strong. I like that." She leaned in closer, her scent intoxicating. "Tell me, Y/N, have you ever been to one of my shows?"

Y/N shook her head, feeling slightly embarrassed. "I've heard your music, but I don't really do crowds."

"That's a shame," Verosika purred, her fingers brushing lightly against Y/N's arm. "I think you'd enjoy it. Maybe I can give you a private performance sometime."

Y/N's breath hitched at the suggestion, her mind racing. Was Verosika Mayday really flirting with her? She decided to take a leap of faith. "I'd like that."

The night progressed with Verosika regaling Y/N with tales of her escapades and adventures. They laughed, shared drinks, and for the first time in a long while, Y/N felt genuinely connected to someone. Verosika was charming and surprisingly down-to-earth, her glamorous persona giving way to a more vulnerable side that few got to see.

As the night wore on, Verosika leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You know, Y/N, I don't usually do this, but there's something about you. Something… different."

Y/N's ears perked up, her heart pounding in her chest. "Different good or different bad?"

"Definitely good," Verosika replied, her lips curving into a smile. "I want to see you again. Away from all this noise."

Y/N could hardly believe her luck. "I'd like that too. How about tomorrow night? We could go somewhere quiet, just the two of us."

Verosika's eyes lit up with excitement. "It's a date, then." She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Y/N's cheek, her lips warm and inviting. "Until tomorrow, Y/N."

With that, Verosika slipped away, leaving Y/N sitting in the booth, a dazed smile on her face. She watched the succubus disappear into the crowd, her heart soaring with anticipation for what the future might hold.

The next evening, Y/N waited at a small, secluded café, her nerves getting the best of her. She had chosen a place away from the usual chaos of Hell, hoping to have a peaceful evening with Verosika. When the succubus arrived, looking effortlessly stunning in a simple dress, Y/N felt her worries melt away.

They spent the night talking, laughing, and learning more about each other. Verosika was more than just a pop star; she was kind, witty, and deeply passionate about her music. Y/N found herself falling harder with each passing moment.

As they walked through the quiet streets after dinner, Verosika slipped her hand into Y/N's, their fingers intertwining. "You know, Y/N," she said softly, "I've been with a lot of people, but none of them made me feel the way you do."

Y/N's heart swelled with emotion. "I feel the same way, Verosika."

Verosika stopped and turned to face Y/N, her eyes shining with sincerity. "Then let's not waste any more time. I want to be with you, Y/N. Just you and me, against all of Hell."

Y/N pulled Verosika into a gentle kiss, their lips meeting in a sweet, lingering embrace. In that moment, surrounded by the infernal beauty of Hell, Y/N knew she had found something truly special. And for the first time in her life, she felt like she belonged.

#lesbian #wlw #wlw post #helluva boss verosika #verosika x female reader #verosika mayday #verosika x reader #verosika helluva boss

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bibibbon · 4 months ago

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I have mentioned how Izu is single out in his own story in many ways but...can I say how bk is the root of all the problems the manga has? Yes, even the Tododrama.

"but bk didn't abused the Todos" True, it was Endy...but the blame still goes to BK bc in a story where HE can mistreated, abuse and try to kill the MC OF THE STORY and no one baits an eye ...why the tododrama would be different?

If Izu has to look up to his abuser and call him cute nicknames...why Endy wouldnt center himself as "mea culpa" and take the spotlight in the narrative of the Todorokis?

It's all a domino effect.

Hori constructed a narrative and even framed as BK's actions aren't that bad. People thought it was funny.

"lol typical BK" as he says smth cruel to Izu or you know, tries to kill him.

People start to ship him back the day...with Izu. People were saying "wait for his character development/redemption" and well...it became a question of what BK feels, not Izu.

Doesn't that feels similar ?

Who cares what Toya or Shoto feels? It's more important to know what Endy is feeling.

If the mc of this story can be abused and no one bait an eye(be in the story or in the fandom at large) why people are shocked the Tododrama is being like that?

Its absolutely consistent with how MHA is since day 1. The victim deserves nothing and the abuser has a pity me party.

Hi @mikeellee 👋

Well sure bakugo definitely has a huge influence but it's not bakugo himself that directly caused the todoroki family drama and neither would I label it as such.

I get the point that it's characters like bakugo that are the root cause for a lot of societies problems!! I also agree with this sentiment.

I think that there is also evidence for this since bakugo shares a lot of paralleling imagery or just parallels with horrible characters like Enji todoroki and All for one. I remember one of @sapphic-agent posts that talked about bakugo and his lack of a main villain was because he was his own villain. Bakugo is the prototype for one of the worst types of people that exist in MHA society and it's worse that his previous behaviour goes unpunished. This is also another parallel that he has with enji todoroki. I would like to say Iam surprised but Iam not.

I think it's interesting how horikoshi managed to simply normalise bakugo's abusive, aggressive and rash behaviour and even turn it into what some may call an enjoyable gag for the readers to see and go "classic bakugo" or some other type of excuse.

So yes if bakugo can do it other characters can do it that meaning enji and AFO who got away with a lot heck afo was somehow even humanised?!?!?!?!

I can never understand canon BKDK shippers like Iam sorry but what do they see in that. Izuku literally has no agency or autonomy here it completely sucks and its toxic as heck. Also it's very ooc considering that bakugo hates Izuku's guts and has only recently started to act civil towards him. Also bakugo never went through a proper redemption so I don't see the appeal. I think that a lot of shippers may ignore these factors which is where fanon and a much more healthier version of BKDK comes in but I still hate it tbh 🤷‍♀️.

Yes classic hori somehow managed to turn his story into one where the abusers are always praised and the victims are either always perfect little angles that forgive and forget everything or spiteful and vengeful with the urge to burn society down.

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daryltwdixon · 2 months ago

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The Ruins of Us: Chapter 3

Summary: Drama continues at camp, following almost directly along with S1 E3

Relationship: Daryl & Reader, Shane x Reader

first warning of this multi-chapter series: Age gap relationship (not Daryl & fmc)

other notes: By now if you're still reading this, you've probably noticed I'm a heavy dialogue writer. I love dialogue. That's just my style and I don't plan on changing it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Lmk your thoughts :)

The guys at camp are packing up the car, getting ready to head into Atlanta. Glancing over your shoulder, you catch the women at camp staring at you from the RV. Huffing, you turn back to Daryl. "What's the deal with everyone here?" you ask.

Daryl shakes his head, mumbling that he doesn’t care. You shift your gaze to the firepit, absently digging your boot into the dirt.

After spending a few hours around camp, it’s clear to you who’s close, who’s just friends, and who’s on the outskirts. You glance up and spot Carol sitting with her husband and daughter. Her husband gives you the creeps—something about the way he looked at you earlier. Carol, though, seemed sweet, even if she was quiet. You figure in time, she might open up to you. The sisters, Andrea and Amy, were fine, but Amy’s remark about Merle left a bad taste in your mouth. You couldn’t really blame her, though. Merle was a jackass, the way he spoke to people was downright unbearable at times. But you and Daryl knew a different side of him, as much as Merle let anyone know him. He wasn’t always like that. As a kid, he’d been funny, even sweet. But their father ruined him. Then, Merle left, abandoning you and Daryl to face that monster on your own. Your mom was so absent even when she was in your childhood home, so you found sanctuary in the Dixon house. Or maybe it was just a sanctuary wherever Daryl was.

The person at camp you couldn’t quite decipher was the woman you found out was Rick’s wife. You were never really around Shane’s friends or spent much time around anyone he knew when you two were together. You might have seen a photo of Lori somewhere with their son Carl, but you never met them. She was…distant. Friendly to your face but short and tense from the few minutes of chatting with them while things got packed up.

Rick calls out to Daryl, causing you to get up and brush off your pants, following him over to the van.

“You’re stayin here,” Shane says as you approach.

“Like hell I am,” you shoot back, crossing your arms. “Merle’s as much my family as he is Daryl’s.”

“You are not leaving this camp for a douche bag like Merle Dixon,” he growls at you, pointing at Daryl with an accusatory finger.

“You better choose yer words more wisely,” Daryl snaps.

“No, I did. Douchebag is what I meant,” Shane retorts.

You can’t help but feel a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, though you quickly stifle it.

Daryl grunts. “I don’t want ‘er outta my sight again, Walsh.” His voice is rough, full of warning.

“Oh yeah, out of your sight, Dixon. When’s the last time you saw her anyway? How many years has it been? When she left for college?” he spits.

Daryl bristles, charging at Shane with his fists clenched. You quickly step between them, holding your hands up.

“Daryl, please,” you say softly, locking eyes with him. “It’s fine. I’ll stay. It’s not a big deal.”

But you’re lying—to Daryl and to yourself. The last thing you wanted was to be left behind. It had been so long since you’d seen Daryl, since you were partners in crime. Truth be told, you didn’t want him out of your sight either. But you knew going to Atlanta was dangerous. You weren’t good with a gun, and you’d only hold them back if things went sideways.

Rick approaches as the others start gathering to leave. You turn away from Daryl, facing Shane.

“I’ll stay. But you,” you jab your finger in Shane’s chest, “you’ve got some explaining to do.”

As the group heads out, you feel the weight of unresolved tension settling over camp. Shane is clearly frustrated with Rick taking such a big part part of the group into Atlanta, while Daryl is with them, fuming about something—whether it’s you, Shane, or just the world at large, you can’t tell.

“Them walkers are gettin closer and closer to camp,” Shane sighs, running his hands over his face.

“Walkers?” you ask, in stride with him.

“That’s what we’ve been callin’ ‘em,” he says, not looking at you, his tone gruff. He stops walking for a moment, hands on his hips, staring out into the distance. Then, almost reluctantly, he glances back at you. "Alright, spit it out."

You blink, caught off guard. “Spit what out?”

“How’d you end up here? With Daryl?” you demand, your frustration bubbling over. “No one’s telling me anything. I’m just some redneck girl who walked out of the woods with an angry Daryl Dixon, and everyone’s acting like that’s all I am.”

Shane looks at you, then away, clearly uncomfortable. “Can we do this later?” he mumbles, his eyes already darting elsewhere.

Before you can press him, a young voice cuts through the tension. “Shane! Show me how to find the frogs!” You both turn to see Rick’s son, Carl, wiping his eyes as he comes out of his tent. His mother stands in the doorway, her own eyes red and puffy.

Shane’s expression softens as he looks at Carl. A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth before he looks back at you. “I’ve got a date with some frogs,” he says, walking away without waiting for a response.

・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・❥・・❥・・❥・

x flashback x

Your first date with Officer Shane was the most romantic date you’d ever been on. Not that he had much competition—most of your dates had been with high school boys taking you to the lake, their grubby hands creeping under your shirt after a couple of beers. Or they always ended up fleeing once they realized your best friend was Daryl Dixon, who was always nearly in Merle's shadow back then. But Shane was different. He picked you up at 8 p.m. on a Saturday, that shy smile playing on his lips. You could’ve sworn there was a twinkle in his eye when he looked at you. His truck was the cleanest, shiniest vehicle you’d ever stepped foot in, and the new car smell hit you the moment you slid into the passenger seat. Shane leaned over, gently grabbed your hand, and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, his eyes glancing up at you.

“I’m happy you came out tonight,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.

You blushed, shrugging, “Got nothin’ better goin’ on.”

He chuckled, putting the truck in reverse. “I’m sure you and Dixon would’ve gotten up to some kinda trouble.” You smiled at the thought as he backed out of the driveway of your childhood trailer home.

Shane drove you into the heart of Georgia farmland, where the night was quiet, the air crisp, and the sky clear. The truck eventually pulled off the road into an open field, and you glanced over at him, curious. He just smiled, that broad, confident grin of his, and stepped out. You watched him round the front of the truck, opening your door with an old-fashioned charm no boy had ever shown you before. He extended his hand, and you slid out of the passenger seat, your hand in his, warmth spreading up your arm from his firm grip.

Okay, a hot gentleman, you thought, fighting back a grin.

He didn’t let go of your hand as he led you around to the back of the truck. Your steps faltered when you saw what he’d set up. A wide smile spread across your face. The truck bed was transformed—a soft blanket laid out, pillows scattered around, snacks arranged neatly, and a bottle of wine nestled in a basket. Two glasses sat nearby, everything perfectly strapped down with bungee cords. You turned back to Shane, your heart swelling at the thoughtfulness of it all.

He was watching you, his warm gaze never leaving your face, his hand still holding yours.

“What do you think?” he asked softly, his voice almost a whisper.

“I love it,” you whispered back, beaming up at him.

An hour later, you found yourself sitting between Shane’s legs, leaning against the back of the truck. His arm rested around you, his fingers absently stroking your hair while his other hand held a glass of wine. The night was peaceful, the air cool, and the sky scattered with stars.

“What’s your job like?” you asked with a playful smile, looking up at him.

He chuckled. “My job?” He paused for dramatic effect. “I’m the deputy for King County State Police, little lady.”

You laughed, nudging him gently. “So what’s it like?”

He thought for a moment, taking a sip of the deep red wine. “A lot of it is pretty boring,” he admitted. “The serious stuff? It’s just about good judgment—keeping people safe.”

“I can’t wait to get a real job. A career ,” you sighed, staring up at the sky.

Shane glanced down at you, curiosity in his eyes. “What’s your plan?”

You thought about it, your mind wandering past the obvious desire to get out of this town. When you really pictured your life in the next few years, it was more than just leaving.

“I want to help people,” you said quietly, feeling the weight of those words as they hung in the air. Shane’s hand stilled in your hair, and you felt his gaze on you, waiting for you to continue. You took a deep breath. “I’d love to be a part of the Red Cross. Be sent out to disasters, help those who need it the most. But first, I want to go to college… if I can.”

“You can,” he said softly. “You will.”

You leaned your head back against his chest, looking up at the stars, then back at him. The sky was lit with a million specks of light, vibrant colors streaking through the black night. It took your breath away.

“So beautiful,” you breathed out, marveling at the sight.

“Yeah,” he whispered, his eyes locked on you instead of the sky.

Before you could say anything else, his lips were on yours.

・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・❥・・❥・・❥・

x flash forward x

You walk down to the quarry, the crystal blue water glimmering under the sunlight. Thoughts of Daryl leaving angrily in the van flash through your mind—he barely looked at you today. Something was different. The last time you’d seen him, things hadn’t exactly been good between you two. Back when the world was still normal, you hadn’t spoken for months, maybe longer. But even then, Daryl would never turn his back on you. Today, though, it was like you were just some nobody he found wandering in the woods.

The women are gathered by the water, washing boards in hand, while Shane and Carl splash around near the rocks, laughing. The women talk about the things they miss from before—cars, coffee makers…

“Hey,” you greet quietly, stepping behind them.

Carol glances up with a warm smile. “Hey, come join us,” she says, waving you over. Jaqui, a slender woman with short black hair, dark skin, and kind eyes, scoots over to make room between her and Amy. Carol hands you an extra wash basin and board, her smile soft but welcoming.

You sit quietly with them as they chat, lost in their conversation. Your eyes keep drifting over to Shane, and every once in a while, you catch him glancing back at you, his expression unreadable. You watch as Lori also makes her way down the hill into the quarry, hands on her hips, visibly annoyed. You shake your head, but your ears prick at the sound of the women giggling around you.

“I miss my vibrator,” Andrea says, breaking the quiet. Laughter erupts from the group, and Carol looks around sheepishly. “Me too,” she admits, and the laughter intensifies. You all dissolve into giggles.

Then, heavy footsteps approach from behind, and Ed’s voice cuts through the laughter. “What’s so funny?” he asks, his tone laced with irritation.

“Just swappin’ war stories, Ed,” Andrea replies smoothly, her eyes flicking to yours before returning to her washing. You sigh inwardly—Ed’s not exactly the company you were hoping for. You glance back over to Shane, who’s now deep in a hushed, heated conversation with Lori. She’s pushing at him, clearly angry about something. Your brow furrows. What’s going on between them? You’d think they’d be in better spirits, now that Rick’s back, not to mention Shane’s girlfriend standing right here.

Shane watches Lori turn and head back up the hill, and you watch him, your thoughts spinning. The voices of the women around you escalate, drawing your attention back to them as they crowd around Carol, now standing. Ed’s mood has shifted from irritation to outright anger. He’s yelling something about "prodding the bull," and before you know it, he slams his fist into Carol’s face.

You lunge forward, catching Carol as she crumples into your arms. Shock surges through you, but before you can react, Shane is suddenly there, ripping Ed away from her. His fists crash into Ed’s face, over and over, each punch landing with a sickening thud.

“Shane, please! Shane!” you shout, grabbing his shoulders. He hesitates, pulling back, his breath ragged as he wipes his bloodied knuckles across his sweat-soaked forehead.

You stumble back, wide-eyed and shaken. Ed’s moans mix with Carol’s sobs, the air thick with tension and fear.

#daryl #daryl dixon #twd daryl #Daryl Dixon fanfic #working title #when do I have to figure out a title dude #ugh #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfic #no smut (yet lol)

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dominos-pizza-squad · 4 months ago

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"You're going to have to."

I don't usually write meta on account of doing my best to avoid Fandom Drama like the plague and even a hint of Star Wars meta is like a siren call to Drama but. I have Thoughts about this scene and now I'm going to share them and if you're here for anti-Mace Windu thoughts this is not the post for you my friend.

Every time I see meta or reference to this scene it's used as more 'proof' that Windu was totally the worst and we shouldn't feel at all bad about him being maimed and thrown to his death which sure is a take, and on the surface I can understand why. When you don't bother to look more into that scene it does come off as Windu being a rude bitch to a child whose dad died in front of him, which is pretty uncool.

But this is a meta post and I am here to look more into this scene. I want to start with the concept of forgiveness, because when I go, I go big. I feel like a lot of the antipathy toward this scene (and by extension toward Windu) come from the fact that again, on a surface-level reading, it looks like Windu is demanding Boba's forgiveness for Jango's death, when we all know that's not how that works. That is, in fact, a concept that to most of us is viscerally offensive- our knee-jerk reaction is something more along the lines of "screw you i resent you more now" than it is "well okay that seems reasonable". Because you can't just demand somebody's forgiveness and expect it to happen. All that is is another wrong against the person you've already wronged. It's pure conceitedness and self-interest.

It's also not what Windu was trying to say to Boba in that scene. Not even remotely, in my opinion, and I'll explain why.

Think about the way the Jedi teach, particularly the way they teach philosophical concepts- they don't simply tell their students what to think, they tell them something and then make them think about themselves. Jedi are always expected to look deeper into a lesson to see what they can get out of it, this is the way Windu's lived his whole life, of course this is the way he speaks to Boba even though Boba's not a Jedi.

It's not exactly a hot take to say that Mace Windu and Boba Fett have very different ways of approaching the world. This is important to remember, though, because it guides the way that Windu interacts with Boba in this scene. When Boba swears he's never going to forgive him, Windu looks him in the eye and says, "Well, you're going to have to." And when he says that he's not saying that as some kind of ultimatum, he's saying that as a statement of fact.

What Windu is really saying to Boba in this scene isn't "forgive me 'cuz i said so". What he's saying is "your father cannot come back, and you will have to find a way to live with that so it doesn't consume you". Because what was Boba saying when he said "I'll never forgive you"? It wasn't just "I hate you", it was "I hate you, and I hate you so much that I don't care who I destroy in the process of destroying you". Sure, he expresses regret for all of the actual human beings that died because of his actions, but he follows it up with an utter refusal to acknowledge that those actions were wrong. What he was saying was "I hate you, and I hate you so much that I don't care who I destroy in the process of destroying you, even if it's myself."

Boba has done some genuinely horrible things by this point. He's put other children's lives at risk. He's crashed a star destroyer and killed who knows how many people. Maybe he didn't shoot the injured clones himself when they went in and took their hostages, but they wouldn't have died there if it weren't for him. He is directly responsible for the death of a man whose only crime was walking through the wrong door at the wrong time. He has charged headfirst down a path of death and destruction that will spread misery everywhere he goes.

And now Windu- who has just lost all of these men, lost Ponds, nearly lost his own life to Boba's actions- is looking down at this twelve-year-old boy, and he doesn't want this for him. He so badly doesn't want this for him, but he cannot make Boba's choices. All he can do is try and tell him "this path you're on is not worth it".

Because that, in my opinion, is what he means when he says "You're going to have to." He's not saying that he's entitled to anything from Boba (because he might have killed Jango in self-defense, but his motives and intentions don't change the fact that his actions hurt Boba), he's saying that Boba has to let go of that hatred before it ruins his life.

Which is exactly what it does! What happens to Boba in the end? He continues alone down his path of hate and misery, until he gets eaten by a sarlacc and enslaved by Tuskens. He had so little, and he loses even that. And it's no one's fault but his own.

But.

But. Finally, so many years after he started down that path, he does what Windu said. Finally, he lets that anger go. Finally, he gets to become what he could have been if he hadn't let himself be consumed by his rage. And that's why I liked The Book of Boba Fett, despite its flaws, because we get to see that change. After forty-odd years of strife, Boba finally gets to be a man at peace. And that's exactly what I think Windu would have wanted.

#i drank four mai tais and stayed up til 2 am and these are the thoughts that came out #pro jedi #in defense of the jedi #my star wars opinions #star wars #star wars prequels #the clone wars #star wars meta #mace windu #boba fett #long post

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apocalypse-shuffle · 1 year ago

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DICK GRAYSON & JASON TODD | BATFAMILY (assorted canon)

—

“Long Overdue: Epilogue” (Dick Grayson & Batmom!Reader), (Jason Todd & Batmom!Reader) and (background Bruce Wayne x Batmom!Reader)

| Reader was with Bruce in the past but grew distant after Jason’s death. No one tells her when he comes back from the dead until Bruce is forced to bring her in on a raid when they’re overwhelmed. -Jason and Batmom!Reader reunion.

| SFW, canon typical action/violence, cursing?, mentions of grief, past death of a child

| This is like half fanon half UTRH/Batman:Hush. I’m really just fucking around with canon rn. Also the pictures used are just for aesthetics and have no contextual meaning to the story. (pic source: Gotham Knights video game)

| 2k+ words

| parts: one, spurt, two, three, four, five, six/six point five, seven. (series masterlist)

You walk out of the weapons cache lighter than how you walked into it and head directly for your eldest.

“Dick what the hell?”

Said man, halfway through what looks like calf stretches, sits up and throws a slight frown your way.

“What? What’d I do?”

And bless him but he’s actually thinking it over. Eyes sliding to the side and lips pursing and everything. Racking his brain over what mess he forgot to get himself out of this time.

Somewhere behind you Jason starts laughing at Dick so when he passes by you flick him on the arm. The drama queen then makes a whole show of blowing you off with a half assed ‘ow’. Your eyes meet the dark depths of the cave ceiling for a second as you beg for strength before they lock on Dick once more.

From there all you have to do is purse your lips and raise a brow for him to catch on. His arms fling into the air.

“He said he’d ‘take care of it’, and I haven’t seen you since then. Fuck me for thinking he actually did it! And he only felt the need to tell me three nights ago so it’s not like you’re the only one.”

Your shoulders start to shake and you move closer until you can nudge him. His arms drop and he huffs.

“Easy, little D, I’m just teasing. Don’t beat yourself up over that man’s horrible communication skills, okay?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t be,” he says.

You do catch the nasty look he throws the cave entrance with despite what he’s said, and the easy tone he’s said it with, however.

“Actually,” Jason pipes up, helmet back on and voice once again skewed. “I’m still hung up on your shit communication skills. Nightfall? Since when has that been a thing?”

He jabs a finger in your direction while pacing around to Dick’s other side. Dick doesn’t do anything but follow the younger’s antics with his eyes.

You laugh, shrugging, and lean back on the cave wall beside the desk. You're still within spitting distance of the boys but you can’t bring yourself to travel any further.

“I’ve been in the game longer than Bruce has, but mostly under an independent contractor. It wasn’t till I came to Gotham that I changed my suit and started calling myself Nightfall; that gimmicky shit is contagious after all.”

“Immensely goddamn contagious,” Jason mutters darkly. He throws a glare Dick’s way that translates pretty perfectly even with the helmet to get him to knock off the staring, but you get the feeling the older only looks away because grilling you is a more pressing matter.

In the next moment Dick snaps his fingers, “You know what I still don’t get? How come we never found out? I mean you didn’t tell me until I was in Blud already.”

That question you can’t shrug away as easily. A grimace crosses your face and Jason makes an intrigued ‘ohh’ sound that honestly makes you want to flip him off. How are you being cajoled by your children right now?

“Well…” you kiss your teeth. “I was in love.”

The “Gross,” Jason lets out is instantaneous as he holds a hand up - it's a flawless reminder that 19 is not yet fully grown. “Pretend I didn’t ask.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not that damn bad. It’s just that when we first got Dick Bruce thought it’d be best if he had a greater sense of normalcy out of the cape, and I agreed; one vigilante guardian was enough. Then we just kept that same dynamic when we got you,” you gesture to Jason and he tilts his head.

“I’m still not seeing how that relates to the completely unnecessary ‘in love’ comment you made earlier.”

“Jason,” you scold. “I’m getting there, goddamn.”

Dick poorly muffles a laugh and you give him a hard look before rolling your shoulders.

“Back in the day, before Bruce stopped acting like we were a unit and more like I was a casualty of war in the waiting-” you take a deep breath and cross your arms, closing your eyes against the white lights of the cave.

You can hear the way they falter, likely glancing to one another to figure out what to do before they each take a step forward.

“You don’t have to-” Dick starts.

“Forget it-” Jason’s saying at the same time, their voices overlapping, and you shake your head.

“It’s fine,” you say. You blink your eyes open; both men have stilled but they’re balancing forward like they think you’re gonna drop. You huff. “Point is, there was a time where he could’ve convinced me of anything. He used to look at me like I hung the fucking moon just to provide people free light to see, you know? So at a certain time I chose not to tell you two because I didn’t want to challenge the perception of me that you had gotten from Bruce. That’s why you didn’t know, I didn’t want you to think I was as bad as the people you were fighting every night; the people who took away your parents from you. Dick running off was what made me finally spill, but you died years before I would’ve been ready to tell you, Jay.”

Jason clears his throat, “Uh. That why you and hi- Bruce separated?”

“Not really,” you sigh, shaking your head. “It wasn’t Bruce before…it was Bruce after. After you died we didn’t just bounce back…so eventually things between us soured. I loved him but expecting someone to put up with you constantly pushing them away isn’t fair,” you shrug. “How Bruce saw me stopped mattering as much after that.”

Dick nods, lining up what you’ve said to his own memory of the aftermath and coming up with a corresponding connection.

“Yeah, you and Bruce argued for hours after you met Tim that first time…and then some more when Stephanie became Robin. Hell, even by the time I’d gotten back earthside you and Bruce were down right frosty when you were next to each other even though you were trying to hide it from us.”

“Yeah,” you grunt. “That’s all we tend to do now: stay mad.”

Staring off into the distance Dick nods and Jason catches your eye, or maybe the other way round. His gaze on you is heavy all the same.

Whatever expression he is looking at you with is impossible to place with the helmet on but he is definitely watching you. Uncannily nearly all his mentees had Bruce’s tendency to look at things, and by extension people, like they were puzzles to solve. Which came with the added bonus of the recipient of said stare being able to feel it. Feel the weight of being dissected and picked apart as if it was a physical thing.

Most buck under that level of analysis. Wholly used to the originator of that stare though you continue on as usual. If he wasn’t going to ask then you had nothing to say.

After it becomes clear you won’t be coughing anything more up Jason backs off, pushing the conversation towards lighter material until Dick and him are carrying the back and forth together. They play off of each other in stunted stops and starts, and barely concealed hostility on Jason’s part, but their awkward attempts at light hearted banter still get your mind out of the gutter you’d landed in.

Ten minutes of forced jokes and almost insults later and Jason starts giving less than subtle hints at wanting to head out. After that it doesn’t take long before he comes over, and he doesn’t reach out to you but he does softly knock your shoulders together.

“See you later, Ma,” he says for your ears alone.

“Goodbye Jason,” you respond even though you’d rather never have him leave your side again.

You watch him go and are drastically reminded that your eyes have been incessantly brimming with tears this whole time when a few slip down your face with little prompting.

A few more beads follow the path of the others after you catch sight of the truly cracked look on Alfred’s face when Jason comes up to him before there’s an arm slinging across your shoulders and Dick’s urging you into a hug.

You take it. You raised some good kids, you’ll give yourself that much. Even if there were some major fuck ups along the way.

“It’s kinda surreal, isn’t it?”

“Oh absolutely,” you croak. “I like it though.”

Dick shrugs, “Yeah. It wouldn’t really be us if things got too predictable anyway.”

He waits a beat and then, “So who’s updating Babs?”

“Let me guess,” you deadpan, “he told you two at the same time?”

“Pretty much. Which that, combined with everything that happened with Steph and The Birds, and having to break all this to Cass means her fuse is waaay shorter than usual.”

“Not it,” you proclaim.

Dick’s mouth drops open, his gaze snapping to you.

“What? That’s not fair.”

“Says who? I’m not cleaning up after Bruce anymore than I already am, and she’s your friend, Dick.”

“It’s still unfair,” he grumbles. He brushes it off quickly though. “So….I heard you and Cass ran into each other a few days ago.”

“Yeah. Last Sunday.” You side eye him. “Right after you almost started a grease fire in your new apartment.”

Dick holds his hand to his chest, tone barely upset enough to sound like true hurt. “Don’t look at me like that, I can cook.”

You nod slowly, “I know you can cook,” then shake your head in the same manner. “But you cannot fry.”

“It’s not my fault the oil fights back. I get enough shit in my nightly life. I don't need it when I’m at home on top of that.”

He smiles but the way it doesn’t reach his eyes churns your stomach.

“Maybe pan frying just isn’t for you,” you murmur but your hand goes up to touch his arm. “How’re you feeling?”

Dick shrugs. Gaze locking somewhere over your shoulder.

“As good as I can be,” you give him a sideways look and he forces a chuckle, rocking back from your touch. “Seriously I’m fine. Please don’t stress out about me. Are you okay?”

“Uh huh,” you grunt before pushing him towards the benches on the other side of the cave. “Sure. I’m fine. Now come on, let’s go sit.”

“Mom-”

“Nope. Move before you pass out or some shit.”

“Ah,” he gasps, grinning weakly. “You said a bad word.”

“Dick,” you curb the urge to roll your eyes.

─────

Whatever conversation Jason’s just had with Alfred doesn’t seem to have left him any more tense than he already was, which is good. You and Dick stop mid sentence to watch him walk off from your new position on the floor.

You with a foam roller and your first child dramatically cringing every time you go over the area just above the hole in his calf. Part of it you’re sure is him trying to cheer you up but the other you're certain are actual expressions of pain because he went out on a literal bullet wound even though you’d told him to stay his ass home.

“I don’t know why he’s under the impression that I can’t shoot without killing someone but he’s wrong,” Jason’s saying. He pats the occupied holster at his thigh while making his way towards the vehicle pathway. “Anyway, I’m gonna get outta here. The later I see you Bats the better.”

“Jason!”

“Except for you, Ma! I’ll call you tomorrow!” He yells over his shoulder, running his fingers over the handle of the bike closest to him.

“You’d better,” you yell back. You’d be happy to reinstate another child that would lament the drama in their lives to you on your call list.

“Uh oh,” Dick says under his breath.

You turn to look over at him for barely a second, brows raised and mouth partially open, when the sound of a motorcycle revving answers your unasked question for you.

Looking back at the bikes shows Jason’s already peeling out of the cave with a yell of: “I’ll leave this somewhere you can find!”

You blink after him, not sure if you want to laugh or not.

“That’s not good,” Dick murmurs. When you turn to him he’s grimacing and seeing your expression he nods to the now empty spot. “That was Tim’s bike.”

“Oh.” For the first time since finding out the implications of Jason being Red Hood really hit you. Your lips purse. If he’d really been at that confrontation Tim came out of with a (mild according to him) slit throat during the Hush debacle, and been the one to infiltrate Titans Tower and lay Tim out a few weeks back you had a situation. “Oh lorde.”

“Yeah,” Dick gets up in one swift motion, hands on the roller. “We can’t have regular family problems. Nope.”

Unfortunately he’s right. A sigh falls past your lips. Either way, that was one down. You stand, addressing Dick while he’s putting the foam back.

“Excitement aside, before you head back to New York you want to come help me make dinner?” You incline your head. “Tim can come too.”

He smiles at you. You know he understands you not wanting to get too close to the teen but appreciates you including him in stuff anyway.

“Yeah, Mom, I’d love to. Just let me get my stuff and I’ll call him.”

“Okay.”

Dick leaves and you settle in to wait just as the Batmobile comes rumbling into the Cave. You cut your eyes at the vehicle but otherwise don’t acknowledge as Bruce gets out of it, heading immediately to change.

Alfred comes up to your side a breath later. The two of you nod in greeting.

“Sorry for taking the kids from you.”

“That’s quite alright, Mistress Y/n,” His voice drops to a whisper. “Between the two of us I believe Master Timothy may resort to camping in the woods behind the estate if he’s stuck here a moment longer. I’ll gladly allow you to take them both. You go deal with yours and I’ll deal with mine.”

“Have fun,” you croon lightly. The butler gives you a wry look in response. You shrug. “Oh, and if you wouldn’t mind could you tell Bruce to meet me at the Wayne Plot?”

A nod from the old butler.

“Is there a specific time you would like for me to convey as well?”

“He’ll know,” you say simply.

Alfred gives a curt nod.

“Certainly then. Farewell, my dear.” Alfred arches a brow at Dick as he comes back with a duffle swung over his shoulder. “And do try to express upon Master Richard the necessity of wearing his winter gear this year.”

“Alfred,” the man huffs.

You laugh and flick said man in the side. “I don’t think I’ll have to. He should have learned his damned lesson with that two week cold.”

“And I really did,” he bats your hand away and then speeds off. “I'll be upstairs.”

“Bye!” You laugh after him.

This was something you could work with. Putting time into your relationships with your boys and Tim. Solid plan. You say your farewells to Alfred and then follow after your eldest. Your gripes with Bruce could wait, you had dinner to make and two boys to feed.

Fin.

NOTES: I don’t know how severe the implications of a two week cold are but whatever. Hope you enjoyed!!

Thank you all for embarking on this journey with me, this is the first long form series I’ve actually finished so I’m very excited to cap it off!!

Anyway, long overdue is done but I will also write extras to this series at some other time in the future (if you’d like to be tagged in those then tell me).✌🏾

And yes I did my best not to have to write Tim or Cass yet, I can barely write Dick as is. Also let’s just assume Reader had the decency to actually inform Dick about Jason’s death and as such he wasn’t forced to dig for that information himself behind Bruce’s back.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it. this is a sideblog tho so I won’t respond.

Tagged: @aarinisreading, @niphredil-14, @mxtokko, @calsjack, @brunnetteiwik, @trashpenguin

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1-800-imagines · 6 months ago

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the party. part 2 |r.c.|

series masterlist

after talking about it with sarah the two of you had decided that just you would be going to the party. sarah didn’t want to add any more drama especially since it was at topper's house.

sarah was reluctant to just let you lose on the party without her for backup but you had reassured her that you would text her if you needed anything.

sarah wasn’t going to completely ditch you. she was going with you to your house to help you get ready. then she would most likely be going to be with john b but still accessible if they needed to come wreck havoc at the party.

you had asked sarah multiple times if she thought rafe actually meant it about taking you alone to which sarah had said, “yes. he likes you more than he likes me.” she was currently doing your hair. then she added, “he always asks about you, especially once you started dating that dick bag and didn’t come over as much.” she paused for a moment and said, “honestly surprised rafe hasn’t literally killed him.”

you didn’t know how to react to what sarah had just said. she went into your closet to pick something out for you to wear so you took that moment to text rafe and make sure he was okay with just you going. he hadn’t been back at sarah’s when you made the decision. so, you texted rafe to tell him and make extra sure he meant it and said ‘hey, just me tonight. that still ok?’

he had texted you back in minutes saying, ‘course it is kiddo. i’ll pick you up around 9.’

your heart did a small backflip and sarah walked back in the room, holding up a variety of outfits. you shook your head a little and smiled at her, “you’re really putting a lot of thought into this sare.”

“duh, we gotta make you look hotter than you usually look to make that douche realized how bad he fucked up.” she quipped, grabbing your hand and pulling you to a stand so you could try on the different outfits.

——

after what seemed to be forever, sarah had finally chosen the ‘perfect outfit’ according to her.

it was a light pink mini dress that had a v neck. “don’t you think this is a little much? i mean it’s just topper's house.”

“no it’s perfect. you look smokin.” sarah said smiling. “now, do you want me to wait till rafe gets here? to make sure he shows up? coz if he doesn’t, i’ll take you. ”

you shook your head, “nah it’s okay. i’ll let you know when i get to the party.” you had to admit you did have a small amount of doubt that rafe would change his mind and not want to bring you after all.

but sure enough, at 8:50, he had texted you that he was on his way.

but at 8:55, your doorbell rang and a minute later your mom called out to you, “sweetie! rafe is here to pick you up.”

your eyebrows furrowed together as you walked down the stairs, unsure why rafe was at your front door, much less talking to your mom.

“don’t worry miss y/l/n, i’ll make sure she gets home safe.” you heard rafe say.

you bit down on your lip to keep from smiling. you finally stepped up to the door and you felt rafe’s eyes rake down your body.

you blushed and looked at your mom to hide it. she smiled at you, “have fun. be safe.” she kissed your cheek and you walked out the door. “bye rafe honey.” your mom added as the two of you walked towards his truck.

rafe got to the passenger side and started to open the door for you. you thanked him and got in.

when he got in the drivers seat, he paused before starting the truck, and turned towards you, “you look really great kid.”

you blushed again, “thanks.“ your eyes looked out the window, not wanting to look directly at him.

he obviously saw this and patted your thigh then giving it a little squeeze. this shot electricity through your entire body.

you did turn back towards him, without looking at him, but you could just tell he was smirking.

after an agonizingly long car ride (less than 10 minutes), you had made it to toppers house.

when rafe got out of the truck, you took a second to text sarah that you had made it. he walked around to your side and opened the car door for you. he also put out his hand to help you hop down. when you were standing, he turned towards you and gently lifted your chin up, “how do you wanna play this?”

you gave him a puzzled look, “what do you mean?”

“well. we could be here as friends or we could be here on a date. or i could get topper to hit on you. any of the above.”

you contemplated before saying, “i think he’d be the most pissed if it was us on a date.”

“gotcha sweetheart. tell me if it’s too much and i’ll back off.” he said, closing the car door and putting his arm around you to walk inside.

----

comment to be tagged for part 3!!

#rafe #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron imagine #obx rafe cameron #outerbanks #outer banks imagine #obx #obx fanfiction #obx fic #outer banks fanfiction

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here2bbtstrash · 1 year ago

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as promised, here it is: The Big Life Update Post (aka m where the hell have u been and what the hell is going on with this blog)

TLDR: went thru it, came out better for it, i love y'all. and we're getting back into this writing thing as i have the time and capacity 🥳

2023 has been a bit of a whirlwind, to put it very mildly. while the first three months started off relatively smoothly, my saturn return began in the middle of march. only a few short weeks after that... well, i'd basically say everything went off the fucking rails.

content warning: drama talk incoming ft. extremely brief mentions of racism and racist hate mail (no specific details shared).

i haven't spoken on this yet since everything happened, and i want to be explicitly clear that i won't be speaking on it further after this post. but i just want you to understand where i've been at since april.

i will own it entirely and say: i fucked up. i put content in a story that i shouldn't have, that i had no business speaking on, and i think people were well within their right to call me out on it, one hundred percent. however, after i went offline at the end of april, my friends ended up learning that the person who initially stirred up all of the "tea", and submitted the first several anonymous posts about me to a hate blog, was actually someone i knew well and considered a friend.

this was someone whose stories i gladly beta'd, someone i consoled through multiple hard moments in their life, someone i actually even met in person. yep. this was also someone who had read the chapter of my story that featured the problematic content when it was released, and proceeded to send me paragraphs upon paragraphs of how much they enjoyed it, and the story as a whole. this is not to say that people can't change their minds on content after sitting with it, not at all. but to think that i had been through so much with this person, done so much to be there for them, and that they never once gave me any reason to think we were anything other than close friends. yet ultimately, they didn't feel they could come directly to me... or find quite literally any other way of dealing with the issue?

instead, they chose to send multiple messages about me to a hate blog, as well as hateful anons to several of my friends, thinking that we wouldn't know it was them (we did). not only that, but their actions encouraged an actual torrent of racist hate mail to be sent to all of my non-white friends who publicly chose to support me. ultimately, they ended up admitting all of this, and still, they never once apologized or showed even a single iota of remorsefulness or responsibility for the onslaught of vitriol they incited. (even though, you know, this whole thing was supposedly about how racism is bad.)

and this user is still on the platform, operating under a new blog name and pseudonym. so. that's fun. 💀

i don't say this to beat a dead horse, or to drum up sympathy, because i promise i don't want it. it's been long enough, i understand the mistakes i made, and i've done my part to take accountability for my actions. but i needed to start this post here to have you all understand where i was at the end of april - just in time for yoongi's tour 🤪 - in many ways, i felt like i had no friends, at least none that i could really trust. i felt unsure who might have been acting one way to my face, perhaps even praising me, but talking different about me behind my back. and it was beyond fucking nervewracking to think that i would be meeting so many friends IRL for the first time, quite literally days after what essentially felt like a public execution.

i wasn't doing well, to say the least.

and then... the funniest thing happened.

y'all showed the fuck up for me. in droves. in a way that i have quite literally never experienced in my lifetime and doubt i ever will again. even recounting it now is lowkey giving me chills. i received, literally, yes i counted, hundreds of DMs from the most incredibly kind people- on tumblr, on twitter, on discord, in AO3 comments. the vast majority of you wrote paragraphs: about what my stories have meant to you, about how you found my blog to be a safe space in the noise of the world, about how much you'd enjoyed our time together here. so many of you said something along the lines of "even if you never come back here again, please keep writing". honestly, for like a week straight all i could do was read my DMs and cry and cry and cry.

i didn't receive a single hateful DM. not one.

as if that alone isn't more blessings than i deserve in an entire lifetime, i also, you know. saw five shows of agust d on tour. (my credit card is still recovering.) spent two of the best nights of my life in pit getting a water bottle baptism and screaming myself hoarse. and met dozens of incredible moots, who held me when i cried, scream-laughed with me, and of course, drank plenty of booze with me.

at a time where i wondered to myself if i even had a single true friend in this fandom (or, like, in the world), you all showed me that i had so much more. that we had so much more-- we had a community. and i believe we still do. and i am more than ready to block out all the shit that doesn't matter and get back to having some fun around here.

in short: thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you. if you sent me a sweet word, i promise you, i read it (and probably cried lmao). i wouldn't be doing any of this without you. i will never ever deserve all the love that you have shown me. but for as long as you'll have me, i'd love to have a fun stupid horny time in this little corner of the internet. as a part of our community. what a fucking gift it is. 🫶

phew. okay, so- that was april and may. it's november. what the fuck happened?

i knew i wanted to properly take time to get my head on straight before i found my way back to writing. what i wasn't expecting was to 1. fall in love, 2. get a new job, and 3. move myself and my cat approximately 800 miles across the country... but yeah, since the end of may, those 3 things are exactly what i've been doing!

i won't talk too much about my partner here, because our relationship is important enough to me that i want to keep it largely private, but my god. he is the most incredible human. i can't tell you how much of what i wrote out as silly little daydreams in my fanfiction has somehow manifested itself into this very real human being (like, it's kinda crazy lmao 🙈). i'm grateful for him every single day. and what makes it even more special is that we met for the first time in person while i was traveling for yoongi's tour - yep! he saw me going through so much upheaval, and fell for me all the same. just another thing i will never fully believe i deserve. but goddamn do i feel luckyyyyy 🥰

and in addition to my amazing partner (and in part because of him but honestly i had plans to move before i had even met this man it just happened to work out okay 🙄) i have also finally managed to do what i've been planning for the last year and a half, which is move my ass out of the southern suburbs where i'd been for nearly a decade, and to a ✨walkable city that actually has public transit✨ - what a fucking dream. i may have only been here 8 days, and i may not have much more to my name than my cat, my TV, and my mattress, but i swear to god, i've never been this happy in my entire life.

so yeah. exhale. like i said, it's been quite the year.

now i do want to end this with a small caveat, which is to say, i can't make a promise as to how much i can *be* here (particularly not compared to how terminally online i used to be lmao). i spent a lot of time online because i was unhappy and feeling very stuck with where i was in life, and i needed escapism, bad. now, i've finally gotten to a place where i'm excited to go out of my house and do things, but i still want to make intentional time for tumblr as a form of connection and community, and writing as a form of creative expression. these things are really important to me!!! i just ask that you give me some grace if i'm a little slow on the uptake. i promise i'm still here 🥰

and writing is gonna happen!!! i can't say much more than that, because tbh i haven't so much as opened a google doc since april, but i've been itching to get back to it. maybe.... we might start off....... with some........... drabble requests??? 👀 we'll see we'll see we'll see hehe.

in any case, i think that's more than enough for now 🤪 oh how i've missed babbling to you all, the gay people in my phone. i hope you're well, and if ya feel so inclined, i'd love it if you'd send me a comment or a DM on what you've been up to in the many months it's been since we've spoke! what's new in your life? what are we manifesting??

talk so so soon, eeeeee~ i'm so happy to be back~ love you babes!!! 🤍

#mposting #quite literally the longest mpost of all time #if you read the whole thing i LOVE YOU #if you don't i understand lmao i too have adhd

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svgvru · 1 year ago

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. . . more biblically accurate gojo rambles! "i'm in love with a little blue frog."

𝐀𝐒 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 . . . he loves teasing you with them. he's always been insecure about them. his parents would never directly degrade him, but he could tell. they didn't like the way he looked. i mean—who would? three sets of eyes was not normal by any means, it was confusing for his parents considering he had curse-like features. my, my, the drama that occured. regardless, he never made friends. his face, paired with his immense power, made it nearly impossible for anyone to like him—truly like him. so he hid his face as best he could. bandanas, glasses, his hair, anything he could do to hide them.

and then he joined this choatic team which was led by yaga. suguru, you, him, and shoko. an unstoppable squad of the best new generation sorcerers. he was skeptical, then he got comfortable.

hed play with his glasses and accidentally flick them off his face, his bottom pair if eyes would squint at the sudden exposure to light as he searched for his glasses. he only paused when he realized the three of you were staring at him. specifically, his eyes. "ah shit—!" satoru desperately searched for his glasses before you calmly handed them to him. "you didn't see anything!" satoru huffs and crosses his arms, worried he's lost his first and only friends. the silence was deafening, more like, anxiety inducing for satoru—until you spoke.

"you're so pretty, 'toru!" you comment and smile. huh? did his crush just call him pretty? with a gasp from shoko and suguru simultaneously, they both leap and ask. "wait—do you actually have six eyes?" satoru's surprised at your interest, taking a step back.

"can we see?"

"that's fucking cool!"

"they look like baby eyes, awww, oh my god!"

"why didn't we notice this before??"

"wait . . . THAT'S WHY YOUVE BEEN SO BITCHY OVER YOUR STUPID SUNGLASSES?" suguru shouts, his eye twitching as he recalls all of satoru's bitchiness over touching his glasses. "huh? yea . . . wait—y'all aren't weirded out?" you frown. "no?" you sound offended as you answer. "they look fucking cool, move your hair." you stand up and smile, pushing up his fluffy pale hair to see his whole face. "you're so pretty . . . " you mumble, locking eyes with his big set and smile.

ever since then, gojo's been getting quite comfortable not hiding himself (utahime and nanami almost ruined it though). maybe even perhaps too comfortable?

when he finally snagged your heart, you'd go on dates and occasionally sleep in eachother's rooms. the bad thing about that, is satoru is a living nightlight. if he doesn't go to sleep before you, there's six blue beams shining either in your face—or the back of your head. its mostly to annoy you, but—sometimes he just likes looking at you. one thing he does do constantly to irritate you? is manipulate the way his eyes move.

once he gained full control . . . it was over. one thing he does, is frog blink. he mostly does it to catch you off gaurd or distract you. for example, if you're in an argument . . . he will purposefully make his eyes blink at different times to throw you off. and it works, a lot. sometimes you laugh, sometimes you just get really confused, but eitherway your reaction is funny and there's no longer an argument!

it is really adorable when he cries though. his little eyes close in cresents and under them are bright red. they make smaller tears that join up with the big tears . . . and awwww. it was even cuter when he was a baby! tears rolling down his chubby with that cute little baby pout.

don't even get me started if the two of you are able to have a biological child! if his baby has his six little blue eyes? he'll cry—for a multitude of reasons . . .

number one: they look just like they're daddy!

number two: they might have to face what they're daddy went through.

and number three: those six-eyes on a baby look so cute!

because of his upbringing, he will never—and i mean never, fail to shower his kid with love. on their first day of kindergarten he kissed every single eye like you did for him and sent them off with an "daddy love's you." even if non-sorcerers can't see it, when they gets older . . . others will be able to see them. so he drenches them in love, gives them tips to maintain each eye, tells them how to hide them if they really want to. he's literally such a great dad, you love him sm.

bc ppl wanted more, i gave them more! tell me if you want more scenarios with six-eyes gojo or anything like that!

#𝗙𝗟𝗨𝗙𝗙 ꒰ JJK ꒱#GENDER NUETRAL READER #DAD GOJO #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo fluff #satoru gojo fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk drabbles #jjk imagines #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen

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weaselbeaselpants · 1 year ago

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Legit Bad-take/Bad-Faith Helluvaverse critics you should not trust if you see them

Interpersonal squabbles within the critical tag are irrelevant, sorry. This here is a genuine warning against users you should keep your distance from in regards to any VivziePop drama-discourse because their names may come up and you should know what it is that crossed the line.

Starlatte/Starvader/HonestHazbinCritiques/OhGodDude and Woomycritiques/RaySquid - Serial harasser(s). Long story incoming. Starlatte was/is a Vivcritical who got involved in the fandom back in 2019/2020 when she was a minor and didn't tell anyone. Her blog on tumblr was HonestHazbinCritiques where she made some good points but also managed to find/be a part of everyone else's takes in the critical community. Her relationship with several criticalblogs turned sour when she started lashing out, talking over people, being accused of faking her age, and doing stuff like arguing with irl sexworkers abt how they should feel about Angel Dust. Whatever her age actually was at the time, she was also sending her own rewrite scripts and fanwritten episodes to Spindlehorse in order to 'fix' Hazbin. In 2021 Star returned to Tumblr under the name "Oh-God-Dude" w/o disclosing to new people who she was while also starting shit. When said new ppl found out her past and got mad at her, she proceeded to block-backtalk every one of them.

Woomycritiques (twitter handle: Raysquid) is a critical blogger who stans Star and calls everyone else in the critical community an obsessed stalker while lashing out herself. She accused others of racism (unfounded), her friends of predation just for being proship (not the 'cest and underage is good'-kind, the "I like some problematic stuff in fic-context"-kind), and heckled Dirgentlemen over how much they should hate Helluva, and more.

Regardless of if you believe Woomy and Star are the same person, which ppl do, they are both -by now- adult persons who have been asked to stop and DIDN'T, which is why people don't trust them. Star and Woom were asked to tone it down, stop making accusations and even asked by many criticals to leave and stop talking about Helluvaverse as she/they seem to have nothing good to say about it. To put that into perspective, cuz I know some HH/HB fans are gonna be reading this: the people who've self-styled themselves antis and criticals begged this person to leave cuz she had nothing nice to say and was being a nuisance. I know the stans think that's all of us anyway, so let that sink in.

LincarRox aka ToyTaker - Creep. Nasty jealous stalker freak who got kicked out of Helluvaverse servers and Aminos for saying nasty shit like how he "wants to put a baby" in Viv. No really. He took his shit and grievances to BadWebComics wiki under the name TheToyTaker while also seemingly trying to get work at Spindlehorse in order to have access to Viv directly and to 'fix' her show. He did so by faking his animation portfolio. BWW did eventually catch on and kick him out but yeah....bad. May or may not still be going under his old pseudonyms, but regardless if you see someone talking weirdly sexually abt Viv while saying they were "let go" both by SH and BWW, get out now. That's probably him.

Animation Call-Out - Bigoted shitlord. Twitter user who rags on Vivz' controversies w other people but also hates gays and BIPOCs. Admitted to submitting one of the anonymous reviews against Spindlehorse "for fun" amidst legitimate ex-employees. All of the reviews, even the ones that seem the most validating/believable should be taken with a grain of salt I believe especially since they are coming to us anonymously, but when a racist person admits to def being one of those fake reviews for "Lolz" sake, that's def when shit's hit the fan.

DoodleToons - Also bigoted creeperlooser. Altright white kid who hates BIPOC existing in anything and admits to hating Viv's stuff for their LGBTisms and 'demons'. Yes, there legit are bad-faith critics who are homophobic. Just because Viv and her crew have a way of saying that's EVERY critic of her work doesn't mean there aren't shitty people out there.

#read first paragraph #I'm not putting Lemon or Chai or whoever here just cuz u don't like em #vivziepop critical #helluva boss critical #call out post #call out tw #hazbin hotel critical #spindlehorse critical #critical fandom

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mykoreanlove · 1 year ago

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Conversations with love

“Jackson buddy, you okay?”

Jackson missed the same beat for the third time in a row, dance rehearsal was kicking his ass today. He was not okay, but he did not want to show it. He clutched his hands over his head and apologized to his dancers, offering to redo the choreography once more. He tried his best to concentrate for the rest of practice, but his mind was too clouded with thoughts of you.

He sunk down in his chair overlooking the nocturnal skyline out of his fancy hotel room. He dreaded being alone in hotel rooms, his mind always taking him to the darkest places when he was alone and afraid. Over time he learned to ask for help in those moments, but he still felt weak doing so. Jackson fumbled with his phone until he decided to neglect his pride and ask for help once more. The phone rang – once, twice, thrice. He was about to hang up when he heard the breathless voice at the other end: “Hello? Jackson? Sorry buddy, I almost missed your call. Memorizing scripts is a special kind of pain.”

Jackson chuckled while noticing how much he had missed his friend. Even though he was always surrounded by folks and their comforting ears, he only trusted a handful of people. His profession made opening up incredibly difficult, any vulnerability could be used against him at any moment. That’s why he was beyond grateful for his friend. Him being in the same industry made things a lot easier but it was his sincerity that touched Jackson’s heart the most. Whereas many people kissed his ass in order to be favored, his friend always kept it real with him – even if that hurt Jackson at times.

“Jinyoung, thank you for picking up your phone. I’m sure those drama preparations are brutal?” The man on the other end of the line instantly noticed that Jackson had to be in trouble. Not beating around the bush, he confronted him right away. “What’s going on?”

Jackson took a deep breath. “Do you remember Y/N?”

Of course, he did. Jinyoung was very attentive to the people he cared about. However, he was not toying with Jackson’s nerves right now. He knew that Jackson had bad luck in love, always encountering another woman that broke his heart.

“I think we are about to break up. Or rather, she’s about to dump me.”

“What makes you think that?” Jackson explained the situation calmly without spilling too much details, but it was evident that he was suffering from abandonment issues, fearing the worst before anything had even happened.

“Jinyoung, do you believe I’m cursed? Like, love hates me or something? If I could I would ask love directly. I-”, he looked up at the ceiling of his room and screamed, “hey love, do you hate me? Why do you make me suffer so much?”

It took Jinyoung a minute to think about his answer – the desire to console Jackson as well as being sincere with him was not an easy feat.

“Jackson, do you believe in the devil?” He was taken aback by that question. “The devil? I don’t know, I mean I do believe in God. I guess I kinda believe in the devil, too? Why are you asking me about the devil?”

“People always think that the devil is some guy with thorns, dressed in red, lingering in hell waiting for them. And that’s the biggest pile of crap if you ask me. Do you want to know where the real devil lives? Within them. Within me and within you. And you wanna know what the real devil is? It’s your fear.” Jackson remained silent. He had no idea where his friend was going with this, but he decided to listen and think, because he had the utmost trust in Jinyoung’s wisdom.

“Let’s pretend I am love for a minute. I’m here and you’re asking me why you suffer so much when it comes to relationships, right? You know what I would say? It’s because you choose to.” Jackson felt his heart beating faster, feeling panicky at this revelation. He stuttered a silent reply: “Because I choose to?”

“Think about it. Think in terms of love and fear – if only those two sides existed, whose side are you on more often?” Jackson’s ego started to interfere – of course he was on love’s side! How dare he even ask? With an agitated voice he answered: “Of course, I am on love’s side. I want love, I love love! But love chooses to not choose me!” Jinyoung knew he had struck a nerve with this accusation. He hoped that his friend remained open enough to listen to him, to consider the depth his words held for him.

“Jackson, I love you. And that’s why I’m being honest with you. You are not on the side of love. I hate to break it to you, but you’re married to the devil in your head.”

Jackson got up and sprinted to the mini bar – he was in desperate need of a drink. The line was silent while he poured the burning liquid, hoping that it would ease his mind. “Listen, I don’t want to get defensive but that’s kind of a lot to ask of me right now. Can you… can you explain what you mean by that?”

Jinyoung let out the breath he did not know he had held in. Relieved he continued: “What happens when you meet someone? It’s all great for some time but then you get into your head, feeding your worst fears, don’t you? What if she leaves me? What if she breaks my heart? What if she’s a cheater? What if I’m not enough? What if this, what if that – isn’t that how it always goes? You feel like love has left you but in fact you left love first. You danced with the devil, seduced by its sneaky remarks, you gave into that. And then you over-fixate on those girls. Just look at Y/N, right now. She texts you less? She is not as attentive as she was in the beginning? Love would tell you to love her anyway and be patient – maybe she’s going through some stuff and isn’t comfortable with sharing just yet? Or she’s busy and needs some time for herself? Fear however would convince you that she must be fucking someone else. Fear would tell you that she only used you because of your fame. Fear would tell you that no woman could ever love you for you. Isn’t that right?”

Jackson started crying but didn’t notice, he was too much engulfed in Jinyoung’s revelations about him. Up until today he believed that he was a lover, someone that craved love and loved freely in return but now he understood that he was far from that. He once read a quote in one of the countless books Jinyoung had sent him over the years that went like this: Only the loving find love.

Was it loving to always assume the worst? Was it loving to only love others when they behaved the way he wanted them to? Was it loving to them? Or to him? Or to love itself? He felt nauseous, he was disgusted with himself. Jinyoung was right, he was married to the devil.

“Can I ask for a divorce?”

Jinyoung laughed whole-heartedly while covering his mouth with his hand – old habits die hard. “I think love would really like that. She’s been waiting for your comeback for a while now.”

Jackson smiled warmly even though his heart felt heavy. “Jinyoung, where do I start?”

“You start by loving yourself first. Do you know why the devil always gets you with those sneaky remarks? Because they’re yours. He takes your fears and uses them against you. And what is fear? It’s just a story. Just a story that you very strongly believe in.”

“Doesn’t feel like a story to me though”, Jackson scoffed while pouring another drink. “Yeah, I know. To you, it feels very real because it’s what you’ve known your whole life. Remember what I said about choosing? Now you choose better, now you choose love, now you choose you. And it’s gonna take some time and be a lot of work but I know you, you are a diligent worker and will master this. You’re Jackson Wang, remember?”

Jackson smiled silently, watching the moon and the stars illuminating the night for him. He looked up at the ceiling again, imagining that love was looking down at him, nodding her head and confirming everything Jinyoung had just said. “Loving myself”, he murmured under his breath. “I think I’m gonna need a follow up on this. Can I… can I call you again and we talk it out more?”

Now it was Jinyoung who was smiling warmly: “Yes Jackson, we can. I’ll send you some books, too. Read them and we’ll talk once you’re done.” Jackson thanked his friend again and hung up, feeling strangely calm. He knew he had work to do, he knew he had to change his devilish ways and for once he was not afraid of love leaving him again. For once, he found it within himself.

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bizaar · 1 year ago

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Endless Summer ✧

Part 1: Our Lips Are Sealed

Cruel Summer Masterlist

- Next

pairing: eddie munson x afab!reader

warnings: sexual content (18+ minors dni), virgin!reader, mentions of drug usage, swearing, bullying, self-deprecation, masturbation (f)

word count: 10k

a/n: so I may or may not have been writing a few chapters of a semi-raunchy little prequel to Cruel Summer, this is the same babysitter!reader at the beginning of her relationship w/ Eddie - reader is hopelessly obsessed in a totally uncool, sweaty palms sort of way and Carol Perkins is the meanest girl in school.

Carol Perkins has been talking endlessly about … something, for the better part of the ten minutes it’s been since you sat down with your lunch tray.

You aren’t exactly sure what about, because you’re not listening. You’re just sitting there watching her lips flap.

You might have felt bad about that even as recently as last week, but somehow you can’t seem to muster the feeling today.

Maybe it's because you didn't get any sleep last night and your brain feels like its made of television static.

Maybe it has to do with the recent events that have more or less completely soured your opinion of your so-called best friend.

Maybe it’s just that her conversations these days are not exactly the stuff of edge-of-your-seat intrigue.

You're not listening to what she's saying, but a decent part of you is fairly certain in the knowledge that whatever she is saying is bound to have something to do with her stupid boyfriend.

Tommy Hagan has been Carol’s singular topic of regular conversation for going on two years now, and you have been bored to tears for just as long.

Tommy said this, Tommy did that, oh my god Tommy is so funny, Tommy Tommy Tommy.

Tommy is fine, you guess, if you like snot-nosed bullies who never matured past age twelve.

If you like a guy whose idea of trying to divert attention away from the fact that he’s more into Steve Harrington than he is his own girlfriend is by stirring up drama, and feigning some kind of bullshit interest in you.

If you like a guy who calls you Princess like it's a slur and gives you a hard shove in the back like it's a sign of affection.

Yeah… Tommy is so not your type.

Then again, you never would have thought he was Carol’s type, considering her interests have always swayed more Han Solo than anything else — (see: The Empire Strikes Back poster she secretly has taped to the inside of her closet door) — but you know she would go to her grave denying it if you dared to remind her of it.

She'd probably try to take you with her if you did, so you don't, especially not today when you've left more than half your faculties at home in bed.

All you can manage right now is keeping your mouth shut and moving watery canned green beans around your lunch tray with a plastic spork.

Meanwhile, Carol talks and talks and endlessly talks.

You’re on probation with Carol after last week’s debacle in the quad, anyway, so you are not invited to chime in, even if you were listening.

You’re supposed to just sit there and listen to whatever it is she has to say and nod along dutifully without interrupting.

That’s your whole job here, nothing more, nothing less.

That's fine, you don't currently have the brain capacity for anything else.

Still, a bigger part of you than you are willing to acknowledge has started desperately wishing that Tina Burton or Nicole would show up and implore her to shut the fuck up.

Once upon a time, you might have done so yourself, but you haven’t been brave enough to speak so directly to Carol since the eighth grade.

One too many times getting your head bitten off has conditioned you to wire your jaw shut and tune it out, for self-preservation's sake, which is exactly why you’d just stood there and took every bit of vitriol Carol had to give you that morning last week, like the good dog you are.

Apparently, someone said something about hearing Tommy talking big in homeroom about some other thing that happened over the weekend at a party you didn’t attend.

Logic would tell you that Carol knows you weren't at this party because she gave you such a heinous amount of shit over it when you told her you weren't going, but logic almost never comes into account when it comes to things like this.

Carol doesn't care about the facts, she only cares about the rumor.

It was suggested that you’d tried to cop a feel or something. Worse than that was how it was suggested that Tommy was into it, and she went nuclear.

Not at him, of course.

Never mind that Tommy was the one spreading the rumor in homeroom, all that mattered to Carol was who he was trying so desperately to incriminate.

Literally anyone else, and it wouldn’t have been such a big deal. If somebody had said that it was Vicki Carmichael or Tammy Thompson or Tina, Carol wouldn’t give a shit.

She’d throw her weight around, make a show of girlie dominance, there would be a very public spat, and that would be that.

But no, it had to be you.

Why oh why did it have to be you? You imagine she’s asking herself the same question, and you’re not sure if your ears are ever going to stop ringing after the way she’d shouted at you, in front of God and Tommy and practically everyone in school.

He just stood there watching it happen with that smug little smirk you hate so much plastered across his stupid face.

Everyone just stood there, even you stood there, staring helplessly at your sneakers, waiting for it to end. You were an island unto your own shame... until you noticed a pair of dingy Reeboks appear beside your own.

“Good God!” A voice as familiar as childhood rang out, loud enough to slice through the air and silence Carol mid-stream.

Like so many meerkats, the whole school shifted and turned toward the intrusion, and like a knight in leather and patchy denim, there stood Eddie Munson.

At first, you couldn't believe it was him, or that this was even really happening.

He was just standing there, like it was the most natural thing in the world to butt in like this. Like this wasn’t the first time something like this had ever happened in the history of cool kids and losers interacting at Hawkins High.

Exactly where you fall on that spectrum was yet to be determined, but what was perfectly understood was that Eddie Munson had come riding in to rescue you from the dynamic duo that is Tommy and Carol.

They were speechless — Eddie was not.

“What on God’s green Earth is making that awful racket?” He said loudly – theatrically – and then he turned his blinding attention to you, “Sounds like someone’s skinning a cat out here,”

Then, he gave you a gentle nudge with his elbow, like you were old friends and it was some kind of an inside joke, as if you were supposed to have any idea what that meant.

You stared back at him, wide-eyed and still too stunned to speak, and he winked at you.

You have no idea what you said following that, if you even said anything at all. You're pretty sure you blacked out.

You don’t even remember what Carol said. You know there was some kind of vicious back and forth that occurred between them before a staff member eventually arrived to break up the huddle and cart Eddie off, and you know that Carol was pissed that you didn’t defend her.

Most of all, you know you’re still paying for that imagined slight with a concentrated cold shoulder from most everyone you know a full week later, but you can hardly make yourself care about being so summarily iced out like that.

Because Eddie Munson stood up for you.

You still can’t wrap your head around that. Nobody’s ever stood up for you like that before, nobody over the age of twelve, anyway.

But Eddie did, and you haven't been able to stop thinking about it since. You haven't been able to stop thinking about him.

You really can’t afford to be thinking about him right now, not while you're so sleep deprived and not while Carol is sitting right there. If she could read your mind she'd claw your eyes out.

Thankfully, she hasn't noticed the way your attention has begun to stray. She’s too busy talking, and it's starting to give you a headache.

Deep down, somewhere in your subconscious, you know you ought to try and smooth things over, because for as nasty as she can be (all the time, every day) she’s still your best friend. Even though she regularly puts you on probation like this for imagined slights.

Even though your friendship has conditions and stipulations that only seem to apply to you.

Even though you have nothing in common anymore except for the fact that you’ve been best friends since you were eight years old.

So, perhaps the better phrasing is you know you ought to try a little harder because you used to be best friends.

Nostalgia is the ancient, flaking paste keeping the walls of your friendship standing, but the paper there has long since begun to peel to reveal the rot beneath.

Carol is still going on about who said what and who is dating who and all the latest gossip, talking at you more than talking to you. Talking just to fill the air because there's nothing Carol hates more than an awkward silence, and any silence with you is awkward.

You’re doing your best to at least try to pretend to look interested – really, you are – but with your lack of sleep and your headache, and everything else happening in the room, there’s not much you can do to stop the way your gaze has begun to wander…

Because Eddie Munson has entered your periphery, Eddie Munson is standing on his lunch table – Eddie Munson stood up for you.

Good God, indeed.

You couldn't have listened to what Carol was saying in that moment if you tried, not with Eddie standing there, larger than life and violently demanding your undivided attention.

Well, okay... not yours specifically, rather the attention of anyone who just so happens to be bored enough to tune in to his frenetic display … which is to say, you.

You’re happy enough to let him have your attention, and you tell yourself it's because whatever he’s up to is bound to be vastly more enticing than anything Carol has to say.

No other reason, absolutely not.

You’re not sure you’d be able to resist giving it to him even if you didn’t feel that way, because if you were being honest, you would admit that you’ve been painfully aware of him from the moment you’d stepped into the lunchroom.

Not because you’re minorly obsessed with him or anything as uncool as that. Certainly not because you’re harboring a bizarre gargantuan little crush on him, or that when you tune everything else out and let your brain switch tracks, it’s him your mind shifts to.

No, nothing so embarrassing as that.

He’s a rebel with entirely too much cause, standing tall on the flattop, talking big and proselytizing to his minions about something with all the fire and charisma of a bible belt preacher. You’re hopelessly lost on the context of his sermon, but you’re nothing if not convinced and entirely prepared to convert to the church of Eddie Munson.

Quietly, and so, so carefully, so as not to alert the predators lurking in your circle. Stranded in the lion's den as you are, you're stuck having to worship your false idol from afar, and you're almost content to keep doing so.

Still, your cautious reverence does nothing to ease the shock of chills that wracks your body as Eddie raises his voice.

You can feel it vibrating in the pit of your stomach and you know you must be gawping stupidly at him as the passion of whatever it is that’s got him going today takes him to the edge of euphoria.

It’s absolutely captivating to watch, and almost enough to break Carol’s concentration... almost.

This is not exactly new behavior for Eddie, so most people have learned to tune him out.

Normally you would count yourself in among that group — you know, like a liar — if for nothing more than that good ol' self preservation.

Then again, you aren't normally dead on your feet after spending a night tossing and turning, restlessly caught in the throes of a decidedly raunchy REM cycle, the subject of which just so happens to be standing on a table across the room.

He's the reason you didn't get any sleep last night, and despite your bone tiredness, you're suddenly wide awake.

So what if you had a sex dream about Eddie last night? So what if your skin is buzzing where you can still feel his hands pulling at you, the gentle fanning of his breath on the nape of your neck where it had felt so real...

“Sweet Girl,” he’d whispered on heady exhale in your dreams, voice thick and shot full of holes in the way you can only imagine he might sound in the throes of ecstasy.

Just the thought of it sends a bolt of heat lancing through your core and forces you to shift in your seat and, tragically, avert your gaze.

It's just a little bit too much show for you with tell out of the question, and Eddie, or at least the version of him in your dreams, is driving you nuts.

You are an island to your own fantasies, feeling your heart throbbing between your legs and trying to be as subtle as humanly possible about the way you’re pinching your thighs together for the faintest glimmer of relief.

You stop that right this instant you dirty slut. A snarling voice in your head warns you, and you immediately obey as cooler heads prevail.

The absolute last thing you need is to go to pieces at the lunch table in front of all your peers. In front of Eddie.

Carol would never let you live it down.

Someone shouts something at him from across the room, and you have to fight not to look for his response.

You're just a little too hot under the collar right now to watch Eddie give someone the finger, especially while you're sitting there wishing he would give it to you instead.

Jesus Christ you are so pathetic.

You force yourself to look at Carol and watch her lips move. You don't hear a word she says, but you're grateful for the distraction and the sudden pang of longing in your heart, if only for entirely selfish reasons.

You hate having to suffer in silence like this.

Once upon a time, you might have been free to share the specificities of your dream in bowed heads and hushed tones, but you are entirely certain that were you to try that now, to lean across the table and whisper conspiratorially:

“Oh my God, you’ll never guess who I had the filthiest dream about last night,” you’d be instantly crucified, socially speaking.

Carol doesn’t care about the yearnings of your most secret self. Not anymore. Now she only cares about Tommy and who did what at Tina’s party and how embarrassing it was, and quietly sidling up to Steve Harrington.

She doesn’t care about you, and your secrets are absolutely not safe with her, no matter what the pathetic lingering sense of nostalgia keeps telling you.

You would cut ties if you had a little more self-respect, but high school is hard enough with bad friends, you know for certain it would be next to impossible with no friends.

The concept of starting fresh and trying to make new ones halfway through your sophomore year is a Sisyphean Hurdle you have no idea how to even begin to tackle. So you grin and bear it, and swallow any biblical yearnings you happen to harbor for the town pariah for later.

Besides, if you told her, all she would do is ask you what it is you think you know about anything raunchy before dutifully reminding you that you’re a virgin.

Actually, the technical term would be “still a virgin” and would be followed up with the demand to know “when you’re going to do something about it” — like somehow the untouched state of your being is so embarrassing.

You suppose in the eternal tide pool of the high school diaspora, it’s just one more patently uncool thing about you hampering her.

Carol Perkins and her loser best friend who doesn’t put out, has never had a boyfriend, never even been kissed.

You would remind her that it’s hard to put out when nobody knows you exist.

Who are you but her excessively boring shadow? You don't put out because half the time nobody even notices you're there. But that would feel too much like whining and would only become an agonizing exercise in her rattling off a list of names you’d so much rather eat glass than accompany anywhere socially.

But you tell yourself it's not all bad, because if you're invisible, then at least you don't have to worry about how poor a job you're doing masking the way you're staring at Eddie.

You can't be embarrassed if nobody perceives you right? You're not so sure.

You don’t really know when your stupid little crush began.

He's always been there if you really think about it, a fixture in the background of the swirling miasma that is your social circle, suddenly much larger than it has ever been since High School has became your habitat.

Hawkins is a small town, and Eddie’s lived here his whole life, same as you. He’s a year older, but that wouldn’t be enough distance to remove someone from your orbit under normal circumstances, let alone someone like him in a town like this.

Some part of you has always been mildly obsessed with him from a purely academic standpoint — forbidden knowledge is perhaps the most tantalizing thing to a young mind, and the likes of Eddie Munson has always been completely off-limits to the likes of you.

Eddie's father was always something closer to a Universal Movie Monster than a real person in your mind.

More like Dracula or the Wolfman than a human man with a substance abuse problem.

When you were growing up, the most you knew about it was that Al Munson was the local boogeyman, and was to be feared by school children and good Americans alike.

Eddie didn't even feature in that conversation until much later, not until the notorious Munson patriarch finally went to prison and everyone could breathe a weighted sigh of relief.

With the streets safe again, life went on, and the good people of Hawkins very quickly realized their mistake.

People start to get nervous when there are no local pariahs to blame all their problems on. Hawkins is cursed, after all, but with Al gone, that narrative quickly began to crumble.

Luckily, they had a Munson to spare, and as soon as he was old enough, everyone was happy to force the son into the void the father left in the cultural zeitgeist.

Eddie became bad news over night, "just like his father", your parents still used to say and you were are strictly forbidden from socializing with him.

You remember a time when it wasn’t like that.

You remember when your parents spoke about Eddie with a heavy dose of sympathy, because back then it wasn't his fault his father was a monster.

When you were little, it was “that poor kid,” but as you got older and he started getting into more and more trouble, it became “stay away from that boy – he’s no good,”

Still, there’s nothing so tempting as forbidden fruit – you’ve known that since you were old enough to recognize there was a difference between boys and girls.

And he is nothing if not strictly forbidden to you.

Even now, sitting in the lunchroom so publicly yearning, you can still hear your father’s lecturing voice warning you that if you so much as spoke to Eddie Munson you’d get instantly hooked on drugs, knocked up, and end up living out of a cardboard box by the time you were twenty.

Which is stupid, of course, because you’ve gone to school with Eddie since first grade and you’d seen him talk to plenty of people over the course of that time, none of whom had gone on to suffer such a dismal fate.

Anyway, it's not like he's banging down the door for your attention. You’re fairly certain he doesn’t even know you exist.

There wasn’t much danger in becoming corrupted by someone like Eddie Munson before Carol got popular and dragged you along with her, and that hasn’t changed just because you won a golden ticket to the cool kid’s table… by proxy — you're more of an unwanted plus-one than anything else.

Not Charlie Bucket so much as Grandpa Joe.

But of course, you’ve never personally subscribed to the generalization that Eddie is evil or something.

He isn’t the boogeyman or Dracula or any of those things that go bump in the night, no matter how badly your raunchy little dreams wish he'd come bumping through your night.

As far as you’re concerned, Eddie isn’t even all that mean or scary, and maybe that’s just because he’d treated you so sweetly last autumn at Tina Burton’s Not-Quite-Halloween party….

Except you’re not supposed to be thinking about that, remember? Because last week's dressing down in the quad wasn't actually the first time Eddie came to your rescue.

That memory is not safe within Carol’s proximity, but it is the ambrosia that has been singularly sustaining you for the better part of a year now – a year next week on Halloween, but who’s counting?

It is a shining jewel that you keep tucked safely in the spot behind your lungs, and you just can’t help but pull the curtain back to take a peek at it.

It was your first high school party.

You’d never partaken in anything before that night, never even been offered, but suddenly and unceremoniously finding yourself shoved up against Eddie in a game of puff-puff-pass, you let yourself be pressured into playing.

He must have realized you were nervous — maybe your fingers were trembling when he passed you the blunt, but suddenly, and for perhaps the first time in your life, he was speaking directly to you.

“Have you ever done this before?” Eddie asked you quietly, a heavy dose of concern shadowing the wry quirk of his brow.

It was startling, to realize the curse of your invisibility had so unceremoniously been lifted, leaving you suddenly exposed to the one person you were never meant to speak to.

You had to resist the urge to whip your head around and ask, “Who me?”

Yes, you.

Eddie Munson was looking at you and asking you if you knew what you were doing.

Like something out of one of those anti-drug campaigns, you suddenly felt the unbearable pressure to perform in a situation you’d been preparing for your whole life: if Eddie Munson offers you drugs at a party, just say no kids.

Only you could not help but notice how genuinely concerned he looked, how soft and approachable and incredibly fucking normal.

Not nearly as scary or dangerous as McGruff the Crime Dog had led you to believe. In fact, he was entirely too enticing, and you were suddenly desperate to make a good impression.

You opened your mouth in the fanatical hope of saying something cool and casual — yeah, of course. You’ve done all kinds of shit — and were naturally horrified to hear the truth squeak out.

“No.”

Eddie’s brows crept toward one another forming a deep crease of concern between them, and in a bright burst of suddenly onset clairvoyance, you could read his mind - yeah, that’s what I thought, he seemed to say.

You watched as he stole a quick glance over his shoulder, before leaning in, invading your space almost conspiratorially as the moist pink tip of his tongue darted out to wet his lips before he spoke.

Your heart was beating so aggressively in your chest that you were convinced he must have been able to hear it.

“You don’t have to breathe it in if you don’t want to.” He said, “Just puff it and pass — you’ll be fine.”

You still remember the way his lips brushed the shell of your ear when he whispered to you, how the fanning of his breath made you shiver with the tantalizing suggestion of nicotine and spearmint secrets.

But it was the last little bit that really did you in.

Not the overwhelming pressure of your peers insisting that just one hit won’t kill you, but the kind assurance from the person who provided the contraband that you didn’t have to partake if you didn’t want to.

It was the suggestion of having a choice in your fate that ultimately lured you out of your field and into the underworld — sickly sweet pomegranate promises, dripping from his tongue to yours.

You’ll be fine.

Just like your father and McGruff the Crime Dog and all those insufferable after-school specials had promised, Eddie Munson turned his gaze upon you, and you were instantly hooked.

He passed you the blunt, and you tried not to get too caught up on the way his fingers brushed yours when you took it.

You curled your lips inward as you brought it to your mouth, and you puff puff puffed, doing your best to hold your throat closed against any swirling wisps of smoke that might slip through and poison you.

You hoped it would give the subtle impression that you knew what you were doing in order to escape the humiliation of inexperience before you handed the joint off to the next person.

It still burned in a funny sort of way, but nothing really happened.

You didn’t slip down the rabbit hole, you didn’t burst into flames, and perhaps most importantly no one seemed to notice the wool being pulled over their eyes as you dared to steal another cautious glance at Eddie.

His lips twitched in the faintest hint of a satisfied smile, and you bloomed under the approval of someone whose attention you never realized you so desperately craved.

You couldn’t believe you’d pulled it off, and you were so pleased to have evidently made Eddie proud that is physically hurt to watch him turn away from you and take the shining warmth of his attention away, leaving you shrouded in darkness.

Tragically, invisible again, just like that.

If only you could have been so lucky.

Trust Carol to catch you faking when you — a virgin in so many aspects — continued to remain clear eyed and level headed after three rounds of puffing and passing.

“You’re supposed to inhale, Dummy!” She shrieked, causing everyone in the circle to laugh at your blatant inexperience.

Everyone but Eddie, you would have noticed had you been able to look, but shame-faced as you were, you kept your gaze fixed firmly to the floor.

When your next turn came around, you inhaled deeply and felt your lungs ignite.

You coughed, of course, and choked on the musky smoke as it filled your lungs and seared them medium rare.

It only took a handful of minutes before you quickly faded into oblivion, backed by the soundtrack of everyone laughing at you again.

The rest of that night remains a mystery to you to this day.

You don’t remember what happened after the game or how much longer the party lasted or even how you got home, but there are some things that stand out clear as day.

Somewhere, hidden back in the furthest reaches of your subconscious, you swear you can still feel the press of his body as Eddie held you caged in the crook of his arm, with your head resting on his collarbone and tucked neatly beneath his chin.

You don’t know how, but you swear you know what his lips feel like, brushing the highest point of your cheekbone, and the long line of his nose pressed flat against your temple with his breath gently fanning the side of your face.

You’re sure you can feel the deep rumble of his voice filling you with warmth, a low timber in his chest calling you Sweet Girl as he smoothes your hair back.

You don’t know how you know all that, only that you do.

You feel it with every fiber of your being in a way that is so goddamn real it can’t just be an effect of your stupid little crush and unchecked libido.

How else could your dreams be so inexorably vivid?

In a moment of weakness, Eddie promised you everything was going to be okay, and you believe him to this day.

That night at Tina’s party, academic fascination bloomed into something new, fueled entirely by teenage hormones and the need to be seen.

Like a door that, once opened, cannot be shut again, you are always thinking about Eddie, one way or another.

Attention is the high you crave like nothing else, and you desperately want Eddie’s attention, his undivided, unfiltered, unwavering attention, fixed solely on you.

Selfishly, you want him to be as obsessed with you as you are with him, and it makes you feel like at any moment you’re going to implode in on yourself like a dying star.

Your parents would be appalled.

Carol would be appalled.

But Carol hasn’t noticed, because she’s still talking, and you’re still not listening, because Eddie is still going. And going. And going.

Eddie Eddie Eddie.

Eddie is suddenly so much closer than he was a moment before.

At some point, when you weren’t looking, while you were too busy thinking about him to notice the direction his tirade had taken him, he picked his was across the lunch tables and crossed the room.

Your stomach does a cartoon flip-flop, and you hold a wheezy breath in your lungs when he vaults down from the end of his table, furthest from his seat and closest to yours.

Suddenly he's right fucking there, and you forget how to breathe.

Your eyes meet briefly as he straightens up, and you immediately avert your gaze — self preservation, remember? — feeling your face flush hot enough that you’re half surprised it doesn’t melt right off of your skull as you shift your focus back over to Carol.

Carol... what's Carol talking about again? Oh, that's right. Tommy Hagan. Tommy Tommy Tommy.

Tommy is so goddamn boring, but in this instant, with Eddie Munson lurking within enough proximity to feel the pull of his orbit, Tommy is the most interesting person in the world.

You desperately want to know everything about Tommy and Tina and who said what about you and how embarrassing it was.

Because you’ve changed your mind. You don't want Eddie's attention. Eddie’s attention is blinding, like looking into the sun.

It makes you feel exposed, like he’s a spotlight shining straight through to your innermost self — your secret self.

The one that thinks about him in the wee hours of the morning when sleep eludes you and deft fingers creep their way down your body, edging toward the wanting apex of your spread thighs and slipping past creamy slick barriers to pull soft, lilting breaths and his name — his blessed, cursed name — from your parted lips until you’re going hot and cold clamping your jaw shut to stop the sordid cries of your orgasm from escaping your lips…

Jesus Christ –

No, actually, you’re much more comfortable remaining a wallflower and letting someone else get wrapped up in that undivided, unwavering, fixed-solely-on-you attention.

Better to stand aside and make room for somebody built to withstand that kind of heat from someone like Eddie. Someone edgy and cool, who gives the middle finger to the world and dresses the part — not some midwestern babysitter from a town no one has ever heard of.

Yeah... but he’s from that town that no one has ever heard of, too, you think watching Carol’s lips move and hearing nothing but your own heartbeat.

You gaze wanders without your permission, and before you know it, you're looking at him again – your insides seize and cramp, because this time, he’s looking too.

Your heart spasms in your chest and scrambles up into your throat, punching an airy breath out of you and flattening your lungs.

Fuck.

There’s that blinding light, that feeling of indecent exposure — it’s not the sun, it's a solar eclipse burning your retinas out of your skull, and somehow you can’t bring yourself to look away.

You’re painfully aware of how you’re staring again, though this time it is because he has your eyes and he absolutely refuses to let go.

Somehow it doesn’t feel even the slightest bit aggressive, more like an understanding – he sees you.

He sees you.

You’re blushing, you know you’ve got to be bright crimson — beet red even — you can feel it.

You're sweating.

Sweet Girl — hands pulling, lips brushing, wandering fingers, gasping, gasping —Sweet Girl Sweet Girl Sweet—

“Hello? Ground control to Major Tom.”

Carol snaps her perfectly manicured fingers in your face, breaking the spell and bringing the quiet din of the lunchroom rushing back in on you.

It feels like getting swamped at the beach, swept off of your feet by the tide, and rolled in the undercurrent. You crack your head on the reef and your brains come tumbling out as you're washed away into oblivion.

You have to remind yourself to breathe.

“Are you even listening to me?” She snipes, scrunching her nose in aggravation and flattening her bubble gum pink lips into a thin, ugly line.

You blink stupidly at her as she comes back into focus, but you don’t answer, because you very clearly hadn't and your mind is not working well enough to drudge up an excuse.

It feels foolish to try and lie about it because Carol loves to remind you that she always knows when you’re lying, and yet the truth is entirely too dangerous.

Your secrets are not safe with her, and your biggest secret is still standing right there.

You can see him in your peripheral vision, poking and prodding you and just begging to be noticed.

And you can't stop yourself from looking. Of course you can't, who can resist the sun?

When you do, Eddie rewards you with a brief, goofy smile. All crooked lips twisted up to one side, the faintest suggestion of teeth poking out.

It's a startling contrast to the vitriolic injustice of whatever it was that had previously gripped him in such a chokehold, and it’s contagious, that smile.

You can suddenly feel the corners of your mouth twitching in response, threatening to expose you and just daring you to try to resist.

It makes your insides go tight and squirmy, and you have to clench your teeth to keep anything remotely similar to a straight face.

The change in your demeanor is unfortunately not lost on Carol.

She narrows her eyes at you, and you are powerless to stop your own from darting back and forth.

Carol - Eddie - Carol - Eddie - Carol... Eddie always wins.

You feel your heart seize and begin to palpitate as she begins to twist to see what could possibly be so important to hold your rapt attention, and you have to grip the edges of your seat to stop yourself from reaching out across the table.

You could scream stop! and make a scene, but that would only make you look even crazier than you are sure you already do.

There's nothing you can do to stop the collision, and all you can do is brace yourself for the sky to come crashing down on your head.

Unstoppable force? Meet immovable object.

Round two. Fight.

Carol physically recoils when she sees Eddie. Dramatically so - like he'd been waiting there to douse her in a bucket of ice water.

It takes her a moment to recover, but when she does, she has nothing but spitting, poisonous vitriol for him, much to your unbearable dismay.

“Take a picture, Freak, it’ll last longer.” She snaps.

Something indiscernible crosses Eddie’s features as his gaze flicks over to her from you, then back again.

You watch his brows marry in the middle as he pulls a face that is tinged ever so slightly with something that looks a little too much like hurt than you're comfortable with.

The flash of vulnerability makes your stomach go tight, and you’re suddenly possessed with a violent and desperate need to make him understand that you are not with her, despite how stridently untrue that is.

You are Carol's friend, after all, even if lately you've started to feel like little more than an out-of-trend accessory.

With her, is all that you are.

The hurt look is gone before it has time to settle, and Eddie wrinkles his nose in disgust.

For a long moment, they stand staring poisonous daggers at each other and daring the other to be the first to die.

She hates him and he hates her right back — cool kids and losers. Circle of life.

All you can do is desperately hope beyond hope that you’re not lumped into that circle by association. Golden ticket by proxy.

“Seriously, what the fuck are you looking at?” Carol snaps, and strangely, Eddie's features relax.

“Nothing,” he says, rolling his shoulders, “Just wondering how Bulimia Barbie got out of her box.”

Your insides clench and had she been facing you, you’re certain you would have seen Carol turn white as a sheet.

Eddie turns to make the stilted victory lap back to his seat at the head of his table, electing to take the floor this time rather than the tabletop.

You watch him go, because at this point, you're Pavloved — if Eddie is moving, you're watching — and when he gets to his seat, he gives you one last parting glance.

This time, you muster your courage and hold his gaze, pulling a face that you hope looks at least halfway as apologetic as it feels.

That went exactly the way it was meant to, according to the strict social hierarchy of Hawkins High, and you feel terrible about it.

Not nearly as bad as you ought to feel for Carol, however.

There are a lot of ways to get under her skin — she’s never been exactly easygoing, but even you think bringing up the eating disorder she’s been less-than-privately struggling with since the eighth grade is a low blow.

She’d been devastated when word of it got out, and you didn’t have the heart to tell her it was Tommy who’d let that information slip, because they'd only just started dating when that rumor was making the rounds.

Tommy's mean, Carol's mean too, but despite the words still hanging in the air between you, you don't believe that Eddie is mean, not truly.

Carol makes a harsh sound of indignation in the back of her throat.

“Asshole!” She shouts unevenly, then, “—can you believe that guy?”

You don't answer, you're still too busy trying very hard to muster those latent psychic abilities you're still waiting on to tell Eddie you're sorry.

Carol hisses your name and you snap to attention.

"— what the hell are you looking at?"

“Nothing.” You say quickly, doing your best to curl in on yourself so she can't reach across the table to bite your head off.

Only Carol has not believed a word that has come out of your mouth since the summer between eighth and ninth grade. She twists in her seat again just in time to see Eddie looking away, much to your patent dismay,

“…Oh, gross!” she scoffs, whipping back around to face you, “What, are you swapping eyes with the Freak?”

The adrenaline of being caught bursts in your midsection like a firework and sends lightning rocketing down to the tips of your fingers.

"No," You lie.

"Liar," she says.

You turn your attention back to moving the bits of your lunch tray back and forth, but you have completely lost your appetite, especially as she admonishes you with a disappointed utterance of your name.

Your cheeks burn with shame.

“I was just being friendly.” You stress, pressing the plastic tines of your spork into the bottom of the tray until they bend and snap off.

“With Eddie Munson? Ugh — gag me!”

The unchecked disdain in her tone doesn’t sit right with you, because it’s not like she’s ever even said two words to Eddie that weren’t hurled as insults, and you can’t help yourself clicking your tongue.

“...he’s not that bad,” you say, immediately regretting the statement as the mean nickname comes roaring back to slap you upside the head.

Bulemia Barbie snorts out an undainty sound of disgust, you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from apologizing.

“He’s a freak.” She snarls — so you keep saying, you think — “He worships the Devil or whatever — everybody knows that.”

Horrifically, there is nothing you can do to stifle the bitter snort of laughter that comes bubbling up out of you.

It is a harsh, sardonic snot of a sound that escapes before you can reign it in.

A brief flash of hatred colors her features, and you can’t help but feel that the curtain has been pulled back and you’re suddenly looking at her true self.

"Everybody knows that." She repeats, slowly, forcefully, giving you a hard, cold look as if daring you to disagree.

Evidently, you dare, which is a shock to you.

“How do you know?” you say, narrowing your eyes and wrinkling your nose in a quiet defiance.

She opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out, because she doesn't know. That's just what everybody says, but as far as you're concerned, no one has any actual proof that Eddie Munson worships the Devil.

Your stance gives you the upper hand in this verbal joust, and your reluctance to concede is like throwing gas on a fire.

Suddenly, Carol is all but shouting at you as her eyes go bright and her skin flushes a blotchy crimson.

“Oh please, like you know any better, Little Miss Babysitter!”

She hurls it at you like a slur and you flinch as the violent intention strikes you.

You don’t know precisely when Carol became so mean, only that it happened sometime between the transition from seventh to eighth grade, right around the time she’d gotten her first training bra and started to notice how boys were noticing her — right around the time Tommy showed up.

Since that day, everything between the two of you has been a competition that she is determined to win, despite how clearly uninterested you are in participating.

You don't want to fight, and yet you feel the strangest sense of righteous indignation rising in you because she doesn’t know Eddie. She's never even tried to get to know him, and here she is condemning him right alongside everyone else just because it’s what’s currently on trend.

You want to ask her how that’s fair, how she would feel if the shoe were on the other foot, and suddenly she became bad news overnight.

You don't, because you don't want to get your head bitten off as much as you don't want to parrot the condescending tone of your mother asking you if you’d jump off of a cliff the same as everyone.

Mostly though, you don't ask because she's right.

You don’t know Eddie any better than she does, not with all your wishing and hoping and fantasizing, and certainly not after the way he’d looked at you at Tina’s party – Sweet Girl…

“Yeah okay, whatever,” You mumble, because there’s no point in arguing with Carol when she gets like this.

Your submission doesn’t apparently sit any better with Carol than your challenge did. Her face twists into a displeased scowl as she snatches up the can of coke that is the entirety of her lunch and begins to raise it to her bubblegum pink lips before thinking better of it and setting it back down with a harsh sigh.

You don’t know what’s got her so flustered, or what you did to embarrass her so badly. All you did was smile at Eddie, it’s not like you invited him to come and sit at the table with you.

“Why do you care anyway?” She demands then, clearly not done fighting.

“I don’t,” You say flatly, sitting up a little straighter.

“Then how come you’re defending him?”

You cross your arms.

“I’m not.”

“You are though.” She insists, like she’s caught the scent of something she can weild against you, and is trying her best to sniff it out. “You’ve got that stupid look on your face like you’re about to get all self-righteous about something. What’s the deal? Do you like him or something?”

Your heart seizes and suddenly you can feel color bleeding into your cheeks as your armor creaks under the stress of her accusation.

How could she possibly know that?

Because she’s your best friend, she knows everything about you…

“No…” you say, though even you are not convinced by the quavering tone of your voice.

Carol stares at you, briefly uncomprehending before it dawns on her, and suddenly her eyes are blazing with malicious delight.

Shit.

“Oh, nasty!” She shouts, then gasps, mouth falling open in scandal, “You do! You totally do!”

“I don’t – I mean, I don’t even know him.” You stammer, kicking yourself for how your resolve has begun to waver.

“Doesn’t mean you’re not into him! Oh, that’s so gross!” Carol sneers, she is loving this all too much, “Oh, my God, look at you – you’re blushing!”

Your hands fly up reflexively to bracket your face, and you hate yourself for the heat you can feel billowing off you, betraying you.

Carol squeals with malevolent glee and you know you must be sweating again for the way she is looking at you, eyes bright, teeth bared, wet, and shining in a hungry grin like a predator getting ready to make a meal out of you.

“O-okay, that’s enough.” You say unevenly, trying and failing to be firm as you are suddenly unable to keep your voice from shaking as you speak.

She doesn’t hear you – that or she just plain ignores you because she is getting too much of a rise out of your misery.

“What are you, like, in love with him?”

“Carol – stop.”

“You are! Holy shit, you totally are!” She cackles, “You want to marry him and have a hundred of his freak babies!”

She is practically screaming and you are this close to panicking about it, glancing anxiously across the room to the table where Eddie is sitting with his arms crossed over his chest, talking and laughing with his friends about something.

You have to force yourself to believe that they aren’t laughing at you because there’s no way they could possibly be clued into your conversation with Carol … who has started play-acting that she is you, moaning loud and wantonly as you are fucked by what you can only imagine is supposed to be Eddie.

It's shockingly apropos in the worst possible way, almost as if somehow she’d found the time to steal away and read the mad scribblings you’d left smeared across the pages of your diary that morning.

“Oh, God–!” She moans, hands flying up to tangle in her hair and igniting a burst of cold anxiety in the pit of your stomach like a Roman candle, “Oh, Eddie! Don’t stop! Right there – Yes! YES! YES!”

You could die. You could literally die.

People have started to look over at you, stare at you, and all of that would almost be fine if it weren’t for the fact that you are currently imploding like that dying star.

You can’t be certain if its a result of your friend’s whorish display or just the screaming sensation of someone staring at him (because if you weren't watching him like a hawk before, you certainly are now) but Eddie’s attention snaps back over to your table in an instantly, to you, and you nearly pass out.

You’re on your feet with a loud squeak of chair legs on linoleum – much louder than anything Carol had just kicked up. If people weren’t staring before, they’re certainly staring now, watching you frantically attempt to gather your things and make a break for it before your brain can catch up with you.

Carol has started to come down by now, and she's leaning back casually in her chair, watching you panic.

"Seriously?" She snickers, like she didn't just publicly humiliate you, again, "You're leaving?"

“I gotta go,” you say quickly.

“Oh, come on, I was just kidding.” Carol sighs, “Don't be so sensitive. Where are you going?”

You can hardly hear her over the blood rushing in your ears. Your heart is hammering so violently against your ribcage that you can barely catch your breath to try and stammer out an excuse.

“I just remembered,” You begin, your voice hitches and threatens to break, “I have this… thing I have to do for class. Totally forgot. I gotta go work on it.”

You shove the last of your belongings haphazardly into your backpack and slide your lunch tray into the nearest trashcan – the entire tray hits the bottom of the bin with a loud thump that has the lunch lady shouting indignantly at you from the other side of the room.

You don’t linger to rectify your mistake or apologize or do anything of the sort, because your frantic attempts to escape the lunchroom have drawn only more attention.

One cursory glance reveals to you that, devastatingly, Eddie’s entire lunch table has turned to watch you go.

You nearly go stumbling to the ground as you trip over your feet in your frantic attempt to get as far from there as you possibly can, as fast as you can.

“Liar!” Carol shouts after you, “Where are you really going?”

“I’ll see you later!”

You twist at the waist and wave when she calls your name again, and, because you're Pavloved, you can’t help look to see Eddie leaning back dangerously in his chair, craning his neck to watch you go in a way that makes your heart seize against your ribs.

His eyes go wide when he sees you looking, and he lurches forward to right himself again, briefly losing his balance and just about toppling out of the chair as he does.

He saw everything, which means he probably heard everything which means you should probably just go find a corner to curl up and die in.

Like, right now.

You turn and pick up your pace and blow through the double doors before anyone can get the bright idea to follow you.

You move through the halls without really knowing where you intend to go, but before you realize it, you’re in the gymnasium, stalking across the empty floor to tuck yourself back beneath the bleachers.

It’s not the most covert hiding spot, and you're almost surprised to find it empty considering how many people tend toward coming down here to hide and make out.

The braver, hornier couples around campus have even been known to engage in the odd session of heavy petting or dry humping back here where they can get their rocks off more or less removed from prying eyes.

More, being the keyword there. It feels like someone is being busted for that kind of under the bleachers indecency every other week.

You’ve got no such plans to follow suit, despite the ruined state of your panties, as you scramble to slip out of sight with a gentle squeak of Chucks on clear coat.

Your heart is pounding as you pull your knees up to your chest, face absolutely burning over the way Carol’s stupid play acting has left you slick and throbbing with the memory of your stupid, stupid dream.

You bite the inside of your cheek until it hurts and violently will yourself to get a grip, because what are you going to do about it? Nothing, you're gonna wallow in shame and that will be that.

You pull your bag into your lap and begin rifling through its haphazard contents, desperately searching for some kind of a distraction – something to take your mind off of the lingering sensation of full lips and calloused fingertips and hot fanning breath – Jesus motherfucking Christ! Get a hold of yourself.

You need your book. You need to lose yourself in thick text, hard science fiction, and worlds and histories and glossaries of outlandish names… only your book is not here.

Your well-loved, annotated copy of Dune, whose cover is hanging on by a thread with how many times it has been bent backward as you pour over the familiar text. Whose pages are creased and dog-eared and littered with notes and doodles and all the little lines and themes you never want to forget.

It’s not here. Even after you dig and dig and dig, even after you dump your bag on the gymnasium floor and spread all your things out in a neat fan in front of you.

Your book is still missing.

You hardly get the time to stress about it much further than the singular thought before the school bell rings with a shrill, metallic clanging cry. It startles your brain back into an approximation of working action and sends you scrambling to shove all your things back into your bag.

You’re almost relieved.

Without your book, you’d just been sitting there biding your time until Carol eventually sniffed you out and you would have to brace yourself for round two, but your schedules are thankfully far removed from one another.

She’s got Mrs. O’Donnell for fifth period, whose classroom lies mercifully on the other side of the school from your fifth-period chemistry class, and the ringing of the end of lunch bell is a Godsend, solidifying your escape and requisite safety from another bout of humiliation.

Your lab partner is a freshman, Gareth Emerson, who just so happens to be a newer addition to Eddie’s roving gang of minions.

Somehow, that is much less terrifying than you’d half expected it to be when you first noticed him in the lunchroom, sitting tucked neatly into the chair at Eddie’s side and hanging on his every word.

It had just been nice to know that you’re not the only one so affected by his gravitational pull

Still, you’d often wondered how Gareth was lucky enough to win such a coveted spot so early on in his tenure, considering Eddie Munson tends to be a particularly terrifying entity to the newest additions to the Hawkins High student body.

As you’d gotten to know him, you stopped wondering about that.

Gareth’s a sweetheart. He’s nice, funny, and reminds you a lot of your neighbor, Dustin, if he were a little older and just a little bit cooler, that is.

It’s no wonder he’s so quickly found himself at a place of honor at Eddie’s side, how could anyone resist him?

You wish you could hang out with Gareth instead of Carol.

You wish you could sit comfortably at lunch and talk about the things that actually held your interest. That you could make afterschool and weekend plans without a hint of dread, and be safe in the knowledge that a trip to the movies or to the arcade was simply that. No ulterior motives or hidden agendas, no fear of being humiliated or abused for the amusement of the people who were supposed to be your friends.

You wish you could be real friends with Gareth, but Gareth hangs out with Eddie, and the thought of joining them at their lunch table is enough to send your heart into palpitations, so you just have to settle with the friendship you have, limited to the confines of the classroom.

“Hey,” Gareth says, frowning quizzically at you as you unpack your things and hop up onto the metal stool beside him, “What happened to you at lunch? You looked like you were about to pop.”

Your insides clench with shame and for a very brief moment, you're afraid you're about to empty them all over the tabletop.

“You saw that, huh?” You mumble, swallowing hard.

“Everybody saw that.” He scoffs, pulling a face.

Everybody. The word clangs around your ribs and you have to blink back the image of Eddie leaning so far back in his chair, watching you run from the lunchroom.

Literally run. Like some kind of scared little kid fleeing the monster that lives under their bed.

Great.

“What does she think you did this time? Sell her firstborn child for concert tickets or something?”

You sigh, slumping forward to prop your head up on your elbow and level Gareth with an unimpressed look.

“Nothing – I don’t want to talk about it.”

He takes the hint and offers you his hands in a show of surrender before turning back to the blackboard, where Mr. Kapz has stepped up and begun scribbling formulas with a hard squeak of chalk.

You watch without really seeing, trying to keep your mind from drifting too far with all your classmates sitting around you.

There is a cold lump in the pit of your stomach as a hundred different things whisk around your mind, all fighting tooth and nail for the limited real estate left in your brain with so much of Eddie stuffed up in there.

It’s always like that though, and it leaves you feeling particularly pathetic, thinking about yourself, sitting beneath the bleachers on your own, like the loser you are, hiding from your friends, wishing things were different, wishing you could be the person they wanted you to be, wishing you could be free of them.

You suck greedily on a sharp intake of air and shake your head to dislodge that line of thinking before it can take root and pivot to a much more pressing matter, for the sake of your own self-preservation.

“Hey, weird question,” You start, tilting your head down toward your shoulder and speaking in a loud whisper, “But have you seen my book?”

Gareth’s brows are pulled tight over his eyes when you glance at him, and you are quick to elaborate,

“Dune." You clarify, "It’s all beat up and annotated…?”

“Yeah, no— I mean, sure I’ve seen it—”

"Recently?" You posit, hoping he understands that you've lost it and not just trying to small talk about the sorry state of a mass-market paperback.

"Yeah."

You hardly let him finish.

“Really? That’s great! Where?”

“...Eddie’s got it.”

It hits you like a fist to the gut, punching your lungs flat and forcing the air out. Your heart thumps a heavy beat like it always does when someone mentions Eddie and you feel your tongue go fat in your mouth.

“Ed-Eddie Munson?” You splutter, voice an embarrassing octave higher than normal, and barely manage to get the sound out over the way your throat is closing up.

You can feel your cheeks heating just from the sordid act of speaking his name aloud.

If Gareth takes any sort of hint from your bizarre reaction, he doesn’t let on.

“Yeah.” He says again.

You blink back at him, waiting for him to elaborate and feeling your chest go tight when he doesn’t.

“…Why does he have my book?”

“He said you left it in the parking lot after you dumped your stuff last week—”

Oh, for the love of God…

In the wake of everything else that happened that day, you’d almost completely forgotten about that…

You’d been running late for school, having spectacularly slept through your alarm and been so rudely awakened by the thunderous hammering of two little fists, doing their best to bang down your bedroom door – Dustin, shouting at you to get your ass up out of bed.

You’d forgotten you were supposed to be carpooling that morning, and you're sure you must have broken some kind of a land speed record with how you burnt rubber to get the both of you to school on time.

Gas pedal to the floor, music cranked up to eleven, you made the distance in five minutes flat.

After, you’d been too caught up in your sudden prospective future as a Formula One driver to notice how you were headed for disaster. Jogging across the parking lot and trying to stuff your Walkman into your backpack, you weren't prepared for the wall of denim, patches, and studs to come stumbling haphazardly out of the open door of a semi-shitty beat-up panel van and directly into your path.

You barely had time to look up, let alone pivot to try and avoid the sudden six-foot obstacle before you, so naturally you collided.

You managed to keep your feet and even catch your Walkman with an incredible feat of feline grace, but it came at the expense of your bookbag, which went tumbling topsy turvy and upchucked its contents all over the pavement at your feet.

Fantastic.

They stepped into your path, whoever they were. They crashed into you, but still you stammered out an apology, because how could they have been expected to look out for you when you’re running around under a cloak of invisibility?

Then, you dropped to your knees in an attempt to catch your pens and pencils before they could roll away. You fully expected to be ignored, to watch whoever it was that had just knocked your shit into the dirt skip off to class like you didn’t even exist, but when you looked up, there was Eddie Munson, crouched on the asphalt right alongside you with his head bowed toward yours, stacking your books and muttering his own apology.

It just about damn near knocked the wind out of you, suddenly finding yourself so close to him again after spending so long quietly yearning for his proximity.

Once you got your lungs working and inflated again, you couldn’t help but breathe deep, trying to get a sense of him and refresh the waning memory you still clung to. He smelled just the way you remembered, like camels and spearmint gum standing out over the notes of whatever cheap cologne he’d obviously dusted himself in and Old Spice.

It made your mouth water, and then go completely dry when he looked up at you, turning that honey-warm gaze on you and bathing you in his spotlight.

You weren’t invisible anymore, you were blushing, and you’d missed whatever it was he’d said to you – fuck.

You weren’t listening, you were staring into his eyes, at the faint dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose, at the plush spread of his lips, and the pink tip of his tongue darting out to swipe a slick sheen of moisture across them.

Somewhere, distantly, you could hear your Walkman still playing, Ann Wilson imploring you to get a little more lost in him than is rightly wise…

Oh, he’s a magic man, Mama…

And he was waiting for you to answer him.

Fuck. What the fuck did he just say?

“My fault…" Eddie mumbled thickly, "Didn’t see you there,”

Oh, thank God for that.

“Oh – God, are you kidding? It happens all the time.” You scoffed, dismissing the notion with a flippant wave.

It was almost a cool, collected thing to say, but then you just kept talking,

“Like. Way more than you would think,”

And talking.

“It’s actually kind of ridiculous how often people bump into me like that–”

And talking,

“Honestly, at this point, I feel like I should start wearing a bell.”

Shut up shut up shut up already! You screamed, but before you could well and truly condemn yourself for being such a goddamn awkward weirdo, Eddie’s face twisted up in amusement and he laughed out loud.

A little too loud for something that wasn’t even halfway to being a joke – he was obviously high, the whites of his eyes were tinged an angry swollen pink, hooded and nearly closed as he peered over at you with his face split up in that crooked smile of his, but it was still so wildly endearing you couldn’t help but giggle yourself.

You can’t believe you’d nearly forgotten that, that wonderful almost perfect moment of brushing fingers and traded looks and semi-meaningful silences.

If you really think about it, it makes perfect sense that he has your book. You haven’t seen your it since that day, haven’t even thought about it. It had been all but washed away under the bell-clanging effect of what happened later that morning between classes, with Carol jumping down your throat and Eddie riding in to pull you out of her line of fire.

Good God! He shouts in your memory, and you can’t help but agree with him.

“Didn’t he give it back to you?” Gareth asks, brows marrying over his eyes.

You give your lab partner an incredulous look because never mind how this new information is ever so subtly breaking your brain, but why on Earth would you be asking after your copy of Dune if Eddie had already given it back to you?

Why would you even be talking about this?

The lack of logic there seems to dawn on Gareth just a tad too late to save face.

“Guess not, never mind,” he hums, twisting back in his seat to face the blackboard.

You sit, staring at nothing in particular as you try and fail to wrap your head around the concept of Eddie Munson carrying around your book.

There’s something incredibly personal about an annotated book, and you can’t decide if you ought to be embarrassed about that, hoping that he didn’t stop to take the time to read any of the inane things you’d written there.

Suddenly you’re wracking your brain to try and remember if you’d gone and scribbled anything too incriminating in the margins, whether you’d absently scribbled out a dopey “Mrs. – Munson” alongside all your annotations about doomed heroes.

You imagine it written out in loopy script, replete with doodles of hearts and clouds and all the stupid cupid bullshit that is typically kept strictly within the pages of your diary.

You’re suddenly burning with hot, whorish shame as you think back to the pages you’d frantically scribbled on in the aftermath of the wet dream you’d woken from that morning. Your fingers were trembling as you fought to get it down on paper before the vivid images and sensations slipped from your grasp and left you with nothing more than faint memories of calloused hands and full lips, burning your skin with the suggestion of phantom touches.

Yeah, you’re going to have to go back and revisit that when you get home this afternoon, thank God you’re not babysitting tonight.

You realize after a moment that in staring off into space, trying simultaneously to banish the feeling and relieve it, that you’ve actually been sitting, staring at Gareth, watching him wrestle with something like he’s trying to decide whether or not to let more information slip.

Truly, you’re not sure how much more truth you can stomach here in fifth period chemistry, sitting perched on your metal stool and trying oh-so-subtly to shift over to the edge and give yourself a little relief from the way that your heart is throbbing in your panties again.

Your guts seize like you’ve been caught red handed when Gareth twists back around to face you and ducks his head conspiratorially.

For lack of anything better to do, you mirror his movements and hope beyond hope that, if you’re blushing, he doesn’t notice.

“Okay, so…” he begins softly, “You didn’t hear it from me, but... he likes you,”

You do your best not to react as your heart leaps into your throat – you don’t dare to hope to know who he means.

“Who does?” You ask, playing dumb for the sake of your poor, nervous heart, because what if you’re wrong?

You’re probably wrong.

“Eddie does.”

Then again, maybe not… oh, shit.

Gareth continues.

“Like… a lot.”

OH SHIT.

Oh shit oh fuck oh sHIT be cool be cool be fucking cool!

It takes every fiber of your limited willpower not to react, because honestly, you could scream. This is what it feels like to have your wildest dreams come true.

Eddie Munson likes you, Gareth said, like a lot, he said.

Maybe it’s just the wrecked state you’ve been existing in from the moment you snapped into consciousness that morning, but suddenly you’re desperate, giddy, feeling the hard push of the urge to run and go find Eddie.

Find him and seize him by the shoulders and shake him and scream and shout and cheer and... and and and... and do what?

Confess your feelings?

Make some sort of grand declaration then drag him off somewhere to hop on his dick?

That’s what your ovaries are currently imploring you to do. Finally do something about that goddamn virginity of yours so Carol will climb down out of your ass.

But that’s ridiculous, right? And not at all practical, fantasizing about running off and trying to consummate what, as far as you can tell, is only a rumor before it can slip from your grasp.

Where would you even go?

Under the bleachers, where the braver, hornier couples go to rub up against each other and get their rocks off.

No, no that’s stupid… and yet?

You’ve heard the talk about Eddie, how he’s supposed to be easy or something — some part of you is pretty sure he’d be game to take you out to the back of his van if you went over and asked him nicely... just ask him nicely to lift your skirt and help you out with that pesky little virginal problem of yours, Christ, how embarrassing.

He’d probably laugh in your face if you did. How do you know for sure that he even really likes you? What makes you think that there’s even the slightest chance that your stupid crush on him could ever be reciprocated?

You’re not a real person, remember? You don’t put out because you don’t exist.

No, Eddie doesn’t like you, you decide in an instant, how could he? He doesn’t even know you.

Gareth is wrong, and worse still, he’s teasing you – he has to be. It is, after all, the opening line to the oldest joke in the Hawkins High popular kid book: so, Eddie Munson wants to take you to prom…what do you do?

It makes your chest hurt, and you have to pull your lips into a tight line to keep them from wobbling.

Ha-ha, real funny joke, tease the loser virgin for the big stupid crush she has on the local Freak.

“That’s mean, Gareth.” You say quietly.

“What is?”

You shake your head because you almost can’t bear to say it.

“Teasing like that. That’s not nice...”

He gives you a horrified look, like you’ve suddenly got bugs crawling out of your ears.

“What? No, Dude, it’s not like that at all!” Gareth stresses, “I promise I’m being so serious right now. Eddie likes you. He really likes you.”

It feels risky, but you can’t help yourself. Gareth’s a sweetheart, why would he lie to you?

“…Really?” You ask, ever so slightly embarrassed at how small and hopeful your voice suddenly sounds and trying so, so hard to play it cool.

“Yes… and it’s super goddamn annoying — no offense,”

You shake your head, because in the absence of the ability to form rational thought you rely on deep-seeded pleasantries.

“Oh, no, of course.” You say, “None taken … I think.”

You suddenly can’t make your brain work, it just sits there like a fat grey lumpy pile of worms in your skull. Part of you is suddenly so sure that you can smell the smoke wafting up off of it as it overheats in your attempt to jumpstart it again.

Eddie likes you. This is all really happening.

It takes you a moment too long to realize that Gareth is still talking, and a moment even longer to clue yourself back in to what he’s saying.

“— he’s been going around in circles trying to work up the courage to talk to you, but he’s chicken shit, so he won’t do it unless he has some bullshit excuse to make it all casual — giving you your book back was supposed to be his excuse, but that was clearly a bust,”

And then, “Also, he basically threatened to kill me if I said anything so just do me a favor and be cool, alright? Pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“…So why tell me?” you ask, almost startled by the sound of your own voice and how far away it sounds.

You’re having an out-of-body experience, that’s what this has got to be, sitting there, floating, watching yourself have this conversation with Gareth.

Eddie Munson has your book, Eddie Munson stood up for you, Eddie Munson likes you...

“Because he freaked when he found out we were lab partners and he’s being a huge creep pressing me for information about you, like he expects me to spy on you or something... Anyway, I figured with how fucking weird he always acts around you that you probably already knew.”

You shake your head and hope to God the movement doesn’t cause your eyeballs to fall out of your sockets. You can’t remember if you’ve blinked over the course of the last five minutes.

“I didn’t.” You squeak.

His eyes go wide and you watch the color drain from his face.

“Oh. Shit,” He says, “— well, like I said, you didn’t hear it from me.”

You didn’t hear it from anybody. As far as you’re concerned, this conversation isn’t actually happening. Any moment now you’re going to snap out of whatever fugue state you’ve obviously just slipped into, and you’re going to find that this is all a dream – only your thigh is going raw from where you’ve been subtly pinching yourself.

Still, you still don’t completely believe Gareth isn’t teasing you – this feels like dangerous ground and suddenly your guts are churning because you don’t know what to do with this information.

You don’t know how to make yourself understand that the one person who has always been wholly off-limits to you could suddenly be within your grasp.

Possibility makes you ravenous and you have to fight to resist the urge to seize Gareth by the front of his torn flannel shirt and shake him, demanding more more more, that he tell you everything there is to know about Eddie and everything he’s ever said about you among the safety of friends.

With a sharp pang, you realize that you’re suddenly violently jealous about the confidence he has to freely speak about the objects of his affections – evidently, you.

The thought has warmth bleeding through your abdomen and filling up your chest cavity. You’re floating again, and you’re suddenly so, wickedly pleased.

Carol would shit her pants if she found out.

The rest of class comes and goes without incident, and you don’t hear a word of the lesson.

You’re far too busy fantasizing about all your wildest dreams coming true, planning your future with Eddie, picturing your wedding and your first home together, growing old together, and all the road trips and holidays and milestones you’ll hit in between.

By the last twenty minutes of the lesson, you’re even toying with naming your children.

You’re disgusting and pathetic and so far gone for him in such a stupid, irresponsible way. Only there’s one tiny little obstacle standing in the way of all of that.

Gareth says he’s not brave enough to talk to you, not without good reason, which is so painfully endearing, but a real problem because that makes two of you – you can barely even look at Eddie, let alone fathom trying to strike up a conversation.

So, therein lies the problem. How on Earth are you supposed to marry him and have a hundred of his babies, as Carol had so eloquently put it, if neither of you can manage to buck up the courage to have a normal conversation?

The bell is ringing before you can decide how to become a human being again, you’re still more cloud than girl when you catch Gareth as he begins packing up.

“Listen, tell Eddie…” You start, feeling suddenly too shy to have his name in your mouth – it feels heavy on your tongue, forbidden, and you chicken out, “Tell him… that I don’t bite. If he wants to talk to me … then he should just come talk to me, right?”

Gareth rolls his eyes,

“I told him that, like, a hundred times… but I’ll tell him again. I’ll say you said so this time.”

The promise pleases you immensely, only there is one glaring issue with that plan. He was never meant to tell you how Eddie supposedly feels about you. You’re not supposed to know he likes you.

You bite your lip and feel your brows creep toward one another, forming a deep crease of worry between them.

“Is that gonna get you in trouble?” You ask.

Gareth opens his mouth to speak, then snaps it shut again as the words fail to come, like he too had very conveniently forgotten that the information he’d just passed to you was decidedly not for you.

He hums thoughtfully, brows furrowed, and face pulled tight into a mask of displeased concentration.

What to do, what to do.

Finally, after a moment that feels like eternity, one you spend fidgeting with your fingers twisting them to the point of pain, holding a breath in your lungs almost like you’re afraid if you breathe he’ll take it all back.

Gareth shrugs.

“...well, I don’t see why he needs to know that I’m the one who told you… people talk.”

Truer words have never been spoken.

A hundred years and a short lifetime ago, you and Carol spent an evening trading secrets and the deepest desires of your heart, and you jumped up and down on her springy mattress, screaming along to the Go-Go's and promising one another that, just like the song said, your lips were sealed.

You can’t help but wonder if she ever really meant it, if she would have laughed and recoiled and teased you mercilessly if you trusted her with your secret feelings about Eddie Munson. Only you had made the same decision and elected not to tell her even back then, even when your secrets were still safe with her.

Can you hear them? They talk about us, telling lies, well, that’s no surprise.

People talk, Gareth said.

“They certainly do.” You hum, shouldering your bag and following him out the door.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #joseph quinn eddie munson #stranger things fic #endless summer fic #cruel summer prequel

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