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xmunsonlovex · 2 months ago

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Somewhere I Belong pt. 2

Summary: After your heated kiss at The Hideout, you're aching, and eager to continue your date with Eddie. You hope he wants the same.

pt.1

Word Count: 6800+

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Shy Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. smut. making out, grinding, oral (f!receiving), fingering, brief hand job, some dirty talk, role-playing (short lived, because neither reader or Eddie can't hold it together.) Eddie is anxious of reader seeing his scars, reader second guesses herself a lot and opens up to Eddie, fluff.

a/n: here's pt. 2! I am shocked and so appreciative of how well received pt.1 was! Thank you to all who read it and commented/reblogged. I didn't feel 100% with how this part was coming along, but after reading it over hundreds of times...I think I am happy with it. I am planning on a part 3, which will most likely be the final chapter. As always, please let me know what you think <3

Dividers by: saradika-graphics

You’re pacing your living room, hands clammy as you run them over yourself, trying to calm the anxiety you’re feeling. Eddie said he’d be over in about 30 minutes, mentioning that he had to drop off the guys first since they rode with him to the bar, and then he wanted to take a quick shower, not wanting for you to smell the sweat and smoke that usually stuck to his skin after his performances at The Hideout. On the drive home, you had replayed the kiss from earlier in your mind at least a thousand times, smiling to yourself at the prospect of continuing it at your place. You made sure to tidy up, not wanting to take the next step of this date in a messy house. Would he even care how your house looked? Probably not. You weren’t sure where this would lead to, but you were pretty hopeful. You could see yourself dating Eddie, and wondered if he felt the same. You had a feeling he did.

“I can do this..” You mumble, looking out your window to see if Eddie was home yet. He wasn't, his van was not there and the lights inside of what you assumed was his bedroom, are off.

You thought about changing into something a little bit more provocative, though you didn't really have anything like that in your possession currently. Well, you did have a satin camisole with a lace trim at the bottom and matching shorts, that quite literally left your ass cheeks hanging out. It was gifted to you by a friend before you made your move to Hawkins. She said it would help in getting you lucky. At the time, you laughed at the ridiculousness of it, but now, it was looking like a real possibility. You’ll have to call her up and thank her. Hmm. If you wore it, maybe you could opt out of wearing any undergarments. That'd fry Eddie's brain, you're sure. You're so deep in thought that you don't hear Eddie's van drive up. He’s quiet this time, his music is off and he purposely shuts his door softly, going up the steps, into his trailer. He didn't want you to know he was there. Yet.

Eddie turns the shower on, making it a bit nippier than usual to calm the heat that radiates from his body. He feels like a damn teenager again, dealing with raging hormones as you consume his thoughts at every hour of the day. He's had a throbbing erection ever since your heated kiss, which was so rudely interrupted by Gareth. He tilts his head back as his hand glides over his cock, washing away the salty sweat that clung to his skin after his performance, and lets out a soft moan, shuddering at the firm grip. A relief he’s sure you'd be amazing at giving him. He bets your delicate hands would feel great on him, stroking him as he'd guide you through it. He really likes knowing that he'd be your first at everything, if you'd have him, of course. Eddie had a lot of things he wanted needed to do to you. He needed to taste every inch of you, imagining that you’d taste heavily on his tongue. Needed to know your scent, have it pervade his nostrils. Eddie was completely infatuated with you, and wasn't sure how he could act normal around you anymore. Not after that kiss. You had left him smitten.

The blinds in your bedroom swiftly moved, causing the curtain to ripple at the movement. This paused the whirlwind of thoughts that were going through your head. You crease your eyebrows because you know they only did that when the doors in the trailer would open and shut thereafter. You had noticed this happen when Eddie came in one day earlier in the week to look at the faucet in your bathroom, and when he closed the door, the blinds shook. You still hadn’t heard Eddie’s music blaring from his van though, so you walked to the living room, now dressed in your “provocative” clothes you decided to put on, and looked around. The front door was still shut closed, and there was no sign of anyone breaking in while you were in your bedroom. This would be quite possibly the worst time for someone to break in, while you stand there in this barely there outfit and no weapon nearby to protect yourself. Shit. Maybe I should have locked the door.

“Mmm, my, my. What have we got here? Looking so lonely, princess.“ Eddie’s voice says from behind you. “Didn’t your mom always say to lock your doors at night? A lot of bad, scary guys out there, baby.” He grins mischievously, his eyes slowly scanning your figure. His throat becomes dry at seeing your nipples poke through the thin fabric of the camisole.

“Holy shit Eddie, you scared me!” You had jumped when you heard his voice, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter, your lower back pressed up against it. He lets out a dark chuckle, like he’s enjoying playing this “bad, scary man who just “broke in”.

“You wanted me to walk right in..well, here I am, babe.” He’s acting so confident but inside, he's ready to bust at the seams. “And I gotta say, you look like a meal. I could devour you right about now..” He takes a step closer to you, reaching out to run his thumb over your lower lip. “The whole ride home, I just..couldn't wait to see you. Wanna continue what we started..” You whisper as you look at him, noticing that his eyes are darker, filled with lust. You’re sure you look desperate, you definitely sound it. His lips form into a teasing smirk, running his tongue along his canine tooth all while his pants are feeling tighter and tighter. “I'm going to take my time with you. If you’ll let me, I'll untie your sensuality. I'll open up your heart, and satisfy my greed.” Eddie says, his breath hitting your neck as he’s pressed up against you, placing both hands next to yours on the kitchen counter, enclosing you with his body. You can distinctly feel his hard-on poking you against your mound. His lips are inches, if not centimeters, away from your skin, waiting for you to give him the ok to continue. He is a gentleman, after all.

“I’ll-I will let you, Ed’s.” You say, all breathy and feeling weak in the knees. You're thankful he's got you pressed up against him because you were certain you'd drop onto the floor into a puddle of your own arousal. You feel his hot, wet mouth on your neck, giving you your very first hickey, causing you to let out a quiet moan. “You like how that feels?” Eddie smirks, moving one of his hands to hold onto your waist, gripping it as he goes in for another hickey, running the tip of his tongue over his mark, proud to make you his. To show everyone you belong to him.

“Yes. That feels nice..” You’re certain he knows that you’re practically putty in his hands.

“Can't wait to lay you down and show you just how much you’ve consumed my mind. All the filthy thoughts I've had of you. Do you know how many scenarios I played in my head while I fucked my fist?” His smirks, running the hand he had on your hip down over your ass, giving it a hard squeeze. He doesn't miss the soft whimper you let out, making him growl lowly as he lunges forward to kiss you deeply, holding you in his arms. Your tongues are wrestling when he feels you grind against him, which nearly makes him short-circuit, about to lose the little composure he had left. “Fuck..” He mumbles, and sees you place both your hands over his chest, leading him to your couch. You’re currently super grateful to have that annoyingly large couch you had previously complained so much about. Eddie gently plummets down on the soft cushions, and immediately your eyes fall towards the prominent tent in his jeans. You're giddy knowing you caused that, and feeling empowered by the little confidence boost you’ve gained. Yet Eddie notes the obvious nerves while your hands tremble a bit just as you’re about to take off those small shorts.

“Baby…you don't have to do anything you don't want to do. I'm fine with stroking one out, looking at you just like this.” He smirked and chuckled, hoping he hasn't caused you to think otherwise. That’s the last thing he’d want.

“I know. I..I mean, I am a little nervous but...” You let out a soft chuckle, feeling chills run up your spine as his hand softly strokes the outside of your thigh. “But I want to at least do something tonight. Who better to guide me..than you..” You blush and lean over to pull down your shorts, letting them pool around your ankles. “Darlin’, you flatter me- oh fuck..” Eddie groaned, taking in your bare lower half as his eyes followed your movements. You chew on your inner cheek, hands nervously grabbing at the edge of the camisole you're about to remove.

“I..want to grind on you..”

“You can do anything you want to me, sweetheart. You could fucking shoot me, and I'd thank you for it.” He scoffed, thinking you could do no wrong in his eyes. You were perfect to him.

“Heh..uhm. Well, it’s something I saw in a video one time. I‘d like to try it.” His eyes are wide and lips are parted. You watch porn? You were indeed perfect.

“Go for it, sweetheart. Experiment on me, but first..” He leans over to grab your shorts that you had stepped out of, and bunches them in his hand, feeling a damp spot on the crotch of them. A smirk forms on his face as he looks at the shorts, noticing the wet spot and puts it up to his nose, inhaling deeply and he lets out a satisfied sigh. God, you smell so sweet.

“Eddie..!” You’re embarrassed, covering your face with your hands.

“What? D’you know how long I've wanted to smell you?” He’s got that shit-eating grin, content in now knowing your scent, feeling like he’s hit a jackpot. He's definitely saving those shorts for himself. She won't mind.

You softly laugh, and let out a heavy sigh through your nose as you pull the camisole over your head, now standing fully nude for Eddie. The speed in which you undressed yourself for him honestly left you astounded. You know it went against everything that you kept telling yourself, but you came to the conclusion that Eddie made you feel safe, that he’d never want to hurt you. You bite your lower lip at how he’s staring at you with hungry eyes, his mouth practically watering as he watches every small movement you make.

“I fear I've died and gone to heaven because holy shit, sweetheart. You're perfect.” His cock is painfully hard, ready to burst through the tight confinements of his pants when you walk over to him, and straddle his lap. He is able to feel your heat through the thick fabric of his pants, which makes his hips involuntarily thrust up, feeling like a damn dog in heat.

“May I?” You ask, tugging on his belt, but wait for him to respond before you start to unbuckle it.

“Yeah.” Eddie breathes, though he's hardly paying attention to what you're even asking in that moment. He's too busy watching your delicate hands pull his zipper down, admiring how gentle you're being while you were appreciative of how patient he was. You felt you were moving at a snail's pace, at least that's how it felt like in your mind since you wanted to savor the moment. Eddie's sight had moved towards your breasts, admiring how supple they looked and how perfect they'd fit in his mouth. His eyes slowly trailed back down to your hands again, and then back up to your face, smiling at your blushing cheeks. “You're so beautiful..” He whispers and in your giddy state, you lean over to kiss him. Before he knew it, his cock was sprung free and you let out an audible gasp.

“W-what? What's wrong?” Eddie looked at you, wondering if you suddenly had seen his scars. He wasn’t ready for that conversation yet.

“You're so big..” You say, and reach out to wrap your hand around his width, able to feel him throb against your palm. The velvety skin felt smooth and warm as you make out the thick vein that was on the underside of his cock as you start stroking him, watching him crease his eyebrows, biting his lip. You wondered how he'd even fit in you when it came time for that, especially since you couldn't barely fit 2 fingers inside yourself.

“You're doing great, Y/N.. “ He spurs you on, grunting with each stroke you give him, which has him a whiny mess as you squeeze the head of his cock gently, spreading the pearlescent precum around, much to your curiosity. You gently press his cock down against his lower tummy, and maneuver your cunt over the underside of his shaft, sitting on him and do an experimental roll of your hips, earning a groan from both you and Eddie. “Fuck. I’m going to be honest, I don’t think I am going to last very long...” He’s watching you as his hands find purchase on your upper thighs, keeping you in place. You start rocking your hips forward in a more fluid pace, grinding yourself on him and moaning at the sweet relief you feel everytime your clit rubs against his cock. The friction you feel is borderline intoxicating, nothing you've ever felt before when you'd touch yourself. Despite the lack of experience, you weren't totally clueless, knowing you enjoyed how elated you'd get after an orgasm. You loved chasing that feeling.

“You're so wet, baby. Can't wait to eat that pretty pussy of yours. Bet you taste so sweet, like a delicious dessert..” Eddie grins and watches you, seeing how your breasts moved with the way you were gliding up and down on him. It had him incredibly, and embarrassingly close to cumming.

All that's heard in the small trailer is your moans along with Eddie's heavy panting as his grip on your thighs move to your hips, tightening his hold on you. “Faster..” He grunts, observing the trail of slick you're leaving on the underside of his dick the faster you grind. You're leaning over him now with both your hands on his chest, holding you up as you chase your own pleasure and orgasm, knowing you're about to reach that peak. “Fuuuck..” Eddie breathes out, gripping your hips even harder now as his cum spurts out onto his stomach, a large load from being virtually teased all evening. The image of him orgasming, because of you…topples you over the edge. “Eddie!” You moan out, shutting your eyes tightly as you cum. Your movements come to a halt when you feel yourself a bit overstimulated, never being able to handle crossing that line. You're both trying to recollect yourselves, heartbeat thumping in your ears from the intensity of it all.

“Was it everything you wanted it to be?” Eddie breaks the silence, smirking and chuckles, looking down at his stomach, seeing the mess he made, and then the mess you made on his cock. That brought him joy. Knowing that he barely touched you. That you used him to get off, he loved it. He could get used to that.

“Yes..that was amazing..” you giggle and let out a deep, satisfied sigh, a small smile spreading on your lips as you stand up. Your legs are still wobbly from the intense orgasm, and you walk over to the lining closet, pulling the door open and grab a couple of hand towels to clean up. You're walking back to Eddie, and see him watching you like a hawk. “Babe, next time, I do the honors. Pretty thing like you shouldn't have to worry about cleaning this up.” Eddie says as he grabs the towel from your hands and cleans himself up. Next time. You like the sound of that.

“Such a gentleman.” You blush as you grab the camisole, slipping it back on, and chuckle at Eddie who is frowning at you. “I had such a nice view.” He tsk, and stands up, pulling his pants back up, though he leaves them unbuckled. You’re both staring at one another, a small gap between you two. He’s looking at you, really looking at you as his hand reaches out to caress your cheek. He’s not sure how he got so lucky, to have a pretty thing like you honestly interested in him in a romantic sense. He closes the gap, and kisses you tenderly, never getting enough of his lips on yours.

“We will take things at your pace. If…if you want to continue this. I’m-I don’t even know if you liked me enough to wanna do this again. You had fun, right?” Get it together Eddie, she’ll really want to go on another date now after this rambling.

“Eddie, relax.” You chuckle, smiling fondly at him. He’s so cute. “Yes, I had a lot of fun tonight. Between the concert, and well...” You blush and bite your lower lip. “I was actually going to ask.. if you’d like to spend the night? I have a few horror movies. Maybe pop some popcorn.”

“Hell yeah, I’ll stay the night. I’ll get the popcorn, you pick the movie.” He kisses you, and walks into the kitchen, looking in all the cupboards for the popcorn box, making himself familiar with where everything was in your trailer. “Ah-ha.” He spots it, and grabs one packet and puts it in the microwave, pressing enter. He watches as you walk past him towards your bedroom,and admires the nice view of your ass, smirking as it jiggles with each step you take. The loud popping of the popcorn pulls his attention off of you in that moment, and he leans over to grab a large enough bowl to fill with the buttery popcorn. You come back around, dressed in just an oversized band tee. “Iron Maiden? You’re full of surprises, honey.” Eddie grins amusingly, as he throws the popcorn bag into the trash. “You have no idea.” You sweetly smile and open your fridge to pull out 2 soda cans, and walk over to the living room, placing the sodas on the coasters that were on the coffee table.

“I picked Texas Chainsaw Massacre..”

“Going straight for the kill, huh? A classic.” Eddie chuckles and sits down on the couch, getting comfortable as he pats the seat next to him. You realize he still makes you nervous, and you’re not quite sure why. You literally got yourself off on him not even an hour ago, and he’s seen you fully nude now. You suppose that it's because this is the first time you’ve hung around with someone you actually like. And now he’s spending the night? Yeah, you understand why you have butterflies. Regardless, you muster up a smile, albeit a shy one, and sit next to him, thighs touching as you sit back and press play.

The rest of the night is filled with stolen glances and little pecks here and there, barely paying attention to what’s going on in the movie. You really did intend on watching, but alas, it was just background noise at this point as you two sit there making out, not being able to keep your hands off of each other. It’s close to 1am, and you can hardly keep your eyes open. The movie had long been over, as you lay on Eddie. He’s running his fingers through your hair, and you’re listening to his heartbeat as if it's a lullaby, putting you to sleep. “Let’s head to the room. I reckon we won’t sleep comfortably here if we drift off.” He says, patting your butt to get you to get off of him. Not that he minds, but he moves around. A lot. He’s afraid he’ll knock you over in the middle of the night in his deep sleep. Your hum makes him think you agree with him though, as you stand up, and grab his hand to help pull him up with you. Eddie puts the popcorn bowl and empty soda cans in the kitchen sink, a task for the morning to deal with, and soon you both are in bed, under the thick blankets after brushing your teeth together.

Eddie’s comfy in your plush bed. Smells much nicer than his, like you had recently washed the sheets, and they’re so much softer. He guesses you use fabric softener? He may have to invest in it if it truly works this well. This whole time he thought it was just a gimmick, but if he plans on having you sleep over too, well..he’ll do what he must.

“G’night Eds..” You say sleepily, laying on your side, facing him.

“Night, sweetheart.” He whispers, and leans over to kiss the top of your head, wrapping his arm around you to keep you warm. The trailer got quite cold, much colder than his, he noticed. His AC was something he usually would hold off on repairing. It was an expensive fix and most times, he slept naked anyway. He didn’t see the need to ever service it but if he was going to have you over like he intended, he definitely had to get it fixed. Eddie kisses your head one last time before you’re both out, soft snores heard shortly after.

It's not even 10am the next morning and Eddie is already all over you. His body Is hovering over yours, holding his weight up by his forearms. He's giving himself a pat on the back for working out his arms at least. He fills your neck with soft kisses, low groans escaping him as he runs his hand up your thigh, wanting to make you feel like his goddess. That wasn’t an issue because you had never felt this desired in your adult life.

“Eddie..” You sigh with a sleepy smile.

“What..?” He grins, moving his lips to the other side of your neck, giving it the same treatment. “Thought I'd wake up early and enjoy the morning with a little morning breakfast.” He smirks, kissing down your neck and throat, peppering kisses along your collarbones.

“I..I haven't showered this morning though.” You say, as you look at him. It was your routine ever since you were in school. An early morning shower to wake you up and get you ready to tackle the day.

“You did last night? I smelled that fancy body wash on you when I broke in.” He chuckled, shrugging nonchalantly as he continued to make his way lower on you.

“Yeah, but-”

“Babe. You're fine. Ya�� gotta let it marinate overnight so it tastes perfect, anyway.” He licked his lips, and you gasped out loud. “Eddie!” You playfully smack his upper arm, shaking your head as you see him continue moving on south, a playful grin on his face as he pushes your shirt up around your waist. You've done no real effort in stopping him though, your curiosity getting the best of you. “Please?” He is practically begging now, wanting nothing more than to put his tongue deep in you. He sees you spread your legs a little more, and makes out the small wet spot on your panties already. “I'll take that as a yes?” He says as he lingers over your clothed pussy, pressing a soft kiss to the top hem on your underwear. “Yes.” You nod, biting your lip in anticipation. His gratified look calms your nerves as he takes another deep inhale of your scent, sticking his tongue out to teasing flick at your clit over your underwear. his eyes are stuck on yours as he gauges your expressions, which you were already feeling euphoric with that light touch of his.

“I'm going to take these off.” He says, hooking his fingers into your panties and slowly slides them down your legs, sitting up a little to toss them to the side of the bed, then looks at your pussy, all spread out for him. “Mm..” he lays on his stomach again, and holds your inner thighs wide open as he licks a slow stripe up your folds, wrapping his lips around your clit to give it a nice suck. The moan that left your throat was downright pornographic, making you flush with embarrassment. Eddie could tell, and he’d do anything to help break you out of that self conscious shell you hid behind. His bruising grip on your thighs keep them wide open for him, making you wince in pain and pleasure as he flicked your clit with his tongue, before he slid it into you, his nose bumping into your swollen bud as he relished in your taste. “Fuck, fuuuuck…” You’re writhing underneath him, and grinding on his face as you're already so close to that sweet finish line.

“Yeah? You like that..?” Eddie groans as he pulls away from your dripping cunt and instead, slowly inserts his middle and ring fingers inside you. “Shit baby, you're so fucking tight..” The obscene sounds that were heard from him fucking you with his fingers should have made you recoil, should have made you want to curl into a ball and hide, but you were feeling too much ecstasy to even care at this point. “Can't wait to stretch you out with my cock, princess..” He groaned, resting his head on the inside of your thigh and looked up at you, a big smirk on his face knowing he's got you right where he wants you. Fucked out with your juices all over him.

“You gonna cum for me, baby? I can tell you’re close. Squeezing my fingers so good..” He leans in to suck on your clit hard while he keeps fingering you, curling it upwards towards that spongy spot that makes you see stars. “Ed-Eddie! Fuck..I'm cumming..!” You all but yell, gripping his hair as the intense orgasm washes over you. Your heart is beating rapidly and your pussy is throbbing, but Eddie hasn't refrained from moving his fingers, or tongue for that matter. He's licking up every drop you gave him, making sure as to not waste a single bit of your delicious nectar. Your heavy breathing is music to his ears as he places a gentle kiss to your mound, kissing up to your lips, and smiles.

“Morning.” He chuckles, watching as you come down from your high.

“Oh my god.” You softly laugh, and kiss him in return, tasting yourself on his tongue. “I could get used to being woken up like that.”

“Consider it done. Every morning, my duty is to sneak into your trailer, hide in your closet while you sleep and then wake you up by feasting on your pussy.” He happily smiles, which causes you to heartedly laugh at his silliness. “Wouldn’t be a surprise if you tell me, now would it?” You play along, biting at your inner cheek. You’re certain Eddie has now picked up on most of your nervous habits. The inner cheek chewing, playing with your fingers, the lip biting, stuttering. You got teased for it a lot in school, yet Eddie finds it cute and endearing.

“You don’t have to be nervous around me, babe. It’s just me. Your cute neighbor...and…maybe boy..friend?” He says the last part as a question, in hopes that he isn’t overstepping. He knows he can do that often, from what others have told him, anyway. Being that obnoxious metalhead kid in high school gave him that title. You look at him, as that familiar reddish blush spreads over your cheeks, the one that he finds so cute. “And I just want to assure you that I know we’ve only known each other for what..a week now? But it’s been the best week of my life, Y/N. I-I don’t get many opportunities that come up for me like this. Meeting a genuinely nice girl…who’s actually into me? Most would say hell hath frozen over now that Eddie Munson got a girlfriend..” He chuckled, pouring his heart out to you. He felt you needed to hear this, so you wouldn’t doubt yourself so much. He could tell you did that often, just like he did to himself. ”I like you..if it wasn’t obvious enough with how much I like to be around you, and in you.” He grinned, reaching out to grab your hand and pulled you up, so that you’d be closer to him.

“I promise I’ll never hurt you..because I feel…you’re quite..apprehensive about that.” He says softly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I..yes. I am. This would be my first relationship, like I’ve said. I saw the pain my mom went through when it happened to her. Her previous relationships. One was abusive..one cheated multiple times. She never deserved that..” You softly speak, looking at your hands as you shook your head. “ I don’t..think I could handle that pain, if it happened to me. I know I’m still young..but..” You hesitate continuing to open up, like you normally did with anyone. You sometimes wondered how you even had friends.

“Talk to me, babe. If we’re going to be build this friendship, this relationship, we gotta get things out in the open. Be honest with each other." Eddie says, stroking your hand.

“Well, I told you a little bit about my life back at home when you took me to the farmers market. ‘Know that I basically had a rough high school experience. I was that shy, quiet kid in school..ever since forever basically. I did have friends, but kids were so mean. Then I started high school and fucking christ..” You sigh, looking at Eddie, who remained looking at you, trying to be comforting. The more you thought about it, the more you became disappointed in yourself. Why did you let it affect you so much? “I-I guess I had really low self esteem all through my school years. Never had someone show any interest in me, not even an anonymous note in my locker…like they do in the movies, you know?” You chuckle, biting your lip as you feel the emotions start to overwhelm you, so many memories of those days replaying in your mind. “One time I ask a guy I liked to hang out, I thought maybe he’d be into me a bit. But he literally laughed in my face after turning me down. Saying he didn’t date my kind. Whatever the fuck that meant.” The tears are forming, as you tilt your head up and sniffle, not wanting to cry in front of him. Not again, anyway.

“Baby, here. Look at me.” Eddie’s calm voice pulls you from your negative thoughts. A nagging voice that was always there, saying you weren’t good enough. “I don’t know those people…they sound like absolute fuckers, but I will say…I gotta thank them. You know why? Because you said you left that life at home wanting to escape, wanting to start a new life. Well, I wouldn’t have met you if that didn’t happen. I know that’s selfish, but give me a chance to..show you how good I can love you. Let me erase all those negative thoughts you have in your pretty head. You deserve to feel good about yourself. To be treated like the angel you are.” He says, stroking your cheek, hoping he’d have some success in taking you out of that dark corner you always seemed to gravitate towards.

“Whatever happened in high school, those idiots…are just that. Idiots. I am no stranger in being the laughing stock for those football players or cheerleaders. I imagine you can tell I was not a popular guy by any means.” He chuckles. You smile softly at him, at his efforts to help you get out of that slump.

“I-I know. I gotta leave that behind in the past. I just…tend to second guess myself with everything. Always questioning things..” You sigh, and cross your legs, feeling his hand on your back, softly caressing it as he tilts his head to the side a little, pressing it up against yours. It’s a quiet gesture, him giving you some time to express your next words, if needed. You knew he was right, knowing this is what you moved to Hawkins for. To make a new life, a new beginning, and whatever life threw your way, you’d handle it as a new person. And that’s exactly what life did.

“Now, let’s enjoy this lovely day, yeah? It’s actually a perfect Sunday.” He stands, and extends his hand out for you to grab, and pulls you up with him.

“After a quick shower, please.” You beg, wanting nothing more than to wash away last night’s, and this morning's, depravity but mostly just to feel refreshed and clean.

“Go ahead. I gotta check on some things at home. Meet me there, ok?” Eddie kisses you, and grabs his keys from the kitchen counter. “Oh shit, I forgot to take care of this.” He looks at the mess in the kitchen sink, knowing he said he’d handle it in the morning. He had to be better about that.

“I got it. I’ll see you in a bit, Eds.” You smile as you walk to your front door, opening it for him. He turns to kiss you before jogging over to his trailer, blowing you another kiss and then goes in. Truth is, he didn’t want to shower with you, not yet. He’d have to explain those damn scars he was so self-conscious about, and get into everything that has happened in Hawkins over the last few years. What if that made you want to leave? He couldn’t have that, no. He knows eventually he’ll have to tell you, especially when you’re ready to have sex with him. No way is he fucking you with a shirt on and no pants, like some fucking moron. He battled with the thoughts in his head, knowing he was being a bit of a hypocrite since he, quite frankly, told you to open up to him, and spill whatever was in your head, and here he was, not telling you everything he had dealt with in his young life on earth. A soft sigh escapes him as he steps into the shower and turns on the water, rubbing his face and groans frustratingly, at himself mostly. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a girlfriend. Sometime during his first senior year attempt, he thinks. Since then, it’s been pretty lonely. Now that he’s got you pretty close to wanting to be in a relationship with him, he had to get his shit together. Tell you all about his life, the bullshit he endured in ‘86. He definitely had to keep his trailer clean. He’d turn into a bit of a slob after Wayne moved out. Well, he was never tidy, but the state of his trailer left him ashamed, especially since yours was so neat.

“Fuck..” Eddie mumbles, grabbing a 3rd bag to fill with trash that was on the coffee table and the floor surrounding. “Shoulda just told her I’d meet her back there..” He sighs, annoyed that he was breaking a sweat after his shower, and groans when soda drips all over his hand from a half full can. He’s ready to throw it across the room when your soft knocks against his door causes him to pause. Maybe if he stays completely still, you won’t see him through the blinds but that doesn’t seem to work when you knock again and yell out, “Eds, I can see you!” a soft giggle heard from behind the door. “Comin’.” He stands and walks over to let you in, a shameful look on his face as you take in the condition of his trailer. “I uh…the maid took the week off.” He says, joking to hide the humiliation he feels when you take a step in and cross your arms. “The week, or the whole year off?” You chuckle and grab the trash bag from his hand, smiling. “I’ll help.” You say and ignore his protests that you don’t have to, that this was his mess he had to straighten out. “I like cleaning. So, good luck with convincing me otherwise.” You smirk and kneel by the couch, starting to toss empty beer cans into the bag.

Eddie pulls a lawn chair next to yours that sits by your small vegetable garden, facing the open area of grass and the start of woods further down. You’d yet to go exploring in there. “So, you sit out here, and just watch the sunset?” He says, handing you the bottle of water that you requested, and takes a seat beside you, extending his legs out as he cracks open the can of beer for himself. “I do. It doesn’t take too long, since the tall trees kinda hide it after a bit, but it looks beautiful. Relaxes me after a day at work.” You say and turn your heads towards him, admiring his side profile. You really liked his hair, a wild mane that fit his wild personality perfectly. Those full lips that kissed you so tenderly, yet feverish in need. The heavenly bulbous tip of his nose that bumped into your clit repeatedly when his tongue was lapping at your pussy.

“You know darlin’, you can always take a photo. They last longer.” He teases with a grin, watching you quickly look straight ahead.

“Oh, fuck off.” You softly laugh, and take a sip of water, holding his hand when he reaches out to grab it, needing to have some part of you in his grasp. It was comforting to him, as it was for you. What better way to enjoy the Sunday evening than with your cute neighbor, watching the sunset from the comfort of your backyard.

A sigh is heard from Eddie. "Alright. Time to tell you about the upside down.."

#eddie munson #eddie munson fics #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fandom #stranger things #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut

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queenie-ofthe-void · 19 days ago

Text

Part 1

Eddie’s propped up against the door in the backseat, warm breath fogging the window, eyes open but completely sightless. Nancy wonders what’s going through his head, if he’s figured out why Steve’s upset and Robin’s angry enough to pick a fight.

She doesn’t think he knows that Steve’s bisexual. Clearly Robin’s constant meddling hasn’t spurred his confessions. At the very least, Eddie has to be confused about how abruptly Steve reacted. Nancy could see the helpless anguish in Eddie’s face as he watched tears shimmer in Steve’s eyes.

The sight of a heartbroken Steve Harrington is awful to bear. It isn’t something she’d wish on anyone, let alone someone as amazing as Eddie. Now it’s just another shitty thing she and Eddie have in common, like surviving the apocalypse or having curly hair.

She shifts her eyes sideways and finds Argyle slightly more relaxed than Eddie but still unusually quiet. It could be the high, she supposes. But she’s seen him smoke almost twice as much as he had tonight and be completely fine. She doesn’t even know him that well and the silence is still unsettling.

They’re about five minutes into the drive when Argyle’s eyes flash to the rearview mirror. “So, Eddie, I didn’t know you and Johnny were a thing.”

“We aren’t,” Eddie startles, almost like in his brooding he forgot where he was. Nancy catches him shifting in his seat. He’s clearly uncomfortable, biting his lip as his eyes skirt back and forth between his lap and Argyle’s in the mirror.

“Sure looked like you two were pretty into each other,” Argyle says. His tone is an honest attempt at light and carefree. It lacks the signature Argyle vibrancy.

Eddie catches her looking in the rearview mirror, faster than Nancy can avert her gaze. He huffs, nostrils flared, though his eyes are wide with anxiety. “It’s not like that,” he tries to argue back.

Argyle scoffs. “Seemed like Johnny thought it was.”

“Well it wasn’t.”

The boys almost simultaneously cross their arms and slump back into their seats. It’s quiet until they pull up to Argyle’s new apartment. Once out of the car, he leans back inside. Big brown eyes downcast, his hair hangs loose around his face, shielding him from view of the backseat. Nancy can practically see his heart on his sleeve when he looks at her.

“Nance, let me know how he’s doing?” The question is vague enough that he could mean any of them, but Argyle’s heart is four sizes bigger than anyone she’s met. Of course he’d care about Steve even now that he’s got his own problems.

She smiles, small and sad but hopefully reassuring. “It’s a deal.” He taps the roof of the car, moving to close the door before she surprises herself by calling out to him again. “But if you need anything, you know, maybe someone to talk to–” she hesitates, scrambling for the right words. “It’s just– I know Jonathan better than anyone, other than you, obviously. So if you want to talk, you can always call me.”

Now more than ever Nancy cringes at how socially out-of-place she always feels. It sounds like she’s placing some sort of weird claim on Jonathan, implying that he’s still somehow, inarguably hers after all this time. Even after Robin.

She quickly gathers her wits to explain herself, wishing she could just shove her tiny foot in her mouth when he cuts through her anxiety with a smile. It matches hers from only moments ago: small, sad, but hopeful. “Sounds like a deal, Big Wheels.”

Nancy chuckles at the new nickname, pulling a more genuine smile out of the both of them. She watches as steps inside before pulling out of the lot and back onto the road toward the trailer park.

Argyle’s absence somehow only makes the tension worse. Eddie stays sitting in the back, slumped forward enough that Nancy worries he’s not actually buckled in. His head is in his hands, face hidden away.

Her and Eddie have grown close since the final battle with Vecna, just barely making it to the hospital in time to stop him from bleeding out. Nancy, Robin, Steve, and Dustin had sat by his bedside in shifts almost every day for two weeks until he finally woke up. She’d driven him to his appointments, helped him with errands, and made an easy, detailed schedule for his medications.

They’d sat around watching shitty TV reruns. She’d smoked her first joint with him, just two of them sprawled out on the couch talking about all the shit they’d been through. Except every single time, no matter how their conversations started, they always ended with Robin and Steve.

What started as delicate conversations turned into late night confessions. Eddie was the first person she turned to when she started questioning herself. Nancy knows she was the only person he’d told about his crush on Steve. He’d made her promise not to tell anyone– especially Robin, obviously– and she’d agreed to take it to the grave. She’s fairly sure Robin made a similar promise to Steve. Though, that didn’t stop them from constantly encouraging the boys to just talk to each other.

After what happened today, it’s painfully obvious that Steve likes Eddie just as much as Eddie likes him. Robin’s reaction to everything almost outright confirms it without Steve even having to say anything. At least, it’s obvious to most people.

“I don’t see what the big deal is– why anyone even cares.” Eddie’s words are barely discernible, mumbling into his own hands pressed against his face. He runs his hands roughly through his hair as he leans back against the seat, looking at Nancy through the mirror with wild, angry eyes.

“I maybe get why you would be upset,” Eddie continues his rant, gesturing at her. His voice begins to rise with frustration, his movements a bit erratic– ‘worked up’ as how Wayne puts it. “You’re with Robin now, and I know you don’t feel that way about Jonathan anymore. But… It just doesn’t make sense.”

He’s pulling at his curls, and she wants to wrap her hands in his to get him to stop. “Robin’s never been mad at anyone before, and she looked like she was trying not to hit me. She wouldn’t even let me talk to Steve, which is bullshit considering I spend just as much time with him as she does, spend just as many nights there as her. I deserve to know why he’s upset!”

She stays quiet, knowing she’ll get her moment when he runs out of fuel. He always does eventually, it’s just a matter of patience– something she’s grown a lot better at between being best friends with Eddie and dating Robin.

He slumps down into the seat, strings cut. Eddie fails to stop a stray tear from breaking loose as he tips his head back. She sighs as they finally pull up to the trailer, throwing the car in park before she fully turns around to face him. When he refuses to meet her gaze, Nancy sighs again, loud and obnoxious to get his attention.

She puts a steadying hand on his knee and heaves herself over the center counsel, pushing herself clumsily into the back seat. Eddie yelps in surprise when her knee hits something soft, but they eventually sort themselves out. They turn to face each other, legs tangled up in the middle.

“Nance,” Eddie sighs, his quiet voice tinged with sadness, “why do I feel so shitty about a stupid kiss?”

She reaches across the seats to grab his hand, gently running her thumb across the top of his knuckles. “Do you like Jonathan?”

“Of course I do. What’s not to like?” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself it’s true, eyes scrunched and brow furrowed. She shoots him a scrutinizing glare, and he rolls his eyes in response. “Jesus Christ, Nancy, just say whatever you want to say. You look like you’re trying to kill me with your brain.”

“No, El kills people with her brain. I shoot guns.”

He chuckles nervously, trying to pull his hand away, but she grips it tighter.

She sighs and asks him again, with pointed emphasis. “Do you like like him, though?”

“Do I like like him?” Eddie mimics her, his teasing laugh strained with sarcasm. “Never thought I’d see the day where Nancy Wheeler– my actual fucking best friend, despite the odds– holds my hand and asks if I like like her ex.”

“Which ex?” Nancy shoots back, quick as a whip.

“... What?”

“Jonathan or Steve?”

“What–” Eddie tries to pull away again, and this time she lets him– “I thought we were talking about Jon?”

Nancy hums in thought. “Are we? Is this about your feelings for Jonathan?”

Before Nancy can stop him, he scoffs and throws himself out of the car. She scrambles across the seat and follows him out. His legs may be longer, but even after almost a full recovery, she’s still faster on her feet. Nancy catches him by the wrist just as he jams his key into the front door.

“Eddie, stop acting like a child and talk to me,” Nancy says. “Don’t storm off and pretend like we both don’t know why you’re upset.”

“It was just a kiss!” He rounds on her with red fury in his cheeks, tears clinging to his lashline. “It was just a stupid, fun kiss. I shouldn’t have to feel this way because someone kissed me at a party and I kissed them back. I don’t see why it’s a big deal, it’s not like it matters.”

“Seems like it mattered to Steve.” It’s about as close as she can hint without getting into trouble with Robin. Nancy knows Steve’s still playing his cards close to his chest, but she also knows sometimes it’s best to just go all in.

Air rushes out of Eddie’s lungs, breath punched out of him as Nancy hits her proverbial target. Although she does wish she could actually punch him sometimes. Which is why it almost feels like a small triumph when she watches the poorly-obscured implication settle over him.

Another tear breaks from its hold. He uses the back of his sleeve to wipe his face and drag it across his sniffling nose. Absolutely disgusting, but she doesn’t say anything, even though she desperately wants to offer him a tissue from her car.

“He was just upset because of the–”

“‘The shitty weed?’” Nancy finishes for him, quoting Robin’s awful excuse from earlier. “Do you mean Argyle’s personal stash?” It’s the best marijuana Nancy’s ever smoked, although that only includes Eddie’s wrinkled joints he re-discovers in random pockets and bags.

When Eddie opens his mouth, she’s already one step ahead of his ridiculous arguments. “And don’t you dare say he was upset because he’s homophobic.”

She hears the click of his teeth for how hard his jaw snaps closed. Nancy slips her hand down from his wrist and slides her fingers between his. This time when she squeezes, he squeezes back.

“He’s straight, Nance. You should know that better than anyone.” He sniffles and– to her horror– doesn’t let go of her hand when he uses the same arm to wipe his face again. God, men are animals. At least she’s never had to watch Robin pick her nose, even though the way she flosses is pretty graphic.

She sighs, throwing her arms around him in a hug, if not to get away from his snotty hands. “Seemed pretty upset for a straight best friend.” Nancy kisses him on the cheek before pulling away, making her way back down the stairs toward her car. “But you’re right, I would know better than anyone how Steve could feel right now.”

Driving home, she hopes her message landed, that maybe she’s helped and not overstepped. Especially when it comes to Steve. She can’t bear to see him heartbroken again, up close and personal in a way she selfishly distanced herself from last time.

But she thinks, unlike the last time, Steve has a chance to be truly happy with someone who loves him more than anything in the world. The chance to be with someone who wants to take care of him, and be doted on in return. She’s finally found that in Robin, and she damn well knows Eddie’s the one for Steve. So if it means she toed the line on saying too much, then it’ll all be worth it if it’s the nudge Eddie needs to find his courage.

~~~

I always upload to Tumblr first but follow on ao3 if you prefer

Part 3

Tag List: (lmk if you'd like to be added/removed!)

@carolperkinsexgirlfriend <3

@dreamy-jeans137 @yesdangerpls @estrellami-1 @gloomysoup @eternal-sunflowers

@samcoxramblings @shoujo-wizard @vampirexlover13 @stripey82 @the-fatal-lozenge

@kimsnooks @what-is-life-but-an-empty-void @theohohmoment @stedestielfrattficlover @gloomdivision

@sharingisntkaren @live-laugh-love-dietrich @thewickedkat @mugloversonly @glittergluekintsugi

@adealwithher @coleys-a-nerd @the-fantastical-asexual @gatorguy777 @ataliagold

@allyricas @devondespresso @me-ig7 @unorphaned-in-our-northern-lghts @scoops-aboy86

#steddie (-jonathan)#awww i really can't stop writing nancy and eddie as best friends i love them so much #sad argyle though will get a little bit of resolution in the future #and YES THIS IS STEDDIE ENDGAME I PROMISE #is there redemption for jonathan?? no... and he gets worse #i know i promised part 2 would be stobin angst but it's SO SAD i thought everyone deserved some comfort first <3 #don't hold me if you don't want to know me #steddie #steddie fic #eddie munson #nancy wheeler #argyle #stranger things #stranger things fic #eddie munson continues to be an idiot #queeniewritesstories #t minus three days until my surgery!!

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neeeooon · 2 months ago

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heyy!! can you do bllk boys with a s/o who has trouble expressing their feelings? like they don't know how to react to things.

I'd like if you include ness, rin, shidou, reo, barou and karasu. Thank you 🫶🏻

yes ofc! ik this isn’t exactly what you asked for, but i hope you enjoy 🫶 thank you for the request!

when you have trouble expressing your feelings ;

bf bllk x gn!reader

alexis ness

-> you and ness are opposites in the best and worst of ways

-> where he has no trouble expressing himself, he doesn’t always understand the feelings he’s expressing. you, on the other hand, know what you feel, but struggle to put them into words

-> one time, the two of you were out getting breakfast when the waiter accidentally gave you someone else’s order. you knew you wouldn’t eat it and tried to call the waiter back, but you hesitated too long

-> ness didn’t have that problem. he caught the thinking look on your face and up on the defense because why was your expression so distressed? what had happened? he needed to help you!

-> the waiter comes back and ness shoots him with a, “my partner is upset and it’s your fault.” “ness!” and with the waiter’s eyes on you you want to sink into the cushions and die of embarrassment

-> “it’s.. um. this isn’t.. what i wanted..” you gesture to the plate, point to the menu, and the waiter straightens with a gasp. “you wanted the number 4! crap, i knew something wasn’t right. i’ll get that sorted right away!”

-> you frown at your boyfriend, who is beaming at the fact that you expressed yourself, even if it was in a whisper

itoshi rin

-> the quiet that surrounds your relationship is comfortable. it’s how you knew rin was the one, since silence usually makes you uncomfortable

-> but… it can get a little awkward at times. like when rin gives you a rare compliment, and you stand there in silence because you don’t know how to respond

-> despite that, rin has learned to read you like the back of his hand. the two of you went to a movie together, wanting to see a new zombie film that looked pretty good. by the trailer, you hadn’t realized it would be so gorey and gross

-> rin kept you in his peripheral, watching for any changes in your expression, since he knows you hate excessive blood and gore in films. one flinch, so small you barely felt it, is enough for him to pull you to your feet

-> “where are we going?” “we’re leaving.” “w-why? i thought you wanted to watch this..” rin gives your hand a little squeeze as you exit the theater. “i didn’t realize it would have so much blood. you made it a lot further than i thought you would, though.”

-> truth was you were ready to run out at the ten minute mark, but you didn’t know how to tell rin that, so you sat through as long as possible. you were more than happy that he noticed, though, because five more minutes and you may have thrown up all over yourself

shidou ryusei

-> you cannot take a compliment, and while it frustrates you immensely, shidou thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world

-> “your hair looks really nice today, y/n~” “oh, um.. y-you too? i mean yours.” “teehee~ you’re so adorable when you get all flustered over a compliment.” your flaming face is your only response

-> it’s not like you don’t want to compliment him back. shidou does so much for you, but your words stay stuck on the tip of your tongue. they refuse to leave your lips, and he’ll soothe you then, too

-> “you frustrated?” you shrug, which means yes. shidou hums and gives your shoulder a few comforting squeezes. “don’t worry, i know. you think i’m the most handsome guy around!” “i do..” “?! did you just compliment me?!” “i was agreeing with what you said!” which meant yes

-> shidou threw his arms around you and pretended to weep. “you love me so much!!” you can’t say it back, but your arms around him mean yes, i do

mikage reo

-> at first, you loved that reo did the talking for you. he didn’t start on his own; you would look at him any time someone asked you a question, and he didn’t have the heart to watch you struggle

-> however, you feel a bit pathetic now. you don’t like feeling codependent on your boyfriend to do simple things like tell someone how you’re feeling

-> you wanted to test yourself, and thought the best place would be in public. the two of you were going to one of your regular date restaurants, where they have your favorite orders memorized

-> seated, the waitress recognized you both and immediately went to confirm your regular orders. reo smiled at her and started to say, “yes,” but you, shaking with all your might, cut in as politely as possible. “actually, sorry, can i please try this instead?”

-> the waitress looks just as floored as reo, but quickly nods and rushes off with your menus

-> reo just stares at you, to the point where you have to look away. “what..? are you mad—“ “you expressed that you wanted to try something new! i’m public!” “yeah..” “that’s amazing, y/n! i’m so proud of you.”

barou shouei

-> you struggle more with the physical expression of your feelings

-> example, you and barou walking to the store together. he gently moves you aside, per the sidewalk rule (guys walk closer to the road), and holds your hand

-> what you want to do it hold his hand back and give it a squeeze, but you just can’t. you don’t know why, but it’s like the connection between your brain and your body aren’t always in sync

-> turns out you just need a little extra motivation to spark the connection, because a storm brews inside your composed expression when you see a girl shamelessly hitting on your boyfriend one evening

-> he pulls away when she tries to squeeze his bicep, but that doesn’t deter her. you’re trembling as you approach, unsure of what you could possibly do or say to make her leave, doubting the interaction, until you reach his side

-> one little loop of your arm around his is enough for her eyes to pop wide open. “oh! sorry…” and she awkwardly darts off

-> barou relaxes beneath your touch, trying hard not to beam at the contact you initiated. “you alright, y/n?” you nod once but keep your grip tight, and barou keeps you close for the rest of the night

karasu tabito

-> he has a plan to help you speak up for yourself, and it’s a bit sink or swim of him

-> you’ve both gotten comfortable with karasu reading your expression and making decisions for you based on it. 99.9% of the time he’s right, but you both know there’ll come a day where he isn’t there to help you out

-> that day came sooner than you wanted. karasu was redecorating his room, which involved a trip to the paint store. he gave you the paint name he wanted and “went to the restroom”

-> little did you know, he asked one of the staff members to help you and not leave until you got the paint

-> as the associate approaches, you frantically text your boyfriend, telling him to hurry. but you know it’s pointless when you accidentally lock eyes with the older woman

-> you don’t know why she’s being so persistent, but she is determined to help you find the damn paint. you’re forced to explain who you’re looking for and show her the color strip karasu gave you, but in the end, you get the paint

-> immediately after she hands it to you, your boyfriend miraculously appears! “oh, all done?” you shoot him a look that read, i know what you did. and he just laughs

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dadsbongos · 5 months ago

Text

on hard times

5.4k words / summary - jimmy needs a place to stay, and what place is better than with his enabling best friend, curly, and curly's hot step-daughter? nothing could go wrong!

warnings - fem!reader, piv sex, noncon jimmy, stepcest, objectification/sexism (thank u jimmy), curly and jimmy should both be shot in the head

reader is 20 not actually a teenager.

[B Side: Jimmy Zare]

Sitting in a hospital room is not unfamiliar to Jimmy, the only peculiarity to it now being that he’s the one in a gown with his ass out. He’s perched over the edge of the bed now, elbows on his knees and flicking an unlit cigarette between two fingers. Below him is a head of flaxen hair, thick hands unzipping a black bag full to the lumps of plain long-sleeves and jeans and socks.

Grant Curly is Jimmy's sole emergency contact. Mrs. Grant Curly used to be Curly's emergency contact. Next was Grant Curly senior. Then Jimmy Zare.

Jimmy thinks that's fucked up. He should have a Mrs. Jimmy Zare and a Jimmy Zare senior and then, finally and as a last resort, there would be Grant Curly.

But, unfortunately, that’s just not true.

Curly now rolls socks on both Jimmy’s feet. Patting the man’s ankle in a way meant to be reassuring, but only squeezes repulsion from Jimmy’s face.

“I can dress myself,” he sneers.

Lots of remarks could’ve followed from Curly’s mouth -- most apparent being: why’d you let me get this far? None of them come, though, Curly simply nods and stands and kicks the bag closer to where Jimmy’s legs dangle over the edge.

“You got everything?” Curly grimaces at his own question, “What happened to your phone?”

Jimmy shrugs before shucking on a stiff pair of jeans, grunting with the effort and cupping his bruised over stomach, “Dunno.”

Curly bites back a sigh, Jimmy watches it happen in real time: a little bit more faith in him is eaten back by disappointment.

All the same, he pulls over a black long sleeve. Violet stomach screaming in protest as he hisses a curse for his dimwitted neighbor, stumbling back into the bed.

“Alright,” Curly bends, hands out to assist Jimmy in standing, “Let’s get you home.”

Jimmy elbows his friend away, paying no mind the pained wheeze he lets out, before stumbling onto two feet by himself. In the hand not bracing his abdomen, is a crinkled plastic bag with vomit-stained clothes and a peeling leather belt.

In silence they wade through the buzzing clinical halls. Hours prior this same hallway was in chaos, Jimmy knows that -- he just doesn’t remember it. Not between yellow-black dots sucking out the light in his eyes or the stinging remnants of bile around his teeth. Now the corridor is sleepier, and stars are beginning to crawl out from behind the horizon.

Jimmy wonders if he waited until now- if his neighbor would’ve had her kids already in bed, too tired to check out the next trailer over rattling-

He supposes it doesn’t matter. He’s already breaking out toward the parking lot with Curly.

Who then takes a bold step toward the bubblegum Jeep with no back doors, which he knows is not Curly’s car. Meaning one thing,

“Oh,” Curly says like a last minute thought, “Kid’s home, by the way. I hope that’s fine.”

He smiles in such a tight way that slyly communicates: it better be fine because there’s no fighting this. All importance Mrs. Grant Curly took up in the man’s life was drained instantly when she served divorce papers; a space rapidly refilled with the child from a previous marriage. The crooked thorn in Jimmy’s side. The new emergency contact. You.

“Why do you even have a room for it?” Jimmy shuffles into the passenger side, scooting the seat forward and leaving the seatbelt dangling at his shoulder, “Not your kid.”

Curly waves off such criticism, “I love her! She’s nice and funny, everything I could’ve wanted.”

“Ugh,” Jimmy gags, eyes fluttering shut, “Do I get my own room, or do I have to share?”

If his eyes were open, he’s certain he’d be forced to gaze upon that same pressed smile. That stale smile that says more than enough. Jimmy will not like this.

“You got the couch or my bed,” a click and hum vibrates Jimmy in his seat before the car electrifies with whistling pop music. Big chunky tires rolling onto the highway back into clean cut suburbs.

Jimmy cringes at the moaning welps over the radio and flings a hand out, one eye creaking open just enough to make out the volume knob between his crowding lashes. Twisting it far down while croaking,

“You’re a grown ass man, the fuck are you listening to that shit for?”

“It’s just what she left on,” Curly’s jovial, despite the rude quizzing, “You don’t like a bit of girly pop?”

Jimmy glares, turning his whole head to spit daggers toward his friend, “If that little cunt is playing this shit while I’m over, one of us is dying.”

Curly just laughs, then quietly murmurs -- too quiet to be taken seriously, “Don’t call her that.”

Curly is like the sun. Big and bright and nurturing no matter how violently you resist. Making Jimmy mercury: small and red and forever revolving around him.

Upon pulling into the broad driveway up to Curly’s two-story home, Jimmy’s already rich negative attitude only sours more. He spots the sleek little navy blue Toyota Corolla (that’s seen more blood and sweat and tears than your cute two-seater would ever know about) closer to the door.

“Why’d you pick me up in this if your car was here?”

“I figured you’d appreciate this one more,” Curly snarks, killing the engine and jingling your ring of chains with two keys. One for the house and one for your car. Aside from that is a rose gold blinged out rectangle with your name on it, pink little plastic cats, a metal fairy, and purple fuzzy dice.

“Figured wrong,” Jimmy slinks out, curling the clear bag of his belongings to his chest before patting the plastic with loud ‘pops’ as the pair steps through the front door, “I wanna wash this.”

Curly hisses lowly, head turning toward the very obviously clunking washing machine in the utility closet, “I think she’s doing a load right now.”

Ideally, Jimmy would toss his shit in with yours but God forbid the princess gets just a little crusted vomit washed off alongside her delicate thin dresses and lace panties.

“Then I just leave this shit?”

“Looks like it.”

Jimmy really hates you -you’re a little bitch. And you’re hopping down the stairs in a yellow Pony Express shirt three sizes too big for you, smiling, waving, melodically chirping:

”Hi, Uncle Jimmy!”

“Don’t call me that,” Jimmy huffs at you, eye rolling while Curly’s back still faces him from the kitchen.

You stop at the foot of the steps and pout out at him, “Jeez, aren’t you rude? Did they have to amputate your heart out there?”

Jimmy rolls his eyes again, this time with more apparent gusto. He flips you off to boot. You pull an offended scowl before trampling over to Curly and tugging the back of his shirt, murmuring dirt and shit and lies into his big ear. Curly doesn’t spare the energy of twisting back before calling out,

“Jim’ play nice, please?!”

Jimmy hates you. You’re not even Curly’s. You were just some teenage sulk when you came into their lives, and now you’re some codependent wimp living at home. Despite the blonde never complaining about this fact, Jimmy just knows it’s insane that you’re still clinging around. It’s all that pampering Curly did on you.

You skip back out, hands tied behind your back with that awful smile. Rosy lipped with just the perfect sliver of teeth showing, and the apples of your cheeks glowing. The best part of you perched like that is that he can make out the plumpness of your tits -- could probably even reach out and squeeze one before you manage untangling your hands to shove him off.

“So, how long are you staying?” your soft voice grates him again,

Shrugging at you, Jimmy confesses, “Until I get my own house back.”

Your mouth opens, brows furrowed, then they dart up in shock -or perhaps realization- and your mouth closes. You nod and look back at Curly, then again at Jimmy, “Okay,” and prattle back into the kitchen.

Murmuring ensues.

That’s when Curly presses, “Jim’, are you takin’ my room or the couch?!”

More murmuring. You hiss something and he can see the whip of your arm as you whack the blonde’s arm. He laughs quietly and waltzes out, shaking his head a bit,

“Sorry, little lady says you’ve gotta take the couch.”

Jimmy’s scowl must be so hilarious because Curly just laughs harder. You come out whining, smacking at the man’s arm again with a belated shush.

Your concern is brushed off without thought, “It’s just Uncle Jimmy.”

You love Grant, really. He’s been a massive teddy bear since the day you met, but his fatal flaw is his guilted sense of devotion. Especially when it revolved around dear old Uncle Jimmy.

A soft jingle and hiss clues you all to the sudden silence where a machine once clanged. Jimmy spares no seconds before thumbing over his shoulder and seething at you, “Change your load over. I got shit to wash.”

“Grant, don’t let him talk to me like that!” you stomp your foot and whine.

“‘Grant’,” Jimmy mimics your voice, tone nasally and drawn impossibly high.

“Already bickering,” Curly plasters on his worst smile yet, hands fisted on his hips, “This’ll be a good time.”

***

It, decidedly, has not been a good time.

Not in the mornings.

“Grant’s out for his jog,” you mumble around a spoonful of fruity cereal. Milk faintly pink from the artificial dyes.

Jimmy doesn’t even dignify you with a response, prowling from the bed with his striped pajama pants sagging and an unmatching black beater swerved to expose one of his nipples.

“You have a tit piercing?” said with undeniably judgment. Poking the bear just to prove it won’t do anything.

As expected, you receive sullen silence. Jimmy only confirms he heard you in how he roughly yanks the thin material to cover the silver bar through his nipple.

That’s precisely when you spot something sure to make the bear roar. Thin line upon thin line, now blistering white and all stacked in uneven rows along each forearm. A couple stretch past his elbow. You open your mouth, then think better of pointing those out. Partially from some undeserved pity, and partially because of some fleeting certainty he’ll actually kill you over that remark.

“Slept in real late today, huh?” is what you decide on instead.

Jimmy, again, completely skimps you. Rooting around the cabinets until he finds the shiniest bowl and clacking it loudly on the marble counter. Taking down your box of pebbles cereal, ignoring your scoffed protests, and pouring out an overly generous portion. Despite his determination to dodge you, he throws down his bowl -splattering milk over the hardwood table as he does- right beside yours.

Chair skidding out before he hunches over the table. Elbows ungracefully planted on either side of his bowl.

From your peripherals, you watch Jimmy eat. Milk dribbles down his greyed scruff and he crunches open-mouthed, you can identify each sugary morsel just before it’s mashed into rainbow paste. No amount of blatant cringing or sighing does you any favors, so you resort to simply abandoning breakfast before you hurl what’s gone down.

Little do you know that as you rise, so too does the material of your itty bitty silk shorts. Riding up into your ass until fat is spilling out the bottom, and Jimmy hones in on the sight as soon as you’re up. Following with utmost interest as you round the table and perch onto the silver sink ledge, flicking on the hot tap. Definitely prettier bent over the counter than when you’re talking.

If you were his step-daughter you’d probably never leave the house. He’d have the door deadbolted from the outside.

Jimmy blinks at that. Leaning back in his chair, stare unwavering as your hips veer left and right with the effort of scrubbing out dried cereal, and folding his arms. He blinks again, this time with more confidence in his chest.

There’s a reason you’re here, and it isn’t because you’re Curly’s kid.

“Hey,” Jimmy’s voice is buried in the back of his throat, all gravel and rock beneath every different thing he actually wants to say. Eyes rounding over your exposed ass cheeks, “Why’d your parents split?”

Your guttural offense is pretty indicating, “Grant’s not my dad.”

“You still live with him.”

“Yeah, when I’m not on campus.”

Jimmy’s silence is so stagnant, you have to turn to confirm he’s still in the room.

Surprisingly, he is, and he’s staring right at you. Every muscle in his face stony, a hardset confidence as if he knows everything before he even opens his mouth, “Your mom’s just downtown, isn’t she?”

Rather than rationalize -whether it’s a lie or not- you swallow the nerves in your throat and turn back on him, “Why do you care so much? Do you wanna live here forever or something?”

“Call it curiosity.”

“Then be curious about why you don’t have your own place yet,” if you spent even a second longer at that sink then you would’ve gotten a ceramic bowl buried into your skull.

Luckily you immediately break for the stairs, jumping them two at a time (joke’s on your stupid ass anyway, now he’s memorizing the way your tits jiggle up each step).

Not out on errands.

Jimmy’s leaning against the rickety cart with a plastic red handcover. Head drooped to one shoulder, silently observing as you stretch up to grab a jar of Curly’s favored peanut butter from the top shelf.

“You can ask for help,” Jimmy sneers.

You ignore him, flagrantly. Even kicking a leg onto the bottom shelf, selfishly knocking over thin blue boxes of macaroni with your other foot stretching backward. One hand clutching the middle of the bay for purchase, the other high above your head.

“Fine, be a bitch about it,” he sighs and sinks back.

Suddenly thankful he did because at this angle with you reaching for that height: your little cotton panties suctioned against your pussy lips become visible beneath that teeny pleated skirt. A studded belt hangs limply around the loops.

The swell of your ass is more obvious from down here, too.

Jimmy hangs a little more to the side, slowly fishing out his phone and holding it at his chest. Eyes drawing toward the screen as he ensures his flash is off before snapping a far away picture. Then two fingers crawl over the glass, pinching at your cunt and zooming in for another three pics.

Briefly, he wonders if he could get away with reaching out and pulling aside the gusset for the holy grail of shots.

Just as his hands are twitching to carry out the mull-over, you’re fucking turning. Sweaty and huffing,

“Okay, fine, can you grab this?”

Jimmy pockets his phone with an eye roll and easily swipes the orange-lidded jar into your cart.

Not at dinner.

“You get this every night?” Jimmy asks, undeniably lewd with thighs sprawled apart on the chair. A hand clutching either knee.

Curly shrugged, hands politely folded over his abdomen, “Not every night. Sometimes we order in.”

“Your own housewife in training,” Jimmy whistles, watching you at the stove and not bothering to temper his volume, “Guy that puts a ring on it will be lucky.”

Out of minuscule respect for Curly, Jimmy decides against vocalizing the rest of his statement.

Still, though, Curly has the gall to look offended. Broad chest puffing out and thick jaw setting into a disturbed square. Hands curling around each other less politely now, and his knee starts bouncing as he says,

“Won’t need a husband when dad’s here for her.”

Jimmy can only laugh as you visibly cringe upon the utterance of that dreaded ‘D’-word.

“What do you think of that, kid?” Jimmy rolls one elbow over the back of his chair, spare hand now flattening over the table, “No husband, just Dad.”

“He’s not my dad…” you grumble, not unlike that pouty, sulky teenager you were when you and Jimmy first met.

“Well, any dating prospects?” it’s the most tender Jimmy has been with you yet, and by the immediate glow in your face he can read your appreciation.

Curly, however, is the one to answer -a much more rotten expression written over his face, “No,” he frightens himself with how aggressively the two letters spit out, so he tries again with the tiniest, fakest chuckle, “No suitors yet.”

And now you’re pissed, glaring at Curly before whipping right back around.

Jimmy revels in it. Watching you and your step-dad silently bat one argument over the other. He wonders if you two really think it’s all over his head.

And certainly not at night.

On the way to your room is Curly’s. Curly is a deep sleeper, so Jimmy has never felt more assured than right now as he twists the handle on your bedroom door.

Unlocked. As it should be. Your sweet heart entirely unassuming to the dangerous wiles of men twice your age.

He bets your pussy is even sweeter than your heart. It has to be when your personality is so gratingly cliche. Maybe by the end he’ll be even more bewitched by you than Curly.

The thought makes him snort.

Steadily planting a knee onto your marshmallow mattress, Jimmy soothes one hand over your thigh -- kicked over fluffy pink blankets. Soft skin that bounces right back into place. Firm and dewy. Your body embraces him completely, which he already knew it would.

A crackly groan makes his eyes dart from your thigh to your face scrunching at the sudden contact.

Silently, he squeezes, just to see the exact moment you rouse behind those batting lashes.

Initially, you smile -tight-lipped- until your bleary vision makes out the figure on your bed. That exact moment, when you realize who’s groping up your thigh, is when your smile tears apart.

“Calm down,” he husks into the open air of your bedroom, calloused palms cutting along your waist and pausing at the warmth of your collar bones, “It’s just Uncle Jimmy.”

Now is when you kick. A startled gasp shoved back behind the palm of his hand, fingers clamping tight around your jaw. He swings a leg over yours, effectively straddling your pelvis. Grinding down between your legs, something thick and hard protruding from the loose stripes of his pajama pants.

“Feel that?” he taunts, pressing against you harder, lowering his face by yours until the stiff scruff along his cheeks is tearing up your soft skin, “That’s my dick, and it’s going inside you.”

A scream is muffled against his thick palm, you smack at his ribs but he pushes forward without constraint, wrenching up your silk candy slips. The sleaziest little smirk smears over his entire face as your boobs spill out, he cuffs the material to your throat. Pressing your legs open with his own, kneeling on one of your thighs with his full weight and you’re sure the bone’s going to snap. Another scream dies against his meaty hand.

Reaching up, you knot one hand in his stringy hair -yanking out chunks of chestnut- and crushing fingerprints into his eyes.

“Be -fuckin’- nice,” Jimmy tugs you down the bed, blanketing your body with his, “to Uncle Jimmy, yeah?” he snickers in your wide-eyed, sweaty face, quickly swapping the hand over your mouth with his lips. Spearing your face open with his tongue, slobbering over you.

Burying your knees into Jimmy’s sides does about as much as it would if you flicked paper in his face.

Jimmy peels off your thin lace panties, balling them up in one hand and yoinking down his pants with the other. Stretchy hem now digging halfway down his thighs, he taps the hot head against your clit. Then sliding it down your slit, highlighting around your hole with two circles. Grunting against your lips, sinking just beneath the seam to drag back up toward the twitchy little pink bundle up top.

Licking over your tongue one final time, he saps up the final sweet mint taste from your toothpaste before pulling back. Pecking you, outrageously chaste for a man now bruising your tits with his fingers, before parting altogether.

Sneering, “Keep quiet for me,” and stuffing your own panties into your sodden, swollen mouth.

Jimmy heaves your knees over his shoulders, bending over you before sliding in -- staring you dead in the eyes as he lets out the most dramatic huff. You gasp as he sheathes in a single swing, throwing your head back at the sudden stretch with a grunt following.

“Soft and warm,” he hums, biting at your pulse with sick glee, “Tight.”

You wail in protest, but it gurgles out a little sweeter. Just a tad higher pitched than you mean for. Eyes watering and back arching as you try budging for even slight breathing room.

Stubbornly, Jimmy locks his chest against your bouncing tits. Eyes needling down at the pillowing flesh, hard nipples peeking out with every ragged thrust. Thrusts that get smoother, steadier, wetter the longer he’s inside you.

Cold teeth dig into your neck, velvet tongue laving the area as he sucks welts along your skin. Hot pants fanning the juncture with every gushy dive of his hips. Then he laughs out the cruelest dig when that first splat rings around the sweltering room:

“Take it so good, princess,” just to continue with a snide, “Knew you would.”

Biting down on your spit-soaked panties provides superficial comfort, squeals still leaking from the corners of your mouth. Muffled, but not silenced.

“What would your old man think about this?” he chokes, pulling up enough to stare down at your pinched face, “You’re gonna cum for me.”

One of his hands settles over your throat, crushing the sides warmly. Not enough to actually choke you, but just so there’s bruises by tomorrow morning.

“He’ll have to get rid of one of us,” Jimmy hisses coldly, now scarring his bottom lip with crooked teeth, brows furrowing as his cock twitches in your sucking cunt.

it better be you he thinks curly was mine before you

He spits down onto where you’re swallowing him up -- frothy spit dribbling cooly over your clit and along the broken seam he fucks. Instinctually, your hips buck up for it -for more. Thighs clamping around his neck and throat bobbing with a trapped moan.

A practically inaudible yadyyee manages to break past your gag, Jimmy snickers as you crow louder aaatyyyy as you seize around and below him. Eyes flying open and nails scratching up to reopen silvery scars on his arms as you nearly choke on your own slick panties.

“And is this the part when I call you ‘baby’?” he draws a thumb beneath your shiny lip, spit webbing your skin together, “Whore,” is what he chooses instead, “Cumming like the pretty slut I knew you were.”

And just like the slut he knew you were the second he saw you, you grind into his pistoning. Tears caking your lashes and cheeks flaming hot, your body still caves to any attention it’s given.

He knew it the second you were introduced to him. In a spaghetti strap and short shorts with bleached bangs. Dressed like every other little pornstar in the making. Hellbent on catching as many eyes as possible just to rip it away like he was some yippy puppy content to be played with and walked and given little treats. Maybe your dad was, but Jimmy never had that paternal instinct.

Jimmy just wanted to defile you.

And now you live under the same roof: you’re all his.

Last minute, Jimmy slides out easier than he went in and beats his cock into your pubes. Rivulets of your wetness roll down the curve of your ass with nothing to plug you up, sheets darkening beneath you.

Tugging your panties out so hard he nearly knocks out a tooth, Jimmy balls them again and licks up the drool from your chin. Knuckles catching your overstimulated clit as he frantically jerks off, hips cracking forward until your pelvis is streaked in thick white ropes.

Pitchy and broken you wail, “Daddy…!”

Jimmy could’ve cackled in your face, if not for the sound of metal clicking over his shoulder.

And maybe the sight before him -Curly in the doorway, clutching the brass knob hard enough for his knuckles to whiten- could’ve been terrifying. Men kill other men for touching their daughters, after all. But all that intimidation flies out your window, decorated with the daintiest peach curtains, as soon as Jimmy spots the tent in Curly’s boxers.

Curly reads the electric glint in his old friend’s eyes. Something bright and livelier than he’s seen from the man in a long while.

Something that makes him feel relieved he doesn’t have to keep the medicine cabinet locked.

Something that says: I know why your wife left you.

*** ***

[A Side: Grant Curly]

“It’s late, Grant…”

“I told you not to call me that.”

An eye roll is the last thing he wants to see. He scowls, drunkenly, and shoves his head into his hands with all the indignity of a child.

“You really think drinking makes you easier to talk to? It’s no wonder you make her so…”

“So what?”

The stilted silence preceding a sigh tells him the what he needs to know. Unhappiness permeates the house now. Having it all pinned on him feels so fucking unfair, so fucking untrue.

“You know what,” another sigh, this time more playful -more throaty and evidently annoyed, “Daddy.”

“I thought marriages didn’t fall apart until at least the fifth year…” he pouts up at you, again with all the righteousness of a toddler.

You smack his arm, “You guys have been dating longer, anyway. Besides, you kinda knew it wasn’t gonna work out, right?”

“I thought we’d be okay.”

Two hands settle on either of his shoulders. Thumbs pressing into the knotted muscle between his shoulder blades and up toward his stiff neck. Pulling tense flesh until he’s all malleable and soft again.

Curly groans, pleased, and leans into your touch. Laying his head against the back of the couch to stare up at you. A lopsided smile gracing his lips as he confesses with whiskey-slick lips,

“You’re a blessing, sweetheart.”

You grace him with one of those humble, tight-lipped grins that make him all gooey in the center. A paternal feeling, he’s sure.

Whenever your mother upsets him, you’re there.

More things make Curly want to kill himself than they don’t these days. He has the sick urge to fellate a gun after most minor inconveniences, and suddenly the only way he can feel true joy is when someone half his age is fawning over him. It should be another reason he wants to die, but it isn’t. You could never be.

He places a thick hand on yours and grins, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Looping both arms around his neck, you settle your heated cheek over the back of Curly’s head and squeeze. Flushing your breasts against his back with a sugary whisper, “Probably die miserable.”

“Probably,” he reaches up to squeeze your wrist.

Knowledge would be him pushing you off right now. Wisdom would be kicking you out of his house. But that ripe, sweating instinct makes him encourage you to slither over the back of the couch.

He pulls at your cropped sweater, laughing in your flustered face as you giggle. Legs wild before you’re slipping into his lap, thighs spreading yours apart with his hands on your hips. Thumbs scarring up your bare ribs.

“How are you so like her, but so different?” he wonders aloud.

“I dunno…” you shrug off shyly. Hips ticking against his.

“Mhmm,” he lets you and leans back, eyes fluttering shut as warmth eats him from both directions. Your body is sweet while the alcohol is savory. Both ways, he’s treated with nothing but love.

Then there’s your lips on his cheek, he smiles into it. Turns his head just to kiss the air above your own cheek as he sighs,

“Thank you, baby.”

“Daddy,” your hips cant down harder and now he has to plant both feet firmly in the ground to keep from thrusting up. That would just be inappropriate, right? But no more inappropriate than what you utter next, “Can I suck you off?”

His eyes peel open one at a time. Bloodshot. Confused, “Huh?”

“I know Mom doesn’t,” you grind down on him again. The material of your oversized sleep shirt riding up. Nothing but pink lace panties greet him. Damp and sticking to his shorts, “But I really want to…”

“Uhh,” maybe if you could let him think for a second, he’d have replied better. Maybe if you could stop rubbing that wet cunt on him for even one breath, he could’ve given you the emphatic NO you deserved. But you didn’t, so he didn’t.

Instead, he just sat you on the floor and waved with one hand while the other came up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “Fine, fine, yes.”

Already, the carpet burns your knees. But you rock forward and unclink his buttons.

Without technique, but eager and hungry: your mouth sinks onto his cock. Feeling it twitch and thicken on your tongue as you whine. Hollowing your cheeks with both hands burying manicured nails into his meaty thighs. Noisily slurping the spit dribbling past your gaping lips.

Sucking more than you can handle, trying to impress Grant by tickling your nose with his wiry gold pubes just makes you gag. An abrupt gush of thick slobber waxing his pelvis.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, throwing his head back with bending brows, “Be careful, honey, don’t hurt yourself…”

Despite himself, he’s knotting hand at the back of your head. Not-so-subtly pushing your forehead against his abs.

Curly cannot verbally explain or comprehend his relationship with you in labels, the guilt just eats him up.

The comfort of a stepdaughter should be non-existent -or at the least temporary, but you’re still here. You love him and he adores you. He has no strength to beat you away.

*** he really should just die ***

Little under a year spins by before his phone rings, interrupting the unquestioned domesticity.

You caught bits of that call while perched on the kitchen counter. Bare legs left to swing while Curly stirred creamer into his coffee. His old Pony Express shirt swamped over you. A girl’s voice blisters out from the other side. You glare at the speaker in juvenile jealousy despite how displeased Curly seems to be listening to her.

Occasionally he’ll nod, no matter how ridiculous the notion is given you’re the only one looking. Jaw popping. Fingers tapping.

“But he’s alive?” is the first thing of substance he says.

Curly is Jimmy Zare’s emergency contact because Jimmy never had a Misses or a Senior to count on. Not even the highly inappropriate relationship with a young girl to lean on.

You assume that is all connected to the phone call that suddenly has him all serious.

“Okay. I’ll be out there soon,” he nods again, making you want to rip his head off it’s so cute how stupid he is sometimes, “He can stay with me… I’ll be sure.”

He doesn’t look your way after hanging up. Instead, he spares a few minutes blankly staring into the cabinets.

Curly thinks Jimmy is like the sun. Big and angry and burning with barely contained passion. Making Curly mercury: small and burnt and the first to be swallowed when Jimmy inevitably blows up.

It’s so cute how stupid he is sometimes.

“Grant?” you murmur, head tilting.

He finally satisfies your need for attention. Eyes widening as if he spontaneously forgot and then remembered who he’s looking at. He smiles tightly and pats your knee like he’s trying to comfort a child after a lost softball game,

He even speaks to you like one.

“Uncle Jimmy’s staying with us for a bit,” before you can ask anything more, he turns away toward the front door, “Try not to fight with him.”

“Eugh… He’s weird!” you protest, “Can’t he stay at a hotel?!”

Curly pokes his head out and shakes it, disappointed, at you, “He’s staying with us,” then disappears to announce, “I’m going to pick him up! Be dressed when we get back!”

You wait until he’s slammed the front door behind him before muttering, “I am dressed.”

Uncle Jimmy is the type of person men shouldn’t trust their daughters with, so maybe this is a step forward. Somewhere in the knotted affair your life became, a gleaming light assures you this means Grant has his eyes on a new Mrs. Curly.

It’s so cute how stupid step-daughters are sometimes.

@toxycodone / @maniacpixiedreamboy + @xyfanficarchive + @m-carriaga2021 + @reniverse

#jimmy x reader #mouthwashing x reader #curly x reader #mouthwashing smut #curly smut #jimmy smut #tw noncon

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avelera · 6 months ago

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Ok because I've given up all sanity and I'm now a "Jayce Has Been Trapped In a Time Loop" Truther, let's just quickly mention THIS ^^^ image above from the Arcane Act 3 trailer

I don't think this is from the future. I think the trailer wants you to think Jayce has come back as some fascistic force for evil hellbent on murdering innocent cult leaders like Viktor but that's the sort of thing trailers are supposed to do.

I think this image is from the past. Namely, this is one of the time loops or alternate timelines that Jayce has been in, trying to stop the Hexcore through Viktor from once again destroying an entire civilization (Piltover/Zaun in this case) just like Heimerdinger warned him it would.

One reason I think it's from the past? Jayce is younger here than we've seen him when he reemerges in 2.06.

The Jayce who emerged from the Wild Rune has more lines on his face, possibly longer hair (it's hard to tell) more scarred up lips and a whole lot less hope and determination in his eyes.

And while we're at it, has anyone noticed that Jayce's hammer and hands have red and brown smears on them? Almost like fresh blood?

Almost like he's coming from recent violence? Perhaps a battle, or another attempt to stop the Hexcore somewhere else?

If you accept my premise that the armor is from the past, not the future, then let me add one more point that it means Jayce had long-term time loops he went through. I think it also implies that he had time loops where things looked like they might go well, enough to be able to marshal an army and have armor tricked out for him. But that hope and determination is gone from his eyes now. Whatever he was wearing armor for? It didn't work.

Because all Jayce keeps repeating now is. "I won't fail." He failed the other times guys. This guy is broken. He's also exhausted.

I think the fact that a lot of time has passed for him is already implied just based on his appearance in 2.06, because of the brace on his leg, it would have needed to be fitted to him which implies more than just a quick jump in and out of a timeline. But the armor even more so requires time to be fitted and customized to him.

Throw in the fact he's visibly aged years, and I'd say Jayce has been away for quite a long time, more than just months but maybe years or even close to a decade of time spent living other lives in either other dimensions or in a loop of the timeline of the current dimension. And my suspicion is that in those time loops or other dimensions? We're going to see the emotional encounters with Viktor that didn't happen in the main timeline.

#arcane #arcane spoilers #arcane meta #arcane act 3 speculation #jayce talis #jayvik

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chanandlersstuff · 5 days ago

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Sunshine and Loverboy

Pairing: Hayden Christensen x Reader.

Summary: The timeline of how Hayden gradually fell in love with her until he was madly in love, to the point of no returning.

Word count: 8.639

Warnings: Not much actually, age-gap and emotions and lots of feelings.

Author’s note: Hiii, thanks a lot for the love I've been reciving for the series and the nice messages.

It's been a while, but not that long, time it to perfection to be a month.

I hope this is what you wanted to read after the last part, after the rough path between them. And I want to say that I would gladly made them suffer more, but I didn't want you all to hate me so I fast forward right to the part we all wanted.

With that being said, enjoy, there's more to come about those two and I hope you enjoy it. Lots of love, ME.

gif credit @hayden-christensen

← Previous part

May 2022. This is what you came for.

Months had passed. Quiet ones. Months of polite distance, of sterile texts. A "Happy Holidays" here, a “Congrats on the trailer drop” there. Nothing like what it used to be. Nothing close to warmth.

They’d both thought the time apart might heal things. Soften the edges. Drown the ache. Maybe time would do what neither of them could, make it easier to let go.

But the second they saw each other again, it all came crashing back. The longing, the weight of everything unsaid, the quiet ache blooming behind their ribs like something alive.

For Hayden, it was like the sun had finally broken through months of grey skies, like something inside him, something starved, was finally warm again, like something in his chest uncoiled all at once, then immediately twisted again, tighter than before.

For her, it was like remembering how to breathe and hating herself for how much she missed it. Her heart slammed against her chest like it wanted to break free, like it wanted to jump out her chest and run to the person who it belonged to.

They saw each other across a sea of people. Publicists, fans, cameras, executives, handlers, stylists, all of them blurring into white noise.

Hayden stood still, rooted to the floor in his black tailored jacket, hands stopped mid air, eyes only on her. Like the room had tilted. Like the lights and sounds and flashes had vanished and the noise disappeared.

It was just her.

She walked slowly, trying not to rush. She had no right to, not after the silence, not after that night. But her body betrayed her, it always did around him. Her smile faltered for the first time that day.

God, he looks good.

Hair swept back, eyes lit from within, the curve of a smile he was trying hard to hide. Not perfect. Just…Hayden.

People moved between them. Camera crews. Assistants. Disney PR. She gave a practiced smile. He nodded to someone saying his name.

But they were walking towards the other, slowly, tentatively. One moment there they were, the other they were close. Too close.

She looked up, timid and unsure, the way she had the very first time they met in person, like she was bracing for impact, and Hayden’s body was moving before his brain could catch up. Stepping forward and hugging her.

Not a staged hug. Not a half-press of bodies for the sake of polite industry affection. No, his arms wrapped around her like he’d been waiting a lifetime to do it again.

She froze for a second, caught off guard. Her breath hitched, but then her body remembered too. Quickly easing in his arms, inhaling deeply so he could invade all her senses, her hands gently curled at his back softly.

But the hug was over far too fast, ripped away by reality. By flashes. By movement. By all the eyes watching.

They stepped back and it was like it never happened. But it did. It so fucking did.

His heart was still racing. Her perfume clung to the fabric of his jacket.

She looked at him, blinking the daze out of her eyes, a hand still hovering like it didn’t know where to fall.

Hayden found his voice first. Croaky. Thin. Meaning every word.

“You look good.”

God, you look incredible.

She smiled, small, timid, but he knew it was a real one. Her eyes flicked up to meet his. “So do you.”

Because he never didn’t look good.

She wanted to say more and he wanted to hold her again, but then a handler’s voice cut through the moment. He was needed for a press stop while she was needed for photos, which put a slight look on her face, which was quickly gone, but he noticed.

And just like that, they were being pulled apart again. Looking over their shoulders briefly before they were gone.

Back into the crowd, back into orbit, apart, once again, and God, it hurt more than before.

Because even after all this time, touching her still felt like home and letting her go still felt like hell.

Along the day, they were ushered here and there, photo lines, interviews, press booths. They barely had time to breathe, let alone talk and maybe that was a mercy because they wouldn't have known where to start.

They kept looking just past the other, like they were pretending, like it didn’t ache. But the tension grew. Every time she caught a glimpse of him, her pulse skipped. Every time he heard her laugh from across the room, he looked without meaning to.

They were orbiting again. Two moons caught in the same gravity, doomed to circle without ever colliding. Close, but never quite touching.

When she found a second to breathe, a moment of peace, she slipped into the panel crowd, as if she was just another fan. Because before she was a director, she was a fan.

She texted Ewan as she found a spot at the side of the crowd, watching as the room swelled with anticipation.

Just bumped into the cutest looking boy dressed as you Might’ve found my favorite Obi-Wan

You’re in the panel?

Yeah

Don’t get lost in the crowd We need you

You’re going to do fine You’re more used to the reflector than me

I'll be fine Your lover boy on the other hand…

He's going to be fine too The people love him He just has to believe it

You love him too?

You’re about to be presented Good luck

You didn’t answer, so I’m taking that as a yes

She didn’t reply, just stared at the stage as the lights dimmed and the host’s voice boomed through the space, echoes of excitement curling in the air.

Minutes after, with a great song in the background, the pair walked in sync to the big couch in the middle of the stage and, as the fan girl she was, she cheered and applauded for them. It took five solid minutes for the crowd to stop making noise, encouraged by the older of the pair of course while he looked around.

She watched Hayden in all his glory. The shy smile on his lips, how he waved to the crowd with that unsure, sweet energy that only made them scream louder, the way he manspread with those legs long, one hand casually on his knee, his hair was swept behind his ears. He was mesmerising to her eyes, he always had been and always will be. The black suited him perfectly.

Hayden was trying not to look nervous, but she knew him. Too well.

The typical questions were asked, how it felt to come back, how it was feeling to be back, how excited they were to be there. Normal, routine questions. The interviewer asked him a question, but he praised the crowd, making them go wild again. While the crowd died down he looked among the ground, her cheer was the one that was heard, and she almost passed out from embarrassment, but it was like they had some kind of pull towards the other because the second she opened her eyes big, he found her and an immense smile plastered across his face, unfiltered, real.

They called his name but he kept watching her way. He couldn’t look away, didn’t want to, not for a second. Even in a room full of adoration, it was her he looked for. Her he wanted to impress. Her approval he still needed like oxygen.

The flashbulbs didn’t bother him. Only her silence did numbers on him.

He was seated in the middle of the stage, people calling his name, but he could feel her. A whole sea of people between them, and he felt her. Always.

It took a little nudge from his friend and the interviewer calling his name again to take him back to the present. “I’m sorry what?” Hayden said with a smile.

The crowd and the interview laughed and his friend took the chance to lean in and whispered something to his ear. “I take by the look on your face that you found her, lover boy.” Ewan leant back on his seat and enjoyed how his friend rolled his eyes but a blushed appeared in his cheeks.

The interview went back to normal, back and forth with question and answers and the crowd shouting how much they loved them, they laughed and smiled the whole time. While he wasn’t answering questions, and Ewan was, Hayden kept glancing to where she was and then looked around, to not be too obvious, like he was afraid he might get caught wanting her.

“You know, I had to bridge a gap between my last work as Obi-Wan and then Alec Guinness in the New Hope and we just sort of brainstormed what we thought about it. The film was going to be a movie at one point and it turned into a series. Thank God Miss Director became our director because she's splendid.” The people cheered and she smiled, not only at the nickname but at the kind words. “My god she's so good, she's so talented and because she directed all of the episodes it's got her singular vision throughout.” The praise of Ewan, an actor with so much experience in his career, someone who she admired, made her blushed and smile like crazy. “And yeah, you'll see where he's at,” he finished with a cheeky smile.

“And Hayden, how about you?” The interviewer looked at him. “I mean obviously you are, you were, playing Anakin and now you're kind of playing Vader and so, how are we seeing these changes happen? What are we seeing from Anakin now or are we seeing Vader?” They all were excited for the answer.

Hayden sat straight and smiled. “That's what makes this character so compelling, that duality, that inner conflict of self-identity.” The crowd cheered. “It's just been such a thrill to get to come back and continue my journey with the character and to get to explore Darth Vader at this point in the timeline has been huge.” They applauded. “But more than that, it’s been a gift to do it under the guidance of someone so capable.” He paused and looked her way again, but this time, he didn’t look away. “Ewan said, Miss Director, as we like to call her…” His smile softened, sincerity bleeding into every word. “She’s incredibly, the best out there. She’s so intelligent and cool and creative.”

Hearing those words from his lips made her blushed like a teenage girl all over again.

“She did an amazing job showing these characters at their best. For the fans. For all of us.” The people cheered again and he nodded. “Let’s get an applause for her, she’s amazing,” Hayden said.

And before anyone could react, he started clapping. Loud. First. Proud. Ewan joined in, then the rest of the stage, then the room, making her freeze in her stop.

A sea of people cheering, clapping, and yet, he was watching her. And she was watching him too, because she always did.

The press photos were chaos in slow motion, shouts from photographers layered over one another like crashing waves.

“This way, Ewan!” “Hayden, eyes to your left!” “Miss Director, chin up, beautiful!”

Flash.

They were all lined up, grinning like professionals, rotating in and out of different formations, cast group shots, duo shots, solo poses. Everyone playing their part in the well-oiled, red-carpet machine.

And she? She was luminous in the storm, blinding. To the point Hayden could barely breathe. Staring like a young boy, breath snagging behind his ribs.

How is her face not plastered across every screen in the world? How are there not statues built in her image? How has the world not fallen in love with her already?

She looked like she belonged in another dimension entirely. Her suit was plum-purple, almost like the stains she had on her lips on new years, that kissed every curve like it was made just for her. Her heels gave her just enough height to command the space as she moved with subtle confidence, and her silver jewelry sparkled each time she moved under the lights. She was elegant and slightly fidgety in a way only he would notice. She looked like a star who didn’t know she was one. Like something that shouldn’t be real, and yet… here she was.

And the scent. That jasmine warmth that he had memorized since meeting her. It hit him again as she walked past, brushing just close enough that he could feel the hem of her suit against his leg.

God, she was mesmerizing.

Hayden watched her from the opposite end of the lineup, his own face calm and composed for the cameras, but his eyes kept drifting. Even when it wasn’t his turn, even when he should’ve been adjusting his stance, he looked at her.

She looked like a goddess and she didn’t even know it.

And now everyone else would see it too. Everyone else would know what he’d always known. She was splendid. She was brilliant.

Maybe that was how it should be. Maybe he should’ve always been just a witness to her becoming. Still, he missed being part of it.

She laughed, genuine and sudden, and his eyes snapped to her without thinking. Ewan had said something to her. He didn’t know what, he couldn’t hear it over the noise and shutter clicks, but her head tipped back with laughter, hand instinctively brushing Ewan’s arm as she leaned in, her face lit up.

His chest clenched, not with jealousy, but with envy, sharp and cold and familiar. Because once, it would’ve been him.

It should have been me.

Once, he would’ve been the reason she laughed through her nerves. Once, she would’ve leaned into his space like that. Once, she would’ve nudged his side with her elbow. Once, she would’ve looked to him for safety in the chaos. Once, it would’ve been his name that calmed her heart.

But now? Now he just kept stealing glances and swallowing the ache down. Now she stood three people away, and every inch felt like an entire universe. But God, he missed being the one she looked at when she laughed.

How on God’s green Earth you let the center of your universe slip just far enough that you couldn’t reach her?

“Can we get one of Hayden and Miss Director together, please?” a photographer called out, cutting through the noise.

The whole world paused and his stomach twisted.

He would’ve declined, gently, if she hesitated, if she so much as flinched. But she didn’t, instead a smile appeared on her lips. That small, tired, quiet smile, the one she gave when she’d already felt too much that day and was still standing.

She walked toward him, unhurried. Graceful. Controlled and he met her halfway. When their eyes met in the middle, everything went still.

The lights, the cameras, the shouting voices, all of it dissolved into a low hum in the back of his mind, drowned out by the roar of his pulse. Everything in him leaned toward her without moving. Every cell of his body reached.

As soon as her hand found his back, gently, his lungs stopped working, his body stilled, like even breathing might ruin it. Just by a simple touch, steadying, familiar, touch.

For months, he’d only remembered the feel of her touch in memories. Ghosts of her touch. The phantom sensation of her closeness. Now, here she was. Real. Near. And he could barely take it. His body shuddered with restraint.

Her touch seared right through the fabric, right into his skin, right into the ache he’d been carrying since the last time he hugged her, all the way back to September.

He had to physically stop himself from looking at her the whole time, from turning into her the way he used to, like a planet caught in her pull. He looked forward, like he was supposed to, pose, smile, look composed professional and separate, but his jaw was tight from the effort, molars hurting.

Every part of him wanted to turn into her, to lean in, to surrender at her mercy, and the flesh was weak, so he looked at her. Because he couldn’t not and it wrecked him.

The makeup was soft and flattering, but it was her eyes that did the most damage, sparkling, alive, present. And, God those lips. Parted ever so slightly, the corner twitching with nerves or humor or both. They were the kind of soft that invited sin. The kind that made him forget every vow of distance, every plan to hold back. Hayden almost crumbled at her feets.

His body screamed to lean in and kiss her. To close the space that never should have existed between them.

God, he wanted to kiss her. He needed to kiss her. Because this, she, was gravity and he’d been floating, lost, for far too long.

He wanted to bury his hands in her hair and taste every month he’d spent without her. He wanted to tell her that every reason he’d had in July, every wall he’d built, felt just a little less solid now.

But he didn’t have the right.

He could have kissed her then. But he didn’t. He could have chosen her. But he pulled away. He could have kept choosing her. But he was a coward.

Even if he still believed it was the right choice, believed it had protected her, protected them both. Standing next to her, her hand on his back, his name being shouted by strangers, he wasn’t so sure anymore. All reasoning shook, it shook hard. And in its place, in its cracks, bloomed something else: Regret. Bone-deep, breath-stealing, regret. Because he still ached in every place she had once loved him and he still loved her in every place that could not speak it aloud.

Then he noticed it, the tiny tells of her anxiety.

The way her fingers curled slightly against his blazer. The way her shoulders looked perfect to everyone else but were just a little too tight. The way she held her smile like it was painted on.

So he leaned in, subtly, and his hand lifted slowly, gently, brushing across her back in a barely-there caress, meant only for her.

His voice was low, only for her ears. “Just breathe and smile,” he said, tenderly, every syllable feather-soft. “You’re a natural. Everyone here loves you.”

She looked at him, just a flick of her gaze, but it was enough.

“You got this, Bubble,” he reassured her.

The nickname fell from his lips like it had been waiting there the whole time. Like it had been sitting just behind his teeth for months, desperate for permission to breathe.

It was effortless. Natural. Home. A real one. And she smiled, looking at him and Hayden did too, making the cameras click for a few seconds before they looked up to the front.

He was almost certain it was the only photo from the entire day where his smile touched his eyes. Born from her touch. Her warmth. Her nearness.

Because of her. Always because of her.

And as the flashbulbs went off, as they stepped away with professionalism still wrapped around them like armor, he wondered if she could feel it too—that unspoken thing lingering in the space between their hands.

That thing that still lived. That never stopped living.

Backstage was a hive of movement, headsets crackling, clipboards flipping, assistants whispering frantic directions, stage lights flickered behind curtains, the final checks were happening. The crowd outside was already thunderous, laughter, cheers, the sound of anticipation about to break, the bass from the stage thumping low against the concrete beneath their feet.

She stood near the back wall, near the emergency exit light, which she was about to use to escape, hidden from the bustle, just far enough from everyone to look like she needed space. Not close enough for anyone to really see her.

But he saw her.

Hayden had been looking over his shoulder every few seconds, completely ignoring what one of the cast was saying, eyes glue to her.

Because he knew.

Knew from the way her hand gripped her own arm like a lifeline, from the way her eyes stared out at nothing, from the way she bit down on her bottom lip, too hard, too long. Panic. The familiar threat of it. Coursing under her skin like a storm waiting to break.

He didn’t think, nor ask and just walked up, quiet and slow, and stopped a breath away.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

He stepped in a little closer, cautious, like approaching a skittish bird. “You with me?”

She gave the smallest nod, fragile, like it took everything she had.

“I can’t breathe,” she admitted. The whisper of it cracked something in his chest. “I can’t—I don’t think I can do this.”

His chest ached. “Okay,” he said, voice a thread. “Okay. Just look at me, alright?”

He didn’t say “you’ll be fine” or “you always pull through”, because this wasn’t about reassurance. It was about holding her there, right in that breath, and keeping her grounded.

So he stepped closer and her eyes lifted, wide and shiny, fragile. And he stood in front of her, not blocking, but shielding. Like a wall. Like a harbor. Like a man who would keep the rest of the world at bay if it meant she could breathe.

With his 6’0” frame towering over her, broad shoulders cutting her off from the crowd behind them, he dipped his head until they were eye level. Until the world shrank to just the two of them.

And reached for her hands without hesitation, took them in his like they belonged there. His thumbs brushed gently over her knuckles.

“Just here,” he whispered. “Just me and you. Nothing else.”

Her icy fingers tightened around his warm ones. It was too soft, too much, but it was also all she had.

She blinked up at him then, eyes glassy with panic, lips parted in the way they always were when she was trying not to cry.

“Hey,” he said again, softer this time. “Just breathe, alright? Just with me.”

She inhaled, shaky. Then again.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered. “I don’t—I’m not—”

He knew the words before she said them, because he knew the script. Impostor syndrome was a familiar ghost. But it had no place in her.

So he brought one hand up to her cheek, warm hand to her cold skin, and tilted her face gently upward, brushing the edge of her jaw with his thumb, just enough to catch her eyes. His other brought her trembling hand to his chest, right over his heart, and pressed it there, warm and solid beneath her palm, grounding her.

“Don’t do that,” he said, and his voice cracked, just a little. “Don’t say you’re not supposed to be here. You made this. All of this.”

She looked like she might break, so he stepped in closer, closer than he should have. Close enough that her forehead could rest against his chest if she leaned forward even an inch.

His heartbeat was so steady, grounding, strong enough to borrow, and her forehead slowly leaned forward and rested her forehead just below his collarbone, eyes fluttering closed.

And he couldn’t not hold her, so he did. She hadn’t realized how close she was to falling apart until he wrapped one strong arm around her, pulling her gently against him, securely. As if he’d done it a thousand times, because he had, because this was muscle memory. Because this was them and she let herself be folded into him like a breath finding its place again.

He tucked her gently beneath his chin, letting her rest against the warmth of him, his taller frame folding around her protectively. Hayden pressed her into him with just the right amount of pressure, not too tight, not too loose. Just right. Just enough to remind her that she wasn’t alone.

She melted into his hold, like her body knew exactly where it belonged. Her breath started to even out. The noise outside faded into background static. Her heart beat slower. His scent calmed every frantic nerve.

Leaning down just enough to the point his lips brushed against her temple, his hand came up, slowly, reverently, to stroke through her hair, soft and steady. The way you touch something sacred.

“Remember what I told you the first time we met in person?” he asked, voice a whisper only she could hear, wrapped in warmth and memory.

She shook her head against his chest.

He smiled, barely. “I told you… If they chose you to be here, it’s because you’re the best.”

Hayden pulled back just enough to look at her, his hand now on the side of her neck, thumb brushing lightly under her jaw. His eyes cathing how her lower lip quivered, her eyes glossy.

“It’s true,” he said again, firmer this time. “So don’t let your head play games with you.”

Her chin dropped as she nodded, and a single tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.

And Hayden, God, he wanted to wipe it away with his hands, to brush it aside with his lips, with his soul, with every part of himself he’d been keeping quiet for months. He wanted to hold her face, kiss the panic out of her skin, give her peace in a way only he ever could.

But he didn’t and instead just held her closer, anchored her there to him.

“Just breathe with me,” he murmured, low and gentle. A prayer. “Just me and you. Nothing else.”

And so they did.

Inhale. Exhale. Together.

Her forehead rested against his chest for the briefest second, her hand still over his heart, his arm still anchoring in place. Their chests rising and falling in sync. The rest of the world kept moving, but they didn’t. They stayed.

It was torture and home at the same time.

“You’re not alone,” he whispered into the space between them, just for her. “Not tonight.”

Not ever.

She smiled, barely. Broken but grateful. “You always say the right thing,” she said, the words catching in her throat.

“I don’t.” His lips curved, eyes lowering, heavy with everything he never said. “Not usually.” Not with you. “But I know you and that helps.”

She let out a soft breath of a laugh, shaky but real. Because yes, he did. Better than anyone ever had.

He looked at her then, really looked at her. Eyes searching every inch of her face like it was the last time he’d be allowed to memorize her.

He wanted to say something. Anything. But the right words still lived somewhere between his throat and his chest, and neither would give them up. So they stayed there, stuck and heavy.

A call came from the stage crew, they were about to be introduced and the curtain was about to be lifted.

She pulled back gently, smoothing her jacket with a shaky breath. “Thanks.”

And he nodded, jaw tight. “Anytime you need me.”

Then she gave him a small smile, tight, brave, and walked past him, her perfume trailing behind like the memory of a dream he never got to finish and he stared after her, fists clenched at his sides.

They couldn’t keep doing this. They wouldn’t. Not after tonight.

They still hadn’t really spoken, but it wasn’t necessary because their silence had learned to carry volumes.

All day they had been pushed and pulled, spun like planets around a dying star, and still, the second they laid eyes on each other again, they remembered everything. Every laugh. Every almost. Every smile. The goodbyes. And it was still too much.

And the tension? The ache? It hadn’t faded with time, it had evolved, becoming something deeper, quieter, unshakable.

The road was quiet, almost eerily so after the storm of energy that had been the convention. The soft hum of the highway filled the silence around him, headlights stretching into the dark as Anaheim faded behind him.

His shirt had the first couple of buttons undone, sleeves folded almost to his elbows, suit jacket thrown in the passenger seat, and one arm resting on the door.

The adrenaline started to wear off, leaving only the low ache of exhaustion mixed with the buzz from earlier in his bones. His mind was elsewhere, like usually lately, and a constant hum in his chest that had started since he saw her again.

His phone rang once, a smile appeared on his lips as soon as he saw the name of the caller and pressed the button on the dash. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Daddy!” Her voice was bright and sweet, like it always was.

It always made something in him settle, no matter how loud his world got. No matter how heavy.

“Did you talk about the show today?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “We had a big panel. Lots of people. A lot.”

“Did you wear that dark shirt you look cool in?”

“I did,” he laughed. “You always know what I’m wearing, huh?”

“Because I know you,” she said simply, as if that explained everything. “And I saw the panel on Youtube.”

“Did you now?”

She hummed. “They were so loud, when you and Ewan walked out” she commented.

“Yeah,” he nodded, despite the fact that she couldn't see him.

“And they screamed and clapped so loud when you talked about Bubble too,” she sounded happy.

He smiled, chest aching in the best way.

“You looked like a total nerd in love, daddy.”

Hayden’s hand tightened on the wheel. “Did I now?”

“You did.” She giggled. “Everyone in the comments said you were ‘down bad.’ I didn’t know what that meant, but I do now.”

He grinned. “I’m gonna have to talk to your mom about your internet access.”

“Too late.” She said it like a challenge, then softened. “Did she look pretty?”

His smile softened too. “More than pretty.”

“Did you say that?”

“No,” he admitted, voice small now. “Not with those words.”

“Why not?”

And there it was, that tiny dagger of truth.

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “I guess I got scared.”

“Of what?”

He blinked. “It’s not that simple, bug.”

“Why not?” Her voice tilted up. “Do you love her?”

The words hit harder than expected, not because they were new, but because they were true.

He exhaled. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, I do.”

There was a long pause on the other end. He could hear her thinking.

“Like…movie love?” she asked, and he could hear her climbing into bed on the other side of the phone. “Like when the boy looks at the girl and knows he wants to be in her movie forever?”

He smiled, painfully. “Yeah. Just like that.”

There was a rustling of sheets.

Then, soft and serious: “Then why haven’t you told her yet?”

He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to explain fear and timing and guilt and almosts.

“I think you should tell her,” Briar said firmly. “Because if you love her like that, and you don’t say it, then… she won’t know she’s in your story.”

He blinked up at the ceiling.

“And I was watching Anastasia again today,” she added, her voice dreamy now, “and remember how Dimitri gave her the music box and said he didn't know he was in love with her until he wasn’t with her anymore?”

He smiled, heart squeezing. “I remember.”

“And he almost let her go,” she whispered, “but then he didn’t.”

Hayden swallowed hard.

“You’re my brave Daddy, right?”

He cleared his throat. “Right.”

“Then don’t be like the boys who are scared. Be like Dimitri. Say it. Or else you’re gonna be sad. And I don’t want that.”

He sat in silence for a moment, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. “I don’t want that either,” he said.

“You love her,” she said again, like it was the most obvious thing in the universe. “So go tell her.”

And suddenly, everything settled.

It was a truth settled into him like a stone finding its place at the bottom of a lake. Because she was right.

Not that he didn’t know he loved her, because he had known it for a long time. But hearing it out loud, from the voice that mattered most in his world… it struck him differently.

It solidified the truth.

Now it was clear. Solid. Unshakeable.

He loved her. Loved her and he had to tell her with honesty, with himself, with every truth he’d held back since July. He had to tell her, not next time, not if it comes up.

Hayde you have to tell her now.

Because she deserved to know she was his story, she’d always been. And maybe… maybe it wasn’t too late.

“Okay,” he whispered.

“Okay what?” she asked sleepily.

“I’ll tell her.”

A pause.

Then her quiet little voice again, already half-asleep: “Good. You always sound happier when she’s around.”

It’s been a long time coming.

The street was quiet. That kind of quiet that only lived between midnight and dawn, where even the wind seemed to whisper.

Hayden parked outside her house, headlights dimmed. The dashboard lights glowed soft orange, casting shadows across his face. The dash clock blinked back at him, the numbers meaningless, his breath fogging faint against the window. He sat there, hands gripping the steering wheel like it might anchor him.

His chest was tight. Breath shallow. A wild, restless energy alive in every inch of him.

What are you doing, Hayden?

He stared at the house. At her house. Lights still on inside, a flicker of warmth behind the curtains. Her world. Her quiet. It looked warm inside, safe. It looked like her.

He closed his eyes. Briar’s voice still echoed in his chest like gospel. “You love her, so go tell her.”

He could have waited for the “right time”, but having her in his arms again at the convention had opened the floodgates, and he couldn’t live behind the dam anymore.

He couldn’t go another night pretending he was fine, because holding it in hurt more than the fear of being turned away. He’d already wasted enough time.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, shoving the door open.

The night air hit him like a wave, cold, honest as he walked up the front steps, heart hammering like it wanted to tear through his ribs. Like if he didn’t knock right now, he’d stay lost in the almost.

He knocked. Once. Twice. And then the door opened.

She stood there, hair down, wrapped in a worn hoodie, barefoot on the wooden floor, glasses sliding down her nose. And still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Hi,” he breathed.

Her brows furrowed, surprised. “Hayden?”

His name in her mouth was soft. Questioning. A little stunned.

“I know,” he said quickly, hands up like he might stop her from closing the door. “I know. It’s late. I’m sorry, I just—”

He looked at her, really looked at her. Her tired eyes. The way she held the door with one hand, like she wasn’t sure if she should let him in.

So he stood in the glow of her porch light and let it spill.

“I was an idiot,” he said, voice thick. “I’ve been an idiot. Since July. Maybe longer. I’ve been walking around pretending I’m okay, that I made the right call. But I didn’t. I’ve been so, madly, in love with you, and I didn’t say it. I let you walk away from me with a broken heart.”

She didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Just breathed.

He kept going.

“I meant what I said back then. About the risk. About wanting to protect you. But I should’ve told you the rest. The part where I—” he swallowed, rough and sharp, “—I wake up thinking about you. All the time.”

His voice dropped, like he was afraid of how big the truth felt, but he ached with it.

“Where your laugh is one of my favorite sounds. Where every time I see jasmines I think of you. Where I want to know what you think about my outfits because you are one of the most stylish person I know.”

Her eyes softened, just a little. And it kept pouring out.

“Where breakfast with you is one of my favorite moments and I want them with you, every day. Where I want to stay up until four in the morning watching musicals with you, even though I’ll complain and secretly love every minute. I want to kiss you in the morning, and fight over what coffee brand to buy. I want all of it. I want everything with you.”

He stepped closer, just enough for the light from inside to touch his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For everything. For being a coward. For hurting you. For not choosing you when I should’ve.”

A pause. A breath.

He let his hands fall to his sides, itching to touch her, completely open, completely bare.

“I didn’t plan this,” he admitted. “I didn’t expect you. But I can’t pretend I don’t feel it anymore.”

He looked at her, eyes burning, and stepped forward. One more inch. One more heartbeat closer.

“I think about you. Constantly.”

A moment of silence. Then he breathed, like it might be his last chance.

“Maybe it’s late. Maybe I missed my moment. But I’m here now. I’m not afraid. I’m just—”

He gave a quiet, broken laugh. Shook his head.

“I’m just a man, standing in front of the woman he loves, asking if there’s still a chance.” His voice came out all raw and wrecked.

She stared at him and he thought maybe his heart would stop from the weight of it all.

Her lips parted. Her chest rose. But no words came.

“I know I hurt you,” Hayden whispered, every word cracking under the weight of it. “I know I did. But I had to say it, because if I loved you less… I might be able to talk about it more.”

Her eyes shimmered in the porchlight. The night bent around them like the first verse of a love song that had taken too long to write. There he stood, on her porch, his heart in her hands, chest crack open, waiting, hoping

And she… folded her arms, leaning in the doorway, she tilted her head, full of grace. The quiet stretched between them, tight as thread.

“Can I talk now?”

Hayden’s chest nearly caved in. “Yeah,” he breathed, almost afraid to move.

And that was all she needed to let it bleed.

Not a scream, not anger, just truth, cutting, clean, honest. The kind of truth that struck like lightning and still tasted like honey.

“You broke my heart, Hayden,” she said, her voice trembling but steady. “You shattered it. And not all at once. Not loudly. You did it slowly. Quietly. With every look you didn’t give me, with every word you didn’t say, with every time you chose fear over me, with every time you said half the truth and left the rest buried in your chest.”

His throat tightened, but he didn’t speak because she needed to say this. He needed her to say it.

“But the worst part?” she said, taking a step closer, voice trembling with the kind of love that never left even when it should have. “I kept being in love with you, through all of it, even when it hurt. I kept being in love with you when you left. I kept being in love with you in the quiet. I was still in love with you even when I hated myself for it, even when I told myself to move on.”

Every word from her lips hit him like scripture. Like prophecy. Like truth. He took them in like they were breath and his lungs were on fire.

“I waited and waited, smiling through it.” Her voice cracked, barely. “Telling myself it didn’t matter. That the series was enough. That my work would be enough. But it wasn’t. You were supposed to be enough too.”

He tried to speak, she raised a finger, silencing him like a queen.

“And don’t you dare show up here, in the house, in the place you look like you belong in, just to tell me all the things I begged to hear months ago. Don’t you dare to say all that if you’re not ready to stay.”

A tear fell, glowing silver on her cheek.

“But,” she breathed, voice faltering, just a note, then rising again like a crescendo, “if you mean it, if you’re here, not to borrow me but to choose me, then yes. There’s a chance.”

Her arms dropped and stepped forward then. Just one step. But it was everything.

“I still want it all. The breakfasts. The arguments about which movie to watch. The inside jokes. The midnights watching storms. The faint cigarette smoke on my clothes. The laughing until I can’t breathe. The way your hand finds mine without looking. I want all of it, mundane and the extraordinary.”

Another tiny step closer, her hand founding the front of his shirt.

“But I’m not giving you pieces of me this time, Hayden,” she said, looking straight into him. “It’s everything. Or it’s nothing at all.”

“Everything,” he breathed out, somehow.

She nodded and grabbed his collar, pulling him down into her like gravity was a myth.

And the kiss?

God.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a collapse, a wildfire. The moment when the orchestra explodes and everything the story has been building toward finally hits.

It was messy and wild and impossibly right. It was months of longing and regret and aching hope, poured into mouths that had waited too long.

Her hands tangled in his curls, pulling, grounding, owning him. His hands were everywhere, her waist, her back, the curve of her jaw, like he was trying to memorize every inch he'd lost, like she might vanish again if he wasn’t careful.

She tasted like tears and relief and forever.

And he kissed her like he was dying and she was breath. Like he knew every second they’d been apart and wasn’t wasting a single one more. Like he had been dead, hollow, since July and a kiss, not any kiss, her kiss, brought him back to life. Like she restarted his heart and somehow, she did.

Their bodies molded, their hearts crashed. It was too much and still not enough.

She clung to him like he was the anchor and the storm, arms wrapped around his middle, fists curling into his shirt, anchoring herself like she belonged there, because she did. And he held her like she was the place all the compasses had been pointing to, gripping her like she was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

When they broke apart, barely, breathing heavy, foreheads pressed together like a prayer, she whispered:

“Don’t leave again.”

And he didn’t even hesitate.

His voice was steady, full of wonder and worship and the kind of love you only admit once you’ve nearly lost it all.

“Not unless it’s with you.”

And right then, under the porchlight, they stopped being an almost and became the always.

The morning light spilled like melted gold across her bedroom, stretching over linen sheets, dipping into the soft curve of her neck where her head rested on his chest.

Hayden lay still, one arm around her back, the other resting loosely on her thigh where her leg tangled with his, her bare foot resting against his calf. Her breath rose and fell against him in even rhythms, like the tide.

Familiar. Soothing. Home.

He wasn’t sure what woke him first, her warmth or the way his heart felt like it had finally stopped holding its breath.

He tilted his head, slowly, carefully, and brushed a few strands of hair out of her face. His fingers were gentle, reverent. She looked like something out of a dream he never wanted to wake from. He could’ve stayed there forever, watching the sunlight kiss her cheeks, memorizing the softness of her lips, the flutter of her lashes.

He could have, but he had a better idea.

Pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head, he whispered, “Back soon,” though she was too deep in sleep to hear.

And then he slipped quietly out of bed.

When she woke, the scent of him still clinging to the pillow beside her, on her skin, in the room, and a smile appeared on her lips. But she didn’t feel him and her sleep-heavy brain whispered that she’d imagined it, that last night had been a dream, one of the ones she never dared to hope for.

But then, she opened her eyes slowly, adjusting to the warm light, and reached to the other side of the bed and it was still warm and the sound of soft clinks and muffled humming drifted in from the kitchen.

She sat up slowly, blinking sleep from her eyes, hair wild from the night, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. Barefoot, she padded toward the kitchen, the cool floor grounding her as she rounded the corner.

And then she saw him.

Hayden. Barefoot too, in the hoodie that was his but she never gave back, sleeves pushed up as he stood at the stove, humming lowly to himself while he scrambled eggs and coffee brewing while toast popping.

Sunlight poured across the floor like it was showing off for him. As if it was leading her to him.

Her knees buckled a little and a smile stretched wide across her face, slow and stunned.

She walked toward him, slow and light, and slipped her hands under his hoodie from behind, wrapping her arms around his waist, cheek pressed to the warm curve of his back.

“Morning,” she murmured.

He hissed softly at the cold of her fingers. “Jesus,” he laughed, hand instinctively finding hers, warm and steady. “Morning, sunshine.”

“Whatcha doing?” she asked, peeking around his arm.

“Breakfast,” he hummed, as if it were obvious, as if it weren’t the single most romantic thing she’d ever witnessed at 7AM.

Giving him a light kiss on his back, she climbed onto the counter, legs swinging lightly as she watched him move, comfortable and easy like they’d always been this way.

He turned back to the eggs, but her presence kept tugging at his attention. She looked too cute there, hair messy, hoodie swallowing her whole, eyes sleepy and still full of love. So damn dreamlike that in between buttering toast, he leaned in and almost stole a kiss.

But before his lips could meet hers, her eyes flew wide and she jerked her head back. “No!”

He blinked, stunned. “What—?”

“I didn’t brush my teeth!” she cried, already hopping down from the counter like a woman on a mission.

And with that, she bolted down the hall, bare feet thumping against the floor, disappearing toward the bathroom.

Hayden laughed, really laughed, head back, shaking his head like she’d just told the best joke of his life. He couldn’t have given a bigger damn about morning breath or bed hair. She was her. She was his. And that was all that mattered.

A few minutes later, she padded back into the kitchen, lips freshly minty, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands and hair tied in a half bun.

She tried to walk past him on her way back to the counter, but his hand found the back of her neck as she passed, warm and firm.

He tugged gently. “Now give me my kiss,” he said, voice husky with sleep and something deeper. Something that made stars appear in her eyes and her knees falter a little. “Please,” he added, caressing her nose with the tip of his.

She leaned in and he met her halfway.

This time, it was slow. Sure. Devastating.

He kissed her like a man who had every intention of doing this every morning for the rest of his life. His hands cradled her face, guiding her, owning the moment, and she gave in gladly, letting him lead, letting herself fall.

When they broke apart, barely, she tilted her chin up, fingers weaving into his curls like they belonged there. With a breathless smile, she pulled him into a kiss, not urgent, not hungry, but slow and reverent. A kiss laced in sunlight, a kiss that was a promise.

She sighed into his mouth, the softest moan slipping from her lips, something so small and yet it lit every nerve ending in his body on fire. His free hand slid down, steady and sure, wrapping around her waist and pulling her flush against him like the only place she was ever meant to be was right there.

They didn’t part when the kiss ended, not truly. Their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the space between them. Her arms stayed looped around his neck, caressing the hairs at the nape of his neck and his hands held her like she was something he’d dreamed into reality.

She was looking up at him, not just with affection, but with awe too, like he was something celestial, like she couldn’t believe he was real.

He exhaled slowly and lifted one hand to her face, and with a kind of touch that could only be born from deep, aching love, he traced her features.

The soft arc of her brow, the curve of her nose, the swell of her lips, still pink from him, and she let him, totally entranced.

Her face rested in the cradle of his hands, her eyes sparkled, lips curved into the faintest smile as if the joy inside her was too big to stay hidden but too sacred to shout and he couldn’t stop smiling too

“What?” he whispered, like anything louder might shatter the spell.

Her lashes fluttered. “I’m mentally recording this moment.”

His chest stuttered. His heart roared.

“Are you…” he swallowed, breath catching, “utterly, incandescently happy?”

She just nodded, slowly, surely, and smiled so impossibly wide that it made the corners of her eyes scrunch, made his knees go weak, made every regret he'd ever known disappear like morning mist.

“Good,” he breathed, voice catching in his throat. “Me too.”

Then he leaned in and kissed her again, softly and sweetly. Like a prayer answered. Like they had all the time in the world and he would spend every second kissing her just like that.

When they parted, their foreheads still touched, she leaned into his palm. Her eyes closed, feeling peaceful and full.

And he could not stop looking at her, and didn't want to stop either. He let his eyes memorize her all over again.

The way the morning light kissed her skin. The baby hairs that curled against her temple. The way her breath caught when he brushed his thumb beneath her eye. The way her lips curved, still tingling from his. The way she looked, so radiant, so his, in the quiet haven of their morning.

He memorized every single detail all over again, because he knew that after losing her once, he’d never survive it again, he was never letting go again. And more to his satisfaction, she didn’t want to let go either, she was happy right where she was, in his arms.

Next Part →

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#Hayden Christensen #Hayden Christensen x reader #Hayden Christensen x you #Hayden Christensen x y/n #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker imagines #director!reader

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queenimmadolla · 1 year ago

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𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

next ┊ 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary: After a series of unfortunate events in your life, and lonelier than ever, you often turn to a dead guy and his tombstone for comfort. Never in your wildest, fucked up dreams did you imagine he’d turn to you for the same thing, but you find yourself hiding a living corpse, bringing him further to life, reaping some justice, and cutting off a lot of body parts all while trying to fit in and falling in love.

a/n: Part One is here! Just want to say thank you to my friends for hearing me rant and rave about Lisa Frankenstein for weeks now, though I’ve been unbearable with this concept in my head. This will be the longest chapter, just to establish some stuff, but we’ll get to the slaying! Hope you love Undead!Zombie!Eddie as much as I do. Happy reading! (p.s.,there will be some romantic smut in a later part)

Chapter warnings: a bit steve harrington x reader, some eddie munson x other female, death of a family member, brief description of SA (bordered with RED DIVIDERS if you’d like to skip), mistreatment of Reader, suicidal ideation (reader just has dark humor), implied murder, very campy, very cunty.

THEN, 1986.

“Where you head’n too so in a hurry, boy?” Wayne Munson asked, sat on the couch with a mug of steaming hot coffee in one hand and the television remote in the other as he watched his nephew bounce around the trailer, grabbing all of the the items he let haphazardly around.

Wayne always told him to pick up his things, but like the rambunctious boy he was, there was no breaking out of his messy habits.

“I got people to see, pops. Things to do. Trouble to ‘cause, cops to anger, you know the drill.” Eddie didn’t even need to turn around to know his uncle was scowling but he was proven correct when he turned to throw his father figure a shit eating grin over his shoulder, “Kidding, old man. Mom had me baptized when I was a baby, remember? I can do no wrong, like Achilles.”

“Wha’?”

“Ugh, dad. If I have to explain the joke, it ruins it. I’ll be back by dinner, alright?”

Wayne fixed him with a pointed look, “You best be on your best behavior, you hear me?”

“Always.” Eddie gave a mock salute before dipping out the front door, still grinning as he tossed the keys of the van and caught them midair.

While he wasn’t necessarily going to cause trouble, he certainly would be providing the fun grass, powder and pills that were often behind it. Eddie knew Wayne was aware of what he did, had implied so when talking about how he knew Eddie was a good kid, just living in the wrong circumstances sometimes. Always said he wanted nothing but the best for his boy and for Eddie to realize he was meant for more than what this particular town forced on him.

Made Eddie’s chest tight, but seeing things like the broken patio board—Eddie had accidentally stomped through it after seeing a spider—reinforced Eddie’s belief that he’d much rather help out any way he could than let his uncle bear the financial weight of providing for him.

The van roared to life, after sputtering for a good seven seconds, and Eddie revved the engine a little. As he let her warm up, something in the side mirror caught his attention.

Someone.

Sheila. His neighbor in the trailer across the street. She was hauling a box to a car, looked rather heavy and Eddie would have dropped everything to scramble over and help her, had it not been for Mr.Brawn at her side.

Eddie watched as the guy, who stole the girl he was in love with right out of his arms, grabbed the box. The two lovers exchanged words which ended with them laughing at something as she followed him to the car.

He slid the box into the packed car as she climbed into the passenger seat, and before Eddie knew it, he was watching her drive away, right out of his life forever.

Eddie hadn’t even realized he was clutching his steering wheel so tight, his knuckles were straining against the skin, hot tears pooling at his waterline but he refused to let them fall. He’d shed more than enough tears over her, over what could have been.

They started off so promising; throwing flirty waves from their bedroom windows, occasionally at school, before she approached him for weed. After that, came the whirlwind romance and Eddie hadn’t considered himself a romantic before—hadn’t had a whole lot of opportunities to make that discovery but he was so fucking romantic. A big sap. And he wasn’t ashamed of it.

Until she’d graduated, and he hadn’t. Again. Turns out, not trying at academics all year and then aiming to ace finals wasn’t enough.

Suddenly, all the bullshit naive plans they had to run away somewhere far from Hawkins weren’t possible. At least, Sheila couldn’t with Eddie.

He lost her to a guy in another band, had made the mistake of taking a piss after he and Corroded Coffin performed to their tiny ass crowd, and had come back to see her talking to the keyboardist of the band that had gone on before them. She looked entranced, leaning forward to hang on to whatever the fuck he was saying. When Eddie had gone over to ask her if she was ready to head out, fully prepared to tuck her under his arm and way from the keyboardist, she’d insisted and told him to his face, in front of his apparent competition, that she was gonna stick around a little longer and he should head out without her.

He’d spent the entire night pacing in front of his window, glancing out of it every five minutes and every time he heard a pair of wheels turn onto the dirt road. Eddie got his confirmation when his car happened to be one of them. He’d watched, heart splintering, as the keyboardist got out of the car and walked around to open her door for her before they disappeared into her trailer. Eddie knew her dad worked nights. Knew what she and that musician were doing and he’d thrown up the entire contents of his stomach at the imagery before passing out.

Eddie woke up to Sheila hovering above him and framed by the glow of the bathroom light like some angel. She’d dumped him right there and left the spare key he’d trusted her with on the table.

And now, she was living her dream with someone else while Eddie got to stick around this shitty town with these people who could barely stand him for no reason (and yeah, okay, maybe he’d poke their buttons). In truth, while he was a little heartbroken over her, it was the fact that she still got her happy ending that hurt the most.

The girls around Hawkins might have been interested in maybe hooking up with him, but they weren’t interested in being Eddie’s girl. Weren’t interested in falling stupid in love with him, making plans to start a life together. Didn’t want him in their plans.

Eddie Munson was lonely. And it sucked.

With a heavy sigh, he cranked on the radio, fingers twisting the volume dial up to the most obnoxious level before shifting the gear to drive.

“It’ll get better, Munson. Love ain’t no stranger.” He mumbled, sucking on his teeth and pulling out on the road.

If he had known then where it would lead him, where the night would take him, he would have at least hugged his uncle. It would be the last time he saw him, and it would be the last time Wayne Munson saw his nephew alive.

Three days later, he’d be identifying and weeping over his boy’s body in the morgue after reporting Eddie missing when he didn’t come home.

NOW, 1989

“Where are you going? It’s almost time for breakfast.” Chrissy called out, head poking out from her bedroom as she watched you race down the hall.

“Not hungry! I’ll be back soon!” You called over your shoulder, the large sheet of craft paper wrinkling in your hand as you took the stairs two at a time before bounding down the short entryway.

You’d almost crossed the foyer and then slammed yourself back against the wall as you saw Laura, Chrissy’s mom, fiddling with something at the table. She had the radio on, some garbage self help tape spewing nonsense to her, and that condescending smile on her face.

Yeah, you’d be avoiding her, lest you wish to be verbally and eloquently belittled. How Chrissy came out of her toxic womb to be such a good person, you’d never understand.

When Laura crossed into the kitchen, you sprinted for the door, fumbling a little with the knob in your urgency, but once you got it open, you were out, running across the walkway and the fencing around the house until you were in the woods behind it.

Only then did you feel safe, the trees a welcome reprieve from your living situation, the magnifying glass this new town had you under, and from the world in general.

You’d come from a small town before Hawkins, so you were used to small town living. But these people were so judgemental. You hadn’t even grabbed a box from the moving van before your neighbors were casting you snide looks, noses turning up and backs to you as they watered their yard and lounged about.

Four months later, nothing had changed. If anything, they were more open with their disdain for you, commenting on your demeanor (and you were a cool fucking person), outfits, hair, body. It was annoying. They were annoying. EVERYTHING was annoying.

You didn’t even want to be there but you had no real choice. You’d graduated high school a couple of years ago and despite the popular teenage notion that you’d simply pack up your things, go to college and be successful at whatever career you wanted, life did not happen like the movies. The freedom you’d been promised by your own delusions never came. That bitch came with a hefty price tag and you weren’t exactly jumping into a safe of gold coins like Scrooge McDuck with your minimum wage job.

You’d gotten into several schools of your choice, but scholarships wouldn’t be nearly enough to cover it, and you’d literally have to sell your entire body to science if you wanted to be able to afford the loans you were being offered, since their interest rates were higher than the standard human beings’ lifespan.

So, living with the ‘rents was checked off on your list of things you didn’t want to continue doing past your high school graduation. And hey—you were only 19 years-old! You were still young! Just save up a few years, and maybe one day you’d be able to think about taking a loan. You had time. What could possibly go wrong to throw your plans off?

Your mother was murdered.

Yeah, that was a bummer. Could’ve been worse, you supposed. You could have died with her, when your home had been broken into, and sometimes you wish you had. Alas, you were still breathing, albeit extremely traumatized. But only good ol’ mom was six feet in the ground, in an entirely different town, because your father had also moved on a mere few months after her death, with the worst woman to leave flaming footprints on the earth’s crust, and they’d eloped after like six dates before moving you to a town where you knew no one.

Thinking about it actually made you sick and feel a little delusional.

The only real good thing about your entire soap opera of a year was the community college you’d been able to enroll in. You had no real idea what you wanted to do in life, had no real drive for career paths, but you were doing something, and that something kept the she-devil that was your stepmother off your back. Most of the time. Some of the time. She couldn’t say you were a deadbeat yet.

Chrissy, your sweet to a definitive and insensitive fault step-sister had pushed you into going with her for registration. Convinced you it was the perfect way to make some friends. It was hard to say no to Chrissy, she had a way with people and could make the meekest soul feel like they were capable of anything and everything. She could always see the best in people, and she was outgoing. Your time in Hawkins had been brief, but you’d easily gathered Chrissy was popular, a former cheerleader (and she’d successfully tried out for the community college team) and beloved by all. While part of you felt a little jealous at her confidence, you admired her more. She was never intentionally mean to you, either. She made the occasional comment, but it seemed like Chrissy had more so a filter problem, rather than spitting anything out with sugar coated hostility like her mother. Chrissy was...nice. After everything you've been through, you could use a little nice in your life.

And sometimes nice was also the woods behind your house, as it led to the Hawkins’ Cemetery.

Morbid, sure, but you couldn’t help yourself. After a particularly nasty encounter with Laura the first week of your Hawkins sentence, and feeling lonelier than you’d ever felt before, you’d gone for a walk, tears decorating your face with wet trails as you tried to physically hold yourself together, arms wrapped around yourself.

You’d arrived at the cemetery, and because you couldn’t pay your mother a visit, you decided the only decent thing to do was visit other lonely souls.

You’d stopped to pay your respects to just about every tombstone and plaque, but one in particular caught your attention.

Tucked away in a corner and separate from the other graves, under a weeping willow, was the most damaged tombstone of them all. Parts of it were broken off, a lot of the information pertaining to the individual underneath it was seemingly grated off. You had no idea who it was, the only remaining legible letters were MUN and you figured it was he simply because you’d taken some paper to the tombstone for etching and ran a black crayon over it. You’d been able to make out the word ‘he’ on the paper and deduced it had once read may he rest in peace.

The state of his tombstone surprised you, given how recent the date of death was. While his birth date had also been worn away, the year of death—1986–had been left. It was 1989. No way his grave should’ve looked like that.

Apparently, even the groundskeeper avoided his part of the cemetery. The grass around his grave was overgrown, and pitiful. So, you’d gone home, grabbed the lawn mower, and pushed it all the way over. You’d ended up disgusting, covered in grass, dirt and sweating like a cheater on a Sunday morning, but his grave was looking better. You’d taken to caring for his grave after that. A bunch of your trinkets and things you'd seen that you immediately thought he’d like surrounded him now and you’d even planted some bluebells.

He also made surprisingly good conversation, even though he never talked to you. His presence, while mostly imaginary to you, was comforting.

So, during any free time you had, you were sat against his tombstone, chatting about your day, life, whatever you wanted. Felt like he was always listening, no matter the subject and it was really lovely to be heard.

When you arrived at the cemetery, it was practically vacant, with just the red headed girl you normally saw. You didn’t see her all the time, she was just one of the faces you saw the most, and that was only a handful of occasions. For the most part, Hawkins didn’t seem keen on remembering the dead.

“Hope you haven’t been lonely without me,” You greeted as you approached his tombstone, ducking under a few low hanging willow branches that still brushed over you anyways. You’d have to ‘borrow’ Laura’s shears soon, the willow tree was hauntingly beautiful around his grave, but you wanted its branches and leaves to frame his grave, not conceal it, “I missed you.”

It was a little odd, but you did.

When you weren’t at his grave, you were thinking about him, trying to put a face to MUN, wondering what his life had been like. Did he have any loved ones? What had his interests been? How had he died? Had he felt as lonely as you did?

“I know, I know.” You settled onto the grass in front of his tombstone, securing the craft paper to his tombstone with some masking tape, “I was just here last night.” You imagined he would say.

“I just can’t stay away from you. You have a very intriguing aura: I can’t see it because you’re dead, and that makes me want to know you more.” You pulled a black crayon from your pocket and went about scribbling on the paper, over where you knew MUN would be etched in stone, “I’ve said it a million times, and you’ve probably turned over in your coffin repeatedly because of it, but you’re the only one who understands me. And you’re the only one here that I care about—probably in the whole world actually, except maybe Chrissy but I know her friends think I’m weird, and I don’t want to drag her down with me.”

Once the letters appeared on the paper, you sprawled out STER and you dropped the crayon to produce a pretty hot pink marker from your pocket instead, signing your name with a little heart to go with it just above the last name you’d crafted for him.

The odds of this dude being a Munster were slim to none, but you thought it was fitting for someone who lived in a cemetery.

You sat back on your haunches to admire it, it was a cute piece. Would look nice on your wall and whenever you missed him and found yourself longing to be near his grave, all you’d have to do is turn on your side and you'd be able to see part of him.

You ripped the paper off his tombstone, and weighed it down on the grass with a rock. With that out of the way, you gave him your full attention, shuffling until your head and shoulder were leaning against the stone, “Would you wanna be dragged down with me? Be seen with me? I’m somewhat of a pariah around here. Did you have better luck when you were still kicking?”

You figured with how fucked up his tombstone had been, probably not. You imagined he’d confirm it, too. Just out right say, ‘Nah, these assholes hated me.’

“Yeah, looks like we’re two peas in a pod.” Then you glanced down, fingers, twirling the blades of grass over his grave, “Or, you know. Casket.”

You let silence fall over you, broken only by the chirping of birds in surrounding trees.

“Goddamit, why do you have to be dead?” Your eyelids fluttered close, and instead of the cold stone, you imagined your head pressed against a warm chest, rising and falling with breaths, and a heartbeat thumping strong below your ear, pushing blood throughout his body. Imagined he was alive, arms slipping around you, firm and strong to hold you together so you didn't have to anymore.

But he wasn’t, and you were reminded when the groundskeeper shouted, “HEY!”

You shot up, glancing around until you saw him by the entrance with a leaf blower, “YOU AWAKE?”

What kind of a dumbass question was that? Sure, it had looked like you were asleep but you were clearly alert now.

“YEAH!” You shrieked back to be heard, and he went back to not caring.

“He can see me leaning against your tombstone, but he can’t see overgrown grass, weeds, rocks, or your grave in general when I’m not here. Men, always so selective, amirite?”

You glanced at the stone, half expecting it to respond. “Eh, what do you know, you’re just a man, too.” You reached your arm back, knuckles trailing over MUN.

“Despite you mouthing off to me most of the time, I brought you something.” You reached into your other pocket and pulled out a necklace, lined with black pearls and a cross pendant. It had been your mother’s. While she had a pension for religion, it wasn’t something you thought about. Dying, sure, but whatever afterlife? Not so much. Felt wrong, sometimes, to carry it around with you—felt like you were disrespecting her a little bit to not believe what she did, even though she had no qualms with it when she was alive. So, you figured why not trust it with the other important person in your life?

“Pretty, huh? It was my mom’s. She’s dead, like you. You wouldn’t happen to have seen her around, would you?” You joked, fingers stroking over the pearls. There was no risk in leaving them with your dead friend, people avoided him and you had a feeling even grave robbers wouldn’t dare step near the willow, so they’d probably be with him for the rest of eternity, “I want you to have them, take care of them for me.”

You placed the necklace over the peak of his tombstone, smiling when they didn’t fall from their place, “Mm, you look good in them. Better than I do, I’m not big on pearls. More of a silver jewelry kind of girl. I could do gold and diamonds, though, only for a wedding ring.”

You held your arm out, admiring your ring hand void of any actual rings, “Nothing too gaudy, of course. That’s what my earrings are for.”

Your eyes trailed from your outstretched fingers, to your wrist, and the watch decorating it. The time made you heave a heavy sigh, “I gotta go. Chrissy’s dragging me to a party tonight, so I’ve got to mentally prepare for that. You’ll think of me while I’m away, won’t you?”

Trailing a finger down the stone, you leaned forward to press your lips to it in a sweet kiss.

“I’ll be back soon, and this time I won’t forget my book of sonnets. I know how much you love the cynical poems I force on you.”

And though you announced your departure, you found it hard to leave him, like you always did. It took all you had to gather your crayon, marker, and your new poster (and you kept dropping all three to have an excuse to linger) and leave the cemetery behind, glancing back impulsively every couple of steps until it was no longer in view, and the moment it wasn’t you wanted to drop everything and run back to him.

You had to remind yourself he was a stranger, who didn’t care for you, rotting in the ground. And it sucked.

“I don’t wanna go.” You announced, staring into the bathroom mirror you shared with Chrissy. You’d just finished your makeup, eyes heavily lined, and lashes coated an electric blue that made your eyes pop. You were always a little heavy handed with your makeup, you figured the whole point of it was to use it as you wanted. Your hair had been manipulated to hell and back, but regardless of what you did, you were unsatisfied with the girl staring back at you, “I’ll just stay home.”

“Not on my watch!” Chrissy declared, reaching in front of you for her pink lipstick. The bathroom counter was littered with your combined beauty products, “This is the first major rager of the year, the perfect social gathering. You need to meet people, sissy.”

You scowled at the idea, “I have met people.”

Chrissy tubed the lipstick bullet, rubbing her lips together as she gave you a concerned side-eye, “People who like you, sissy.”

Ouch, there’s that brutal honesty.

“It’s not good for you to be on your own all the time,” She set the lipstick down so she could place a dainty hand on your shoulder, big blue eyes focused on you, “I worry about you. Daddy and mom worry about you. Your doctor worries about you. You need to get out more.” Chrissy stressed, pink lips pulling into a reassuring smile before she went back to focusing on the mirror and her makeup.

You let out a heavy sigh, mulling her words over. Definitely could have been phrased better, but Chrissy was right. You were currently the town recluse, and occupying your room and the town cemetery wouldn’t change that.

“That blush isn’t the right shade for you, sissy.” Chrissy broke you from your thoughts and your eyes drifted back over to your reflection, the girl looking so unsure and right back at you, “You really have to accentuate your features, compliment them, because you’re already beautiful.”

Didn’t feel like it.

Your expression must have given your inner thoughts away because Chrissy turned to you again, practically bouncing, “Wait a minute, you could use my tanning bed!”

You deadpanned at the mention of the ridiculous full on salon tanning bed that Chrissy owned. There was a dedicated mini garage in the backyard for it, next to the pool, and complete with neon lights, her beauty pageant trophies and sashes as well as her cheer trophies. The PG&E bill was always through the roof for the Tan Shack alone, and you still had no idea how Laura could afford it.

“No, Chrissy I-I don’t think that would work on me. At all.”

Chrissy waved off your concerns, “It’s not about the tan, or even if you can tan. It’s the experience. When I lay in that tanning bed, with those little goggles on my eyes and I can hear the buzzing, I feel myself blooming. Regardless of whether or not my skin actually tans,” It didn’t. Chrissy burned but she somehow still looked good, “I feel amazing about myself.”

“Are you sure that’s not cancer?”

“You’re so funny!” Chrissy laughed even though you were being serious, “Sissy, every girl deserves to feel beautiful. If I can provide you with an experience that might raise those confidence levels that are dragging across a nail-covered floor right now, why wouldn’t I?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to decipher if that was a compliment or not, but you didn’t have long to mull it over before Chrissy was framing your face with her hands.

“And I can. Please, let me do this.”

You groaned, long and drawn out and awkward, before squeezing your eyes shut and slowly nodding your head. She squealed, clapped her hands together and dragged you out of the bathroom.

After explaining how it all worked, Chrissy bid you a cheerful goodbye and left you to your own devices so she could finish getting ready for the night ahead of you both.

You’d selected your tan level, positive you wouldn’t see any real results but maybe the ‘experience’ would benefit you and shed your fuzzy slippers and robe, leaving you in some boy shorts and a tank top as you tried to settle yourself in the tanning bed. The dip was awkward, and you couldn’t get a good grasp on the top of the tanning bed since it was meant to only open and close rather than stay in position so grasping onto it for balance as you lowered yourself in led to you conking yourself on the head with a noticeable bonk.

You hissed in pain, rubbing the sore area as you clambered the rest to the way in. Once you’d stretched your legs out, lowered the top, maneuvered the goggles over your face and waited for the magic to happen as you were surrounded by neon blue lights.

You heard the buzzing as the tanning bed started up. The magic happened alright. The entire tanning bed shocked you, and you shrieked as you felt the intense electric current ripple throughout your body, sparking every single pore in the worst way possible.

“I’m so sorry you got electrocuted, sissy.”

Chrissy broke the silence as you sulked in the passenger seat, your hair a little bigger than normal and not a result of styling. After getting all five senses shocked out of you, you’d come out with a hairdo that would not usually be up to par with you, and some serious case of static electricity. You’d tried to gently press your hair down and when you saw a literal spark in it, you decided to just leave it alone.

Your step-sister had been apologizing since.

“It’s alright. I survived.” And you wanted to forget about it.

You could see Chrissy glancing nervously at you from the corner of your eye as she drove you to the party location.

“So…how are you liking Hawkins Community, so far?” She asked, thankfully changing the subject.

“It’s fine. The campus looks relatively the same as the community college I toured in my old town. Classes are decent.” Pitiful. The classes were so boring and straight out of the book, but it cost you a fraction of a fraction of what you’d have to pay to attend a university.

Chrissy lips turned up in a mischievous smile and you internally groaned, fully expecting her next question.

“See any cute boys?” And then, as an afterthought, “Or…girls?” Then she took her eyes off the road again, squinting at you as if she was trying to assess something, “Or…..anyone?”

You betrayed yourself, eyes darting to the window before they were back on her and she perked up in the driver’s seat.

“Okay, spill.”

Your heart started thumping wildly in your chest as one particular guy came to mind, but you hadn’t thought about him too much. Hadn’t allowed yourself to entertain the idea of a romance with him. That’s how people got their hopes up and letdown.

“Sissy! Sissy, come on. You have to tell me. I’m your only friend!”

This time, you could tell she was joking, even though she did have merit. You bit your lip as she ribbed you a bit more, the corners of your lips tugging up into a smile.

“Okay, okay!” Your hands flew to cover your face, embarrassed, shy and a little giddy all at once to actually be admitting you had a crush.

“Steve Harrington.”

“STEVE HARRINGTON?” She repeated, incredulous and you shushed her even though it was only you two in the car.

“Sissy, that’s so unexpected! I haven’t really seen him since high school but I didn’t think he’d be your type.” Chrissy admitted with a shrug of her shoulders.

“He works in the library.” You sighed out, recalling your brief interactions with him when checking out a couple of books. He’d been kind, made a couple of humorous comments about the titles, and always tried to meet your avoidant gaze, which meant he was being nice to you. Coaxing you out of your shell. You actually didn't have much trouble interacting with people, you were more abrasive than you ever were shy, Steve was just a little too easy on the eyes. Made you forget how to talk, and on occasion, walk. It was embarrassing, “Always makes those cute displays with recommendations.”

“Good for him,” She commented, sounding impressed. “I didn’t really know he was intellectual. Wasn’t, the last I heard. Had a big reputation in high school, seemed kind of mean and everyone called him King Steve.”

You frowned, feeling the need to protect him, “Didn’t they call you the Queen of Hawkins High?”

“Yeah, but only to make me seem pretentious.”

You raised your eyebrows, glancing away. Chrissy was kind, but sometimes, she could be pretentious.

“And anyways, I’m not a student at Hawkins High anymore, so they can’t call me that. Maybe Steve really did change. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard much about him since he struck out with a series of girls. Maybe he took a good look at himself and decided a change was needed.” You could feel her eyes on you again.

“Does he flirt with you?”

“No.”

“See him flirt with any girls?”

“Nope.”

“Does he still make his hair all big and poofy?”

“Looks more voluminous than poofy.”

Chrissy hummed, “An improvement. Is he all beret wearing and drinking coffee now?”

You tried to recall ever seeing him in a hat, let alone a beret, “No, I don’t think so. If anything, he’s introspective.”

“He’s on the spectrum?”

Your smile waned when you realized she was asking a legitimate question, “Oh. No. That’s—that’s not what that means. I just meant he’s thinking about what he does; how he acts, how he behaves.”

It got quiet for a few moments.

”Well,” Chrissy broke the silence once more, “He might be there tonight. I’m not sure if they’re still friends, but Tommy Hagan is hosting tonight, and once upon a time, they were inseparable.”

You made a sound of acknowledgment, upper lip twitching in disgust. You knew Tommy, saw him around campus. He was a big jerk, you’d witnessed him throw some guy’s backpack in the trash and pour his drink on it. You wish you’d known it was his party you were going to in advance. Tommy was a nasty piece of work, so his friend group was the same. Out of all of them, though, Carol got on your nerves the most.

She didn’t pay you a whole lot of attention, but when you were walking in with Chrissy—and this is Chrissy, so she acknowledged everyone—and she said hi, Carol would just look you up and down before pursing her big mouth like she’d sucked on something sour. One day, you’d like to give her your fist to suck on.

”Patrick McKinney is bringing three kegs and I heard Reefer Rick is bringing his whole inventory.”

“Reefer Rick?”

“Yeah, he’s the local drug dealer now. I mean, he’s always been but he used to have somebody sell for him while he supplied, but he died.”

Your eyes widened while your pupils dilated, mind conjuring up some image of a poor dude being murdered for drugs and then the supplier just taking over, not fearful at all of meeting the same fate, “He died?”

Chrissy nodded her head, looking thoughtful, “Yeah, Eddie Munson.”

Munson.

You sat up in your seat, fully alert and invested in the conversation now, “Eddie Munson? Is he buried under the willow tree in the cemetery?”

You stared at Chrissy, willing her to think faster as she squinted and pursed her lips, “I think Tina mentioned something about someone peeing on a tree over there, so I think so.”

Your mouth dropped open, expression utterly horrified that someone could do that, “That’s beastly, what the fuck?”

“I know,” Chrissy sighed with a shake of her head. “I didn't know him all that much, bought some weed off of him a couple of times and he seemed a little scary—appearance and mannerism wise—but he seemed nice when you had to interact with him. He didn’t deserve that.”

“How did he die?” You asked, voice small and heart shrinking. You didn’t like where this was going. Didn’t like it one bit.

“Well, the official determination, if I remember right, was like a drug deal gone bad or something, but no one really believes it. He was known to have weed on him, kept the harder stuff somewhere else. Everyone knows he was murdered. They did a number on him, it was all everyone could talk about because Sydney Porter couldn’t even get her dad—he worked at the station—to show her pictures. He told her they messed Eddie up bad. People here really didn’t like him. No one knows who did it though.”

You sunk back into your seat, mind troubled and stomach turning. This whole time, you'd been tending to and caring for the grave of a murdered guy, taken from this world simply because people didn’t like him. He must have been so lonely. So scared. And they killed him.

Chrissy was wrong. People in this town knew who killed him, because one of them, or some of them, had to have been his murderers.

Your fingers curled into tight fists, painted nails digging into the flesh of your palms. Chrissy noticed the change in your demeanor.

“Oh, sissy. You’re such an empath. Don’t be so sad, I know it’s a horrible story, but he’s resting now. In peace.”

“No, he’s not. They fucked up his tombstone. He can’t even be dead in peace.” You huffed, furious on his behalf.

“How do you know?” Chrissy asked, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“I go there a lot, it’s nice. Quiet. A little creepy, but that adds to its charm, makes it relatively peaceful. I’ve been visiting all the graves, but I was drawn to him the most. Etched his tombstone. He’s my favorite.”

Despite the horrors you’d learned, the thought of Mun—Eddie, still brought a wistful smile to your lips. Maybe your presence was enough to settle him, bring him a little bit of peace this town and the people in it refused to give him.

“H-He’s your favorite…?”

“Yeah. I feel this….connection with him. From the very first time I visited. Now, I leave him gifts, flowers, pretty stones, poems I wrote, a book of sonnets I stole from the library.”

“You….should talk to your doctor about this, Sissy. That’s really weird. That’s really weird, sissy.”

You fought to not roll your eyes. As much as you cared about Chrissy, and knew she cared about you, she didn’t understand you.

“Well, since people ruined his grave, I thought it might be nice to clean it up and make sure he’s not forgotten.” You snapped, “It’s not like I call him my boyfriend or anything.”

Chrissy eyed you skeptically, “Well, then that’s nice of you, I guess. Just don’t go around telling everybody about that, or you’ll be known as the Ghost Whisperer.”

“He hasn’t talked back to me yet.”

Chrissy laughed, and freed one hand off the wheel to lightly slap your arm, “See, now that’s funny. If you do tell anyone, end it with that joke. You’ll be a riot.”

You smirked, staring out the front windshield. You’d let her think it was a joke. For now.

You made a sound of displeasure as Chrissy pulled into a clear space on the grass and parked. She jumped out to dance over to her friends, some wine coolers cradled in a plastic bag she clutched.

You allowed yourself a full minute to stew in your misery before getting out of the car and following after her. As you neared her group, you quickly realized that was a bad idea.

“Oh my GOD! Vickie, you fixed your teeth! They look so good. I wasn’t gonna say anything because I thought you were happy with the overcrowding, but now that you fixed it, I can’t look away!”

Yeesh. You beelined away from them and wandered around the crowded front lawn, dodging rowdy friend groups and couples until you spotted a cooler.

Maybe a drink would calm you down.

You squatted down and popped the lid, digging around the ice but all you spotted were Pepsi and Squirt cans.

“The liquid fun is inside.” A guy’s voice came from behind you and you rolled your eyes. You were so not in the mood to be hit on right now.

“What?” You asked, tone bored, but you didn’t want to make him seem helpful so you grabbed a Squirt.

“Alcohol. He keeps it inside.”

You slammed the cooler shut and popped the tab of the can, rising to your feet, “Yeah, I figured that mu—shhhh.”

Oh, shit.

Steve Harrington was standing before you, eyes alight with mirth as he smirked down at you.

You swallowed hard, hoping to god your tongue hadn’t gone down with the movement. See? Here you went getting all stupid around him.

”Funny seeing you here.”

You laughed nervously, “Yeah. I—uh, mhm.” You forced yourself to take a drink of your soda to keep from making an even bigger fool of yourself.

“Sorry if it’s weird of me to just walk up to you. I was chilling on the side of the house and thought I saw you, but I’m a little nearsighted and I didn’t bring my glasses.”

You pulled the can away from your mouth as your brain registered the lack of metal frames on the bridge of his nose. He looked handsome with and without them, that wasn’t fair. It was still throwing you off.

“It’s—It’s okay. Uhm, no harm done.” You shrugged your shoulders, hoping it looked cool and not as stiff as you felt. You even added in a smile with some teeth for a little razzle dazzle.

“I actually came over here to tell you your books are significantly overdue.” Steve deadpanned, tongue playing with his canine tooth as he scrutinized you and you shrunk, smile falling from your face. You had got to get better at following up on your due dates.

“Oh.”

He scoffed, face breaking out into a grin as his shoulders shook with his chuckles “I’m kidding.”

OH, THANK FUCK.

“Oh,” And then, because every god probably hates you, you started snorting with laughter. You cut that shit quick, clearing your throat as you took another sip of your beverage.

“So,” Steve took a step closer to you, “Are you enjoying─”

“Hey!” Carol stepped right up to Steve, practically leaning all over him as her ruby red lips spread into a seductive smile, eyes lidded and no doubt a few drinks in with a drink for Steve in her hand. For the billionth time that night, you rolled your eyes, trying not to gag at how desperate she was. You knew Tommy had recently dumped her, the entire town knew and now she was clearly trying to get into Steve’s pants, “I found the keg.”

She could eat shit, his pants were yours.

“Oh, Thank you.” Came Steve’s bleak reply and part of you thought he might have actually wanted to talk to just you. Now, you were really annoyed she’d interrupted.

“Hey, Carol.”

Carol looked surprised that you’d even dare speak to her, raising her eyebrows, “Hey. Hi— sorry, how do we know each other?”

“You’re my lab partner.” You were unimpressed, you expected her to be a better mean girl.

“Yay me.” The smile she directed at you was anything but friendly, reminding you of the one Laura would make after you did something in public she didn’t like, but she couldn’t yell at you until you were home. Carol swirled the liquid in her cup around, head tilting as she offered it to you, “You wanna sip, partner?”

“Carol.” Steve warned and she tutted, flicking her wrist.

“You’re right, I don’t know why I assumed she partied.”

“I’ll take a beer,” You could handle alcohol, had cleared your mother’s wine cabinet after she was murdered, so this would be no big deal.

Carol looked annoyed but handed you the cup, and to make sure you wouldn’t gag and vomit, you threw it back, throat opening as you swallowed the liquid as fast as you could to refuse it as much time on your taste buds as possible.

When you lowered the cup, you realized you’d made a mistake and glanced into it at the small amount left behind, watching as the ground in your peripheral view began to shift.

Steve seemed to realize something was wrong, quickly taking your cup and ingesting what was left. His suspicions were confirmed and he spat it out on the grass before scowling at Carol, “PCP? Really, Carol? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the hell would you give that to her!?”

“Oopsie.”

But it was too late for you. You dropped the soda can in your other hand and lifted your hands to your face, watching the lines around your palms and fingers begin to move, swirling around and you backed away from them, watching as everything around you began to come undone.

“Hey!” You heard a voice next to you and someone started rubbing your back, you hadn’t even realized you were crouching. You craned your head up to see Chrissy and you frowned. Her voice was so different, distorted. She sounded more like your dad than Chrissy.

Her face was both far away and right in front of you, you reached a hand out to test the theory, see if it really was close. Chrissy caught your wrist, frowning at the state you were falling into.

Chrissy started asking you questions, about what you’d taken, what you drank but her voice was too loud for you, and the purple behind her head was distracting. Still, you nodded your head.

At your confirmation, Chrissy’s frown intensified and she helped you to the ground before darting over to chew Steve and Carol out.

You couldn’t stay on the grass for long, the blades of it stabbing you and sending pain shooting up your palms and into your bones so you crawled some distance away before you managed to push yourself up and stumble towards the house. It was hard.

Everything was moving. You heard a loud sound and glanced around wildly until you were staring up at the sky, mouth dropping open to see green clouds and lightning.

You had to get away, the need to escape, be safe was urgent but it felt like the closer you got to the front door, the farther away it went. Your breathing was heavy and panicked as you kept stumbling forward, arm outstretched and finally you reached it.

You yanked it open and nearly fell inside, tripping over your feet until you hit the back of the couch and used it to sink to the floor.

You heard your name being called and lifted your head, eyes crazed as you tried to find the source. Fred Benson approached you, the skinny boy squatting to be eye level with you.

“You okay?” He asked and you reached forward, grasping his face in your hand and squeezing to make sure he was a real person.

“You.” Was all you said, booping his nose but still suspicious of him. Was he real?

“Uh, yeah. It’s me. It’s Fred, we sit next to each other in ASL class.”

He looked like Fred. You still didn’t believe he was human, squinting as your hands grasped at the back of the couch.

“You don’t look so good,” Fred pushed the frame of his glasses up his nose, brows furrowed in concern, “Let's find somewhere for you to sit down for a minute. Or maybe a while. Man, what did you drink?”

He stood up, offering you a hand and you took it but didn’t pull yourself up. Fred heaved with all his might and managed to get you on your feet but he realized just walking you wouldn’t be enough, and so did you because you draped yourself over him, one arm over his scrawny shoulders.

Fred cursed under his breath but held your weight, leading you out of the populated living room and you watched a couple furiously make out on the couch cushions as you passed.

“I hate parties. I don’t know why I came—well, actually I do. I never got invited to these in high school, so I guess I’m living out my fantasy now. In all honesty, I’d much rather be watching Weird Science. So far tonight, I’ve seen three cheerleaders throw up and a baby being conceived.”

“Uh huh,” Was all you could get out, watching people swirl past you like shooting stars.

“Would you count that as escaping the teen pregnancy statistic? I know they’re out of high school, but we’re all still pretty young.” He commented as he led you up the stairs. You tripped several times and almost sent him flying down them but the two of you managed to make it.

Fred was heaving by the time you'd shouldered him into the hallway wall, his face and hands clammy.

”Good god, how did I pass P.E.?” The two of you paused there until he regained his breath while you plastered yourself against the wall, cheek pressed to it and hands stroking over the wallpaper. Eventually, Fred peeled you off of it and kept moving until he could find a place to put you.

“You like movies right? Got any favorite directors? Or favorite films?”

“Wall.”

“Huh? Oh, you’re just admiring the wallpaper.”

“Great Wall of China.”

Fred positioned you against the wall, looking a little annoyed. You didn’t care, could only focus on the framed photo of the Great Wall of China directly across from you.

“Oh.” Was all he said when he spotted it. “Stay right here.”

Then he disappeared and you watched as the painting came to life, and the stones of the wall began moving, rippling. You didn’t even know stones could move like that but now it made so much more sense.

Fred appeared again, tugging you along into an empty room. You spotted a trash can and nearly threw Fred into the bedroom wall as you dove for it, retching everything out of your stomach. You could hear Fred gagging, but he was decent enough to make sure your hair stayed out of your way. When you were done, he helped sit you up on the bed, and nearly collapsed next to you.

”We did it,” he cheered with no real gusto. And you sat there, still feeling the earth orbiting. It was the most odd sensation, you could feel a spot on your brain pulsing, like a migraine but it felt so euphoric to close your eyes.

“Here,” They snapped right back open and you glanced to your side to see Fred offering you a handkerchief. Of course Fred Benson carried around a handkerchief. How amusing.

“Thank you,” You gave the three versions of him you could see right then a smile and used the handkerchief to wipe your mouth, eyelids fluttering close just as the sound of thunder filled the room, and a flashing of lightning accompanied it.

“Huh, a rainless thunderstorm, looks like the angels are bowling.” You heard him muse next to you.

And it brought another smile to your face, “My mom used to say that.”

At the mention of her, your brain conjured up all the happy feelings and memories of her, huddled on your couch, in your old home watching black and white horror films. They didn’t scare her, so she could tolerate them. You missed her. She made you feel so light, so seen, so—no.

Something was wrong. Something felt very, very wrong.

Your smile faded and you felt your belly sink as you opened your eyes.

“Does that feel good?”

You didn’t want to, but you looked down to see Fred’s hand on your breast. Your breathing picked up and Fred let go of you to grab your wrist and force you to touch his crotch, “Well don’t just sit there, help me out. Finish what you started.”

Anger filled you and you yanked your hand away, “No.”

Fred opened his mouth as you got up, rushing away from him and stumbling back out the way you remembered while he yelled at you.

You had to get out, had to get away. Had to be safe, feel safe. You banged against walls as you went, desperate to get out of the house, away from Fred, from everyone, and to safety. That was your only concern as the drug really hit you.

All you could remember was seeing colors, hearing and feeling the wind against your sweaty skin, leaves blowing with it and gusting around you.

You had no idea how you escaped the mad house, how long you’d even been walking or how you actually got there, but you found yourself in front of the cemetery, a flash of lightning illuminating the gate.

To anyone else, a cemetery would have been the worst place to find themselves on a night like this, but you’d already been to hell so you trudged forward, feet taking you to him. Even in your drugged state, you were able to find your way to Eddie. Always would be.

Your knees dug into the grass as you collapsed in front of his tombstone, fingers reaching forward to trace over MUN and 1986 before your body curled around the large stone, hugging yourself to it. Electric blue tears slipped down your cheeks, staining them with your mascara.

“I wish I was with you.” You whispered, hating everything, hating this town, hating the people, hating Fred Benson, hating Carol, hating Laura Cunningham, hating how your mom wasn’t alive, hating how the one person you’d unknowingly sought for comfort was someone you’d never met before who was six feet under the ground. And you hated how you weren’t down there.

You laid there, hugging his tombstone for hours under the thunder and lightning as the PCP slowly left your system.

When you were able to stand up on your own, you gave the tombstone another kiss, rested your forehead against it and quietly thanked him for helping you find your way home before you left, following the path you’d made during all of your visits.

The house was quiet when you got in, and Chrissy’s car hadn’t been parked in the driveway when you’d walked up so you figured she was still at the party. Sluggishly, you made your way up the stairs, falling into your shared bathroom. Your hand searched the wall, struggling to find the switch. Once your fingertips made contact with it, you flipped it and squinted as the room was flooded with the warm light. It was still too much for your eyes but you kept it on and walked towards the mirror

The girl looking back at you was not the same one you’d last seen in it. This girl had blue smudged all around her eyes, faint trails of it over her cheeks and a rats nest for hair. Her eyes burned, not from the light, but from a fury within.

She was stuck in a life she didn’t want to live and couldn’t do anything about. As a large strike of lightning flashed from the window positioned at the back of the bathroom, towards the back of the house, you decided to put her out of her misery, picking up a blow dryer and smashing it against your reflection with a yell.

You stood there, chest heaving as you stared at the broken reflection. Then you tossed the blow dryer onto the counter, and went to bed.

Your dreams were much more pleasant than your reality, eyelids fluttering open to the ceiling of your old bedroom. A glance to your side confirmed your mother’s photo was at your bedside, next to your alarm clock on your old bedside table.

“Well?” Her photo asked, shooting you that gorgeous smile of hers, “What are you waiting for? Go get him.”

Your confusion was momentary, your mother raised her chin in a direction and you knew what would happen, you were giddy for it as you looked down to see yourself wrapped in the most beautiful wedding gown you’d ever seen.

You rose from the bed into a sitting position, picking up the bouquet on the pillow next to you. Your dresser mirror was directly across from your bed and you took a moment to admire the beautiful girl staring back at you. Where you last remember seeing trails of tears were diamonds, glittering against your skin. Her eyes sparkled with a joy you’d never known. You bid her one last smile as you turned your head to the figure sitting on the edge of your bed, dark curls cascading down his neck, past broad shoulders with his back to you.

His right arm was out, palm up.

He was waiting for you.

You shifted until you were on the edge of your bed next to him, staring straight forward just as he was.

Without looking, you knew exactly where his hand was, and you placed your left one over it, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. Slowly, the two of you leaned towards each other, until your head was on his shoulder and his cheek was pressed against the top of your head, his fingers curling around your hand to ground you. You sighed, all the tension and weight of the world leaving you.

“Sissy. . .”

“Sissy…”

“SISSY!”

You groaned as Chrissy shook you awake, eyes prying through all the mascara that had crusted over your eyes. It took a couple of blinks until you regained your clear vision, gaze locking on Chrissy leaning over you. Her face was clean of any makeup, skin glowing and hair wrapped up in rollers.

She’d gotten home later than you and had still been able to look perfect.

What the hell?

“You better get up, sissy. My mom’s losing it over the bathroom mirror.”

You were confused for a second until you remembered smashing it with a blow dryer last night—or this morning. Well, it definitely would have broken at the sight of you now, anyways.

You frowned but made no move to get up so Chrissy tugged your blanket off of you, giggling when the both of you realized you had your hand in your underwear. Hastily, you yanked it out, and threw the blankets back over yourself.

“It’s okay, Sissy. Everyone does it. It’s natural.”

“Oh my god…”

“So, what happened last night to bring this on?” She wiggled her eyebrows and you stared at her for a second. Part of you wanted to yell at her, berate her for letting you stumble around while high on a drug you’d never taken before, the other half knew in Chrissy’s World, it was all rainbows and sunshine—at least, it had been since she’d forced her mother to respect her boundaries. Chrissy didn’t expect the worst in anyone, didn't expect anyone to take advantage of you and certainly didn't expect you to wind up walking to the cemetery and then home on a bad trip. No, in Chrissy’s World, you’d probably spent the night flirting with someone, probably Steve, maybe fooled around in his car before he drove you home.

You didn’t see it necessary to shatter her world so you groaned instead, the full force of your migraine hitting you now that you were out of sleep’s clutches, and covered your hands with your face.

“Ooh, your knees…”

You glanced down to see what she was staring at and sure enough, your knees were scratched up from kneeling at Eddie’s grave, but in Chrissy’s World…

“I fell.” Was the only excuse you could come up with and Chrissy smirked.

“Me, too.” Her eyelid dropped in a wink just as Laura yelled upstairs for you, so, begrudgingly, you wrapped yourself in your robe and headed downstairs to receive your punishment.

Just as you suspected, Laura had attacked you with allegations—that were true for once, you had smashed the bathroom mirror—and your dad looked like he could care less.

“You know,” She stated, fixing you with those unnaturally blue eyes of hers, “Your dad wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. See the good in you, but I knew. I’m an Intuitive Person, you know. An IP. They’ve got seminars for people like me.”

Your mind flashed to How to Handle a Narcissist.

“Laura…” Your dad warned and Laura inhaled sharply, displeased that your dad was sticking up for you. For once.

“Did you know there was a tornado last night? It hailed. Wind blew the fence over. The yard is covered in debris, and now I have to focus on repairing the bathroom, too. I don’t think that’s fair.” She huffed and Chrissy spoke up from her place on the couch.

“It was a tornado watch, mom. Not a real tornado.”

“Actually, Chris, the weather was downright crazy last night. I mean, it was really something, I saw green lightning. Big balls of it in the sky.”

You and Chrissy shared secret smiles at hearing your dad talk about big balls.

“Love muffin, could you swap out being a weatherman for being a father, right now?” Laura gritted out through her chemically whitened teeth.

“It’s a Meteorologist,” You mumbled and her head snapped over to glare at you before she was speaking to your father again.

“Honey, your daughter is a vandal. She’s got a taste for vandalism, and she is deliberately vandalizing and destroying property. First, it was my collection of Precious Moments figurines─”

“That was an accident, you didn’t wrap them in bubble wrap and I dropped the box when I tripped over the front steps.”

“Mother,” Chrissy chided, hands crossing over her robe. “Be. Nice.”

“I am being nice,” Laura hissed, glare never leaving you, “But I refuse to coddle her. She’s headed straight to the nut house with this behavior.”

You frowned, wiping away some of the dried mascara under your eye, “Can you say that if you’re a Psych Nurse?”

Laura had the decency to look embarrassed before whacking your father’s arm. He sighed, putting his newspaper down, “Sweetheart─”

You clocked the twitch in Laura’s eyelid at the affectionate name your father used to refer to you.

“─You’re gonna clean your bathroom, alright? Sweep up all that glass.”

”And?” Laura pushed, still staring at you.

“And…..um. Pay for the mirror, I guess.” Laura turned her nose up, hurmphing.

“That’s fine, can I get ready for work now?”

Your dad nodded and Laura looked like she wanted to protest but you turned your back to her and made your way upstairs, hesitating at the top when your fathered turned the volume of the TV back on and you heard the news reporter reporting from the cemetery, talking about a grave, under a tree, that had been struck by lightning.

You wondered if it had been Eddie’s. There’s no way you’d be able to check today, you’d get home from work too late, so you’d have to check tomorrow.

You tried to stay busy during your shift at the local tailor’s. You didn’t really have a passion for it, but you were relatively good with a needle and thread. With the magnifier headlamp, you were practically unstoppable, altering coats, dresses, blouses, shirts, all with minimal finger injuries—though luminol on some of these clothing items would no doubt reveal traces of your blood.

But hey—you now knew what it meant to work so hard you put your blood into something and you always had band-aids on you, in case anyone needed one.

You were so invested in your work, you hadn’t heard the bell above the door chime when it was pushed open, and didn’t notice Steve leaning against the counter, watching you work until he cleared his throat.

You jumped, head swinging around to see your crush smiling at you and you raised the magnifying glass portion of the head lamp off your face, feeling embarrassed that he’d seen you with the headgear on in the first place.

“Hey! I didn’t know you worked here.”

You let out some nervous laughter, mind racing for ways to make this seem cool but you came up short. “Yeah, I—employed.”

“I can see that,” He chuckled, amused by your lack of verbal sparring.

You didn’t know what to say after that so you stared, fingers twisting and pulling the thread you’d been working with, desperate for him to say something or get out.

“Oh! Uh, I heard you guys also get rid of stains? I’ve got this one on my pan─”

“THAT WE DO!”

You sighed, eyes slipping shut as your moron of a boss came bursting out of the office.

“What can we do for you, Harrington?” Murray asked, leaning against the counter, causing Steve to lean back, smile now less than thrilled.

“Murray…I forgot you worked here.” Steve said it in a voice that made you think he would have avoided the shop had he known who it was that was currently in charge of running it.

“Yup, got me this sweet little gig. And no radios.” He gestured around to the shop, void of any technology save for the cash register—and he made sure it was never him operating it, “Would like to see the government try to control me now.”

“Right, I just came here to drop off my pants, spilled something on—well, it doesn’t really matter, I just spilled something on them.” Steve placed the folded pair of pants on the counter and Murray immediately unfolded them, searching through the fabric until he found the stain by his crotch. To both your horror and Steve’s, he lifted the strained fabric to his nose, sniffing deep.

“Mm. White wine?”

It took Steve a moment to find his voice and close his jaw, “Crush. The soda.”

“Same thing. We’ll get this right out, my man.”

You and Steve shared one more look of disbelief before he slowly backed away, the bell above the door sounding as he left.

“He’s a nice guy,” Murray commented and you shrugged your shoulders, wanting this conversation to be over, “I’m surprised you know him, little loser.”

You shot him a glare.

“Oh, c’mon, lets not pretend you’ve got an active social life—if I call you in for a shift, you’re available. Nothing wrong with being a loser. I was one throughout high school and look at me now. Who got the last laugh?”

You were positive the look of pain on your face should have told Murray that anyone other than him got the last laugh. He was a forty something year old, afraid of technology, convinced the government was watching him, who tried to befriend teenagers.

You’d have to kill yourself if you were anything like him.

When he disappeared back into the office, because of course you’d have to get rid of that stain for Steve, you snatched the pair of pants off the counter. Glancing around to make sure there weren’t any eyes on you, you pressed them to the side of your face, imagining yourself hugging Steve instead of the pants. They smelled like him. It was bliss.

Then your eyes snapped open.

Oh, god. You were a loser.

After your shift, you’d gone straight home. Normally, you’d stop to grab a bite or something, you still had to pay for the mirror you broke so fast food was off the table for a couple of weeks, but on your dining room table when you walked into the house.

A pizza box. Your stomach growled as you imagined the slice of cheese waiting for you.

“Is there any left?” You asked, already making a beeline for it.

“Should be a slice left,” Your dad mused and as you tossed the top of it open, all you wanted to do was maybe beat him with it.

There, on the parchment liner of the pizza box, was the skinniest and tiniest slice of pizza to ever be cut. Not even the width of two of your fingers.

“Want me to order another one, sweetheart?” Your dad asked and Laura immediately inserted herself into the conversation.

“She can eat it, love muffin. Besides, we’ve got vegetables in the fridge if she’s still not full.”

“I said we should have ordered two, but my mom had a coupon she wanted to use.” Chrissy didn’t sound impressed.

“Yes, we got a free soda!”

Chrissy ignored her mom, “Sissy, we’re going to the movies! You could get something there, they sell pizza and nachos, right?”

You knew she was trying to find a solution for you, but your bullshit meter for the day had already been capped. You didn’t want movie theater pizza or concessions, you wanted a reasonable slice of this pizza, not some scrap your step-mother had saved you. It was obvious she was implying that she, your dad and Chrissy were the perfect sized family and you were simply an afterthought. Unwelcome.

“Yeah, I’m passing on the movie.”

Before you could stomp upstairs, Chrissy caught your hand.

“Sissy, please? We’ve got to bond as a family, it’s crucial. If it takes two, how can I do it as one?” She pulled you into her side.

“Really, Chrissy, I’m super tired.”

“You’re tired?” Laura asked, incredulous. Here we go again.

“All you do is work with a sewing machine for hours like some old spinster, I can hardly imagine that being tiring, but my Chrissy just got back from a five hour long cheer practice. They were throwing her around like raggedy ann and she stuck every landing.”

“Mom, stop.” Chrissy blushed, but you could see how proud she was of herself, “I’m sure Sissy pokes herself with those needles all the time, and it hurts, I’ve been prodded myself during all of my custom fittings.”

“I have finger calluses so I don’t even bleed anymore,” You begrudgingly admitted, “I can take it.”

“I bet you can.”

After they’d left for the movies, you’d gone upstairs, showered, put on your comfiest pajamas and fuzziest slippers, you grabbed a bowl of chips and set yourself up in front of the TV to watch Dawn of the Dead. You had to give props to all these zombie actors, you couldn’t imagine having to act out being one of the walking undead, imagined it felt pretty stupid but the paycheck and experience must have been cool.

You popped another chip into your mouth just as someone knocked on the front door. As you placed the bowl of chips on the table to get up, the knocking got louder, more aggressive and you hesitated, fear beginning to swell up inside of you.

Maybe if you ignored it, they’d go away.

You turned your attention back to the tv, picking up the remote to lower the volume and hopefully hide your presence in the house.

Then, much to your horror, you heard the distinct sound of a pained, gurgling groan. It sounded very similar to the ones you’d heard the zombies making on your tv, but this one was louder.

And it was coming from outside your front door.

You crouched, duckwalking to the foyer where one of the house phones was placed. You’d just picked it up from the receiver when a shadow from the living room window caught your eye. You barely had time to turn your head when something came crashing through it, breaking the glass and yanking the curtains from the rod.

Shocked, the phone slipped from your hands, banging against the hardwood floor of the foyer and you let out a scream at the same time as the person on your TV, running away from the figure invading your home.

You made it to the dinning room. Literally scrambling across the table to put an obstacle between you and the stranger—no, creature. Tall, caked in mud, leaves and stems, it resembled the Swamp Thing. It grunted, groans low and reverberating off the walls.

“Uuuhhhnng…”

This couldn’t be happening to you, you couldn’t die like this!!!! It was supposed to be by your hand or nothing!

”STAY AWAY FROM ME!” You shrieked, picking up the decorative plates from the table to throw at the creature. You nailed it a couple of times, watching it stumble as the fine china shattered against it. When you ran out of plates, you bolted from the dinning room, screaming as you scrambled up the stairs, and lost one of your slippers in the process but to hell with it! You had to get out of there. Hopefully, one of your neighbors heard your shrieks of terror and called the police.

You peaked over the railing at the top of the stairs, to see the creature analyzing your slipper. While it was distracted, you locked yourself in your room and made your way to your bedroom window, pulling it open.

“Okay, okay. I can do this, no big deal. Stunt actors do it all the time.” You climbed outside of your window, body nearly convulsing as you almost slipped down the roof, “Nonononono.”

You tried to grip onto a couple of shingles but they gave away, slipping right off the house to shatter against the concrete walkway and you realized Laura had no fucking idea what she was doing when it came to house repairs, the dumb bitch had just laid the shingles out without securing them.

“OH MY GOD-I’M GONNA DIE! HELP!”

Your body slipped further down the roofing, until you were forced to grab the gutter, gagging when your fingers squelched against whatever was in it. You dangled a good six feet off the ground, and while it wasn’t exactly a ten story fall, with your luck, you’d land on your head and break your neck.

Whimpering, you tried to pull yourself back up the roof, but it was no use. You had nothing stable to grab onto as you yanked yet another shingle clean off. You glared at it and muttered a goddammit before tossing it somewhere behind you as you went back to hanging on for dear life.

“Oh, no.” You mumbled, terrified as your fingertips began to lose their grip, wet with the mystery sludge from the gutter. “No, NO!”

You lost your grip, plummeting down but you didn’t meet the concrete. No, the Creature broke your fall and you were now face to face with it. The pressure of you landing on it, made it spit up into your face, green sludge, and you gasped before breaking out into screams again.

Pushing yourself up and off of it as you ran around your front yard, nearly blind. You were not opening your eyes to let that bacteria infested swamp slime, water, whatever the hell it was, into your eyeballs.

You could hear the Creature stomping around behind you as you bobbed and weaved, could feel his presence and you could not believe you were actually gonna die fighting off a swamp monster in your front yard while blinded—in clear and plain view for your neighbors to see, by the way, and unbeknownst to you, an elderly couple was watching you, not even a little concerned about your well being or the creature chasing you around.

“Stop it!”

“Leave me alone!”

“Go away, I’m just a girl!”

The timed sprinklers went off and you were soon assaulted with them as well. With just about all your senses done for, and the sprinklers washing the guck away from your face, you made a run for the house, slamming your back against the door and locking it behind you.

Your chest was heaving, wet body pumping with adrenaline as the back of your head thumped against the door. You weren’t done yet. That creature was still out there!!!

You dove for the phone on the ground, hanging by its springy cord and shouted out hopefully loud enough for it to hear, “I’m calling the police, so if you don’t want your ass riddled with bullets, I’d suggest you leave! They shoot before asking questions!”

You frantically dialed 911 but there was no ringing, instead, you could still hear buttons being pressed on the other line.

Bleak, and accepting your fate, you put the phone back on the receiver, and turned towards the living room, where the other phone was located.

On the chair, next to where the table the phone normaly rested on, was The Creature.

You grabbed one of the lamps, ready to use it as a weapon but it didn’t attack you, just turned the phone receiver this way and that, as if admiring it.

Despite your fear, you took a reluctant step forward, casting the creature in the glow of the lamp you clutched and for like the billionth time that night, you gasped.

The sprinklers had washed some of the filth off of it, too. Before, its head had been caked in a mud helmet, but now, you could actually see it’s head. It had long, disgustingly dirty curls, and wore a leather jacket, jeans and tennis shoes, all covered in grime.

When it craned its head up to look at you, you readied the lamp, poised to throw it at it—him. It was a guy. Big brown eyes, stared up at you and he made no move to attack.

Slowly, you lowered the lamp, and crouched down a few feet away.

His attention returned to the phone—shoe shaped—in his hands and shakily, with stiff limbs, he put it back on the receiver.

“It’s…It’s cool looking, right? The-The shoe phone.”

He glanced over at you and then the phone again as you mumbled out an explanation,

“Our neighbor in our old town cheated on his wife and she threw all his stuff out the window at him and my dad snatched the phone.”

“Merrrruhhhhh.” He moaned out, picking up your slipper and offering it to you. When you just stared, he dropped it and you moved the lamp to the side, crossing your legs.

“I’ve never seen a zombie before.” You marveled, then squinted, “You are a zombie, right? An undead?”

It took him an entire minute to choppily raise his shoulders, you realized he was shrugging. Or trying to. Every movement he made was choppy. Reminded you of how stop motion was made, except his scenes weren’t being played fast enough to have fluid movements.

He tried to get up and promptly slipped, accidentally elbowing the mini sound system at his side. It turned on, Sinead O’Connor’s Drink Before the War playing. You’d been the last to use it.

You watched as his head tilted in interest as Sinead began to croon out lyrics.

“Do you like music? This is Sinead O’Connor. She makes music that heals souls.”

He raised his wrist to his chest and you inhaled sharply as you realized he was missing the hand on it.

“Uhm, no—I don’t think she healed your soul. I meant like, figuratively. Her music makes people feel.” You placed your hands on your own chest, trying to convey your meaning, “She’s one of my favorites.”

A surprisingly comforting silence fell over the two of you—though he sometimes made his quiet dead guy gross sounds—as you stared at him, taking in the green-gray tint of his skin beneath the dirt all over him, cheeks sunken in. You had a feeling if you touched his skin, it’d be hard, maybe waxy and it was a bit unnerving how human his eyes were, but duh! Of course they were, he was a human. Just. A dead one. At least he wasn’t a skeleton.

Man, Hollywood wasn’t too far off with their interpretation.

“C’mon,” You stood up, eyes taking in the state of your home and all the dirt the two of you had dragged in, “I gotta hide you, new dead friend.”

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